Blacker
Chapter Ten: Bridge

It took less than a minute for the Mini to reach the A9. Hunter said that she could not see any more people, even though she’d avoided two crashed and abandoned cars. Hunter was driving slowly. MacGregor guessed that they were doing less than twenty miles per hour. He wasn’t worried. He felt safe inside the car. And it was warm. He felt that he would fall asleep.

“I’m going to take it easy,” Hunter interrupted his daydreams. “Just in case there are problems on the road. I want to see them before we run into them. Is that, okay?”

“That’s cool. I’m quite happy here.”

“Okay, so Tain here we come.”

“Here we come, for what it’s worth.”

“I heard that you were with your friend Fraser in the Army. Where were you stationed?”

“Belfast, mostly, and a few months in Portadown. Some other wee places in Northern Ireland.”

“Were you in the Army long?”

“No. Army was a long, long time ago for me now. I should never have joined up. I didn’t belong there. Fraser didn’t either, but not for the same reason. I only joined up because I thought Jason would have been proud of me. I never really figured out why Fraser joined up.”

“Who’s Jason?”

“Jason was my oldest brother. He was killed in a motorcycle accident when I was thirteen years old. I really looked up to him. For a long time his death really screwed me up.”

It had been some time since MacGregor had thought about his brother. He almost felt guilty, but then he remembered what Carol Anne had said to him a long time ago.

You’ve already grieved for him. You joined the Army so he’d be proud of you. You honor his memory in everything you do. It’s alright to live your life. That’s what he would have wanted. He loved you just like you loved him.

He pictured her now in the window of his mind. The bright, caring eyes filled with a love and hope that had slowly turned into confusion and anger. He closed his eyes, as if doing so might squeeze her image from his brain. But it was burned there.

“Ah fuck,” MacGregor whispered.

“What?” Hunter said. “What, ah fuck?”

“Memories,” MacGregor muttered.

He missed Jason, but he missed Carol Anne more. For a long time he’d avoided thinking about her altogether, just like he’d avoided thinking about his brother before he’d met Carol Anne. She’d gently coaxed the tears and the pain out of him and she’d held him when he’d cried. Carol Anne had healed a heart that had been broken even before it had fully formed. He’d fallen in love with her. The love between them had soared and swelled like an out of control fire. And he’d pissed all over it. She’d healed his heart and he’d destroyed hers.

“You must have loved your brother very much.”

“I did,” he said, “When I was a kid growing up, I was his shadow. I annoyed him so much but I know he enjoyed having me attached to him. Wherever he went, I’d go too. When he died… I didn’t know what to do.”

“Grieving is difficult.”

MacGregor barely registered Hunter’s words. He was lost in thought, in memory.

“I was fifteen years old when the recruitment guys came to school. It had been two years since Jason was killed. I’d lost my best friend and my role model. I’d been living in a daze for all that time, I suppose. I’d fucked up all my exams, purposefully failing a lot of them. I don’t even know why. School, friends, life and everything. All of it just flew past me. I was just drifting through, getting by from day to day.”

“You took his death really badly? Did you ever see a grievance counsellor? What about your parents? Didn’t they… did they try to help?”

MacGregor laughed softly, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. We just didn’t do that kind of thing,” he said. “My dad didn’t even talk about it. In fact, I can’t remember ever talking to my father about Jason. Is that strange? We were all just angry and sad and confused. And we were all in own little bubbles, suffering alone.”

“All families are different,” Hunter offered. “Everyone has their own baggage, their own way of handling things. Your father must have found it extremely difficult.”

There was something in the tone of her voice. He noticed it, but was too lost in his own thoughts.

“Yes, Jason was the oldest. He was twenty one years old when he died. At the time I didn’t think about how it must have affected my parents. I blamed dad. He and Jason were always fighting. My dad was a bully. He had a quick temper and was quick to use his hands on all of us kids. Jason was always getting between my dad and the rest of us. At least, once he was old enough to stand up to dad. I first remember him getting between dad and my sister when he was about fourteen or fifteen. For some reason, Avaline seemed to wind dad up more than any of us. I guess she stood up to him more, or tried to. Geoff and I used to just take it, mostly.”

“That’s terrible. But your brother must have loved you all very much to protect you.”

“I idolized him. Jason was popular, brave, kind and gentle. And he was smart. I mean, properly smart. I just wanted to be like him. He was working towards joining the air force, but I couldn’t even contemplate that. So I went with the…”

“Hold on,” Hunter said. “Wait a minute.”

“What is it?”

The car was slowing down. MacGregor could hear the voice ahead.

“Another shouter?”

“Yes,” Hunter said. “I’ll wind the window down.”

The car was still moving forward, but only slightly. There was a strained hum as the window lowered itself on its worn mechanism.

“Shit, he’s coming closer!”

“That was wrong,” the voice was sincere and steady. “It was the wrong thing. That… thing… was wrong.”

Hunter reversed the car rapidly, surprising MacGregor.

“Sorry, I got too close to him. We’ve got some distance now.”

“He said something about it being the wrong thing…”

“He’s got some clothes on, too, which is a bonus.”

“Always,” MacGregor said. “What’s he wearing?”

“I’m not sure. Something like a… workman’s outfit. You know those one piece suits. A boiler suit, I think. It’s a strange color, too, like a sort of pinkish grey. Like salmon colored. A really sick salmon.”

“Shoes?”

“Hmnn, let’s see,” Hunter moved the car closer. Again, MacGregor heard the stranger repeat his curious assortment of words.

“It was the wrong thing,” he spoke slowly and solemnly.

“What was?” Hunter shouted back. “Who are you?”

“The wrong thing,” was the response. MacGregor hadn’t expected anything else.

“They’re like broken records,” MacGregor suggested. “Saying the same thing over and over.”

“Shoes.”

“What kind?”

“Really strange shoes.”

“Are we going to go out and talk to him?” MacGregor asked.

“About what? ‘The wrong thing?’ I don’t even know what that means.”

“It was the wrong thing!”

“Shit, he heard me. I got him excited,” Hunter whispered. “Hold on, we’re getting out of here.”

MacGregor didn’t want to argue. The whole situation was completely unnerving, but the zombie-esque individuals scared him. Hunter had already been forced to kill one of them.

“Alright.”

They left the man in the boiler-suit man. The drive to Tain was otherwise uneventful. MacGregor tried the walkie-talkie several times, but there was no response. Likewise, the car radio failed to lock on to any kind of radio signal. There were no more people, naked or otherwise, wandering around. The only animals Hunter saw, she said, were dead sheep and the remains of a few unfortunate horses. There were, in total, eight dead bodies lying on or around the A9. Hunter suspected that the people had left their cars when the engines had stopped working, only to die when the SOD’s secondary effect had spread outwards.

Tain, in itself, was unremarkable. MacGregor had never been this far north before, but Hunter had shared a drink here with Braverman and Simard before travelling to the Southern Marker’s original position about thirty miles north of where it had moved to.

“This is Tain,” Hunter said. “There isn’t much to it. And now, there’s even less. I think everyone’s dead.”

“So what now? Glasgow?”

“How about a drink?” Hunter suggested. “I could really use one.”

“What about Glasgow?”

“We’ll get there,” she said. “I don’t think there’s any need to rush.”

Hunter kept the Heckler and Koch with her as she exited the Mini. She led MacGregor up three low stone steps to the front entrance of a hotel. The door was locked, but there were glass panes on each side of the door. Hunter asked MacGregor to stand back and then she used the submachine gun’s metal stock to break open the thick glass. It gave on the third strike, breaking into heavy pieces that fell around MacGregor’s feet. Hunter guided him round the glass as they entered the building. The air smelled damp and musty, but there wasn’t the foulness of death that MacGregor had expected. Taking his elbow, Hunter eased him across the reception area towards the bar.

“I expected bodies,” MacGregor said.

“Me too,” Hunter replied. “But they were refurbishing and most of the rooms look like they weren’t in use. Perhaps the place wasn’t open when it happened.”

“There’s nobody here at all?”

“Not that I can see. But this is the bar. Take a seat and I’ll get you a drink. Bottled beer? Spirits?”

He reached behind himself and found the chair she’d led him to. It was a wooden chair with padding and some kind of cloth covering.

“Beer’s fine,” he said.

“Won’t be cold,” she said.

“Feels cold enough in here, anyway. Still think it’s springtime?”

“Yes, definitely. Late April or May. It’s still cold, though. American beer? German? Alcohol free?”

“Now I know you’re joking me,” MacGregor laughed. “Anything but the alcohol free beer.”

He listened to the sound of glasses clinking. A cork being pulled.

“Red wine?”

“White.”

“Not a fan,” he said.

“This is Grolsch,” she said, “will it do?”

“Oh yes,” MacGregor said, “Grolsch will do nicely.”

It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed a Grolsch, but he hadn’t forgotten how to open the unique swing bottle top. The beer was even colder than he had expected.

“Do you know wine?”

“I like Chardonnay, Sauvignon blanc,” Hunter’s voice was indifferent. “Perhaps a French beer if I’m at a barbeque. Those little bottles of beer, you know?”

“I know them,” MacGregor took a long drink from the cold bottle. “That’s good.”

“So tell me how long you were in the Army for?”

“Long enough to know it wasn’t for me. Basic training was six weeks of boot polishing, bed making and trying to avoid getting to know anyone else in the squad. Of course, Fraser wouldn’t have any of that. He thought I was just one of those people who think they’re too good to get along with anyone else. You know the type? It doesn’t matter, but Fraser just wouldn’t quit. During basic he was always ragging on me and provoking me. Trying to wind me up like it was going out of fashion. Eventually I lost my temper and just let him have it. And then, for the first time in about ten years, I was rolling about on the floor of the barracks and fighting someone.”

He laughed out loud and shook his head to clear it. But he kept grinning broadly, unable to shake the heady emotions that were attached to the memory. Grappling with the pushy Northerner had been somehow cathartic. They’d become friends thereafter. The only friend MacGregor would ever really have since the death of his brother.

“You served together in Northern Ireland?”

“Yes. After training we were stationed there. But I was already sick of it by then. Being told what to do. Being shouted at. It wasn’t for me. I think I knew that in the first week of basic training. I really should have quit when I had the chance, but I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t feel that I could.

“We lost a rifle during an exercise one weekend. That’s when the shit really hit the fan. We were sent to the military prison. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. But a whole bunch of people interviewed me about my attitude. My home life came up. My brother. I can’t remember exactly what they were getting at. I just remember trying to shut it all out.”

He took another long drink. He was emptying the bottle quickly. He wondered if Hunter was drinking with him.

“Are you drinking?” he asked. “I can’t hear the glass.”

“I’m drinking,” she said softly. “Listen.”

There was a quiet thud of glass against wood.

“I’m pacing myself,” she said.

“Okay. I just feel weird about drinking if you’re not drinking.”

“I’m not guzzling it down, John, but I’m having a drink. I’ll probably have about half this bottle. Now, is that enough for you?”

Her tone was irritable, he thought. But there was something else he couldn’t identify.

“Sorry,” he repeated.

“You were thrown out of the Army?”

“Not in so many words,” MacGregor said. “After we left the prison we were separated. Both of us sent to different places. I stayed in Northern Ireland. Fraser was sent to West Germany. And that was about it for me. I knew I was going to be getting out of it. So I just kept my head down and went through the motions. And then I met Carol Anne.”

He made a face, almost growling to himself. He regretted mentioning her name, realizing immediately now that he’d have to talk about her. He also realized that he wanted to talk about Carol Anne.

“Shit,” he said, “I mentioned Carol Anne.”

“I saw you make a face,” Hunter spoke softly. “She’s obviously someone very special.”

MacGregor nodded. He finished the beer. Hunter left to get another without asking if he wanted one. She opened the second Grolsch for him, disappointing the tiny part of him that liked the old familiar feeling of popping the unique stopper on the bottle.

“It was a little place called Craigavon not far from the barracks at Portadown. It was the third of July. There was a mini-Twelfth and, as usual, both sides were kicking off.”

“The mini-Twelfth is like a smaller version of the big Orange marches on the twelfth of July. Is that right?”

“Something like that. The Orangemen go for a march through the town. Put up banners, sing songs and all that. The Catholics don’t like it so they come out, too. And we’re in the middle, making sure both sides don’t tear each other apart.”

“So which side was Carol Anne on?”

“Neither,” MacGregor protested. “She wouldn’t have anything to do with any of that old bollocks. She was a protestant, sure, but her dad had worked with a private security company and had lost a hand.”

“He lost a hand? How did that happen?”

“A long time ago. He worked with sheet metal when he was younger. Got too close to one of the machines, he said. Anyway, I remember seeing the spare rubber hands poking out of this wicker umbrella stand so I asked what they were for. Stupid, I know, but it didn’t occur to me they were prosthetics. Her father had a good enough sense of humor about it.”

“About what?”

“About me not realizing that he was missing an arm! I hadn’t noticed that his left hand was artificial until I saw the spares poking out of the rack with the umbrellas and his cane,” he laughed drily. “But Hector was a good sport.”

“How did you meet Carol Anne?”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, how did I meet her. Well, I was in full uniform coming out the back of the pig. Sorry, the pig is like a light armored vehicle. Think of something like a big land rover with heavy metal armor all round it. A big square box of a beast.”

“Pig?”

“Humber Pig,” MacGregor shrugged. “A really old post World War II armored personnel carrier. Anyway, four of us are piling out of the pig in riot gear. Helmets, plastic shields and batons. And it was a really hot July. The mini twelfth had started up and the usual trouble was starting up on Craigavon Bridge. The Orangemen were trying to get across and, of course, the Catholics had come to confront them. The RUC were right in the middle, but they needed back-up and there we were.”

“I can’t remember being afraid, but I would have been now. Back then, I didn’t seem to have any fear. It was almost like I was living inside a shell of myself, peeking out, like my whole body was the armored vehicle and I was riding deep inside it, protected from everything. So I wasn’t scared even when the crowd started to swarm around the pig. And when they started to rock us back and forward, it was like something that was happening to someone else.”

“It sounds quite terrifying.”

“It was. I just didn’t really register it. Not really. But when the back door opened and we were told to get out, I felt afraid then. The noise was incredible. Shouting, screaming, swearing. Pushing and shoving. The odd fist punching against the riot shield. All I could think of was that a petrol bomb was going to hit us. That I was going to burn alive.”

“Were there any petrol bombs?”

“I didn’t see any, but it was always a possibility. The RUC had tried to maintain a line, but obviously it had gotten out of hand. It was the Orangemen, I think, who’d broken through. And not the ones in jeans and T-shirts, either. The real instigators were the ones in black suits and bowler hats. They carried these long black umbrellas that they’d use as pretty effective striking and stabbing weapons. I never understood why we didn’t ban them from carrying those fucking things.”

“Danger, lethal umbrella,” Hunter commented. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled. “Yes, it is a bit ridiculous. But those guys were the ones that started it all off. I had quite a few blows on the helmet from the steel tip of those damned umbrellas.”

MacGregor took another long drink from his bottle. He was feeling the beer’s influence just a little too much. He realized that he hadn’t had enough to eat. He made a mental note to remind himself to ask Hunter for some food once he’d done with his story.

“I had my helmet knocked off,” MacGregor said. “I can’t remember how. I’d lost my shield by then and was just holding onto my baton for dear life. More than anything else, I was worried that if I let it go someone else would batter me with it. I didn’t think to hit back at the crowd. After all, it wasn’t like I was under any kind of specific attack. It literally felt like we’d opened the door of the armored vehicle into a wave of snarling faces, flying fists and shoving bodies.”

“That’s terrifying. But you weren’t scared?”

“Yes,” MacGregor said, “I was. I was almost shi… Well, I was pretty scared. In all honesty, I felt almost… hysterical with it.”

“What about your commanding officer?”

“Nowhere to be seen. His vehicle never made it there. By then the road we’d gone through had been blocked by an overturned milk float. The crowd was growing by the minute. The Royal Ulster Constabulary had about thirty guys there, but they’d fallen back to their Land Rovers. The barrier on the bridge was intact, but only because the RUC Land Rovers were all jammed together with about twelve officers still outside, filling the gaps between the vehicles.”

“But you were the only soldiers?”

“That’s right. Eight of us. Six in the back and two up front. The ones up front got out quick. They made it to the RUC line and were safe there. The others took a bit of a beating. I was the lucky one. Carol Anne was sitting on the wall along with two of her friends. They were sitting eating ice-cream, like they were watching a show. I can’t remember how, but I fought my way through the umbrellas and bowler hats and all the orange sashes until I was running right up to those girls and shouting at them to help me. I remember seeing Carol Anne’s face for the first time. Her friends were running in different directions, but she just sat there holding onto her ice-cream.

“The first thing I noticed were her eyes. The color, yes, but there was something in the set of them that I just… well, I just kind of fell into. That’s really corny, isn’t it?”

“No. What do you mean, though, about the set of the eyes?”

“The way they were looking at me. They were kind of… dreamy. Oh shit, now that does sound fucking lame.”

Hunter was laughing.

“Yes, that does sound lame. She had dreamy eyes. Excellent. But what does dreamy even mean?”

“Can’t believe we’re laughing about shit in the middle of the fucking end of days!” MacGregor said. “I don’t know how to describe it, really. She had those eyes that looked right into you, you know? Like she was seeing everything there was of me without even trying. Like I didn’t have to say a word to her. She could tell I was terrified. And I mean like new-born baby terrified. I felt like it was the first time I’d ever been afraid. And next thing you know, I’m running towards her.”

“Oh wow, now that is romantic and intense. I’m guessing that you ran right into her arms and she led you to safety. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m ruining your story.”

“It’s alright,” MacGregor said, “but that’s not what happened. She ran away from me, back across the bridge.”

“Oh shit, what did you do?”

“I chased after her. I don’t know why. And I was shouting after her to stop. Like, really screaming at her. There’s me in my boots and fatigues, chasing this poor civilian over the bridge and down a side street. And about a dozen people chasing after me, too. She went down one lane and crossed over into another. By then, I’d lost about all the people chasing me. But Carol Anne couldn’t outrun me. I was always a good runner back then. Not fast, exactly, but I could just keep on running all day long. So I caught up with her and cornered her in this sort of drying green place. She was out of breath. I was a bit too, but not too much.

‘Why are you chasing me?’ she asked.

“I can remember that moment really vividly, like it was yesterday,” MacGregor said. “I didn’t know what to tell her. I didn’t know why I’d chased her down the alley. I was just running and it seemed as good a place to run to as any.”

He stopped talking, took a long drink from the bottle and started again.

“That’s not true. I was going to run anyway, but there was something about her. Something kind, I think. I was scared. I thought she’d help. It’s not very masculine, maybe, but…”

“You were getting chased by a gang of lunatics, John. I don’t think that would be the best time to assert your masculinity.”

“Okay, well there she was with her back up against the concrete wall with all this laundry flapping about in the wind right in front of her. I could see that she was frightened. I knew I’d scared her. And that was what brought me back to Earth. I can’t explain it. My fear just disappeared. Just like that. And I felt sorry that I’d frightened her.”

“And then?”

“I told her I was sorry. I told her that I’d never been scared like that before. I also told her that I thought she had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. And I’d never used that word before, when speaking to a girl I mean. Beautiful.”

“Why not?”

“I never spoke to many girls,” MacGregor admitted. “And when I did I just didn’t know what the hell to say. I wasn’t the most confident in my early teens. I had acne like rhubarb and custard just about as soon as I started to get my first pubic hair. It was just disgusting. And I felt disgusting. So I didn’t have much confidence with girls. Sure, there were girls at school I liked. But I didn’t have the confidence to speak to them.”

“So you fell into Carol Anne’s eyes?”

MacGregor laughed inside himself. He nodded slowly.

“Aye, I fell into her eyes. Terrified the hell out of her, though. She just stood there panting, out of breath. And I just stared into her eyes. I remember just staring and staring. And it was like she just melted. Or we both melted. Like we both melted together. I saw her expression change. I watched her fear fading, becoming something else. Compassion, I think. Maybe even sadness. I don’t know. Then she was reaching out to me. Her right hand at the end of a long, slender wrist. She had a charm bracelet on. Dark red painted fingernails to match the rubys on the bracelet. Her hand was so warm. So soft. Her palm and her wrist were red from the running. I didn’t take her hand right away. I just stood there breathing hard, staring at it.”

He lit another cigarette. Hunter asked for one and he handed it over. He lit a second one for himself. His hands were shaking. He didn’t know why.

“Then I heard the shouting. Far away, but not far enough. I realized that they were looking for me. The Orangemen, Loyalists, Catholics. I don’t know who the hell was chasing us. It didn’t matter. I looked into her eyes again and I saw she was questioning herself. She was confused. Then her eyes got all kind of angry and se… and just really kind of cute.”

“Sexy?”

MacGregor felt himself redden.

“Yeah, sexy,” MacGregor smiled, enjoying the cigarette. “Yep, she looked really sexy when she was angry. Anyway, I took her hand and she told me that we needed to get away fast. I wasn’t going to argue. So I took her hand and we ran away together. I didn’t know where she was taking me. I didn’t care. But you know the funny thing? I just felt like I was floating, like in a dream, you know? It even occurred to me that she might even be about to lead me right back to the mob. I couldn’t have cared less. I would have welcomed it then, somehow. I was feeling totally upside down inside my head. I’d have followed her anywhere.”

“What’s that?” Hunter asked.

“What do you…”

“Shh, listen.”

MacGregor stopped talking. He strained his ears to hear what Hunter was referring to. Then he heard it. A scuffling sound, like a dog trying to open a door.

“What’s that?” MacGregor whispered.

“Shh…”

The sound was coming from somewhere not too far away. Inside the building, if not the bar itself. MacGregor had no idea how large the room was, but he guessed that this bar was larger than the Albert bar in Glasgow.

“A dog?” MacGregor whispered. “That’s a dog. Those are…”

“Shhh! John, Jesus!”

He shut up once and for all. He heard the familiar sound of the submachine gun being lifted up, the metallic clicks as Hunter checked the safety catch and prepared the weapon for firing. He heard the scratches now, louder. He dropped his cigarette to the carpet, twisting the sole of his boot on it to extinguish the last embers.

“There’s someone outside,” Hunter spoke softly. “There’s a shadow at the door. Someone’s trying to get in.”

“Shit, I hope they have some fucking clothes on,” MacGregor said.

The scratching at the door continued. MacGregor wondered why it was even closed. And the sound was in the wrong place. He remembered entering the bar from the other side of the room. He realized there was a second door. A side door, presumably.

“Is the door locked?”

“I don’t know,” Hunter said.

“Who the fuck is it?” MacGregor whispered.

“I’m going to replace out,” Hunter said. “Wait here.”

“Fuck, no. I’m coming with you.”

“Okay, stay behind me.”

He followed Hunter as she left the table. The scratching continued. There were words now, too. He didn’t know what they were, but he could tell that the figure outside was speaking. Hunter moved quietly towards the door and he went with her. The scratching continued. Soon, he could make out the odd word or two. Like the other people they’d encountered, it seemed that this stranger was also speaking gibberish.

“What’s he saying?”

“Something about people,” Hunter whispered back. “Two people, or something like that. Should I open the door?”

“He knows we’re in here.”

“Does he?”

MacGregor thought about it. The scratching seemed insistent. Whoever was out there wanted to get in.

“He wants in.”

“Okay. So do we let him scratch away or let him in?” Hunter mused. “Hold on a minute. I’m going to listen at the door.”

“Shit, be careful.”

Hunter shuffled in to position at the door.

“He’s saying something about two people,” Hunter said. “Come and listen. I don’t think he can see us through the glass.”

MacGregor felt her pull at him. He allowed himself to be moved gently towards the door, even though the scratching and clawing made his skin crawl.

“You and you,” the stranger spoke softly. “Two people. Someone. Two of you. Another”.

“Another broken record,” MacGregor whispered.

“You know, that’s exactly what they’re like,” Hunter said. “It’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t have used that word, exactly,” MacGregor said. “I don’t think we should open the door. I don’t see the point.”

“You’re right. But I don’t want to sit in here listening to him scratching at the door. There’s a small function room next door. We’ll move there. I’ll try to replace us something to eat.”

“Okay. That sounds good.”

MacGregor continued to think about Carol Anne. Her eyes, her smile and the touch of her hand. The square face. Her mouth. Soft lips, often slightly parted, always inviting. Hunter held his hand now as they moved through to the function room. He carried his almost empty beer bottle with him and another in each deep pocket of the jacket. Hunter closed the door behind them. She tried the light switch a few times and cursed when, of course, it didn’t work.

“It’s a little bit dark in here,” she said. “I’ll need to open the curtains here. Take a seat here for a minute.”

He did as he was asked. He listened to her fumbling with the stuck curtains. Her hand had felt warm and good as she’d guided him into the room. He found himself wondering why she hadn’t used his elbow, as she’d done before. But her touch had felt good.

“What can I do to help?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just relax. I’ve managed to get some light in. But it’s getting later than I thought. It looks like the light’s actually beginning to fade.”

“Oh wow, I thought we had way more time than that. Should we have just gone to Glasgow then instead of faffing about here?”

She returned to the table. He heard her thump the bottle of wine down.

“I don’t know what’s waiting for us there,” she said, somewhat stoically. “At least we’re safe here for now. This is a hotel, so there will be rooms we can spend the night in. There will be food here somewhere, too. Stuff we can eat besides the army rations. How are you doing for food? Hungry?”

“I could eat,” MacGregor shrugged. “Embarrassingly, I need to go to the bathroom first.”

“Oh,” Hunter sounded taken aback. “Umm, number one or…”

“Pee pees,” MacGregor said.

There was a long second of silence. Then she started to laugh. It started as a stifled, choking sound. Almost like she was starting to cry. Then the laughter exploded out of both of them, unstoppable and infectious.