He sat and ate the fruit and watched the rain. Through the fog of fatigue he couldn't help but feel amazement creep through him. Everything was so
alive
. He watched the rain pitting the surface of the pool and reached out to let the water flow between his fingers.
ɵ
If he thought he had been stiff when he woke the day before, it was nothing compared to how he felt after waking up from a night sleeping outside, on rock, in wet clothes. He managed to sit up before the trembling started. His teeth chattered and every muscle protested as he wrapped his arms round his knees and rocked back and forth, trying to warm up. He peered out into the grey dawn, fog wreathed amongst the trees like ghosts and he wondered if perhaps he should give it up and go back. Whatever the facility was, they had wanted him alive. There would be food and dry clothes. Maybe he had overreacted...
But he shook his head. Something wasn
’t right there. If he hadn't been a prisoner he had been about to become one and he didn't like the memory of the medic's needle, not one bit.
He had to get back to the
Zero
. He could
figure everything else out from there. If he'd just busted himself out of a specialist medical facility, well, he could apologise later.
He tottered out into the morning, still shivering though not so violently and, for lack of anything better to do, began to follow the stream downhill. As the sun strengthened he warmed and began to move a little easier though his hunger and thirst were both back with a vengeance. He drank from the stream and came across another crop of brambles but the aching from his insides demanded more.
He kept moving. He had to pause for rests and stopped himself several times from going to check his wrist panel. His feet padded over the pine needles and he wove between the trees like a zombie, letting the incline take him downhill.
Light that ebbed and sparkled up ahead brought him out of his dazed wandering some hours later.
Stumbling forward, he finally came to the edge of the trees. He stood blinking and steadying himself against a trunk. A stony shore, narrow and steep, rolled down to a lake with a surface still as a mirror, dark water reflecting the blue sky and scudding clouds. A series of jagged hills rolled up on the far side, all grey grass and black stone. The huge metal blades of wind turbines spun soundlessly on the far side of the hill. It was wild and silent and amazing.
He
stared until another cramp from his stomach brought him back to himself. He glanced up at the sun and tried to figure out whereabouts on Earth he might be but without being sure of the season he was struggling. He'd have to wait for the stars.
He glanced up the shore and tried to judge the distance around the lake to the turbines, feeling his heart sink. But as he looked further up the shore he made out a squat hut perched at the tree line, built from stone which was the same colour as the shore. There was an aerial and a rusted dish on the roof but no flyer, no car... just a wooden dinghy bobbing at a crumbling jetty. There was smoke rising from the chimney.
He approached it from within the trees, smelling the wood smoke as he got closer. When he drew level he tried to peer in the windows but ducked behind a tree as the door opened and a man stepped out. He was old, tall but thick-set with age, face obscured by a white beard and a faded cap. He closed the door and crunched off down the shore, disappearing around a bend in the tree line. Webb hung in the shadows a moment longer to make certain he had gone and then made his way down over the stones towards the hut.
The door wasn't locked. It opened onto a large room, deliciously warm from a low fire in a stone grate, with o
ne door leading to a room in the back and a ladder up to a mezzanine under the rafters. There was a battered sofa and mismatched armchair, something he guessed was a stove, though he hadn't seen anything of the like except in pictures, and shelves full of clutter: plates, shells, bundles of net and piles and strings of mysterious objects he assumed were fishing gear. There was net hung on the walls and paintings of the lake and boats. There was no wall display or workstation.
He began pulling open cupboards. All the food was in tins, dry or uncooked. He felt frustration building until he happened upon a bowl of fruit. He grabbed an apple and started biting into it just as he heard the sound of boots on stone.
He swallowed, choking as quietly as he could and cast about. He tried the inner door but it was locked. With nothing else for it he scrambled up the ladder onto the mezzanine and sat in the shadows at the end of a large bed, as far back from the edge as he could. He heard the door open and shut. His heart pounded. He glanced about. There was a skylight over the bed. Clutching the apple in his teeth he started to crawl towards it.
“
You know, son, if you needed help you only had to ask.”
Webb froze.
“Come out now, lad. I'm not gonna hurt you.”
Webb hesitated then, knowing his only other option was scrambling out the skylight and back into the forest, stood and came back to the top of the ladder. The old man had taken his cap off and was stood there with his fists on his hips. He wasn't as old as he had thought, he just had the skin of someone who had spent years in real weather. When Webb came into sight his tanned face flattened under it's beard and he openly stared. Then he gathered himself and beckoned him down.
“Come down lad. You look like you need more than an apple.” Webb climbed back down the ladder, munching, but hung back. The old man cast him a glance as he started opening cupboards. “What's the matter, lad? I don't bite.”
“
Who are you?”
“
To you?” he said, looking him up and down with a lopsided grin. “Saviour, I'd say.” Webb took another bite of the apple. “You can call me Mac. You from the Medic Centre?”
“
Medic Centre?”
Mac looked up from an ancient refrigeration unit with a narrow glance.
“Aye. Over the hill? You're wearing one of their coats.”
“
I guess...” Webb said carefully as Mac started chopping what Webb realised was real meat.
“
What happened? Deserter?” Webb shifted, scouring his brain for a credible lie then Mac glanced at him and smiled. “Don't worry, lad. Just being nosy.” His gaze raked over his dirty clothes and bare feet. “To tell the truth, I’m mostly wondering what kind of life you've come from that made you feel you had to steal food rather than ask for it.”
Something shifted inside Webb and a rush of cold ran through him. Mac didn't press him.
“Come on, you look bloody pathetic just standing there like that. If you're not gonna help, get yourself up the ladder and have a look in the chest at the end of the bed. Some of my old clothes in there. They'll be too big for you,” he said with another glance at him. “But they're dry at least.”
Webb took another step towards the ladder and paused.
“Why are you helping me?”
Mac's chopping never paused.
“Not used to getting help, huh?”
“
Not from people that don't owe me.”
The old man looked up. His eyes were ice blue and seemed to look right into his head.
“Well, you don't have to trust me. But make your mind up before I cook too much.”
Webb examined him as he went back to chopping. He had started heating a pan on the weird stove and the smell of cooking meat filled the cabin. Webb climbed back up the ladder, stomach like a stone weighting his insides. By the time he had pulled out a pair of trousers (too big but with the medic's belt on the tightest hole they just about stayed up) and a threadbare jumper, he was feeling light headed again. It was only as he was pulling the jumper over his head he went to clutch for his crucifix to discover it, like everything else, was gone. He paused in the shadows with his hand at his throat feeling more lost than ever but shook it away. It took him a while to get back down the ladder where Mac gestured to the sofa then handed him a steaming bowl and a spoon.
It burnt his mouth but he didn't care.
“
Slow down lad or you'll just throw it all back up again.”
Mac sat in the armchair eating his own dinner and openly watching. Webb was too hungry to care and didn't look up until the bowl was scraped clean.
“Better?”
Webb nodded, wiping his mouth.
“Fuck, that's good. Real meat?”
Mac smiled.
“I hunt my own.”
“
You live out here all alone?”
“
Just me and the fish and the deer,” Mac said, finishing off his last mouthful. “Apart from the occasional student wandering in the woods for samples.”
“
Students?”
Mac stared at him.
“Aye. From the Medic Centre. Didn't you come from there?”
Webb went still. He knew where he was. “The
Service
Medic Training Centre? In the Highlands?”
“
That's right. You could spit on the Academy from the top of Bidean nam Bian.” He nodded out the window towards the lonely, grey mountain on the other side of the lake then put his bowl aside, frown even heavier. “What exactly happened to you, lad? Don’t you know where you are?”
Webb shook his head and rubbed his temples.
“This doesn't make any sense...”
“
You're telling me.”
Webb rubbed his head, trying to force his thoughts to line themselves up but then noticed Mac was staring out over his shoulder.
“Speak of the devil.”
Webb glanced out the kitchen window, saw Service uniforms, cursed and flung himself on the floor.
“Not company you're wanting, then?”
“
I can't explain,” he muttered, crawling to the lake-view window. “I have no idea what's going on… I just know I can't let them find me.”
Mac looked to the door as someone knocked. Webb swore again and fiddled with the catch on the window.
“Relax,” Mac said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Here.” He stepped to the door in the wall, took a key from a hook and unlocked it. The knocking came again as he pulled it open. “Get in.”
Webb stared hard at him. But the knocking came again and he rushed in. Mac closed and locked the door behind him. Webb stood in the dark, breathing in the taste of dust. He put his eye to a crack in the wood just as Mac opened the front door.
“Good morning, sir,” one of the Servicemen said. “We're sorry to disturb you.”
“
What do you want?”
“
We're looking for an escaped prisoner,” the same man replied. “Ran away yesterday.”
“
Prisoner?”
“
He's a patient. Quite unwell. Mentally unstable. Could be dangerous.”
“
And you let him escape?”
There was an embarrassed pause.
“Have you seen anything, sir?”
“
Can't help you. Get it sorted. I don't want to be wandering around the forest with an escaped lunatic.”
“
No one's taken any of your vehicles?”
Mac shook his head.
“Just come back from my garage. Nothing amiss.”
There was a pause. Webb tried to see past Mac but he couldn't make out the Servicemen's expressions.
“You have the Centre's comm number if you see anyone or hear anything?”
“
I do,” Mac said. “Anything else?”
“
Thank you for your time.”
Webb stepped back, blinking as Mac unlocked the door again.
“I'm not even going to ask,” he said, shaking his head. “Just promise me you're not going to slit my throat in my sleep, huh?”
Webb came out, rubbing his forehead.
“You know as much as me,” he muttered. “Though, no, whatever sort of patient I was, I wasn't that sort. At least, I don't think so...”
Mac peered at him again and
Webb felt a watery grin spread over his face.
Mac
shook his head. “I know enough to know when I don't want to know the answers. You're welcome to stay as long as you need and I won't ask questions. Just don't do anything stupid like get me involved, okay?”
Webb frowned again as Mac cleared the bowls into a sink.
“Why are you doing this?”
“
Haven't we covered this already?” Webb searched the older man’s face and then his own gut but found nothing unnerving in either. “Besides,” Mac continued. “It's not as if you have much of a choice, is it?”
“
I guess not.”
“
You got a name?”
“
Webb,” he said.
“
A colony orphan, huh? Figures,” Mac said, nodding. “Now come on. Since you're here, help me draw some water. You look like you spent the night in a cave.”
Webb answered Mac's grin with his own and followed him outside.
“Wow,” Webb said, leaning over the water pump.
“
What?”
“
Nothing,” Webb said, jiggling the handle. “Just didn't think anyone lived like this any more.”