Some Other Traveller by Lyn McConchie

Author:Lyn McConchie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: plague, postapocalypse, collapse of civilization, lyn mcconchie, some other traveller, death in the glens, designer dog
Publisher: Night to Dawn Magazine & Books LLC

Chapter Thirteen

Is faodaidh sinn èirigh gu bhith nar Rìoghachd arìs

But we can still rise now, and be the nation again ~from the song, Flower of Scotland

Aye, and it is to that end we work, that from the ashes of the world, we shall be Scotland and the Scottish people again. ~Donal McArn

The road was in even worse shape than it had been before we battened down the hatches for the cold weather. Winter had been no worse than usual, but without the council roadmenders, without drivers reporting damage or potholes that had appeared overnight, nothing was done. I could see that in a generation, even the main road could become impassable to ordinary small cars – fortunate it was that we didn’t use them.

I steered the Landcruiser down the long hill to Somerlee, pulled into the roadside by the large, ancient house, and noted that the nearby fields had Nubian goats grazing. Miss Jane, who’d been in the back seat, was out in seconds calling her friend’s name in a loud, clear voice. There was no reply. I exited my seat, grabbed Miss Jane as she would have headed for the gate, and brought her to a halt.

“No, just in case someone came and took over the place, I go first.”

“No,” Donal said from behind me. “We go first, one up at a time.” He advanced, and I moved well to one side and backed his move. We moved silently from room to room until we came to what, from its placement, was the main bedroom. The door was ajar, and Donal eased it open a fraction. I touched his arm, put my face to his ear, and spoke quietly.

“Someone is there. I can hear them breathing. Hoarse, not well?”

He shifted us against the wall and reached out, the door in response to a gentle thrust opened further, and a weak voice spoke. “If you come in, I shall shoot you dead.”

“Does that apply to Jane if she comes in?” I asked, and there was a choking sound.

“Jane? Jane, is that you?”

“No, Miss Pemberlow, it’s Jane’s friends, Sheila and Donal McArn. Jane is waiting by the gate. We didn’t want to take chances if someone had come here and taken over.” That, I thought, was a nicer way of putting it than that we were afraid she’d been murdered and was quietly decomposing somewhere about the house.

“I’m a little unwell, Mrs. McArn, but you are welcome. Please make yourself a cup of tea, and if you would ask Jane to come and see me, we could have a pleasant visit.”

I went out to collect Miss Jane and halted by the front door. “I think your friend is ill, and if she’s really unwell, she may not be able to manage any longer on her own. Let me say this clearly: if that’s so, and you can persuade her to come back with you, I’m for it. We can collect everything, the livestock, their equipment, her personal things, everything in her bedroom, whatever she wants, and take it back.

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