by Jenn Lees
“He’s speaking on his mobile phone,” Murray said.
The professor’s voice drifted out to them, his tone a mixture of asking and ordering. Then a loud bell-like noise began right beside Rory. He jumped and reached behind into the back of his jeans for his Glock—which wasn’t there.
Siobhan looked at him, startled at first by his reaction to the noise in the living room.
“It’s the land-line, silly,” she said.
“The what?” Rory removed his hand from behind him as his cheeks warmed; his Glock was in the car parked at the railway station in Edinburgh.
“The telephone,” Murray explained as the ringing continued.
“What do you do to stop it?” It appeared alive, and it was so demanding.
“You answer it, silly.” Siobhan took the phone off its rest and pressed it to her cheek. “Hello,” she said into it.
A faint voice came from it.
“Um, I’ll get my daddy. Please hold.” Siobhan put her hand over the section she spoke into and yelled, “Daddy, a man’s wanting you to get ready for the badger-set.”
In the kitchen, the professor ended his phone call. He hurried back into the room and took the phone from Siobhan. His face was pale, and his brows were drawn together. “Excuse me, please,” he said as he strode back to the kitchen with the phone.
“Your father’s a nature lover then?” Rory smiled at the smart and talented wee lass in front of him.
“No.” She shook her head.
Murray gasped and sat straighter on the couch, his eyes wide.
“What?” Rory frowned.
Murray shook his head as the professor returned.
“I’m sorry, but I must end our little time together here. Siobhan, come here, sweetheart.” He held out his hands to her, and she obediently walked into her father’s arms. He turned her around to face Murray and Rory. “Siobhan. This is very important. I want you to do something for me, darling girl.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Look at these men.”
She glanced at Murray and then fixed her deep-blue gaze on Rory.
“I want you to never forget them. Promise me?’
“Yes, Daddy.” She nodded her head as her eyes remained locked with Rory’s.
The professor led Rory and Murray to the door.
“I have to go...somewhere now. I’ll email the office at Torness. I’ve just spoken to the manager and he’ll give you two suits. I said you’d be there tomorrow.” He looked both of them in the eye. “Good luck.”
Siobhan was by his side as Professor Kensington-Wallace saw them out the front door.
“Bye-bye.” The little girl waved vigorously as they walked along the street.
Chapter 9
Edinburgh 2061
His footsteps echoed in the dark night, his shoes disturbing the puddled road beneath his feet. Misty rain covered the street like a fog, darkening the buildings, dampening his hair, and leaving a fine sheen to cool his face as he slipped through the narrow street. He’d have to dry himself before they saw him below ground. How would he explain wet hair and a wet coat in a place where the rain never reached? Night-time strolls in the up-ground compound of the Government Bunker were dissuaded. Frowned upon. He’d had too much frowning upon—
enough for a lifetime. Well, he’d now ensure he stood out from the crowd in a good way. He’d be proven right and little Ms Perfect-Double-Barrell-Surname wrong.
The disgusting rabble were keen and eager. Too keen and eager. But they’d do the job, he was sure.
Nothing they weren’t used to.
Ahead, the sound of footsteps and voices came his way in a hurry. His pulse thumped in his ears as sweat covered his palms.
Had they sold him out? Sent someone to kill him?
He slipped into a narrow space in between two buildings. His feet scrunched in the litter, and the scent of human excrement wafted into his nostrils. The wind blew more loose litter and leaves along the street like a tumbleweed in one of those old Westerns they screened in the Bunker. The surrounding buildings would’ve once been shops. They’d boarded the windows and covered the wood with graffiti. Voices came from the other side of the boards. People must live in there. What sort of accommodation was that? They’d live in hovels and think it was okay, this lot.
The group of men walked by, seemingly disinterested in him. Or he’d been lucky. Or they didn’t want him. As they passed, the acrid aroma of human bodies to whom personal hygiene was an unfamiliar notion wafted into his hiding place.
Did they never wash?
He blew out his breath and went back into the rain. He had to return to Arthur’s Seat without being noticed further by the rabble. His clean, neat, tailored trousers were a dead giveaway; he hadn’t had time to change. It was all go in the Bunker and he’d had to let his contacts know. His patriotic, Scotland-loving contacts who still lived with the dream of an Independent Scotland.
It was all set. He would be on his way. Not only to sort out the nuke, but on his way to being part of the New Scottish Government.
And if it worked out—if the plebs played their part well—he’d even be a hero. At the least, it would show those Community reprobates as the barbarians they were, and ensure they have nothing to do with the future rule of Scotland.
Chapter 10
Scottish Government Underground Bunker, Edinburgh 2061
Siobhan stowed the last of her casual clothes into her duffle bag. The sound of Beatles’ music came from her record player; John Lennon sang a slow ballad as his nasal tones filled her room. No skirts or nice cardigans for this trip. Practical and warm—they were going to the Highlands, after all. She recalled from her reading, and a vague memory of a family holiday, that it could be cold. And she would wear decent shoes—no heels.
Siobhan left her packing and made her way along the corridor to the lift for the next level. There was no click-clack this time from the serviceable boots she’d borrowed from Stores. She hummed to herself despite the lack of beat her footsteps usually provided. The music put her in a calm mood, and she’d had heart flutters on and off all morning. She reminded herself to not look too eager to go up top.
The long LED-lit corridor led to the section of the Government Bunker which held her office. Louise sat at her desk in her adjoining office as Siobhan took the USB sticks out of her computer and placed them in her bag, ensuring she had everything she could possibly need with her on this trip.
“Louise, please monitor the reports of the fallout cloud. Get Communications to send me an update if it looks like its heading our way, please.” The most recent communiqué from the US Government’s sources mid country, reported it was possible that the cloud would only travel as far north as Italy. It was smaller than previous ones. They were comparing it to the cloud of radiation emitted from the Chernobyl reactor mishap of the 1980s. Britain had survived that, hadn’t it?
“Yes, Ms Kensington-Wallace.” Louise looked up and smiled, her dimples puckering. “You go. I’ll be fine. You’ve taught me everything you know, Siobhan. Time to trust me.” Her eyes opened wide, then she giggled, the gesture easing the tension in Siobhan’s shoulders.
Yes, Louise would be fine. Siobhan had been preparing her for years in all things nuclear. Louise was her designated replacement. Everyone had one. It was protocol. Every position in the bunker—political, security and defence, Brains Trust, quartermaster, anything—had the appropriate and highly qualified personnel ready to instantly take over the role.
“Ms Kensington-Wallace, the PM is waiting for you.” The PM’s secretary stood at the door to Siobhan’s office. Siobhan took the long way around to the PM’s office via the garages. Men loaded equipment into the armoured vehicles, as well as radiation suits, Geiger Counters, computers, food, ammunition, and tents. A soldier secured a 30 mm automatic chain cannon to the back of a jeep, and a tank was getting a last-minute overhaul.
Tanks! What did Antony think they would be up against?
That w
as enough! She strode the rest of the way to the PM’s office and knocked on the door. Antony opened it as Siobhan smoothed her shirt and army camouflage patterned cargo pants and walked into the room.
The Prime Minister of Scotland sat behind her desk wearing a military suit, her dark hair shone in the LED lighting. Of a similar age to Siobhan, Bethany Watts was also a child of the Brains Trust and had lived in the bunker most of her life. Educated with Siobhan, she was the first of the elite generation voted into office during the previous year’s elections.
Scotland—those originally called to, and living in, the Government Bunker underneath Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh—had decided devolution was the appropriate line to take. The rest of Britain and Scotland were on a level playing field financially since The Stock Market Crash. Britain’s financial backup no longer existed, and Scotland could disallow access to her invaluable resources of North Sea oil and abundant fresh water. Not to mention the many wind power sources dotted throughout the Scottish countryside. Not long after going underground, a totally Independent Scottish Parliament began its rule.
Siobhan pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh as she stood before the PM. It was still so incredulous that Antony had encouraged Siobhan to put herself up for election. She’d no wish to govern and was more interested in practical concerns, such as keeping the nuclear reactors ticking away safely and all warheads dormant.
Antony had pushed her to it out of his own ambition. He was the one who wanted the office, as many did. In fact, the desire for position motivated most of the machinations of the elite generation.
It was quite tiresome at times. And one had to watch one’s step in case someone else’s foot was inadvertently underneath it. It would be nice to have a break from it. Siobhan glanced at Antony standing beside her in his camouflage Defence Force uniform. His mouth twitched.
Antony was manoeuvring now. She was convinced his main motivation for volunteering to go on this mission was to earn Brownie points, as they say.
“I know you understand the gravity of this situation, Miss Kensington-Wallace. The Government appreciates the bravery involved in co-leading this mission.” Bethany Watts pursed her lips and looked at both of them in turn. “We haven’t had direct contact with the outside world for many years. We hope and pray you will have a safe journey and the people of the Invercharing Community are friendly.”
“We have prepared for any reception, Prime Minister,” Antony replied.
Siobhan turned her head to give her opinion, but stopped herself, her hands trembled as she clasped them in front of her.
“Do you wish to say something, Siobhan?” The PM’s focus was now on her.
Did she? She sure did. And this time, she actually would.
“Prime Minister, I have just checked the preparations for our expedition, and I think we go a little heavy-handed.”
To say the least!
“Oh, why is that?” The PM tilted her head.
Beside Siobhan, Antony stiffened.
“Do we really need tanks? These people who live in communities do not seem to be aggressive and they don’t have any heavy weaponry.”
Antony answered for the PM. “We must prepare ourselves, Siobhan. We don’t fully know what we’re up against. We will deal with the very strong possibility of a nuclear weapon. What if there are other hostiles out there?” Antony’s shoulders made their slight shuffle they always did when he was on the defence.
“Yes, but the people of the Invercharing Community may think we are coming to attack, not ask for assistance. And what do you mean by other hostiles?” Siobhan took a deep breath. “The people who live in community are only interested in survival, not mutiny.”
“You don’t know that, Siobhan. They have lived out there for years with their own form of governance. They are reluctant to comply with anyone’s wishes but their own.” Antony’s voice filled the small office. Lowering it, he continued. “They are like the hippy communes of the sixties and seventies of the last century, but with armies.” He turned back to the PM. “They could even have plans to resist the Government’s influence. They’re rebels, and this community would be the worst. It’s run by the son of Caitlin Murray-Campbell!”
Siobhan’s pulse raced. Antony was painting an inaccurate picture of the community lifestyle. The PM’s eyes widened further with each of his outlandish and unfounded statements.
“Prime Minister.” With her pulse thudding in her temples, Siobhan interrupted before Antony could do any more damage. “I’m sure we’ll find a truer picture once we have actually met the people who live there. This is a chance to work with them and see what they are like. What their wishes are regarding government.”
“You are sure.” Antony’s eyebrows raised, coinciding with his pitch. “Siobhan, just because you have watched the drones for years doesn’t mean you know what goes on in those peoples’ minds.”
“And you do?”
That silenced him.
“Let’s focus on the mission to make safe this nuclear problem.” Bethany Watts regained control of the conversation. “It can be a fact-finding mission regarding community life.” Bethany stared directly at Siobhan. Her gaze turned to Antony. “Get a feel for these people, but please do not use any force or be aggressive in any way, Major McLellan.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, the tanks?” Siobhan asked.
The PM pressed her lips together and looked from Siobhan to Antony. “Just take one.”
BACK IN HER ROOM, SIOBHAN finished her packing, sat on her bed, and sighed. Directly opposite on her dressing table sat the photo of her father with her as a child.
Daddy, I’m going up top.
Her heart fluttered again.
Siobhan recalled the day they came here to the Government Bunker. She was so young at the time, but every detail was etched in her memory. Her father had been tense and they had packed in haste after the phone call, and left Oxford at once. That whole day had been strange. The two men from the previous evening, who her father had thrown out, had returned, but he had let them in and called them ‘friends’.
He had told her to never forget them. Good old Daddy.
Well, she hadn’t.
Especially not the older brother with the dark-red hair tied up in a bun. He was so nice to her, and his Scottish accent reminded her of her mother. He’d smelled of wild things; scents she recalled from a holiday in the Highlands. When people used to holiday.
She was going back there now, to the Highlands. There would be danger to get through on the way, but this community seemed particularly friendly. Except for the young man who shot the drone. He looked a little like the man she had to remember. Were they related?
Maybe all Highlanders are related.
“Ms Kensington-Wallace?” The soldier at her door interrupted her thoughts. “It’s time.”
Chapter 11
Back to the Future
They caught the 8.01 p.m. Virgin train to Edinburgh. This would take them twelve hours and six minutes. Not the high-speed train. They slept on the train, with Rory’s legs stretched out underneath Murray’s. They’d got a two-seater facing two, once more. The rising sun’s beams lit the side of Murray’s face as the countryside flashed past the window. Murray’s head drooped, and drool trickled down his chin from the corner of his mouth. Rory had been awake for a while, mulling over many things. They would get the car, get the suits, avoid the riots—hopefully, and make their way back to Invercharing. And wait for a shimmer. Well, it’s what he’d done last time.
They’d gone over and over their plan on the way to Oxford railway station. Rory had more questions to ask Murray, but there were people around and the air was getting a tense edge to it. Now, in the almost empty train carriage, Rory had his chance to ask something that had niggled at him most of the night.
Rory kicked Murray’s foot. Murray snorted, but didn’t wake. He kicked again. Murray jumped with a start, unfolded his arms, and grabbed the backpack sitting on h
is lap. Murray’s eyes were bloodshot, and he wiped the saliva away from his chin.
“What?” Murray’s voice was hoarse.
“Tell me. What’s the badger-set all about.”
Murray shrugged.
“Come on, I know you ken.” Rory tilted his head.
Murray laid his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes.
“Psst! You’re awake enough to tell me. So, tell me.” Rory kicked again.
Murray’s eyes opened, but his mouth was a thin line.
“I shouldn’t say,” he said after a pause.
“Come on. After you tell me, you can kill me.”
Like that’ll be possible. Rory smiled at the thought.
“It’s secret code for something, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I’m only guessing.” Murray raised his shoulders.
“What are you guessing? Give me your theory,” Rory whispered.
The train continued its gentle rocking and Rory continued his stare at his brother.
“Oh, okay. Not sure mind, but I think it was the government.”
Rory nodded, encouraging him to continue. Boy, it’s like drawing teeth!
“So, they have, like, a list of people they want to save if it’s TEOTW.”
Rory wracked his brains for the possible words that went with the initials. Oh, the end of the world. “Got it,” he said.
“At last!” Murray shook his head. “Well, there is a high probability the professor would be on it.”
“So, when the Gov...they went underground... So, he’s been there all that time?”
“He may have passed away by then, by now. You know what I mean. He’s middle-aged now, and that’s forty years ago.”
Rory sat back in his seat. “Which Government?”
“Huh?”
“UK, or did England and Scotland do their separate thing back then?”
“Well, he’s English.”
“Aye, but his major work was in Edinburgh, was it no’? And his wife was Scots, and so would be his wee lassie.”