Blacker

His arms were still locked around Hunter’s waist. He didn’t think she was awake yet. Her arms were loose, the limp fingers of her right hand hooked in the waistband of his trousers above his right buttock. She was still pressed close against him. It was as if neither of them had moved at all in the night. Now, she seemed almost unbearably hot. He wanted to wriggle away from her body, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. She was breathing heavily, but her breathing wasn’t even. He wondered if she was dreaming or waking up.

The rain had stopped and the wind had died. The air was thick with the odor of coconuts, sweat and mold. The inside of the tent smelled a little bit like morning, somehow. There were noises outside. Something like birds, but not birds. There were distant, disturbing braying and groaning sounds. Something like sheep, but not sheep. He strained to listen and realized that, far away, a familiar voice was yelling Heyyy! at everyone and no-one.

“Good morning.”

It seemed that Hunter moved only her lips when she spoke. He stayed still for a while, listening to the sound of her tongue wetting her lips. Her hand delicately removed itself from his rear end. She pulled away from him slowly, almost reluctantly.

“Well, that was some night,” she said, yawning, “how are you feeling?”

“Hot,” he said, “hot and dry.”

She laughed a cute, quiet laugh at some joke he didn’t understand. Now she was fully withdrawn from him. He heard cracking and popping sounds as she stretched her arms and legs.

“Let’s get outside and see what’s going on.” Hunter spoke nonchalantly. “I need to find something to eat.”

He heard Hunter work the tent zipper.

“No way,” she said, “What the fuck…”

“What is it?”

She had left the tent, like it had suddenly caught fire. He heard her footsteps slopping through mud and then crinkling and cracking on something brittle. She was moving things around. Heavy things. Heavy, soft things that slopped noisily back into the mud when she let them go.

“I think it’s Braverman,” she said. “I don’t know how it can be, but I think it’s…”

He found Sharpe’s assault rifle after a few seconds of frantic scrambling around. In Hunter’s haste to exist she had dislodged one of the improvised tent poles. The tent was collapsing as MacGregor tried to find his way out.

“We’re back,” she said. “It’s impossible, but we’re back.”

He started towards her, but tripped over something and fell. For a moment he was horrified that the submachinegun he was carrying might go off. As it had been inert within the SOD, the safety might have been left off. He rolled as he fell, protecting the Heckler and Koch and landing shoulder first into a pile of rags and bones and soggy, decayed flesh.

“Oh fucking hell! What’s this?”

Hunter was silent. Her breathing was rapid, panicky. There were noises in the distance, but the loudest by far was the distinct call of Heyyyyy!. Hunter was coughing or retching. He couldn’t tell which. Then, he heard a splash of liquid and an accompanying sound that told him what she was doing.

“Are you alright?” he started to his feet, delicately working through the bones and flesh he’d landed amongst. “Eilidh?”

“I’m alright. They’re all dead. They’ve been dead some time.”

“Heyyyy!”

The voice was loud and close. A young man, excited and surprised. But there was much more than that. The voice sounded somehow inhuman. It did not seem to be aimed at anyone or anything. MacGregor heard unsteady, heavy footsteps.

“Oh my God!” Hunter said. “Stay back! Just keep back. We were inside the SOD. We just want to find out what’s happening. Charlie. Is that you?”

“Hey!” The voice sounded insistent, confused. “Hey? Heyyyy! I can see you!”

MacGregor was on one knee. He still had the submachine gun in his hands. He aimed it in the general direction of the voice.

“Stay back, fucker!” MacGregor growled.

“It’s alright John,” Hunter shouted, “I think it’s Simard. Charlie, it’s John MacGregor and Hunter. What happened here?”

There was a pause. MacGregor heard Simard’s footsteps. They weren’t normal. He was staggering around. Falling, picking himself back up. His breathing was heavy and noisy. He seemed to be moving away again. There was a sudden, foul smell. Worse than the decay that lingered vomitus amongst the heavier coconut odor of the nearby gorse.

“Charlie!” Hunter shouted. “Where are you going?”

“Hey!!” Simard shouted. “H…heyyy!”

“Jesus, Eilidh.” MacGregor gripped the gun tightly. “What’s was that?”

“I think it’s Charlie Simard. But he’s… he’s naked, and it’s like he’s feral or something. Oh shit, he’s running away from us. Charlie! Come back!”

“Let him go,” MacGregor said quickly. “It doesn’t sound like he’s right in the head.”

“There are bodies everywhere,” Hunter said, “but they’ve been here some time. Braverman is lying about five meters from where the SOD was. There are about ten or fifteen people here. It’s hard to tell how many exactly. The weeds and bushes have grown around their bodies. There’s a hollow where the SOD was, but it isn’t there anymore.”

MacGregor heard Simard shouting in the distance. He relaxed his hand on the weapon.

“Can you take this gun? Just in case?”

“Okay,” she said, “but we won’t need it. There’s nobody here.”

“Still,” he said, “just in case. The safety catch is on. It’s here.” He took her hand, guiding it to the mode selector just above and to the rear of the trigger mechanism. “Move it a click forward like this and you can squeeze off a bullet at a time. The other setting is fully automatic. I don’t think you need to try that for now.”

“We won’t need it. This is a wasteland. There’s nobody alive here. Simard – if it’s really him – is in a world of his own. He’s got no clothes on and looks like he’s covered in his own… excrement.”

“What the fuck is going on here.”

“We were inside the SOD for a lot longer than it seems,” Hunter said. “It might even have been years. All the bodies here are men who were guarding the SOD, or part of the team about to come inside it. My horse is there, right where she fell. There’s not much left of the flesh. Only skin, bones and a little of the mane. The body’s in a state of advanced decay. We’ve travelled forward in time, John. There’s no other way to explain it.”

He thought about this for a moment.

“We’ve travelled through time?”

“There’s no other explanation. This is the same place we were when we went into the SOD. Most of the posts that held up the guideline are still standing. The guideline itself is intact in places. There are tents and equipment here. All of its overgrown with weeds – except for the hollow where the SOD was.”

“It’s gone?”

“Yes, it’s not there. There’s just a hollow where it was. There’s no sign of Sharpe or your friend Fraser.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. The space around the SOD is quite empty. Nothing grew there for some time, by the looks of it.”

“Frase,” MacGregor whispered, “what about Simard?”

“I can’t see him now. But I’m not even sure it is him. He was moving around like he wasn’t even human, tripping and moving almost like a chimpanzee. When I spoke to him he stared right at me. I looked into his eyes but there wasn’t anything there. Nothing human, anyway. No recognition, no curiosity or any other kind of emotion. It looked like Simard, but I don’t think it really was him.”

“Jesus Christ. We have to get some help. We can’t stay here – wherever the fuck here is”.

“Agreed, yes. There’s nothing much here besides a few wrecked tents and the dead bodies. There’s a backpack, but it’s been torn apart and everything inside it has been exposed to the elements. It’s no use to us. The other tent is flat. Looks like it was empty when it collapsed. I don’t remember even seeing these tents when we got here. I think we should follow the guideline back to the Southern Marker and see if anyone is still there. At the very least, the tents there were more substantial. If they’re still standing we might find some food and water inside. Maybe a radio or something we can use to call for help.”

MacGregor nodded agreement. He heard Hunter stop moving. He was about to ask what she was doing when he heard the familiar clicking sound of Sharpe’s torch.

“Power’s working,” she observed.

“Good,” MacGregor said. “Okay, I’m with you. Let’s get to the Southern Marker and see what’s going on there. What time do you think it is?”

“Feels like early morning,” Hunter replied. “The sun’s pretty low and bright. I think we’re in either spring or summer now. “Let’s just get going. How can I help you?”

“Just walk along and I’ll be on your left,” MacGregor replied, “I’ll touch your arm if you don’t mind. You can let me know if I’m about to trip over a rock or boulder or something. Other than that, I should be good.”

“Alright,” Hunter said. “The line is about three meters ahead of you as you’re facing now. There aren’t any obstacles.”

“Okay, thanks.”

The ground was thick with weeds and wet from the rain. The morning sun felt good against his right cheek as he followed Hunter to the line.

“It does feel warm,” he commented. “Like April or May.”

“I’m at the line now. We’ve got quite a distance to go, so we should get moving.”

“Okay.”

They walked in silence for about a minute. MacGregor kept his hand lightly attached to Hunter’s elbow. There were sounds MacGregor didn’t recognize, but they were very far away. Now and again he imagined that he heard Simard shouting, but it was hard to tell. Hunter made a good pace and didn’t fret over him or offer assistance. The ground was uneven, but he made a good pace next to her. Now and again she would warn him of a dip in the ground or a particularly overgrown part of the route.

“Look out here,” Hunter said, “weeds have grown all-round the guide line. It’s that spiky stuff. Follow me round it.”

“Okay.”

“We’re almost there. I can see the Southern Marker in the distance maybe a mile away. Looks like at least one of the tents is still standing.”

“What else can you see? Where are we?”

“Open country. There’s nothing much else to see, John. There are some trees in the distance to our left. The guide line looks mostly intact all the way to the Southern Marker. I think there are some sheep on our right. Can’t see that far.”

“What are those noises?” MacGregor asked. “Can you hear them?”

She stopped moving to listen.

“I don’t know what that is. Perhaps it’s the sheep, John.”

She started walking again. They were back at the thin, plastic guide line. He stayed right next to Hunter, gingerly touching her elbow. A cold burst of wind carried louder sounds with it. The sounds reminded MacGregor of cries of pain or anguish. They didn’t sound animalistic – or human.

“That’s not sheep.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

She didn’t say anything else. He felt a spot of rain on the side of his face. A few seconds later there was another. The air was turning colder again.

“Hey!”

The voice was up ahead, almost out of earshot. The same voice as before. Simard, MacGregor thought.

“Shit, there he is again,” Hunter said. “He’s been at the camp, I think.”

“Can you see who it is?”

“It’s Simard, again. I’m sure of it. But there’s something seriously wrong with him.”

“Hey!” The voice sounded excited. “Heyyyy!”

“Here he comes,” Hunter said. “He’s running towards us. Or… Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“He’s not running. He’s sort of… it’s like he’s almost knuckle-walking like a… gorilla.”

“Okay. Try to talk to him,” MacGregor suggested. “Does he look dangerous? You’ve got the HK…”

“Okay. He just looks excited. He’s looking right at us.”

“Hey!”

The voice was close. Maybe five to ten meters away. MacGregor was nervous. There was nothing intelligent in the way Simard spoke. It was a single word. This time, Simard seemed to be making a manic statement. It was as if Simard was trying to explain something, but Hey was the only word in his vocabulary.

“It’s not Simard,” Hunter whispered. “I mean… I mean, it is Simard, but it isn’t him. It looks like him, but it’s something different.”

“F….f…” The Simard-thing said. “F…fuh… fuh… fucking hey!”

“What do you want?” Hunter asked it.

“Hey hey!” The Simard-thing replied.

“Charlie, what happened to you? Where are your clothes?”

Simard-thing made a sound like it was scrabbling in the dirt.

“Don’t do that!” Hunter shouted. “Charlie, you can’t eat that!”

“Heyyyyy!” The voice sounded anguished. “F… fuhhh…. Heeyyyyy!!”

MacGregor heard the weapon move in Hunter’s hands. He imagined that he heard her click the mode selector forward, but it might have been his imagination. But she had repositioned the submachine gun. He wondered if she was aiming it at the strange Simard-thing.

“We’re going to the Southern Marker, Charlie. Come with us. We’ll get you some help.”

Simard-thing didn’t say anything. MacGregor heard the sound of grunting and chewing. Simard-thing was eating something.

“Hey,” Simard-thing said quietly.

There was a sound of movement. For a sudden, anxious moment MacGregor imagined that the strange Simard-thing was about to attack. He realized the strange creature was running away again. He felt intense relief.

“Charlie!” Hunter shouted.

MacGregor wanted to tell Hunter not to call after whatever the Simard-thing was, but it wasn’t listening anyway. Again, the creature disappeared into the distance. Hunter sounded like she was crying. It was hard to tell.

“It’s beginning to rain, again,” MacGregor said. “We should get to the camp.”

“I almost shot him,” Hunter sounded pained, exhausted. “I almost shot him. He had a crazy look in his eye for a moment. I was sure he was going to attack. But then… then he started eating the grass and the dirt.”

“Shit,” MacGregor said. “It’s not Simard, is it?”

“No. Come on, let’s get out of the rain. It’s getting colder. There’s dark clouds coming.”

“We should have brought the coats,” MacGregor commented.

“There’ll be equipment at the Southern Marker,” Hunter said. “They have everything there. Let’s get moving.”

“If it isn’t Simard, then who is it?”

“I don’t know. Something else.”

It took about ten minutes to reach the Southern Marker. Hunter warned MacGregor that there were dead bodies. Horses and men. There was a smell of death, MacGregor noted. Much more prominent than the odor at the SOD site. Hunter informed him that two of the four large tents here were still intact. Of the other two, one had disappeared completely and the second had been torn asunder by the elements.

“Everyone’s dead,” Hunter said, out of the blue. “Everyone is dead. It killed everyone.”

There was no emotion in her voice. She was stating a fact and, for MacGregor, her words were every bit as frightening as the strange Simard-creature’s Hey!.

“Maybe the military used some weapon to destroy the SOD,” MacGregor offered. “Maybe that’s what happened. The air force dropped some weapon and it killed everyone in the area. Simard survived, somehow, but he’s been … injured by it.”

He stopped talking and wondered if his statement could possibly ring true. Had some kind of nuclear device been used to destroy the SOD? Was that why everyone in the Southern Marker was dead? Was the whole area radioactive? Were he and Hunter living on borrowed time, their blood cells poisoned and dying?

“A nuclear bomb,” MacGregor blurted out. “Is that what this is? Did they blow up the SOD? Did everyone here die of radiation poisoning?”

“Don’t panic,” Hunter said. “It can’t be that. I think this is the same thing that stopped Braverman and Simard getting into the SOD. It reached this far too, knocking everyone out and killing them. The SOD did this, not us. But I don’t know why it left Simard behind – or whatever that thing is.”

They left the guideline behind. MacGregor felt himself shake with fear. The ground was hard under foot. Tarmac, he guessed, with the occasional weed poking through. He didn’t remember the hard ground from before.

“Jesus, we’ve been gone a long time,” Hunter said. “A really long time.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s old. Aged, I should say. We’ve been gone a long time,” she repeated.

“How long?”

“I can’t tell. The bodies are almost completely decomposed. There are two horses here and both of them have decomposed completely. They’re just skin on bones. But they’re exposed to the elements and to… to whatever carrion there might be around here.”

“Foxes,” MacGregor suggested, “rats? crows, magpies. But I don’t hear any birds.”

“Perhaps,” Hunter agreed, “I don’t hear any birds either. And I can’t see any in the sky.”

“Shit, do you think the SOD killed everything here?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Hunter unzipped something. “Come on, let’s get inside before we get soaked again. The rain won’t last long, I think. There are clear skies coming.”

She had barely stopped talking when the strong smell hit him so suddenly he almost vomited.

“Oh fuck,” MacGregor said, “that’s not good.”

“No,” Hunter said, “let’s try the other tent.”

She zipped up the tent with the offending odor. The next tent was empty. The smell from the first tent lingered in MacGregor’s nostrils as she guided him to one of the beds.

“Wait here a minute,” she said. “I want to look at the bodies in the other tent.”

He wanted to protest. The idea of being left alone did not appeal to him. But then, she was gone. He heard the ten flapping in the wind, cold air coming in along with a few droplets of rain. Hunter took a deep breath and unzipped the second tent. He could make out the sounds of heavy bags being lifted. Then there was the sound of something hard and heavy dropped to the ground. Hunter swore, or cursed under her breath. Then she was coughing and retching. The zipper moved again in rapid jerks. Once, twice, three times before Hunter managed to close it off completely. He heard her coming back, spitting bile or the last mouthful of vomit out before stepping back into the tent MacGregor occupied.

“Well, that was particularly gross,” she said. “There are three dead soldiers in the tent. The bodies aren’t completely decomposed. I’d guess they were protected inside the tent. One man died in his sleep, I think. The other two were crouched together beside a radio set.”

“We could use that,” MacGregor said. “Now that the power’s back.”

“No,” Hunter said, “trust me, we can’t. One of the soldiers fell on top of the radio when he died. When his corpse… well, we just can’t use the radio. Trust me.”

“There must be others,” MacGregor said. “What did you bring back?”

“I don’t know yet. I just didn’t want to hang about in there so I grabbed what I could.”

“We could use something to eat.”

“Okay, something to eat sounds great. I’m sure there’s some rations in here, anyway.”

“Oh shit, can we get them open? I am absolutely starving.”

“What about the radio? There might be one in this pack?”

“I’d rather have one of the ration packs,” MacGregor said. “Can you see any? Look for a cardboard box with…”

“There are a bunch of them. Some have been torn open. Looks like the power went out here too before… well, before…”

“Before they all died,” MacGregor finished. “What about the ration packs? Can you see any of the meal sets? They look like silver foil packets. They’ve usually got…”

“Chicken curry and rice,” Hunter said, handing MacGregor a heavy packet. “There are some sweets and other things. Biscuits. A cereal bar, this says.”

“Let’s have that,” MacGregor said. “What about you? Aren’t you hungry?”

“A little,” Hunter admitted.

“I’m starving,” MacGregor said. “Sorry, but I’ve got to eat something. Do you see any water?”

“Sure. There are about six bottles of water here. There’s even a can of Pepsi – unopened – and a bunch of Mars Bars.”

MacGregor had been trying to open the chicken curry with his teeth. He considered the Mars Bar for a moment, but decided to persevere with the meal.

“Do you want me to cut that open?” Hunter said. “There are scissors here – and some metal plates.”

MacGregor stopped what he was doing. He handed the pouch back to Hunter.

“I can heat this up,” she said. “There’s a little gas stove here.”

“I don’t care,” MacGregor said. “Cold is fine.

“I’m going to do coffee anyway,” Hunter persisted.

“I’ll have a coffee if you’re offering,” MacGregor said. “But I’ll eat the curry cold. I’m starving.”

She handed him the plate of food. He took it, then felt her poking at him with something plastic.

“Spork,” she explained.

“Nice. Thanks.”

He took the plastic utensil and started to wolf down the chicken curry and rice. It had been a long time since he’d eaten British Army rations. The taste hadn’t improved much, if at all. He didn’t care all that much. There was emptiness in his stomach that needed filling, even though the smell of death lingered heavy in the air. After a few mouthfuls, he became more aware of himself and considered Hunter’s presence. He slowed his consumption of the desperately needed food as Hunter busied herself with the coffee.

Rain was now hitting the tent, but not as vigorously as it had the previous night. The smell of coffee had never been more welcome. He’d finished the chicken curry when Hunter warned him that a hot metal mug was on its way.

“Thanks. Can you see any cigarettes?”

“Yes. There’s a pack or a crate or whatever you’d call it. A bunch of them all stuck together. Do you want me to light one for you?”

“I’ve got my plastic lighter,” MacGregor said. “Thanks, though.”

He heard the sound of plastic snapping and tearing. She handed him a packet. It still had its plastic seal on.

“So, you’re not hungry anymore?”

“I’ve fed my stomach,” MacGregor grunted. “Now I have to feed my addiction.”

He balanced the coffee mug precariously on his knee and lit the cigarette. After he’d taken a second drag, a random thought entered his head.

“I assumed that you don’t smoke,” he said, “or I’d have offered you one.”

“I smoke once a day,” Hunter said. “This is as good a time as any. So you can offer me one if you like.”

He did and she, of course, accepted.

“John Players,” MacGregor said. “I can always tell the taste.”

“That’s right.”

“Thanks for the coffee. Can’t believe I’m having coffee again. After Sharpe kicked off in the SOD I thought we’d all had it. Something’s really wrong out here, though. I don’t need eyes to see that.”

“Yes, something’s wrong here.”

“But at least we’ve got food, coffee and shelter, not to mention cigarettes.”

“There’s no radio in the backpack here. Once we’ve eaten and rested a bit I’ll have a look round. There might be something in the vehicles I saw back towards the road. Once we’ve scavenged what we can here I’ll go take a look at them.”

“What are they?”

“Land Rovers or something military. Look pretty dilapidated, but there they are. I think I saw a helicopter in the distance too. Whatever it is, it’s lying on its side.”

“Maybe it’s the one we crashed in,” MacGregor suggested.

“Perhaps,” Hunter didn’t sound so sure. “We’ll see.”

Once Hunter had finished her cigarette she went out again to retrieve some more equipment from the other tent. She didn’t choke or retch this time, MacGregor noted. She returned in less than two minutes with an armful of something heavy.

“Another backpack?” MacGregor asked.

“Coats. There was only one backpack. There are more cigarettes, but I think you’ve got enough here. These two coats were lying on foldup chairs. I’ll be swimming around in mine, but yours should fit okay.”

Hunter finally decided to get something to eat. MacGregor listened to her prepare something from the ration boxes. He examined the jacket she’d handed him. It was a medium weight waterproof parka with a detachable hood.

“Nice. So, what’s the plan once you’ve eaten?”

She didn’t reply immediately. He realized that she was already sporking tinned sausages and beans into her mouth. After a few seconds she lifted her coffee mug and said, “Get to the nearest town. Get some help.”

“More walking?”

“Perhaps. It might be possible to start one of the jeeps. I’ll drive us there.”

“Okay. I’m going to nip outside for another smoke, okay?”

“No, don’t do that. You can smoke in here. It’s alright.”

“But you’re eating…”

“I’m a good communicator, John. If I wasn’t happy with you smoking in here I would tell you.”

“Okay. Fair enough. So, we get to the nearest town and then…?”

“That’s the end of the plan. It looks like nobody knows what happened here. Whoever Braverman was really working with doesn’t know what happened to the SOD. This place is about a mile from the nearest road. If nobody else knew about the Southern Marker then…”

“No, that’s not possible. Our helicopter was heading for RAF Lossiemouth. They were expecting us there.”

“Then something’s happened there, too.”

MacGregor lit his cigarette, finally.

“This? Do you think this has happened there?”

“I don’t know,” Hunter sounded like her mouth was full. “I hope not.”

He considered that for a moment. Insane as it might seem, there seemed to be no other way to explain the absence of back-up personnel at the Southern Marker. The SOD’s energy siphoning power had killed everyone here, just as it had killed Braverman and the others who’d failed to make it inside. But how far had the effect extended? MacGregor estimated that he’d walked at least two miles to reach the Southern Marker. It had seemed much closer on the horse. So the SOD’s influence had extended that far at least.

“They’re all dead,” MacGregor blurted out. “Lossiemouth, Inverness. Maybe even further. Everyone’s dead.”

She didn’t say anything to that. He realized she was still eating.

“Someone would have been here before now. And the bodies? The dead soldiers and horses? Just left to rot? Someone at Lossiemouth must have known where the SOD was and where the Southern Marker was. I’m guessing that there would be a camp at the north, west and east boundaries of this thing, too. Everyone there has to be dead. Otherwise they’d have come. If we’ve been gone for months or even years then there’s no way anyone who knew about the SOD is still alive.”

“Let’s find out,” Hunter said.

“I’m ready when you are.”

“Alright. I’ll fill the backpack with a few things from the ration packs. We can always come back here if we need more supplies. It would be better to get moving sooner rather than later.”

“Okay then.”

She packed the bag in less than two minutes. When he heard her zipping up his coat, he did the same. He offered to carry the rucksack, but she declined. They left the tent together, Hunter zipping it shut behind them.

The sun was warm. The air smelled like springtime and death. The rain had stopped. MacGregor felt the skin on his forehead tingle with the sunshine. He guessed that it was around midday. As Hunter moved ahead of him he felt her hand press lightly against his chest.

“Watch for the tent there,” she warned. “Do you want to take my hand?”

MacGregor groped around, confused. He couldn’t feel a tent nearby.

“I thought we were past them already. There’s only two left, right?”

“We are. This one’s collapsed. It’s just a mess of canvas and broken poles.”

He remembered his collapsible cane, lost since the helicopter crash.

“Are any of the poles intact? Something I can use as a cane?”

“Hold on.”

Hunter searched around for a while. He heard the sound of something snapping. Hunter cursed. There was more snapping and tearing. Then she was stomping something into the ground with the heel of her foot.

“This any good? Watch the other end is a bit rough, but this end feels okay.”

He opened his right hand and she placed the tent pole into his grip.

“It’s good.” He moved it from right to left carefully, “feels almost like the real thing. Thanks. This will help.”

“I can wind some tape around it if you like.”

“No, it’s fine.”

They walked together. MacGregor allowed Hunter to guide him around the collapsed tents. Soon, he felt asphalt underfoot. He probed ahead with his improvised cane, walking forward cautiously alongside Hunter. He found the first of the two Land Rovers. As he tapped against its headlamps with his cane, Hunter was already trying the door.

“Open,” she said, unnecessarily, “and the keys are in the ignition. And there’s a radio.”

“All we need now is a bottle of Southern Comfort and it will be Christmas day,” MacGregor commented.

He heard the keys turn in the ignition. There was no sound of the starter motor turning.

“Dim lights,” Hunter said. “Battery’s dead.”

“What about the radio?”

“No power,” Hunter said. “There’s a charger station in the car. Looks like it’s wired into the console. Do you think there will be enough power to charge the handset?”

“Not if the dashboard lights are dim. The battery’s been sitting too long. But we might be able to push start this thing.”

“It looks really heavy,” Hunter said.

“Yes, they are,” MacGregor said, “but we can give it a try.”

“All the tires are flat. It’s going to be impossible.”

MacGregor did not agree. He was sure that together they could do it. However, even turning the Land Rover to face in the right direction proved to them how impossible it would be to push start the vehicle. After about two minutes of intense effort, they gave up. The rain had started up again. MacGregor was thankful for the new coat.

“We’ll find another car on this road,” Hunter said. “There’s bound to be one. I’ve got the radio handset.”

“Okay. Well, let’s get going. Feels like it’s going to get cold soon.”

“Yes.”

The wind was getting up. This was, after all, the north of Scotland. Hunter was making a good pace. He was nervous about keeping up with her, even with the cane swishing the air before him. It was the first time he’d felt any find of fear or apprehension since he’d left the SOD.

“You’re a psychiatrist?”

“I’m a psychologist,” Hunter explained, “I work with young adults who have behavioral problems.”

“Okay, but you know about mental health stuff, like a psychiatrist?”

“I help people with mental health issues.”

“Right. I just wanted to say that I’ve had trouble going outside since I lost my sight. But I feel different now. It’s weird, but I don’t feel scared. Or, I didn’t. Not until… Well, I don’t feel nervous the way I used to. Is that normal?”

“You were nervous about going outdoors? Always, or since losing your sight?”

“Since losing my sight.”

“What were you nervous about?”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“Well, what do you think would happen when you went outside?”

MacGregor thought about this for a moment. “Getting lost.” he said easily. “I don’t even know. I just didn’t like doing it.”

“Losing your sight is a traumatic thing. The armed forces are pretty good these days at rehabilitating soldiers who’ve lost their sight in the line of duty. Did you have other injuries, or was it just your sight?”

MacGregor felt his nervousness increase. He drew a deep breath and exhaled it in a noisy shiver.

“It’s difficult to talk about it, isn’t it,” Hunter said. She stopped walking and he caught up with her in four long paces. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” MacGregor lied, “I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I was just going to ask you why I wasn’t feeling so anxious and then…” he laughed drily, “…then I started to feel weird.”

“It’s all understandable,” she said. “Once we find some help we should talk about this more. I want to talk to you about this, John. I’m just a little bit distracted right now.”

He was about to ask what was wrong. Then he heard what Hunter was hearing.

“It’s a sheep,” she said, “I think.”

“How can you not tell? Can you see it?”

“It’s right ahead on the road.”

The sheep didn’t sound like a sheep. It sounded like an old man snoring after a heavy meal. There was an occasional growl or moan, as if the old man was restless in his angry slumber. Hunter kept walking towards the creature and MacGregor followed at the same pace.

“It’s a sheep.”

“You sound like you’re not sure.”

“It’s not got any wool,” Hunter said. “It looks like it’s just been shaved.”

“Shorn,” MacGregor corrected.

“Whatever,” Hunter whispered testily. “It’s got no hair or wool on it. Whichever one it’s supposed to have is missing.”

“Wool,” MacGregor said. “It’s a bald sheep? It’s on the road in front of us? Is it sleeping?”

“No, it’s staring at us. Or staring through us. It’s just standing there staring into space.”

MacGregor listened to the sheep’s heavy breathing, grunts and groans. He waved his cane tentatively in the general direction of the sound. It touched against something that he assumed was the sheep’s neck or shoulder. The animal didn’t react in any way. The heavy breathing and grunting continued. MacGregor moved the cane again, exploring what he now realized must be the animal’s face.

“It’s just staring at you?” he said.

“It’s staring at you now,” Hunter answered. “Other than that, it’s just standing there. And it looks like it’s barely able to stand. It’s emaciated, like it’s been starving.”

“Someone must have shorn it,” MacGregor considered. “It can’t be a hairless or wool-less sheep.”

“Hold on, let me get it some grass.”

MacGregor listened to the animal’s monotonous sounds and decided that Hunter wasn’t taking too much of a risk. The sheep sounded like it was unaware of its surroundings, let alone the two people who had accosted it. Hunter pulled a handful of grass or straw or something. Then she presented it to the animal.

“It’s interested,” she said. “It’s smelling the grass.”

“Shit, don’t let it bite you.”

“It won’t,” Hunter said softly. “There’s something wrong with it. It’s… it’s not… It’s not right. I don’t think anyone’s taken this sheep’s wool off. I think it never had any wool.”

“Is it eating the grass?”

“Sort of. It’s sucking it. There’s something wrong with this animal.”

“Okay, this is giving me the creeps. Can we get going now?”

“Yes. Perhaps that’s for the best,” Hunter said. “Come, let’s get moving.”

“What about the sheep?”

“I guess it will be okay. There are others lying nearby. Dead. I suppose this one will die, too.”

“Fuck’s sake,” MacGregor muttered. “What the fuck’s going on here. Now I really am freaking out.”

“I don’t know. We should keep moving. Don’t freak out, John. It’s just a sheep. There’s a house or something up ahead. We’ll find somebody or something there. Perhaps there will be batteries for the radio, at least.”

MacGregor felt overwhelming relief. He laughed out loud, reflexively and completely helplessly.

“Alright, thank f… thank goodness for that. Let’s get out of here.”

“This is a country lane,” Hunter said. “It’s long and windy. The house is about a mile away.”

“Let’s get going then. What time do you think it is?”

“Midday,” Hunter answered, “maybe a little after.”

“That’s what I thought. Okay, let’s get to the house. I don’t like this rain, or the scary sheep.”

“Poor wee sheep,” Hunter said flatly.

There was a low moan of thunder from far away. The rain seemed to be coming sideways and slapped against the side of MacGregor’s face. He tapped his cane against the narrow road surface and followed Hunter as she moved ahead of him.

“More sheep in the field,” Hunter observed. “Lots of bodies, but some still seem to be alive.”

“Do they have wool?”

“Some of them. But they’re not right. It’s like they’ve been… damaged. They’re just standing there staring at us.”

“That’s really weird. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“Me too. How are you feeling now? You seem a little bit more relaxed.”

MacGregor nodded to himself. Hunter was right. He didn’t feel nervous anymore.

“I’m okay,” he replied, “I don’t know what sets it off.”

“It’s better not to think about it,” Hunter explained, “It’s better not to dwell on the things that make us anxious.”

“I don’t know what makes me anxious anyway,” MacGregor said.

“Okay. We should talk about it once we’ve found out what’s going on here. But if there’s a house there might be a car. Something we can actually use. And batteries for the radio.”

“That would be good. And a phone.”

Hunter didn’t answer. MacGregor didn’t say anything else. He thought about it. Would there be a phone? Would there be anyone? The thought of there being nobody at the house wasn’t distressing to MacGregor. He thought about it some more and realized that he’d actually prefer it that way. He wasn’t sure why. But he did have Hunter to keep him safe. He smiled at the thought.

“What’s funny?”

He felt his cheeks flush. He shook his head.

“Nothing, just thoughts.”

“Positive thoughts.”

“Positive thoughts,” he echoed.

The improvised cane worked out well. He found the road easy to negotiate. Hunter warned him when there was an obstacle, but there weren’t many. The worst part of the walk was passing the decaying corpse of another sheep that had wandered onto the road to die days or weeks ago. They hurried past the dead animal and continued along the road. Soon, Hunter was able to tell MacGregor what she could see. The news was promising.

“Looks like a little farm cottage. There’s a four-wheel drive parked on the grass out front and something smaller in the driveway.”

“Smaller sounds good,” MacGregor said.

“It’s a Mini,” Hunter said.

They reached the cottage. There was a wooden fence and a gate which Hunter opened. A narrow path of large, wobbly paving stones led MacGregor through overgrown bushes that scraped against both sides of his body as he made his way to the front of the cottage. He heard Hunter fumbling with the lock and then pushing hard against the door.

“Locked?”

“Locked. Windows closed, too.”

MacGregor moved forward. He reached for the door and, on finding it, hammered it hard with his knuckles.

“Maybe someone’s home.”

“I doubt it.”

He was curious as to the tone of her voice, but even without it he had the same feeling. The house felt vacant.

“Nobody’s here,” Hunter said. “I’m going to break a window.”

Before he could answer, she’d already done just that. There was a loud smash as something heavy plunged through a window less than a few meters away.

“Stand back a bit,” she said.

He took a pace backwards. Hunter hammered around the inside of the broken window with something like a brick or a heavy piece of wood. She climbed through.

“Be careful,” he said.

It took her less than thirty seconds to reach the inside of the front door. She unlocked it and he reached for the door as it opened, using the heavy wood to guide himself through.

“Smells a bit,” Hunter said uselessly. “The occupants might still be here.”

MacGregor sniffed the air. There was an odor, but it wasn’t the same smell of death he’d experienced at the Southern Marker. Hunter closed the door behind him.

“There are doors on your left and right,” she said. “Right is the kitchen. I think that’s where the smell’s coming from.”

“It’s rotten food,” MacGregor said. “Meat somewhere. Fruit too, I think.”

“And a dead cat,” Hunter added.

He made his way around the lower floor of the house, using his cane to guide himself. Hunter disappeared upstairs to search for the house occupants. They were nowhere to be found. Nor were the keys for the oversized Nissan Qashqai. Hunter was triumphant when she located the keys for the Mini, which she told MacGregor was colored red. MacGregor had explored the sitting room and hallway. He’d found a chest of drawers in the sitting room, but there was nothing of value in any of the drawers. In the hallway he’d found a telephone stand with a single drawer. On inspection there had been a packet of AA batteries that Hunter said should fit the walkie-talkie. There just weren’t enough of them. MacGregor returned to the lounge and retrieved the two remote control units he had found. There were two AA batteries in each remote. Combined with the four in the drawer, Hunter was able to replace the batteries in the walkie-talkie.

“Okay,” she said. “The moment of truth. Provided the batteries have enough power in them.”

She switched on the walkie talkie. There was loud, heavy static.

“Turn the volume down,” MacGregor advised. “We’ve got to conserve the batteries.”

She lowered the volume.

“There’s an LCD display on the front. Says we’re on channel 1. There’s some other letters there. DCS is flickering, whatever that is. There’s an up button.” He heard a momentary break in the static. “Okay, that’s channel 2 now. So the up button changes channel upwards.”

The radio had 12 channels. Hunter flicked through each of them, but there was only static. She returned to channel 1.

“Shall I make a call?”

“Okay,” he said, “but let’s go upstairs first. We’ll get better range that way.”

He followed Hunter upstairs, tripping over a long and sausage shaped draft excluder on the last step. She caught his shoulders before he could collide with the wall. There were three bedrooms. MacGregor suggested the one that faced south.

“Transmitting eats the batteries up,” MacGregor explained. “So we need to do it just briefly and then listen for an answer. These things look like they only have like a 5 or 10 mile range, so there may not be anyone near enough to answer us. But we’re north of Inverness, right?”

“More than 5 miles north. I think we’re about twenty or thirty miles north. The nearest town is Tain. Tain’s about ten to fifteen miles south of us.”

“Okay, well it won’t hurt to try the radio,” MacGregor said.

Hunter made a brief and efficient call on each channel. They listened to the static for about thirty seconds before switching to another frequency and trying again. There was no response.

“We drive down then,” MacGregor said.

The Mini’s central locking worked but when Hunter turned the key in the ignition there was only a quiet clicking sound.

“How are the tires?”

“Deflated, but not completely flat. I’ll open the gate and we can push it onto the lane.”

“Okay.”

The heavy metal latch keeping the five bar wooden gate closed was rusted shut, but Hunter hammered at it with a rock until it gave way. She swung the gate open and returned to MacGregor at the front of the Mini.

“Here we go,” Hunter said.

He placed both his hands on the bonnet of the car and pushed hard. Hunter held the driver’s door open as she pushed also. The Mini moved easily despite the flat tires and the driveway’s slight incline. MacGregor felt the car turning to the left and moving through ninety degrees.

“This way is almost downhill,” Hunter explained. “It was a lot easier to push than I thought. Do you think you can do it yourself if I sit inside?”

“I’ll try,” MacGregor said, moving round to the back of the vehicle. “Just shout to me before you have a go at starting it. Otherwise I might smack my face off the back window.”

“I will.”

She opened the back door first and placed her equipment on the back seat of the car. Then the driver’s door opened. It didn’t close behind her.

“I don’t want to try the electric windows. They probably won’t work and it’ll just kill the battery even more. I’ll keep the door open.”

“Good thinking. Okay, I’m ready when you are.”

He felt her helping him get the car moving, then the car bounced as she got into the seat. He pushed with all his strength, and it was hard work. His forearms and shoulders ached and he felt his thighs stinging.

“Trying!” Hunter shouted.

He prepared himself for the jolt. It followed a half-second later. The engine spluttered but it failed to start.

“Almost,” Hunter’s tone was excited. “One more time!”

It was more difficult than he thought. It had been over ten years since he’d helped push a car. That time, he’d been younger and fitter. His legs felt wobbly, but he pushed with all of his strength. Soon the car was moving forward quickly enough that he was about to tell Hunter to try again. Then she did.

“Here we go!”

The car jolted. His legs were a little rubbery now and he almost fell against the back window. The engine coughed but failed to catch. But the car still had momentum. Hunter tried a second time. This time the car started with a healthy roar.

“Yes!” MacGregor shouted.

Hunter laughed, revving the Mini.

“Brilliant. We have transport!”

“What’s the fuel situation?” MacGregor asked, moving round to the passenger seat.

“About three quarters full,” Hunter said. “Enough to get to Glasgow, at the very least. But we need to get some air into these tires.”

“Glasgow?” MacGregor was surprised. “What about Tain?”

“You know, I don’t really think we’re going to find anybody there,” Hunter said.

MacGregor had been thinking the same thing. He hadn’t voiced his thoughts, or wanted to. Now that Hunter had revealed her suspicions, he felt as if all of his thoughts were going to tumble out of his mouth at once.

“You think everyone in Tain is going to be dead?” he asked. “What about Inverness? What about the South?”

He closed the door behind himself. For a moment he considered putting on the seat belt but decided against it. His words had echoed his own thoughts. He had begun to think that the SOD’s effect had reached much further than either of them would like to consider possible.

“I don’t know how far this has spread, but I don’t think we’re going to find anything at Tain. We’ll have to wait and find out.”

“I don’t think we’re going to find anyone alive,” MacGregor said. “I think this is everywhere.”

She turned the car around in silence. He heard her stabbing buttons and there were quiet beeping sounds. He She was trying the car radio. The car stopped moving forward for a moment.

“There are six pre-sets,” she explained, “but there’s nothing on any of them. That’s the automatic tuner moving up the scale now.”

The car started off. The radio didn’t make any sound at all. MacGregor wondered how far along the dial the tuner had gone. Suddenly, Hunter swerved to the left. The movement caught him off guard and he knocked his elbow against the car window.

“Sheep on the road,” Hunter said. “Sorry. Looks like it’s in pretty poor shape.”

There were more sheep or obstacles. The Mini weaved its way down the narrow country lane towards the main road.

“The radio’s completely dead,” Hunter said. “I think it’s been round the whole dial twice now. There’s nothing but—”

“Nothing but nothing.” MacGregor finished. “At least in the old days you got static. Now, there’s just nothing.”

“They call it automatic gain control,” Hunter explained. “There’s static, but it’s blanked out so you can’t hear it.”

“There should be a button for that,” MacGregor complained. “I like the static. I hate the sound of silence.”

There was another object on the road. Another sheep or some other piece of debris that Hunter didn’t share with MacGregor. The Mini was turning in a wide arc to the right. MacGregor realized they’d reached a larger road.

“Is this the A9?”

“No,” Hunter said, “but we’re not far away. I can see it up ahead. There are a few cars, but none of them are moving. And there are bodies.”

“That doesn’t sound great. Is the radio still trying to find a station?”

“Yes. I’ll just keep it searching. If it picks anything up we’ll hear it. Now, we need to find a garage and put some air into the tires.”

It only took a few minutes for Hunter to reach what she guessed was the A9. This was the main road connecting Scotland’s capital city with the northernmost coastal town of Thurso. Hunter guessed that there would be a petrol station somewhere along the way. She turned the Mini south towards Tain.

“Lorry ran into the trees,” she said. “It’s been there some time. There’s a hatchback on the other side of the road. Looks like there are at least two bodies in it.”

“Fuck.”

“We just need to keep going.”

The radio remained silent. MacGregor listened to the drumming of the road surface as Hunter drove to the nearest fuel station. It was much further than she’d anticipated. After about fifteen minutes of slow driving Hunter pulled off the road.

“Here we go,” she said. “It’s a little bit… busy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re not the only ones here. There are other people here. Animals, too.”

The Mini was quiet, but MacGregor could feel the engine vibrating through his knee that was resting against the center console. He was curious as to why Hunter hadn’t shut the engine off. Then he heard something heavy thudding against the window.

“Shit!”

There was a sound outside. Something between an animal’s growl and the moan of a deranged person.

“They’re all… pretty fucked-looking,” Hunter said. “They aren’t people. They’re… they’re almost like zombies.”

The bumping continued against MacGregor’s window.

“What’s he doing?” MacGregor asked.

“It’s a woman,” Hunter said. “She’s looking in the car, but she has a vacant look in her eyes. There isn’t anybody in there. Inside her head, I mean. She’s like Simard. None of them have any clothes on.”

The bumping continued. MacGregor could hear fingernails scrambling against the window.

“Is she trying to get in?”

“I don’t think so. She’s just touching the glass. I don’t think she even knows there’s someone in here. Hold on a minute. There’s another one. Look out now!”

MacGregor winced without thinking. A half second later, something hard cracked against the window next to his left ear.

“Shit!” Hunter said, “That one’s got a can of Pepsi or something. Give me a minute.”

The car was moving. Again MacGregor’s window was struck. He heard shouting from outside. It sounded like words.

“He’s saying something.”

“I know, but let’s get a little distance from them.”

She moved the car about five meters forward. She opened her door. MacGregor heard the man outside shouting again, this time more clearly through the open door.

“Hey there! Just… just hey there!”

The voice was strange, like Simard’s. It was like the words didn’t come naturally to the person.

“Where the hell are their clothes?” Hunter said. “Hold on now, the one shouting at us is coming across.”

“Is he the only one?” MacGregor was nervous. “How many are there? Are they all naked?”

“All naked,” Hunter replied, “There’s about eight of them. But they’re all just milling around the petrol station. Nobody’s paying much attention to us except this one man.”

“Hey there!” the voice sounded almost jovial now. “Hey there! Just… hey!”

MacGregor realized that Hunter still had the door open. The car moved as she stepped out of it. He heard her pick up Sharpe’s submachine gun.

“Don’t forget the safety catch,” he called.

The Mini’s engine was still running. MacGregor had a sudden fearful moment that the car would begin moving of its own accord. Then his focus was on the situation outside the car again. Hunter was speaking to the shouting man.

“What happened here? Where are your clothes?”

“Cold!” the man said. “Hey! Hey there! It’s cold! Cold, cold!”

“Put some clothes on then, for fuck’s sake!” MacGregor whispered.

“How can I help you?” Hunter asked. “Wait now, you don’t want to do that!”

“What’s happening?” MacGregor shouted.

“Stay in the car, John! It’s alright. He’s just confused.”

“Hey! It is cold! Just hey there, anyway.”

“Put that down!” Hunter’s voice was loud and high pitched. “Get back. I’ll shoot.”

There was a grunt and a groan of exertion. The sound continued. It was a struggle, MacGregor realized. MacGregor thought that he could hear Hunter gasp for air. MacGregor wanted to get out of the car, but Hunter had the HK…

“Get off me!” Hunter’s voice was loud and commanding, “You know what this is?”

“What’s happening?” MacGregor trembled. “Eilidh? What’s going…”

There was a single crack. The unmistakable sound of the Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine gun firing.

“Shit,” Hunter muttered.

There was another shot rapidly followed by another.

“Eilidh!”

“I had to shoot him,” Hunter’s voice was shrill. “I… I couldn’t get him off me.”

“Get back in the car,” MacGregor said. “Hunter, get back in and let’s get out of here. What the fuck is wrong here?”

To his relief, Hunter jumped back into the car. The door slammed behind her. Her breathing was rapid and loud.

“What about the others?” MacGregor insisted, “Are they…”

“I killed him,” Hunter interrupted. “I shot him. I mean… I… I missed him with the first shot, but I was still trying to… I killed him. He grabbed hold of me. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t push him off.”

“You did the right thing,” MacGregor said. “I don’t know what’s happening here, but you just have to do whatever you need to do. There’s no…”

“He was smiling at me,” Hunter continued speaking, ignoring MacGregor’s words. “He looked like he was… happy. But he was hurting me, John. His hands were clawing into my shoulder…”

“It’s alright.”

“I couldn’t stop him,” Hunter said quietly. “I tried to, but I couldn’t.”

“We should get out of here. Find help.”

There was silence. Outside, one of the naked people was making a lot of noise.

“Someone else is coming over,” Hunter said. “It’s the woman who was scrabbling at the windows.”

MacGregor noted that Hunter’s breathing had returned to normal. Her voice had regained its calm. He heard her door opening again. This time, he opened his own door.

“John!”

“I’m coming round,” he said.

A voice inside him kept saying that this was the wrong thing to do. The last thing he wanted to do was add more chaos to the situation. He kept his hands on the Mini as he worked his way round to Hunter’s side.

“I’m looking at something,” a strange voice said. “I am looking at something.”

“Yes, you are. But what are you all doing here?” Hunter said.

“I’m looking at something.”

It was a statement of fact, MacGregor thought. The woman was telling Hunter something. This second iteration had a subtle insistence that MacGregor found curious.

“You’re looking at us?” he said.

Hunter’s left hand pulled him towards her.

“I am looking.”

“What are you looking for?” Hunter asked.

“I’m looking at something,” the voice sounded uncertain now. “But I am looking.”

“What is she looking at?” MacGregor whispered.

“Right into my eyes,” Hunter said evenly, “She’s staring right into my eyes.”

“Ask her…”

“Wait,” Hunter interrupted, “wait a minute, John.”

He stopped talking. He could hear the strange woman breathing. It was rough and indiscreet, occasionally punctuated by a low moan or hum.

“She doesn’t have any jewelry. Rings, earrings, necklaces. And I can’t see any scars.”

“I can see something!” the woman sounded exuberant. “I can see what I’m looking at.”

“Yes, you can,” Hunter soothed. “Are you looking for us?”

“I’m looking at something.”

“She doesn’t have any scars. She’s got grazes on her knees and her elbows. She’s filthy. Her hair looks like it’s never… shit.”

“What?”

“Look out, there’s another one coming over.”

“We should get back in the car.”

“Not yet,” Hunter commanded, “we need to get some air in these tires.”

“There won’t be electricity,” MacGregor countered. “We won’t be able to get power to the air hose.”

“No, but with any luck they’ll have a foot pump somewhere inside. It’s a pretty big garage. Has a restaurant, or a small café type place. Looks like they sold bikes, so we should be…”

“What?”

“Look out, John!”

“I’m trying to touch you!”

It was a man’s voice. MacGregor turned round just as the rough hands started to grab hold of his jacket.

“Oh fuck! Get off me!”

“I’m trying to touch you.”

Get the fuck off!” MacGregor found cold, bare skin. A hairy chest. He put both palms against the chest and pushed as hard as he could. On the second attempt he managed to dislodge his assailant.

“Get back in the car, John. He’s coming back towards you.”

“I’m trying to touch you,” the man’s voice was monotonous and confused. “And that’s all I’m trying to do.”

MacGregor turned right. He found the Mini’s smooth bonnet. He didn’t waste any time and followed it round to his open door. He groped his way into the car and closed the door behind him.

“Come on!” he shouted to Hunter, “Get in.”

“I’m trying to touch you.”

“Why?” Hunter answered the naked woman. “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m looking!” the woman shouted. “I’m looking and I can see what I’m looking at!”

MacGregor felt shivers run down his spine. The woman had screamed her words, almost hysterically. Now Hunter was back in the car and closing the door behind her. The car moved backwards rapidly. MacGregor felt the car reverse. Then, Hunter braked harshly.

“It’s just those two,” she said, “the others don’t seem to care about us.”

She sounded the horn, startling him.

“Sorry.”

The horn blared long and loud.

“There’s something really wrong with these people,” Hunter stated, still sounding the horn.

“They don’t sound sane. What could have happened here?”

“I don’t know.”

She kept sounding the horn. It took about two minutes for the naked man and woman to walk across to the car. It seemed that they would become distracted when the horn stopped, resuming the others in milling around the petrol station’s courtyard.

“Okay, I’m going to drive into the courtyard. Then I’m going to jump out of the car and take a quick look around inside for a pump.”

“Be careful. Take the gun. You should have about twenty five bullets left in it.”

“Oh shit, the gun,” he heard a click. “I forgot to put the safety catch back on. Okay, here we go. I’ll be less than one minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

She pulled away at speed, swerving to avoid the wandering man and woman. As they passed by MacGregor heard both people calling out.

“They say the same things over and over,” he commented.

Hunter didn’t answer. The car came to a halt. She opened the door.

“Don’t come after me!” she told him.

The door slammed shut before he could answer her.

He could hear the two voices calling out to Hunter. They were shouting the same words as before. MacGregor lowered his window to listen. Both voices kept repeating the same meaningless statements, but the tone held surprise and confusion.

“Come on, come on…” he muttered to himself, “Where is she?”

He could hear footsteps scuffling nearby. The air smelled of petrol. There were other, more unpleasant, odors. Rotting meat, excrement. The footsteps seemed to grow closer. He reached around to the back seat of the Mini and searched for the handgun. It wasn’t lying where he expected it to be. He found the rucksack and began to probe it. He was surprised by the passenger door opening, but he sensed a faint aroma of lavender and jasmine and knew immediately who it was.

“Did you get it?”

“Yes.” She closed the rear door and jumped into the driver’s seat again. “Foot pump and a couple of those puncture repair sealant tins.”

The car was moving again. Reversing, then turning in a wide arc out of the petrol station courtyard.

“I’ll stop about a quarter mile away. We can pump the tires up. I’ll see if I can clean the windows a bit, too.”

“Okay,” MacGregor said. “I was going to mention that I couldn’t see anything.”

“I’ll stop driving just around the corner from the station. The roads are clear. Once we’re out of sight of... the naked people we can pump the tires up. I grabbed some new batteries for the walkie-talkie as well, just in case.”

“I don’t think we need to worry about that. If we’re getting no radio stations then... well, I think everywhere is going to be the same.”

The Mini trundled along slowly. MacGregor, for the first time, could hear the deflated tires burring against the road.

“Do you have any family?” he asked. “Is anyone waiting for you?”

“My partner,” Hunter replied, “Michael. He’s in Glasgow. Back home.”

“You live in Glasgow? I didn’t realize. Where about are you?”

“We’ve got a flat near the station. Queens Street station, I mean.”

The car came to a slow halt.

“This should do.”

“Are the tires alright? Sounded like we were almost driving on the rims a minute ago.”

“The tires aren’t that bad, but we need to pump them up. Think you can help?”

“Yes.”

They got out the car. MacGregor felt apprehensive, but he didn’t say anything. He trusted that Hunter would warn him before anything untoward happened. He made his way round to the front of the car. Hunter met him there.

“I can do it,” he said. “Let me have the pump.”

“Okay.”

She handed him the pump. It was a long bicycle foot pump with a smooth handle. He unscrewed the tire valve’s rubber cap and attached the foot pump. Hunter had moved off a short distance. He could hear her changing the batteries on the walkie talkie.

There was a moment’s hiss of escaping air, then MacGregor secured the foot pump to the tire.

“I’ve got a bunch of batteries for this thing. So we can try it as often as we like. Once we get some air in the tires, I’ll drive south and you can keep calling out.”

“Okay,” he agreed, “I’ll do that.”

He started to pump up the tire. After he’d pushed the piston up and down about a dozen times he called Hunter over to look at the gauge.

“About thirty psi,” she said. “Is that right?”

“I don’t know. It’s in the right area. Okay, that’ll do for that one. Next tire. Are you sure they’re alright? It felt a bit bare.”

“It probably wouldn’t pass its MOT, but the tread will do for what we need.”

“What about bald spots? Brown patches?”

“They look alright.”

He did the same thing with each tire. By the time he’d finished the second front tire, Hunter was making calls on the walkie-talkie. He was surprised that she would try at all. He had given up all hope of anyone replying to their transmissions.

“Do you think your partner is still alive?”

The thought had been bouncing around inside his head like a pinball trapped against the bumpers. The words came almost involuntarily, but he didn’t regret them. He had to say it. Hunter must be thinking about it. Surely she must expect him to be dead.

He connected the valve to the last tire and started pumping. It was hard work. This was more exercise than he’d given his arms in a long time. But he kept quiet and tried to keep his breathing from giving away how exhausting this was.

“That one’s looking good now,” Hunter commented. “We can get going. Unless you want to stop for a rest?”

“I’m okay,” MacGregor puffed, “just not used to the exercise.”

They got into the car. MacGregor found his way to the door and into the vehicle easier this time. He was getting used to the car. Hunter closed her door first. He followed suit. She started the engine and the car slowly moved off.