Black Tide (14 page)

Toby crept quietly down a corridor heading to the huge garage he had seen with Tom, trying hard to remember where he was in the vast bunker. Suddenly he froze; he could hear someone angrily shouting and a banging noise coming from somewhere nearby. He listened again. One of the voices seemed familiar. Sliding round the corner, Toby peered through the window of what seemed like a prison cell. There inside, banging with a metal cup on the wall, was Carl, the driver of the Land Rover Toby had taken.

Carl? How did he get here?

Toby bobbed under the window and sneaked a look inside the next cell. There, on a narrow metal bed, sat the driver of the white van, looking very pleased as he gobbled up a large plate of hot pie and chips.

“Eh – you? It’s you! You wee maggot!” Carl had come to his window and spied Toby. “I know you!” he shouted. “You’re the wee toad that stole my Landie. If I get my hands on you, you’ll be sorry you ever set eyes on that truck!”

Toby didn’t wait to reply but sped on up the corridor and through a metal door into the garage. It was more like a small aircraft hangar with its tall curved roof
and big doors at the bottom end. Toby crouched in the shadow of a large lorry, watching out for men. There were mainly green army Land Rovers parked alongside the skidoos, but also there were a couple of big lorries, and a white van.

The white van? That must be Carl’s mate’s van, the one we were following from Fort William. Why have they captured that?

Just then, two of the soldiers appeared out of a side door, and slung a couple of bags into the open back of the van.

They must be taking the van on the mission. That’s clever! They’ll be using it to get inside this New Caledonia place, to fool the guards.

Two other soldiers appeared and got into one of the green Land Rovers, banging the doors shut. Toby heard the noise of an engine starting.

They must be leaving – I’d better get going.

He ducked and dived behind the lorries and trucks until he reached the white van and then, glancing around him, jumped into the back. Wriggling under a bench seat, Toby pulled an old blanket around him. Now all he had to do was wait.

It seemed like ages as he lay there trying to slow his breathing. Were they taking the van? Or was he going to be left behind? As he was beginning to think that he had made a big mistake, he heard voices. It was Bill and Simon, and they were discussing the route to Stirling. One man got into the cab of the van and the door slammed shut. The engine revved into life and they started to move. There was the sound of the
huge metal doors opening, and then the van picked up speed.

Toby’s stomach lurched as the van headed up a ramp, bumping him around in the back. He was on the way to Stirling now.

Bright winter sunlight flooded in through the rear window. Toby hadn’t realised what time of day it was; it was easy to lose all track of time in the bunker. Judging by the lowness of the light, it was early afternoon. It would soon be dark.

Toby began to feel sick, as the driver threw the van around corners and raced along the country lanes at speed. He tried to think of a plan for when he arrived at New Caledonia but he couldn’t concentrate. He braced himself against the struts of the bench, holding his breath with every lurch and bump, scared that the driver might hear him gasping.

What am I going to do? How am I going to find Dad and Sylvie? And what will I do when I’ve found them?

The journey seemed to go on and on forever, but just when Toby thought his stomach wouldn’t be able to take much more, they lurched to a halt. He heard muffled voices calling out in the dark. The driver wound down his window and shouted something gruffly. The van started up again, slowly moving and then manoeuvring around until it came to a stop and the driver turned the engine off. Toby peeped from under the blanket just in time to see the driver hide the van keys behind the sun visor, before getting out of the van and closing the door quietly. Then there was silence.

Toby lay for a while, wondering what to do. Was it safe to leave the van? Or was there someone out there? He had to take the risk and look. He wriggled out from under the bench, his legs stiff and cramped, then crawled over the front seats and into the driver’s place. He peered out of the windscreen into the murky darkness. The van appeared to be parked in a large car park alongside a fleet of lorries and white vans. He could just make out the sentry post they had passed through. Two large men stood with their backs to him, hunched with cold, staring into a fiery brazier burning with coals. As the heat-hazy light threw shadows onto them, Toby could see the AK47 rifles slung over their shoulders.

Where am I? This place looks enormous.

There was no sign of the driver, so Toby got out very carefully and slunk round the back of the van. He realised that he was in the car park of what looked like a huge castle with towering walls and batteries looming up to his left.

This must be Stirling Castle!

He remembered passing the place when he and his family had travelled down to Glasgow to see his grandma. He had wanted to explore the melodramatic castle with its lofty buildings and fortifications, all perched on a huge rocky cliff high above the main road.

There was a large parade ground in front of the castle, leading to the main gateway. He wouldn’t be able to get through there as the open ground gave him no cover, and he reckoned there must be guards there, too.

There must be an easier entrance.

The van was parked with its back to a wall in which there was a narrow wrought iron gate swinging off its hinges. Toby crawled along the gravel to the gate and slipped through onto the grass on the other side.

Oh no, a cemetery, and in the dark too.

Toby flashed his torch on. He’d have to take the risk of someone seeing the light; he wasn’t brave enough to crawl through a graveyard at night. All around him stood lines of stones sticking up like rows of giant black teeth. Some of the gravestones were decorated on top with Celtic crosses, urns, and one even had a huge angel, wings aloft, staring down at him with empty eyes. He moved quickly through the broken ground, tripping over tussocks of long grass in his haste to get out of the cemetery.

I’ll go round the back of the castle. There may be an entrance there that’s not guarded. After all, Cerberus managed to find a way into Fort George.

Toby stopped and held his breath. Could he hear something snuffling about in the bushes beside the wall? No, he must be imagining it. He started slowly picking his way round a stone slab which had slipped off a grave and lay crookedly across the grass.

Hope the person inside doesn’t fall out, too!

“AH!” Toby screamed. A large gloved hand grabbed him by the shoulder. Out of the darkness stepped a short thick-set man in a black balaclava and dark clothes.

“Got yer!” he cried. “Yer coming with me!”

The man twisted Toby’s arm behind his back and marched him, stumbling, back across the cemetery to
the main entrance of the castle. They passed across a dry moat and under an archway, the man’s head-torch bobbing a light in front of them. At the other side of another bridge sat a large stone gatehouse from which light spilled onto the flagged pavement. The man threw Toby roughly to the ground.

“What yer gone and caught this time, Bert?” someone called out from inside the gatehouse.

“Looks like a minnow to me!” called another. Laughter spilt out into the night. Toby kept his face down because he didn’t want to be recognised; some of these men might have seen him at Fort George. But then he heard a voice he knew.

“Wait! Let me have a good look at him!” It was the Captain of the raiders. He tugged Toby’s head up by his hair. “That’s the lad who got away from us and nicked McNaught’s boat, too. He was furious. Think you’ve just used up another of your lives, cat-boy!”

The other men roared with laughter and came out of the guardhouse to get a better look at this lad with nine lives, who had dared to do such things.

“Take him straight to the General. He’ll be very interested to meet this one. Maybe he can use him to get his dad to talk!” barked the Captain. Two men dragged Toby across a large sloping courtyard towards an arch bridging the corner. This had a crenellated roof and gothic windows in its side. Peering out of one of the windows, caught in the glimmering lights of the men’s torches, was a small pale face encircled with fair gossamer hair.

Jamie!

“Get a move on!” one of the men grunted at him, pushing him roughly. They climbed up a cobbled ramp and were in another courtyard. To their right stood a massive pale-gold hall decorated with statues and lots of fancy plasterwork. The men pushed Toby through a huge wooden door. The Great Hall was even more magnificent inside, with hundreds of large candles shimmering against the creamy white walls, casting flickering patterns of light and dark into the wooden beams of the vaulted ceiling.

Candles. They haven’t got any electricity left.

Toby winced as one of the men grabbed his arm. At the end of the hall, sitting in a large wooden throne was an even larger man.

That must be the General! What a size he is! And what is he wearing?

Toby was thrust forward to fall at the foot of the throne. He stared up at a very strange sight. The huge ugly man had on a pillar-box red military uniform emblazoned on the chest with dozens of badges, insignia, and a whole rainbow of coloured strips of cloth, like those given as medals to war heroes.

Bet he’s never even been in the army!

Huge silver epaulettes hung from the General’s shoulders and slung across his body was a silk tasselled lanyard in brilliant white. He wore a large peaked hat, which was also covered in badges. He looked like he was about to go on parade.

Wow! What a sight! Think he fancies himself as the dictator of Scotland!

“So what do we have here?” snapped the General, gazing down at Toby as if he had just crawled out from under a stone. Toby could now see that the man had a large scar down one side of his face that pulled his right eye down as if it were half closed. It gave him an almost funny look, but Toby wasn’t laughing; the General looked mean.

“It’s Mr Tennant’s son, sir,” said the thickset man who had now removed his balaclava to reveal an ugly trout-like face. He puckered up his flabby lips and squinted at Toby. “He’s the one that got away when we kidnapped his dad and sister. Then he caught up with us at Fort George and set the dogs on us. And after he’d led the dogs’ attack he scarpered in McNaught’s speedboat.”

“Well, boy? You led dogs to attack my fort!” yelled the General. “Do you realise that attack has cost me our foothold in the north? How am I going to rule Scotland if every time we set foot outside New Caledonia, my men get set upon by wild dogs? And it seems you are their leader!”

“WHAT?” Toby gathered himself together. “I never led the dogs anywhere. They were led by Cerberus, coming from Aberdeen. And Fort George wasn’t your fort anyway. Your men stole it from the families living there. And come to think of it where are those people? AND WHERE’S MY DAD AND MY LITTLE SISTER?”

By this time the men were laughing at Toby as he stood up with his chest puffed out trying to look as tall and menacing as possible.

Someone cuffed him on the back of the head and he fell back down.

“Don’t dare speak to the General like that!” cried the trout-face, lashing out at Toby with his boot.

“So, what can you tell me about your dad, then?” asked the General, leaning forward to fix Toby with a belligerent stare from his lop-sided eyes.

“I’m not telling you anything,” stammered Toby.

“Oh, but you will. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to that sweet little sister of yours, would you?”

“You wouldn’t hurt Sylvie?”

“I won’t have to if you just tell me what your dad’s job was. You see, we need people with knowledge to help run my new country. We must have scientists, doctors and engineers – people with skills so that we can build a new world. But I need power! We can’t exist forever foraging for the scattered fuel dumps that remain. I need someone to design me some way of making electricity, and I think your dad might just be that someone.”

“Why? What makes you think that? My dad was an —” Toby was just about to tell when he realised that he had fallen right into the General’s trap. “I’m not telling you. If he wouldn’t then neither can I!”

“Please yourself, laddie! I’m going to enjoy this. You and your dad – sooner or later one of you will talk. We’ll see whose pips squeak first, shall we?”

There was a chorus of agreement from the men who then roared with laughter.

Please don’t let them torture me! I mustn’t tell them about the bunker and that Tom and his men are about to attack at any moment!

Toby lay curled in a tight ball on the floor, anticipating a sharp kick from one of the raiders. Suddenly the General leapt to his feet clutching his head. He towered over Toby, his huge frame dwarfing everyone around him.

Crikey! He must be about seven feet tall. No wonder they’re all scared of him.

“QUIET! I must have quiet! Ah! My head!” he screamed, in obvious agony. The men hurriedly backed away.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this, judging by their reaction. What’s the matter with him? One minute he was ok and the next he’s a screaming monster.

The General slumped back into his throne and sat rocking back and forth, cradling his head in his hands, and gesticulating for everyone to leave him.

Toby stayed still; he’d had an idea.

“I can help you,” he stated bravely, uncurling and standing up. He took a step towards the throne.

“Get away, lad!” barked the Captain, who had just joined them. “The General doesn’t need your help.”

“Please yourself,” said Toby, shrugging and trying hard to look nonchalant.

What am I thinking of? I must be mad! If this doesn’t work, I’m dead.

“Shut up!” yelled the Captain, yanking Toby away by his shoulder.

“Don’t shout,” moaned the General. “Let the boy tell us how he can help.”

“Well, in truth, it’s not me exactly,” started Toby hesitantly. This plan of his could easily go wrong. “I happen to know that you have a talented doctor here and her son, who is a gifted homeopathist. I’m sure they will be able to help you.”

“Oh, are you now?” grunted the Captain, sarcastically. “And what’s a ho-mop-path-ist?”

“Don’t show your ignorance!” the General hissed at the Captain. “I know what a homeopathist is! I’m an educated man, for god’s sake! Just as well I am! We’d still be cowering in the caves if it had been left to you!”

Toby turned to the Captain; he needed to get him on his side for this to work. So he explained quietly, “They’re like a natural healer. I know they can help ’cause I was dying once of a septic hand and Jamie made me medicine from herbs and plants and I got better straight away. His mum saved my sister, who was dying of red fever.”

That’s a bit of an exaggeration. Hope he goes for it.

“Is that right?” said the Captain, sneering. “And how do you know these people are here?”

“I’ve seen them,” said Toby, hoping that Jamie’s mum was with Jamie.

“What you waiting for? Go and fetch them here, now!” the General snarled at the Captain.

“You’d better come with me,” the Captain ordered Toby. “We’ll see if we can find these miracle workers!”

The Captain dragged Toby outside and across the large yard to a door, which he unlocked and swung open. In the darkness before him, Toby could hear the murmurings of someone; lots of someones. The Captain shone his torch into another hall, flashing it over rows of blankets lying on the floor. Peering out of the makeshift beds, blinking in the torchlight, were the shocked faces of women and children. Some cried out with fright, while others stared out sullenly; one of those was Jamie’s mum.

“Hurry up and find these people that are going to cure the General! He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” snarled the Captain. He strode off down the hall to inspect the other prisoners.

“Katie?” Toby couldn’t stop himself from yelling out. “Katie, it’s Toby. Is Jamie with you? And where’s Sylvie?”

“Toby? Toby is that you?” called a familiar voice. A blonde head stuck up from underneath a pile of blankets.

“J-J-Jamie?” Toby’s voice broke with relief.

From under another pile of blankets a tousle of brown hair stirred and a small pale face peeped out. “Tobes? Is that really you?”

“Sylvie? Sylvie! Yes! – It’s me, Toby!” He gasped with amazement as a small figure stumbled towards him. He picked her up in his arms and hugged her tight, unable to speak, while tears of relief pricked his eyes.

“Oh, Tobes, I’m SO pleased to see you!” sighed Sylvie, wrapping her arms around his neck. “The
bad men here are horrid, and one big monster man is really really horrible and was shouting at Dad and me, and —”

“Where’s Dad?” Toby anxiously asked her.

“I don’t know, Tobes. We were together until we got here and then, after the monster man had shouted at us, they took him away on his own.”

Toby put her down and took her hand tightly in his.

“They haven’t hurt you have they, Sylve?”

“No, they were a bit rough but I’m ok. I just kept thinking that you’d be here soon to rescue us – and here you are! I knew that you would come. I am very hungry, though!”

“Good, well I’m here now but we need to find Dad, and fast. Here, I’ve got some cereal bars in my pocket. Take one. They’re a bit fusty but it’ll stop you being hungry.” Toby pushed the squashed packet into Sylvie’s hand.

Jamie came stumbling towards him, grabbed him in a big bear hug and burst into tears.

“It’s so good to see you!” Jamie stuttered. “Sylvie and I knew you would come!”

“Don’t,” mumbled Toby, “you’ll start me off, and we don’t want him to see us crying, do we?” He nodded towards the Captain who came striding up to them.

“So,” snapped the Captain. “This is your ‘gifted’ whatever-he-is. Looks like a cry-baby to me. I hope you’re right about him. The General doesn’t like being disappointed. And come on, you – if you’re the so-called doctor.” He motioned for Jamie’s mum,
Katie, to come too. She quickly pulled on her clothes and came over, giving Toby a big hug too.

“We’re so glad to see you, Toby. We’ve been really worried about you. How on earth did you manage to find us here?” she said.

“Shut up!” interrupted the Captain. “And get a move on!” He roughly pushed them out of the door and locked it behind him. Toby managed to pull Sylvie out of the door with them in the darkness.

“She’s not coming!” barked the Captain.

“She is,” Toby yelled back. “Or else your General doesn’t get treated by these two.” Toby nodded towards Jamie and his mum who both look puzzled. As they returned to the Great Hall he whispered the bare bones of his plan to them. All they had to do was try to treat the General. He had no idea of what they should do after that.

Standing in front of the General’s throne, Toby took a good look at Jamie and his mum. They were dressed in filthy blue boiler suits that were much too big for them and only emphasised how thin they had become. They both looked hollow-eyed and tired, their grey faces smeared with mud.

Don’t suppose I look that good either. But they look starving. Sylvie doesn’t look too bad but she hasn’t been here that long.

“So, what is the matter with you?” declared Katie, defiantly marching up to the General. He was still slumped in his throne, clutching his head. “Looks to me like you’ve got a migraine,” she stated loudly. “Are you seeing flashing lights? Do you feel sick?”

“Yeah, all of those,” he muttered back. “And keep your voice down, my head’s splitting!”

“Jamie, have you got any of those dried pachu berries left in your rucksack?” She turned to her son, who was grasping tight onto Toby’s arm.

“Umm, oh, I don’t know. Yes, I think so…” he muttered, looking petrified.

“Go and fetch them then. Go on – now!” she ordered. Toby smiled to himself. Katie was great. If she was scared she certainly didn’t show it.

My mum was like that, too – really stood up for me when I needed her to.

Toby wasn’t sure of the next part of his plan. His first priority had been to get to Jamie and his mum and check they were all right. He hoped that they could cure the General of whatever was wrong with him, and then maybe he would let them go out of gratitude.

“I’m afraid that these migraines will keep coming back…” Katie was saying.

Don’t tell him that! We’ll never get away.

“…if you don’t look after yourself better. Don’t drink red wine, avoid rich foods, don’t get too stressed, and don’t read in a poor light for long.”

“Huh! I like my food,” grumbled the General. “And I’m not giving up my red wine. All I want from you and that kid of yours is to make the pain go away.”

“Right, well, in that case I shall give you some strong painkillers. We’ll mix them with dried pachu berries. That will take the pain away, and stop you feeling sick.”

“Then get on with it!” howled the General, nursing his head.

Toby waited anxiously with Sylvie while Katie followed Jamie to fetch what they needed from their bags, back in the Palace Hall with the makeshift beds in it. He watched as they mixed up a pink potion of gooey liquid in a mug and gave it to the General.

“You don’t expect me to drink this muck, do you?” he cried.

“You can rub it on your baldy head for all I care,” retorted Katie. “But if you want that pain to go away, you’ll slurp down every last drop.”

Toby chuckled. Katie had real fighting spirit.

The General pulled a face like a small child being made to take his medicine, and swallowed the contents of the mug.

“So, can we go now?” asked Katie. “One good turn deserves another.”

“No chance! You’re going nowhere, and anyway, how do I know that this isn’t some rubbish you’ve given me?”

“Or poison?” suggested the Captain.

“You don’t,” said Katie. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I don’t trust anybody. You’re going nowhere. Throw
them
back in with the others. And put
him
in the dungeon with the other one,” growled the General, pointing at Toby.

That was a rubbish plan.

One of the raiders grabbed Toby by the scruff of his jacket collar.

“Tobes! Don’t leave me!” screamed Sylvie as one of the raiders grabbed her and started to drag her out of the Great Hall with Jamie and Katie.

“Don’t worry, Sylvie. I’ll find you! Go with Katie and Jamie!” Toby yelled back, his stomach churning.

Stupid of me to think there might be honour among thieves.