Blacker
Chapter Eleven: For Social Relations

The light was beginning to fade. Hunter retrieved the rucksack from the Mini and locked it up. There was no sign of the scratching stranger. Hunter didn’t look too long for him. She re-entered the hotel and barricaded the main door with a few chairs and a desk. She spent a few minutes searching for food, returning from a deserted kitchen with a few tins of beans and some dry crackers. She also recovered a handful of Cokes and a six pack of bottled water along with some chocolate that was still in the vending machine. MacGregor waited as Hunter prepared another of the self-heating ration packs. This time it was Chicken Curry, or smelled something like that.

“These aren’t that bad,” Hunter commented.

“They got better, I suppose,” MacGregor replied. “So what’s the light like outside now?”

“Getting dark.”

“Still think its springtime?”

“April,” Hunter nodded. “That gorse is beginning to flower. That happens in spring, I think.”

“Still feels a bit cold,” MacGregor observed. “So maybe you’re right.”

“So do you think we should spend the night here?”

“Yes There’s not all that much of a hurry to get to Glasgow, do you agree?”

MacGregor nodded soberly. It was the first time Hunter had voiced the suspicion that he knew they both shared.

“I hope we’re wrong,” MacGregor said, finally, “but if we are spending the night here, I’m going to need a few more beers.”

“I’ll bring back some more. Grolsch?”

“Oh, yes.”

She left him alone again. He continued to eat the hot meal, nibbling on the salty crackers that tasted like Tuc biscuits but were some cheaper imitation. Hunter returned clinking and heavy-footed. She closed the function room door behind her and thumped the bottles down on the bar.

“I’ll need a torch next time I go out of here,” she stated, “it is getting darker. There’s a storm coming, but I’m sure the sun is going down.”

“Are you eating? You’ve got to eat something.”

“I’m eating. I’m very good at looking after myself, John.”

“Alright,” MacGregor shrugged.

He wanted to ask about her partner, her home in Glasgow. But he realized that all conversations led in one direction. Her partner was dead. Everyone was dead.

“I don’t think he’s still alive,” she said suddenly, almost reading his thoughts. “I have a feeling this is everywhere. Whatever the SOD did, it spread much further than just this little town. Otherwise there would be radio stations. There would be people somewhere.”

MacGregor tried to think of a counter argument, some way to bend reality so that her partner could still be alive. But then Hunter was talking again.

“We’re not really a couple anymore. We haven’t been for a long time. We’re just two people sharing a mortgage, seeing each other at the end of the day. Sometimes. Sometimes we don’t see each other at all. It sounds sad, but it’s been this way for a long time. Since we lost the baby. Since I lost the baby, which I suppose is more accurate.”

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” MacGregor said reflexively. “I didn’t know.”

“How could you know,” she said almost cruelly. “It was a long time ago. Sorry, I don’t mean it like that. The baby’s name was going to be Ewan. But he was never born.”

MacGregor hesitated before speaking.

“What happened?”

“It was a plane crash. I had fourteen hours flight time under my belt. Somehow, I crashed the Cessna,” Hunter said, unaffected by her own words. “I don’t remember even getting into the aircraft. The instructor told me that I didn’t maintain airspeed. He thought I was going to correct it, but apparently I hadn’t noticed. He took control, but it was too late. I woke up in hospital and they told me that my baby was dead.”

“I’m really sorry,” MacGregor said. “How… how long had you been pregnant for? I mean, when was the baby due?”

“Five months,” Hunter replied. “They delivered him by C-section, but he didn’t live. He didn’t take his first breath, Hamish told me. What a strange thing to tell me, I thought. But that’s what he said.”

Hunter stopped talking. MacGregor waited. He was sure there was more she was going to say, but there wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “That must have been so difficult.”

“Yes, it was.”

She was still drinking the wine. MacGregor thought that she’d started a second bottle, but he couldn’t be sure. She lifted the glass and took a long pull from it.

“Nothing was ever the same between Hamish and I after that.” Hunter sighed loudly. “Whatever we’d had between us just faded away.”

“But you’re still married?”

“We were never married. But we’re still together. Still living under the same roof, that is.”

Again, he waited for Hunter to say more. It soon became evident that she wasn’t going to. He listened to her eat for a few seconds. She drank from the heavy glass of wine, emptying it quickly. She refilled it. He emptied his second bottle of Grolsch. The window rattled. MacGregor could hear rain pattering against it.

“Black clouds,” Hunter commented. “It’s getting dark outside. It’s not as late as I thought.”

MacGregor nodded only. He wondered if Hunter was watching him.

“How much light is there?”

“The room’s fairly well lit. The weather’s turning bad, but it feels like it might only be six or seven o’clock, perhaps earlier than that. We need to find a watch.”

MacGregor was about to ask if she had one, but it was a stupid question. Still, it seemed strange that she didn’t.

“Don’t you have a watch?”

“No, John. I haven’t worn one for a long time.”

He laughed.

“How do you know when you’re supposed to be somewhere?”

“I set alarms on my iPhone. If I need to know the time, I look at my phone screen.”

“Fair enough,” MacGregor thought her tone seemed defensive. He decided to leave the subject.

“So we’re holed-up for the night. In this room, or do we look for something with some beds?”

“Definitely beds,” Hunter said. “That’s the second reason I’m not keen on pushing on this evening. My back is killing me from last night. Isn’t yours?”

Sleeping next to Hunter had been uncomfortable. It had been cramped inside the crumpled mess of a tent. MacGregor’s neck was still stiff and his old shoulder injury was beginning to play up. He’d ignored all of that during the night. It had been easy to do so. Being close to another warm body had felt so good that none of the aches and pains had registered.

“I’m sore,” MacGregor admitted. “It’ll be good to get some proper sleep. Do you want to sort out the rooms now? Before it gets too dark?”

“I’ve a feeling nobody else is here,” Hunter said. “But you’re right. I should go and check out the rooms.”

He heard her get up.

“Hey,” he said quickly, “can I come, too?”

She kept walking. For a moment he thought she was going to leave the room without answering. Finally, she turned round briskly. Her hands slapped down by her sides.

“It’ll be quicker if I do it alone,” Hunter said sharply.

“I want to come,” MacGregor said. “Just don’t let me walk into anything.”

“Alright.”

“Are you taking the gun?”

“No.”

“Take the gun,” MacGregor said, “Take the pistol at least.”

“I don’t know how to use that. I’ll take the machine gun.”

He hadn’t finished eating, but neither had Hunter. Her tone did not suggest that he should argue with her, but he didn’t know why she was upset. She was moving out of the door before he got there.

“Jesus, you’re leaving me behind,” his voice was nervously irritable. “Wait up, Hunter.”

“It’s getting dark,” she said. “Here, take my arm. Or do you want me to take your arm?”

“I’ll take your arm,” MacGregor said. “What’s wrong? Did I say something to upset you?”

“What would you have said?” Hunter grabbed his hand and placed it only his elbow. “Come on. I’ve got a bad feeling about the upstairs. I want to have a quick look so I can see for sure.”

“See what?”

She didn’t say anything else. He found himself practically dragged across the thick carpet.

“Stairs,” she said, coldly. “Look out.”

She dragged him up a long flight of heavily carpeted stairs. The hotel had smelled not unlike the Albert bar in Glasgow, but there were new odors beginning to invade his senses.

“Death,” MacGregor said.

“Yes.”

They were at the top of the stairs. The unmistakable smell of dry decay. An old body – or bodies – somewhere not too far away.

“Oh fuck,” MacGregor said. “We can’t spend the night up here. You can smell that, can’t you?”

“Of course,” Hunter said. “Okay. Wait a minute.”

There was a rattle. She was trying a door handle. Wood creaked as Hunter threw her shoulder against the door.

“Shit.”

Another door handle rattled, then another. Then, there was a click.

“I must be going senile,” Hunter said.

“Why?”

“I didn’t try the room I was staying in last night.

“Last night?”

“Yes, last night. However long ago that was. It’s still empty. Judging by the smell up here, I’d say that some of the other rooms are occupied. The doors are locked and I don’t think we should try to unlock them.”

MacGregor sniffed the air.

“Okay. Do you want to stay up here?”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I’ve got a little trick up my sleeve.”

He heard a hiss. Moments later, there was a strong smell of lavender.

“Air freshener,” MacGregor commented. “Nice one. That’ll take the edge off the smell a bit. So, are you ready to sleep now? What’s the situation. Two single beds, or am I on the floor?”

“It’s a double bed,” Hunter said, “and we can share it.”

“Oh.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. MacGregor heard the air freshener tin hiss a second time.

“It’s not an invitation, John,” she said simply, “so you don’t need to worry.”

He frowned, not understanding what she thought he needed to be worried about. He nodded his head slowly and breathed softly.

“Ok,” he said.

The room still held evidence of Hunter’s occupancy. The bedsheets were disheveled and unchanged. The plastic bag filled with her sandwich wrappings and two empty bottles of Volvic mineral water were still apparent.

“Sandwich,” Hunter muttered.

“What?”

“No rats, mice or insects,” she said. “I didn’t realize before. I left some of the sandwich behind and it’s still here. Dried up and rotten, but in a building like this there have to be mice or rats.”

“You’re right. So what does that mean? The SOD killed the mice too? Maybe it killed everything. Or all the animals at least. But I haven’t seen an insect either.”

“There must be insects,” Hunter said, “I just can’t remember seeing any. But those thorny bushes had flowers and I remember seeing dandelions and other flowers. You can’t have flowers without insects.”

“I know,” MacGregor said. “Jason knew all about that. Butterfly Jake, they called him. Without the pollinators there wouldn’t be any flowering plants. In fact, there wouldn’t be any people or animals, either. I remember Jake telling me that 80 percent of the world’s plant life are flowering plants. And that includes rice, grains, wheat, fruit and vegetables. Most of the stuff we eat, if not all of it. Not to mention the livestock we eat, too.”

“But there are insects,” Hunter said. “I’m sure I saw some. I just can’t remember when. But I definitely saw flowers, so that means there must be insects.”

“Yes, there must be. But no mice or rats if you’ve got a bit of sandwich lying there.”

“Perhaps there are mice,” Hunter sounded tired. “Look, John, I don’t know. It’s getting darker outside. I’ve had too much wine. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Right now?” MacGregor said. “What about the gear downstairs?”

“We’ll get it in the morning,” Hunter said. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

He’d left half a bottle of Grolsch downstairs, but Hunter’s tone didn’t suggest that he argue with her.

“You can sit up for a while if you like. If you’re not tired. Or you can join me in the bed.”

He swallowed hard. He could hear Hunter removing an item of clothing. She’d left her jacket downstairs with his. She was unbuttoning her shirt.

“Just relax,” she said, “we’re just sharing a bed. Like brother and sister. Now, I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. There’s an en-suite bathroom. I’m assuming that the water will still be running just like the gents downstairs. It’s the door on the wall to your left.”

MacGregor moved across to the wall. He found the door almost immediately with his improvised cane. He went inside and did what he had to do there. Hunter was right. The toilet flushed, albeit weakly. He returned to the main room, confident that Hunter would have finished undressing and would be inside the bed. He was right.

“Are you staying up, or are you joining me?”

He’d felt tired, but the sudden thought of sharing a bed with Hunter had brought him fully awake again.

“I’m tired, too,” he lied. “I’ll join you.” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“There’s lots of room,” she said. “Get in on the left side. I’ll sleep on the right.”

He was still wearing his shirt and trousers. He took them off, tossing them to the floor by the side of the bed. He started to climb in.

“You sleep in your underpants?”

“You’re watching me undress?”

“Relax, John. There isn’t much light. I can just about see the outline of your body.”

“Okay, well maybe there’s certain outlines that I wanted to spare you,” MacGregor said. “Yes, I sleep in my underwear.”

He wasn’t sure if her playful comments were leading him on. He’d never been particularly good with the opposite sex. Hunter’s comments, although personal and playful, were delivered in a tone that sounded irritable.

“Okay.”

He got into the bed. It was a good size - a King or Queen sized, he guessed. There was a thin sheet and a reasonable soft duvet on top of it. The sheets didn’t smell of anything besides a very faint musty odor that was not altogether unpleasant. He was able to avoid touching Hunter as he climbed in. There was enough room that she’d been able to leave a gap in the middle of the bed.

He lay there in silence for a while, listening to the sound of her breathing. It was a sound that made him feel warm inside. He began to listen to the pattering of the rain against the window and the wind outside.

Hunter’s voice woke him up. “Are you asleep?” she asked quietly, without moving.

“No,” he whispered.

She exhaled slowly. “I could have cancelled the flying lesson. I’d had a busy day and I was running late. I was always running late, always running from one place to another. It all seemed so important. Perhaps it really was all as important as it seemed. I don’t really remember anymore. I left the school at around five thirty. I was already late, but I should have known better. There was a bake sale taking place at the weekend. There was a lot of preparation taking place, even though there were a few days to go. Some of the yummy mummies were getting more and more carried away with it all. Of course, I didn’t want it to look like I needed to get away. You understand how that would look?” She shifted beside him, suddenly restless. MacGregor listened to her take another deep breath. Then she continued to speak. “Hamish had tickets to an opera. I’d always wanted to see the Bolero, but there was never the time. I wanted to get my pilot’s license even more than I wanted to see the Opera.”

She laughed quietly. The sound was hollow and flat.

“It really was all my fault,” she said. “It’s strange, that. Hamish was finishing his second degree at Edinburgh University and he was still working his day job at the printer’s, somehow. But he still managed to find time for… for us. For me, it was a struggle. I seemed to be filling my life up. Every time there was a little bit of free time, I’d find something to consume it.”

“But you were working in a school,” MacGregor said. “I know how that goes. A little bit, at least. Jackie worked as a teacher’s assistant. She would tell me how busy some of the teachers would get. Some of them wouldn’t get home until eight or nine o’clock at night.”

“Okay.” She seemed to ignore or not hear the words he’d said, “I wanted my pilot’s license. I was determined to get it, really. I didn’t want my life to be all about being a mother.”

The rain hammered against the window. MacGregor heard thunder, low and distant. A rumble that gently vibrated the windows. Hunter was holding her breath, but the bed trembled with the tiny shivers of her body. She breathed out, shaking. Her breath was catching in her throat. She was struggling to contain something. Tears, anger, frustration - he didn’t know what.

“Hamish told me it was my fault when he saw me at the hospital, of course. It was the first thing he said to me. I mean, after he’d told me we’d lost the baby.”

MacGregor moved in the bed. First, he shifted a little closer to Hunter. Then he moved away again. Something in her tone seemed to be pushing him away and drawing him towards her all at once. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wish I knew what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Hunter shivered. “I’m telling the story, John. You just need to listen.”

He felt nervous. He had to fight the urge to tremble himself. Hunter’s tone was icy, almost frightening. “Okay,” he said.

“I was unconscious when Ewan was born. I didn’t get to see him. Hamish told me that he didn’t see Ewan either. The doctor’s said that the body was too badly damaged for them to attempt resuscitation. They said that we shouldn’t see the remains.” She coughed and sobbed at the same time, “The remains,” she repeated, “That as how they referred to my son. My unborn son. The remains.”

The thunder was getting closer. The rain was falling quite heavily, but the wind wasn’t rattling the windows like MacGregor imagined it would have done the previous night. He felt awkward beneath the duvet. Hunter was an arm’s reach away, but the tension between them was a solid barrier of confusion and fear he didn’t want to delve into.

“I was so frightened about what going into labor would be like. I’d often spoken to Hamish about it. He was so good. He was so, so good about it all. So encouraging, so sensitive to my fears and needs as a pregnant mother-to-be. He was always able to say the right things. It was like he always knew what to say to me. I was worried about the pain of going into labor, about losing control and screaming my heart out in front of strangers. Hamish convinced me to ask for an epidural. I hadn’t wanted one.”

“I’m sorry,” MacGregor interrupted. “I don’t know what that is”

Hunter sighed loudly. “It’s an anesthetic procedure, John. It would mean that delivering the baby would be completely pain-free.” Hunter rolled over in bed. He felt movement in front of his face, like she was about to touch him. But she didn’t. She laughed quietly and he felt her breath on his face. “I remember the first Antenatal class we attended together. There was a lady there who got on her high horse about having a drug free birth. This was her second baby, apparently. First time round it turned out that the hospital staff had just rushed her through the whole experience. Those were the words she said. Rushed her through the experience. She’d wanted a birthing pool, no pain meds. She’d wanted to experience it.” Hunter laughed again. “She didn’t come to the next class, but everyone talked about her and her very presence helped break the ice between the couples and single mums in the room. The Antenatal nurse told us the same thing that our GP told us.”

“Which was?”

“Take everything they offer you,” Hunter said, “pain meds, Entonox, epidural and the works. Because if you’re in the middle of labor and you change your mind? Well, it’s just too late. You haven’t got a choice at that point. Besides that, the whole experience is about bringing a new life safely into the world.”

She drew a quick breath.

“I killed Ewan,” she said. “I killed our unborn son.”

“Jesus Christ. It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone, Hunter.”

She shifted closer to him. He could feel her body’s warmth now. “Perhaps if I’d been giving my full attention to the baby I’d have stayed on the ground. That’s what he said. Those were his exact words. If I’d been giving my full attention to the baby, Ewan would have lived.”

She was so close to him now. Somehow, he wanted to move away. He felt cold and afraid. He didn’t know why. Hunter’s tone was soft, but there wasn’t any emotion in her voice. She was delivering her story in a forced monotone, like she was holding herself together tightly. The trembling of her body betrayed the emotional turmoil that the tone of her voice did not convey. Had he not been lying so close to her, he might not have been able to tell.

“Hamish had never wanted me to fly. It was the biggest mistake in my life. He never let me forget it. We stayed together, of course. I didn’t know what else to do. I suppose he didn’t either.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. Everyone always is. He would have been ten years old this year. Ewan would have been ten years old. If he’d lived, that is. As it is, he didn’t have a birthday. We don’t celebrate… well, we just don’t think of that date.”

“I don’t blame you at all,” MacGregor said. “It sounds awful. It just sounds terrible. A terrible accident. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” She made a sound like she was licking her lips. “Everyone always is.”

The thunder had moved further away, but it was still there. A low rumble that slowly moved around the empty countryside like a cautious, prowling wolf.

“It was the airbag,” Hunter said. “That’s what killed him. Killed Ewan. It wasn’t my fault. The airbag was faulty. It… well, it was overpowered. There was something wrong with the charge. The entire batch had been recalled, but the Cessna used by my school had been slipped through the system.”

“I didn’t know small airplanes like that had airbags,” MacGregor commented. “But I suppose it makes sense.”

Thunder rattled the windows. It was louder than it had been the previous night. The rain was stronger, too. MacGregor sensed movement. It felt like Hunter was reaching out to him. He didn’t know what to do. He stayed still, not wanting to make a mistake. He felt her fingers touching his left eyebrow. Light, inquisitive touches.

“How did you lose your sight?”

MacGregor didn’t answer immediately. There were several versions of the story and most of them were false. It took him about five seconds to decide that he wasn’t going to lie to Hunter.

“I usually lie about that. People are always expecting an interesting, colorful story. The truth is really, really stupid. I was in a car crash. I was knocked out. Concussed for five days. Five days of dizzy vomiting and feeling like I just wanted to die. I was too out of it to wonder why I couldn’t see. It was all I could do just to survive the nausea and the endless retching. But that’s the story. I lost my sight. Just like that. The specialists said it was a brain injury. Strange thing is that I always felt they didn’t really know exactly where the damage was or how I came to be blind. I was driving like an idiot. I drove into a wall. Literally, right into a wall. And I lost my sight. So, I suppose I deserved it.”

“Nobody deserves something like that, John,” Hunter said. “When did this happen?”

“August 2010,” he said. “And after a year of absolute hell, Carol Anne left me forever. I never saw her again.”

“Wait a minute. The bridge in Portadown. That happened in nineteen ninety something? You met Carol Anne then, didn’t you?”

“Nineteen-ninety two,” MacGregor said. “I remember it well. Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You. Wet Wet Wet’s Goodnight Girl. Dr. Alban. It’s My Life. Some of Carol Anne’s favorite songs – and mine.”

“You were together for almost twenty years?”

He laughed quietly. “No, that’s not right,” MacGregor said. “I never saw her again after that meeting on the bridge. Not until about two years later. I’d left the Army by then. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.”

“Okay,” Hunter said, “you were fixated on an Irish girl you met for… how long?”

“Twenty or thirty minutes. She led me through the backstreets and alleys until she said it was safe for me to make my own way. I asked for her number. She gave me her number. She gave me her address too and the name of the hospital where she worked. Oh, and the hospital’s phone number, too.”

“I like that,” Hunter said, “she wasn’t leaving anything to chance.”

“So many numbers and so much information.” He laughed softly, “I was sure that it was all genuine.”

“They weren’t?”

“Nope. The home phone number didn’t answer and the hospital said they’d never heard of her. I couldn’t believe it. I called the hospital about three more times, hoping to find someone who knew Carol Anne. No luck.”

“So strange. Then how did you meet her again?”

MacGregor felt Hunter’s fingertips, again. They were touching his right eyebrow, flattening the hairs there.

“Well, after I left the Army I went back to the east coast. I was hanging out with a bunch of friends I’d made in my old hometown. Fixing cars, posing around the place in them. Just generally hanging out and wasting time. I had this old Mini Clubman. One week it was white, the next it was black. We changed the engine in it about four times. I can’t believe I used to enjoy all that stuff. Anyway, suddenly one of the guys said he had tickets for this Bruce Springsteen concert at Slaine Castle in Ireland. Not Northern Ireland, the Republic of Ireland.”

“I’ve been there,” Hunter said. “Queen, 1986. Beautiful place.”

“Aye, beautiful,” MacGregor said. “Well, Terry had a friend who was working security at this event and said he could get tickets.”

“Who was Terry?”

“He came from Ireland. He was an electrician or electronics engineer or something. I didn’t know him very well. He was more Topper’s friend than mine. Topper was pretty jealous of that, I suppose. But Terry and I didn’t really click. We only really knew each other for a short time.”

“Topper?”

“John Topp,” MacGregor laughed. “one of the car club, as we called ourselves. He worked beside Terry. We were all young guys, like in our late teens and early twenties. Terry was thirty something. Maybe forty. I’m not sure. But he had this Morris Minor that he’d bought from someone and when Topp found that out he invited him to join the car club.”

“Car club,” Hunter echoed. “I like that. So you and Terry went to this concert together?”

“We drove there together in my Mini,” MacGregor reminisced, “all the way from North Berwick on the East Coast to Stranraer on the west. It was just fantastic. I didn’t realize that Terry actually lived about seven miles away from Portadown. Once he told me I knew I had to look Carol Anne up.

“So you went to Ireland with Terry?”

“Yes, that’s right. His friends picked us up at Larne and we drove south to Craigavon. It was about midnight before we arrived. I was really, really tired by then. We’d had a couple of drinks on the ferry. We arrived at Craigavon sometime past midnight. Nobody in Terry’s house was awake. I spent the night on the floor in his bedroom. In the morning, Terry had to help his friends change the wheels on a car. I decided to pay Carol Anne a call. I mean, I was in Craigavon after all.”

“So you went to the address she gave you? Didn’t you think it would be fake, too?”

“Yes. I didn’t think she’d be there. I just wanted to try to find her. After breakfast I went for a walk. Terry’s parents lived about a mile from the address Carol Anne gave me. I didn’t mind. I had a whole day to kill before the concert. Well, it was hardly a surprise that the address she gave me didn’t exist. There was a Kiernan Lane, but no number ninety eight. I spent about ten minutes walking up and down the road. I had this crazy thought that maybe she’d just lied about the number. I kept thinking that she might appear at one of the windows looking down at me. Of course, she didn’t.”

Hunter shifted in the bed. MacGregor thought that she was rolling onto her back, but instead she shifted her body closer to his. He could feel her breath on his face now.

“So how did you find her?”

“The bridge.” MacGregor smiled to himself, “I went back to the bridge in the town center. Again, I had this stupid idea that I’d find her sitting there waiting for me. So I made my way towards the Town Centre. I was on foot and didn’t know the place too well, so I got a little bit lost. After getting directions a few times I got to the bridge. It was the same way I remembered it from the time we’d met there. Much quieter, of course, and nobody was shouting out for my blood. But it was the same place.”

He turned onto his back, resting his head deep into the soft pillow. Hunter didn’t move beside him. He could hear her breathing, inches away from his left ear.

“I found her on the bridge. Believe it or not, she was waiting for me there. It turned out that she had lied about her address, but she hadn’t been as creative as she should have been. She told me the right street name, but the wrong number. One of her friends had recognized me and had called her on the phone. She came out to see me, but I’d already gone. We were lucky to meet at all. She knew I’d head for the bridge and went off in that direction. But by then I’d gotten lost. She was waiting for me for about twenty minutes before I appeared. I can picture her now. She was wearing a lemon summer dress. Her eyes… Well, it was just amazing.”

“This sounds so romantic, John.”

Hunter rolled away from him. Then she lit a cigarette and turned back to face him. She seemed even closer than before. He waited to be offered a cigarette, but nothing was forthcoming.

“Yes, everybody said that.” He smiled. “Any chance of a smoke?”

“Sure.”

She lit a second cigarette and took his hand in hers. Her fingers were light and her hand was warm. He held the cigarette for a moment, considering. Then he said, “Just make sure I don’t set fire to the bed. I’ve got a talent for that, I’m afraid.”

“Ashtray,” Hunter said, dumping a heavy object on MacGregor’s chest.

“Thanks.”

“So you met on the bridge. But it wasn’t happily ever after? What happened?”

“First time round or second time round?” MacGregor breathed the smoke deep into his lungs. “Well, I just didn’t go back. With Terry, I mean. I stayed in Northern Ireland. I stayed with…”

“You’re telling the story wrong, John,” Hunter whispered. “What happened on the bridge?”

“Oh that,” he sighed, “that was just… well, that was just fucking amazing. She was sitting there exactly where I’d seen her that time I’d jumped out of the Pig into all that… chaos.”

“What did she do when she saw you?”

MacGregor smiled, reminiscing. “She didn’t even say a word to me,” he said. “She just walked right up to me. I can still remember the look on her face. It looked like she was mad at me. I was sure I was going to get a slap.”

“Why?” Hunter laughed.

“I don’t know. I knew that her being at the bridge wasn’t a coincidence. She’d heard that I was looking for her and she’d come to see me off.”

“So what happened?”

“I was just mesmerized by her long, auburn hair dancing around her shoulders in the morning breeze. And her eyes. She always had these… sad eyes. No, that’s not right. They were hopeful eyes.”

“Hopeful eyes, John?”

“I’m not sure that’s the right word. She was a believer in the goodness of the world, you know? She was kind to the bone and she believed in the kindness of everything else. It shone through in her eyes. An almost frightening innocence, I guess. I was falling into her eyes and then… well, then she just wrapped herself around me,” MacGregor sighed, “like a snake. It was amazing. I’d never felt anything like it before. We were just kissing and holding each other. It was just really emotional.”

He went quiet. He closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles. He felt his body sinking deeper into the worn out mattress. He inhaled the cigarette smoke deep into his lung, savoring the smoke as he savored the memory.

“That is romantic, John,” Hunter said.

“Aye,” he breathed, “I suppose so. I never thought of that at the time. I just remember it feeling really, really amazing.”

“True love,” Hunter said.

“Aye.”

Crash!

It was the sound of glass breaking. Somewhere in the building a window had been broken.

MacGregor sat upright, his shoulder colliding with Hunter. “Oh shit! What the fuck was that?” he whispered, trembling fearfully.

“A window,” Hunter said. She left the bed, flicking on one of the torches. “Stay here. I’m going to go and look.”

“Fuck no! I’m coming with you,” MacGregor said. “Jesus, it can’t have been far away.”

“We have to be safe, John. I’ll take the gun.”

“I’m coming, too.”

He almost panicked when he realized that Hunter wasn’t waiting. He heard her opening the door.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed, “hang on!”

He followed after her, listening to her charge the Heckler and Koch submachine gun. As he exited the room he could feel the wind blowing through the hallway on the second floor.

“I’m here,” she whispered, “don’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking. I can feel the wind. What’s happened?”

“There are two small windows at the end of the corridor. One of them has been broken,” Hunter said, “Looks like somebody threw something at the glass.”

“How big is the window? Big enough for someone to get through?”

“Nobody came through,” Hunter said, “the window’s too small for that. Wait. Let me see this. Stay where you are for a second, okay? There’s broken glass on the carpet.”

MacGregor didn’t move. He was standing in his underpants and nothing else.

“Well…” Hunter whispered, “well, fancy that.”

“What?”

“It’s a folding white stick. Like a blind person’s cane.”

“Let me have it,” MacGregor said. “Let me feel it Eilidh.”

“Just a moment. It’s got glass on it.”

She moved to the wall. He heard the movement of heavy fabric curtains. Then she took a deep breath and blew whatever remained of the glass away.

MacGregor felt something very familiar touching against his right hand. “Here,” Hunter said, “should be safe now.”

MacGregor weighed the object in his hand. “This is my cane,” he said, “This is my white stick. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should we go outside? Investigate?”

“It’s dark now,” Hunter explained, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Definitely not.”

Hunter walked past him. He felt her hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” she said, “we can lock the door from the inside. We’ll be safe inside. Safer than wandering about in the dark.”

“Okay,” MacGregor wasn’t so sure. “Whatever you say.”

She locked the door behind them both. The air in the room smelled much better. The broken window had allowed the gusting wind to clear away the odor of decay and death. Some of the lavender still lingered, but it had now become something MacGregor might almost consider pleasant.

“Cold,” Hunter said. “Get back into bed. You’ll catch a cold running around in your pants.”

MacGregor felt marginally self-conscious. He wondered what Hunter looked like in her underwear. As he climbed into the bed, he found himself building a picture of her in his mind. She was about the same height as himself, if not slightly taller. Her arms and legs were long and lean. He remembered that from the previous night as they’d huddled together for warmth under the collapsed semi-tent.

“Who’s outside then?” he asked. “Why did they throw my cane through the window?”

“I don’t know,” Hunter replied. “I really don’t know. But we’re safe in here. The door’s locked. It’s an old building. The lock’s not just a cheap Yale thing. It’s heavy. We have the gun. If somebody disturbs us here we’ll hear them at the door.”

MacGregor still had the folded cane in his left hand. He searched for the bedside cabinet and placed the cane there, tentatively.

“I lost this in the helicopter crash,” he said. “I didn’t have it at the Southern Marker. When we went on the horse together, I didn’t have it. Did you?”

“No.”

“Where did it come from?”

He felt Hunter shivering. She moved closer to him. “I don’t know. Perhaps it isn’t your cane at all. Perhaps it’s just one that looks the same and feels the same.”

He pulled the duvet over his body, careful not to bump into Hunter. The bed felt soft and good. He closed his eyes.

“What happened after the bridge?” Hunter asked softly, her voice almost a whisper.

“I missed the concert altogether. I spent all my time with Carol Anne. Terry was really pissed off, but he went back without me.”

“You stayed in Ireland?” Hunter laughed. “That is romantic.”

“I know it sounds like it,” MacGregor said, “but I didn’t have anything going on back home. Sure, I was hanging out with the car club. But they weren’t real close friends. Dad and I weren’t getting along too good then either. Mum was getting on at me to leave home.” He shrugged, “So I didn’t really have any connections. Or, at least, I didn’t think that I did.”

“It’s still romantic either way,” Hunter said. “I’m sure Carol Anne would have been impressed that you were leaving everything behind for her.”

“I didn’t leave anything behind, and she knew that. I told Carol Anne everything in the first day together. I was always surprised that she didn’t just make a run for it.”

Hunter was closer to him now, her body almost touching his. He could feel her body heat, inches from his. Then her fingers touched his face, again. This time, there was something different. No more exploring. Now her fingers caressed his body, invited him to caress her own. He hesitated, turned to stone by self-doubt and confused anxiety.

“Just relax now, John. You know, you can touch me if you want,” she said quietly. “If you feel like it.”

Again, her breath was so close to his face. Her fingertips touched his eyes again, gently stroking from his temple to the top of his left cheek. He felt his heart quicken. All of a sudden it seemed that his heartbeat was so loud. Surely Hunter could hear it.

“It’s been a stressful day,” she said. He felt her hand on his, guiding him to her body. He didn’t resist. He felt his own body begin to react. There was a sudden warmth. Heat so delicious and familiar that he recognized immediately. An instant later, she pressed his hand against her heavy left breast. “We need to relax now. You can touch me if you want to,” she repeated. “I feel like it.”

He realized that she was completely naked in the bed. She’d been naked as they’d investigated the broken window, he realized. Her nipple was hard between his fingertips, almost poking right through. As her lips began to explore his right hand gently began to explore between her legs. She rolled onto her back, pulling him on top of her. He felt her tugging at his underpants. Her movements were almost beyond insistence. Somehow, they seemed desperate. In a moment his underwear was past his knees. He kicked them out of the bed.

“Eilidh,” he whispered, “I… I don’t…”

“Hush,” she breathed. “Oh, fuck me, John. Just fuck me.”

His body tensed instantly. Those words. In this context, he despised them. He always had. The coarseness of those words. Or maybe it was the intensity of them, or the animalistic loss of inhibition that they represented. He felt Goosebumps on his arms, his body trembling. Hunter pulled away from him, but only for a moment. Then she kissed him lightly on the cheek. Suddenly, her mouth was covering his. Her hand brushed against his abdomen, reaching for his manhood, her fingers gentle and probing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “make love to me.” Her tone was much softer, “Just do what you want to.”

He was on top of her now, inside her. Sliding deep and hard into her delightful center.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped. “Oh fucking hell.” He laughed, nervously.

“It’s alright,” Hunter soothed, “just do what you want.”

He began to thrust. They ground together beneath the duvet and the crisp white sheet. At first MacGregor controlled the pace, moving his hips in semi circles as he slowly ground Hunter into the bed.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped, “Eilidh… condoms? What about…?”

“I can’t…” she said. “We don’t need them. I can’t get pregnant.”

Her statement killed his ardor momentarily, but Hunter’s hand on his buttocks spurred him on, again. He tried to control the pace, tried to control his passion. But Hunter was kissing his chin and then his neck. Her lips continued down to his chest. He felt her breath there, rapid and hot. He began to lose control of his rhythm, his hips gyrating now beyond his bidding. Then, as she began to kiss his left nipple, they were just a single creature struggling together on the bed.

The morning arrived like a shock. It was a soft hand gently pushing at his shoulder, then a slap against the side of his naked buttocks. His mouth was dry and there was a bad taste in his mouth. His eyes felt crusty. There was a new smell in the room. Some kind of perfume. He didn’t recognize it at first. Then it was obvious. Imperial Leather.

“Time to get started,” Hunter said. “We’ve got dry biscuits and coca cola for breakfast. And we’ve got blue skies and sunshine outside. Oh, and insects, too! At least we have bumble bees. I saw one bounce against the window earlier.”

“Oh Jesus,” MacGregor moaned. “Earlier? Earlier than what? What time is it?”

“I’m calling it eight o’clock. The sun’s been up for a couple of hours at least. It’s going to be a warm day.”

“You should have woken me up. We’ve got a lot to do.”

“I don’t think it matters. Okay, cover yourself up and get washed. The water’s cold, but the shower still runs. It’s bracing, but I managed it.”

“Jesus Christ, you washed already?”

“I washed. And you should, too,” Hunter said, “It looks warm enough outside. We won’t get a chill.”

He kept himself covered with the sheet and searched –with his right foot - on the floor for his underpants. Finding them, he quickly put them on. He smelled the soap again as Hunter moved towards him. There was some other odor not unlike the gorse bushes. Coconut shampoo, he guessed.

“About last night,” he started.

Hunter cut him off. “I feel really fresh,” she said. “You’ll feel and smell a lot better.”

He smiled, taking the not so subtle hint.

“Okay. If you’re sure the water won’t run out when I’m covered in soap.”

“I think you’ll be okay. Do you want to eat first?”

“No, I want to get rid of my stink,” he replied. “Maybe you can help me find some actual breakfast food in amongst the ration packs. I’m sure there’s dried egg or something like that.”

“Sounds disgusting,” Hunter said.

“It is,” MacGregor shrugged, “but it’s better than biscuits and coke.”

“Go get washed,” Hunter said. “I’ll fix something for you to eat. Hot or cold?”

“Hot, please. If you can. I’m going to need it after freezing my backside off.”

“It isn’t that bad,” Hunter said.

He moved across to her, still wearing just his underpants. He reached out to her and felt her waist. He gently pulled her towards himself. It surprised him when she pulled away from him.

“Ah... okay,” he said, “I just wanted… um, is everything okay?”

“Sure,” she said. “Get yourself cleaned up. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”

He moved in again for the kiss but she rejected him a second time. He released his gentle grip on her elbow as she pulled away roughly.

“I’m sorry about last night. It was a mistake.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. “Oh,” he said, “okay.”

“We’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” Hunter repeated. “Get cleaned up. I’ll have something hot ready for you when you get out.”

“Alright.”

The water was still running, but it was agonizingly cold. MacGregor rubbed himself briskly with the soap, more to stave off the terrible coldness than to clean himself. After about a minute of shivering and swearing his body began to become accustomed to the shock of the icy water. He didn’t think about Hunter or the brief and almost furious intimacy they’d shared. The coldness prevented him from thinking about anything. Soon he’d finished doing what he needed to do. It was not a moment too soon. The flow of the water was beginning to stutter. He guessed that it would soon stop flowing altogether.

He found a towel on the rack by the tiny window. It was unused and warm compared to the water. He dried himself briskly. There was a second towel which he now use, tossing the first one to the floor. He wasted no time getting dressed again. He exited the bathroom shivering. He could smell bacon and beans. Miraculously, Hunter had prepared coffee too.

“Oh shit, you’re amazing,” MacGregor said. “I can’t believe you made coffee.”

“There’s even milk. Smells fresh enough. I’ve no idea what the shelf life is on these little hotel milk cartons, but these ones seem okay.”

MacGregor found the bed. Hunter was sitting there. He sat next to her. Instinctively, he reached out both hands.

“Okay,” she said, “what do you want first? Coffee beans or bacon and beans.”

“So many beans,” MacGregor smiled. “Coffee beans, please.”

She handed him the coffee. It was a porcelain mug – one of three small cups beside the small plastic kettle.

“That’s just so good,” he said. “How did you heat it up?”

“I used one of the flameless ration heaters. It generated enough heat to warm up the bacon and beans and enough water for the coffee. There’s another cup if you want it.”

“Definitely,” he said.

He drained the cup about five seconds. The coffee was cool enough that he could do that without burning his tongue but not so cold he didn’t enjoy it.

“Sugar?” he asked.

“Sorry. How many?”

“I can do it.”

“How many?” her tone threatened.

“Two. Thanks.”

She tore the sachets open and stirred the sugar into the cup.

He didn’t like the atmosphere. The silence was uncomfortable and almost hostile. “You sound upset,” he said. “Did I do something?”

He heard her sip her own coffee. There was the sound of swallowing, then chewing.

“Am I sitting here with my cock hanging out or something?” he said, almost irritably. “I mean, you’ve got to tell me if it’s something like that.”

“John, are you trying to tell me that you wouldn’t know if you got dressed and your… penis… was sticking out of your trousers?”

MacGregor laughed. “Aye, I’d know. I just wanted to lighten the mood. What’s wrong this morning?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that last night was a mistake, that’s all. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about me or about… about our situation.”

He was thankful for the coffee. He brought the mug to his lips and sipped carefully and slowly, savoring the taste and wishing that the ground would swallow him up all at the same time. A long time passed by. He actually started to count the seconds. Hunter continued to eat. After counting a full minute and more, he decided to speak again.

“Okay, then let’s just get on with whatever the fuck we’re supposed to be doing today.”

She stopped eating, stopped moving. He was sure that she even stopped breathing. Then she sighed loudly.

“Do you want your bacon and beans?”

“Fuck it, yes,” he grunted. “Fuck it.”

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