“Pass it over, Esme,” he said. “And when I get out, you take the driver’s seat. Don’t wait to see what happens - you drive.”
Nat pulled over to the side of the road as the car approached, using the time to explain to Esme the route across the border that Stuart had given them. He lowered his window allowing the driving rain to enter the Jeep as the second car loomed closer at pace. The car only seemed to notice the Jeep late and had to break hard, skidding to a stop. All the occupants of the Jeep sighed with relief as they recognised the small Nissan next to them.
The window came down and out came the familiar voice of their neighbour from two miles down the road,
“Oh, Nat, thank God we found you. They came to our house, six of them. They wrecked the house, taking everything and anything; they beat Bob over and again; and, they are coming back with a truck for our diesel. Bob’s in a bad way, Nat. Please help us?”
“Calm down, Jean, we’ll take you to the hospital now…” said Esme.
“No, Esme,” shouted Nat. “No, we can’t spare the time; we have to get you to safety.” He looked across at Jean and asked, “Can he walk?”
“No, Nat. I think they broke his leg or his ankle or something, but his ribs are damaged too and look at his face...he needs a doctor!”
“Ok, turn round, Nat,” Esme butted in. “Take me back to the house with Bob and Jean; I’ll patch him up and take him into hospital in Newcastle. I’ll leave them there and make sure I’m back for you in a couple of hours. Go on, we’ll be OK. Otherwise, Stuart will be waiting; you can’t get hold of him now - he will have left. Go, Nat! Get Amber to safety.”
Nat looked at the old couple, and, while he cared for them, he didn’t want to leave his wife. Esme pounced on his hesitation, exclaiming,
“Come on, Nat! We haven’t got time for this! I won’t leave these people.”
Nat bowed to the pressure from his wife, his mind chaos.
“Ok, Jean, go on up to the house, I’m turning round.”
He spun the wheel and turned in one motion, riding onto the grassy verge at the side of the road. The wheels tore up the sodden ground, but the heavy tires found traction and the Jeep began to move with a lolloping action.
At the house, they made Bob and Jean comfortable in the kitchen, Amber remained in the Jeep, and Nat stood next to the open driver’s door as it idled. Esme approached him to see him off, and her beauty gripped his heart like a vice. His head was a mess, and he did not know what to do for the best, but his wife had serenity, a confidence that reassured him.
“Get her to safety, Nat; that’s the most important thing. We’ll be out of the house for most of the time you’re away anyway. You’ll only be a couple of hours.”
Nat saw the flash of fear in those beautiful green eyes, and he gripped her shoulders.
“They come back, you take this.” He held up a lighter. “And, you light that fuse poking out of the floorboards in the hallway. Then you get out of there, head up the hill to our place and wait for me there. Do it, Esme, with or without Bob and Jean. You stay safe, woman.”
“Don’t be soft, Nat. I won’t need that.”
“Take it anyway.”
Nat had one foot in the idling jeep; he turned with one large hand on the door.
“You use it, Esme, if you need to.”
Reluctantly, she put the lighter in her pocket and moved in close to Nat; she hugged him tight and kissed him hard on the mouth.
“I love you, Nat.”
“Don’t worry. You stay safe, and I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
He climbed into the Jeep fully and closed the door behind him; the window was open from earlier, and Esme approached it and put her hands on the frame. Nat took her hand and squeezed it looking at her face. It was taut with stress, glimmering in the dull light; he had nothing more to say, he didn’t have any answers or any time to think this through. He just had to go and get back as soon as he could. He attempted a smile and released her hand. She stepped back, and then she saw Amber in the back and was overwhelmed by love once again; she pulled open the heavy door and grabbed the young woman's face in both hands.
“You listen to your Dad and Stuart, do whatever they say…ok?”
Amber nodded.
They both smiled, and Esme kissed her daughter’s face over and over again. Then reluctantly allowing her hands to slip away from her daughter’s cheeks, she closed the door and took a few paces backwards with tears welling in her eyes.
Nat’s battered old jaw formed as near a smile as it was ever going to manage and with a nod he slammed his foot on the accelerator. The village of Great Whittington was quiet as he passed through. A little too quiet for this time of night.
There was an eerie orange glow in the middle distance to the southeast. It was too close to be the lights of Newcastle, and he guessed that it was the paper factory at Prudhoe burning. As he passed the Errington Arms, also boarded up and closed, he entered the dark void heading north, and he thought about the revolution that had swept the country. How unbelievable it would have been twenty years ago to suggest this would be happening now. Although, he conceded to himself, he had witnessed the meltdown over recent years.
His attention was shocked back to the road by the steady stream of cars he came up behind. The silver fans of headlights and red dot eyes of the tail lights wound over the undulations of the straight road for miles, and Nat hoped that the border was still open for all these people trying to escape. As he followed the convoy, he could see Amber nodding off in the rear view mirror. It reminded him of her early years when he used to angle the mirror so that he could watch her playing or sleeping in the back of the car while he drove. Esme was heavy on his mind, the traffic was a pain, and he ground his teeth in frustration.
The squeak and whoosh of the wipers was the soundtrack to the journey. The mesmerising view of the white lines flashing into sight through the rain and being devoured in the same instant by his jeep made him drift off, but the wrinkles of the road whipped his concentration back.
The straight ribbon of road and lights came to an abrupt end, temporarily, as he came upon the brow of the hill that looks down towards Otterburn. They would be turning left at the crossroads towards Bellingham and Kielder instead of right to Otterburn or straight ahead to the Carter Bar. It was this dark wilderness of the border country in which they would lose themselves. Now, off the main road, the night outside the car was black as death, but the rain had broken and he could see some stars penetrating the churning cloud cover. ‘Good news,’ he thought, drier and lighter for the walk ahead of them.
They were alone on the road now, and Nat could feel the looming emptiness of Kielder reservoir on his right. He opened his window, and he could feel and smell that cold air, heavy with moisture that comes from a large body of water. He sucked up the fresh, invigorating ether; it normalised the situation.
After a few short minutes, he saw the lights of a home on the left and the shadowy outline of the stone bridge on the right. He pulled into the side of the road well short of the house and turned the headlights off.
He turned to Amber, “This is it, lass. C’mon.”
She nodded and opened her door with a crunch and a creak. Nat jumped down from the driver’s seat. He moved around the front of the Jeep and went to step up on to the grass verge but his foot slipped on the sodden bank, and he tripped and tumbled into the ditch. Amber jumped from the truck and scrambled down to him. When she found him in the dark, he was chortling to himself and had his hand out.
“Well, help me up then, girl. I’m in this mud like a plug in the bath!”
She shook her head and laughed. Clapping her hand tight to his, she said,
“You auld codger - what’ll you do without me around?”
“We’ll be with you by the time you’re awake in the morning.”
Nat wiped himself down, took the pack from his daughter, and they set out in the cold night air, at home and in control. Their eyes were now ma
king use of what light there was and the world of shadows unravelled in front of them step by step.
The road continued straight for about two hundred yards then veered sharp right over the old stone bridge. Straight ahead at this point was a rough track which led straight past the house that they could see, lights on and occupied.
Nat whispered to Amber, “Head up the track, but stay in the shadows; we don’t know who’s home, and if they’re nervous, we could end up shot.”
As they walked along the track, Nat nudged Amber and pointed to the fence on the right. The field behind dropped away some ten feet, ample to conceal them from view. They hurried down into the field and, once they were moving through the boggy grass, they both became more relaxed, the smells and the feel of the land around them and the freedom of the endless sky above.
The wind swirled and beat them, but without biting or soaking, and they moved quickly through the ankle high grass. They followed the burn that took Nat’s family name, a nod to centuries past when his ancestors would have trod this path on raids north of the border.
The burn was bridged by the rough track that they had left, and the two ghostly figures ducked under the low crossing. The stream led them left along the extremity of a thick immature conifer forest. They kept out of the trees; there was no need for cover, and the going was much easier in the grass.
As they turned north once more, the trees ended and they were running in the open, but Nat felt a change in the symphony of the night - there was an alien presence, and it was huge. Similar to the sense of the dark void that was Kielder, this was an elephant in the room. And then it materialised: out of the black loomed a shadow against the sky. Nat slowed and walked up to a concrete pillar which rose at least three metres upwards. He felt the cold concrete, as if to convince himself the thing was real. He thought for a minute then looked to his right. He could not see anything in the dark, but he set off striding out about a yard or a metre, the usual way. He counted ‘one, two, three’ as he stepped and after five strides he hit another pillar. Evidently, the NSO were certainly planning on closing the border; once the concrete slabs were set in between each of these pillars, no one would be crossing the border.
Nat thought about all those cars heading towards the Carter Bar, and he didn’t fancy their chances of getting through tonight. He noticed history repeating itself; the English building a wall to keep the Scots at bay once more. He realised the threat of a Scottish invasion must be real for the NSO. A chill ran down his spine as he thought of Esme at home; he whistled to Amber, and they set off running north again.
They ran through open ground now, occasionally startling livestock, which kept their hearts pounding. After another mile, they hit the dirt track which cut across their path and Nat tugged Amber’s sleeve to say ‘This way’.
The track was about ten feet wide and ran straight through thick mature coniferous forest to either side. It was relatively clear, but there was no light getting past the giant spiny trees on either side. Nat and Amber moved forward slowly opening their eyes as wide as they could to access as much light as possible. Even though their eyes were used to the dark by now, they could see virtually nothing and the going was rough, stumbling and tripping step after step. Nat was holding his daughter’s arm. He could feel fatigue setting in. He also began to worry that they were on the wrong path, and he was heading away from Stuart into a thick forest. There was no sky, no view and no way to find his bearings. Getting lost would be a seriously stressful waste of time as he was desperate to get back to his farm.
Suddenly, the forest burst into bright white light, and they fell to their knees shielding their eyes. Nat saw the soles of his daughter's feet disappear into the trees. He snatched himself up to his feet and followed, throwing himself over a fallen tree and crawling along the trunk in an attempt to disguise their position. He stopped and squinted into the alien light, with wet moss between his fingers and wafts of peaty foliage filling his nostrils. They heard a car door open, and his hand gripped the handle of his hunting knife.
“Whit the feck are ye dein’ Nat, ye auld barst’d,” came the exaggerated Scottish wail through the trees. Nat shook his head and got to his feet, as Amber chortled and ran over to Stuart and hugged him.
Nat had first met his old friend in the 1990’s in the Carts Bog, a pub as old as time. They fought over a woman on their first meeting and spent years at loggerheads. Yet, when Esme’s father died Stuart turned up on the farm and offered to help with the lambing. After this, their friendship evolved into a brotherhood, and they had never let each other down in all the years since.
The big man put Amber gently back down and looked at Nat. In his natural borders lilt he said,
“Where's Es?”
“She stayed, some trouble with the neighbours...” Nat replied.
“Don’t you waste any time now, pal. You get back to Esme. And Nat, don’t be foolish - get your wife and head on back up here, just for a few weeks while all this settles. Look…”
“Yes, man,” Nat replied as he stepped forward and clenched hands with Stuart, and with his free arm he embraced his friend. Then he turned to Amber and swept her into his arms and held her tight. He stroked her hair and kissed her head.
“You stay with Stu now; we’ll be back with you by tomorrow. Listen to Stuart.”
She nodded once more, but Nat saw the devil flash across her face. She wanted to fight.
He nodded to Stuart, turned back down the track and ran off into the darkness.
He jogged all the way back to the Jeep and jumped into the driver’s side breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead. His was the only vehicle heading south on the A68 winding round and over the hills. There was a steady stream heading north, but only his four wheel drive heading towards the NSO. As he switched the radio on it was like stepping back in time: the stations were the same, the songs were the same, and the presenters sounded the same. It was only when the news bulletin came on that there was any evidence of the NSO’s influence over the country. Nat listened with horror as he heard the good news stories: the NSO fund new industry, new schools, more doctors...there was no mention of the land redistribution, the chaos in the countryside.
His confusion grew as he began to question whether he had any right to fight the redistribution at all. It seemed like the rest of society was happy with this regime, it seemed as though he was swimming against the tide that was far greater than him. He began to contemplate co-operation if he could stay on his farm. The vice-like pressure on his temples eased as he thought that there may be some positive outcome ahead. At that moment, he decided to broach the meeting with the NSO the next morning constructively.
Once again his car swept passed the Errington Arms, about five miles from his home, all was dark, and all was quiet. The orange glow from the paper factory fire remained strong, but the night looked quite beautiful because of it.
All of a sudden, to the northeast, the sky lit up like a super nova. The first fireball rose up into the night and then it was engulfed by an almighty inferno which grew like a black, orange and yellow mushroom belching upwards and outwards.
His throat constricted, his stomach turned over, his chest began to hurt, and his hands grew numb on the steering wheel as his head told his body that the explosion was his house and his wife.
The car swerved as he regained some composure and gunned the big vehicle as fast as he could. With the big tires and soft suspension playing his control at every corner, he struggled to keep the vehicle on the road. He managed to get within a few yards of his gates when a white car came screaming out of his driveway. Nat’s headlights flooded the car with light, he saw five ghostly faces. Faces full of menace and adrenalin. Faces from hell. Nat shuddered as he recognised those who were closest; the boy who had squared up to him the night he had fought with them and the scrawny one who had hidden in the shadows. Both had been in his kitchen the day they visited on behalf of the NSO.
His eyes briefly followed the re
d tail lights disappearing away down the road. Then he slammed his foot on the accelerator and turned into his drive clipping the back of the Jeep on the old stone gate post as the car fishtailed. He watched his house burn as he sped up the straight road. Misjudging his speed, he slammed on the breaks and skidded on the gravel in front of the house crashing into a blue Toyota that was parked in front. He didn’t recognise the car. Realising there were still intruders there, he grabbed the axe from the foot well of the passenger side of the Jeep.
Nat looked at the inferno, shielding his face from the heat. The blustering wind fanned the flames that twisted, licking the night’s sky like satanic whips drawing blood in the form of a million sparks splashing out of the darkness.
The house was already a ruin; the roof had either blown off in the explosion or collapsed due to the flames, the rafters were black and broken like giant charcoal sticks. There was no evidence that there had ever been doors or windows in the house and the side wall had completely collapsed. It lay as rubble. Huge stones that once had been part of the structure lay all around.
The heat blistered his face, but he couldn’t stop looking. Surely Esme ran, surely she was in the barn or better the top wood. He knew she was; he just knew it.
He ran around the front of the house taking the wide swing around the collapsed flank wall. The inferno was raging in the wind; he looked into the molten mass, and it was like the belly of hell.
It was light enough to see but golden, flickering with thick shadows and sparks everywhere. He rounded the corner into the farmyard, and the scene hit him like a juggernaut: it was like a war zone with flames and rubble everywhere.
At his feet lay a man with a close range shotgun wound to the chest. His face was serene with death, but the bloody mess of his chest was visceral and horrific. Nat stopped for a second digesting this new reality.
He looked again and there, just outside the back of the house, lay a charred corpse, obviously caught by the explosion. He started over to the body with his stomach in his mouth, working on instinct now with no comprehension. He could see trainers on the feet of the body and his hope was revived. Yet, the horror of those hands mummified by the flames, the shrunken sinews pulling fingers into claw-like remnants caused him to turn away briefly in shock, but soon enough his eyes were trained back on the blackened face flesh melted tight into a satanic scream.
The Border Reiver Page 4
