Chapter Eleven
Following their last conversation, Veronica
spent the entire next week avoiding Lachlan. She realized she
couldn’t stop him from watching her, but she could keep herself
from seeing and hearing him. Besides, she reasoned, she needed her
head in the game. Soon she would be washing up on the Scottish
shoreline. Soon she needed to be as clear-minded and physically fit
as possible. Who knew how many infected there would be?
Even if Victor could accurately guestimate
their numbers, she couldn’t be certain whether or not the dead were
continuing to evolve at a rapid rate. In other words, maybe it now
only took one eater well removed from the others to spot you for a
hoard to be alerted and come stalking its prey. That’s how the
world was looking in Apple Creek when she’d left it and the
population there probably wasn’t much higher than in the
Highlands.
The dead were definitely evolving quickly.
Way too quickly. It was difficult to surmise what, if any, genetic
mutations the infected had developed over these last weeks aboard
ship. Remembering the security cameras at Victor’s underground
compound, it had certainly looked like the hordes were now sending
out scouts from their packs. That level of advancement was a bone
chilling possibility to consider.
Stop this. You aren’t helping yourself,
Veronica.
Victor was no doubt furious with her for
failing to open the laptop even once since she’d discovered her
brother had basically made her the Bride of Kong. A handsome Kong
she thought about with far too much frequency, but still. Victor
should have known better than to use her as a bargaining chip. She
frowned as she mulled over all the reasons it should be her
who was on the warpath for Victor—not the other way around.
“The Victor/Veronica will reach its
destination in precisely twenty-four hours,” the disembodied AI
captain announced. “Prepare.”
Veronica broke the warrior stance she’d been
in and rested her palms on her thighs as her breathing returned to
normal. She’d been subjecting herself to extraordinarily vigorous
workouts over the past week. Mostly out of necessity, but a little
bit as distraction. Until she knew what to make of Kong.
“I can’t put this off any longer,” she said
as she stood up. “I need to know what Victor can see.” She pulled
out her ponytail and let her long, damp curls fall freely before
sliding the scrunchie onto her free wrist. “I’m telling you before
I open the laptop that I don’t want to hear it from you, Victor!”
Yes, she’d been uncommunicative, but damn it, he’d had it coming.
“Literally not one fucking word!” She grudgingly padded over to
where the laptop set closed and opened it for the first time in
seven days. “If you think for a second—"
“—You’ve a foul mouth for a lady,” a
familiar voice hissed. “I should put you o’er my knee.”
Oh damn, she gulped. Her heart leapt. It was
Laird Kong.
*****
Lachlan dinna ken how he should be feeling
in this moment. The past sennight, with no communication between
them, had all but driven him daft. He’d been foul-tempered for the
whole of it, barking commands at warriors, servants, and Victor
alike. He battle-trained in the days and brooded in the eves.
Always, his mind was on Veronica. Finally, here she was, as close
to being near to him as currently possible.
“I’m sorry,” the wide-eyed wench quickly
demurred. She raised her palms. “I know it was really shitty of me
not to talk to you, but quite frankly you threw me for a really big
loop the last time we spoke.”
She was speaking Gaelic, yet he dinna ken
some of what she’d said. He think he got the overall meaning
though. “It matters not to me do you wish to take me for a
husband,” Lachlan lied. His teeth gritted. “I want you for my wife.
‘Tis enough for me right now.” His pride was smarting and he knew
it, but he could barely admit that flaw to himself much less to
Veronica.
She frowned. “Do you always get what you
want?”
“Aye. Whether taken or given, aye.”
“Very comforting.” She sighed and lowered
her palms. “Can we discuss this later? Right now I really need to
talk to my brother. The ship will reach the shore in twenty-four
hours.”
Lachlan grunted. He knew she was telling the
truth for he’d heard a voice say so whilst he’d been watching her.
His first priority was getting her here, to him. Nothing, not even
his ire at her absence, could come afore that. “Fine. I will take
you to your brother. Just ken that our discussion has barely begun
much less reached its conclusion.”
“Fine. And you have my thanks,” she quietly
replied.
He grunted, still feeling surly. At least
he’d gotten to speak with her and ken she was doing verra well.
“You are welcome.”
*****
“I’m not seeing a lot of activity near the
shoreline,” Victor told her, “but there is some activity as you
near the castle. It looks negligible though.”
“Define negligible.”
“A small hoard. Maybe five or six.”
“Is it five or six?”
“Six,” Victor assured her. “It’s six.”
Victor was discomfited by the laird’s
looming presence over his shoulder. He could hear and sense his
pacing even though he wasn’t looking at him. Finn and Ramsay, or
darkness and light as he thought of them because of their disparate
looks, stood stoically off to the side, presumedly taking in the
entire scene. Unlike the laird, though, the two warriors didn’t
speak any English—at least not modern English—so they had no idea
what he was conversing with his sister about.
He could tell Veronica was angry with him,
but he could also surmise she didn’t wish to discuss the whole
bride thing right now either. She was as much a warrior as any of
the other men currently filling up his bedroom. She wanted to get
as much information regarding the enemy, the infected, as she could
glean.
“Are there more hoards within a mile radius
of the six-pack?” Veronica asked. “If not, I’m thinking a grenade
might do the trick.”
“I didn’t see you pack any grenades.”
“Then you weren’t watching me very
closely.”
“I might have been preoccupied,” he sniffed.
It was always nerve wracking to have a huge barbarian king wielding
a heavy sword and a lot of attitude behind you. “How many do you
have?”
“Ten.”
He nodded. “I know you have guns, ammo, your
sword, and a machete.”
“Not to mention the rest of my Kalari
weapons.”
“Then you’ll be fine, sis.” He hoped. She
was so close. To lose her now was unthinkable. “I have faith in you
and your abilities.”
She semi-glared at him. “Luckily for you,
the feeling is mutual,” she said pointedly. “Look, Victor,”
Veronica hedged, changing the subject somewhat, “I don’t know what
to expect when I get off this boat.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “By the time I made it to
Apple Creek? All of a sudden, the eaters started learning quickly.
I don’t know how or why, but they’re getting smarter.”
“I noticed,” he admitted on a sigh. “I
didn’t want to say anything alarming, but yeah, I’ve noticed. Which
is why you have to make it here sooner rather than later.”
“What do you mean? Just say it, Victor.”
He didn’t want to have this conversation,
but knew he had to. “I’m simply validating your observations about
the dead. For four years they’ve been genetically stagnant, but in
the past six weeks or so they appear to be evolving at a rapid
rate.”
“You aren’t making me feel better.”
“I’m not trying to. I want you to understand
the seriousness of what you’re facing. The fact is, we don’t know
what to expect from the eaters.”
“Believe me. I’m well aware of that
fact.”
“Good. It will keep you extra vigilant.”
“Do you have any good news for me, bro?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“There is light at the end of the tunnel,
Veronica. I mean, 1155 A.D. might not be filled with planes,
trains, and automobiles, but it’s pleasant enough and it has a
future.”
She stilled, the implication behind his
words seemingly dawning. Her eyes widened. “You don’t believe
humanity has any future here,” she murmured. “Do you?”
“Only whatever future we give it by altering
history in this time. Once you arrive here alive and well, altering
history will be my sole focus until I take my last breath.”
“Can you really do that? I mean, what if we
erase our own existences by changing the course of—”
“Can’t happen.” He shook his head. “That’s
not how time travel works.”
A hand flew to her hip. She sighed like a
martyr. “Please don’t bother explaining it to me.”
Victor found his first small smile. “Never
planned on it.”
*****
It was her last night on the boat. She
prepared herself a filling, delicious meal of faux steak with a
loaded baked potato and enjoyed it under the stars with a glass of
wine. After all, it was impossible to know for sure what tomorrow
morning would bring. She was hopeful for the best possible outcome,
but as prepared as a person could be for the worst as well. Like an
old-timer prisoner on what used to be death row, she was partaking
of what could turn out to be her last meal. She wouldn’t be eating
breakfast beyond maybe a protein bar in the morning because she
didn’t want to be too full and thereby too lethargic in her actions
and reactions.
One bonus of the long ship voyage was that
Veronica had finally caught up on years of needed rest. That had
been a major plus and an aid to her current, prepared state. She
had worked herself out like crazy during daylight hours, but she’d
slept like a baby every night. It had done her mind and body a
world of good.
Still, the final obstacle lay ahead tomorrow
so said impediment was at the forefront of her thoughts. Every once
in a while, Lachlan’s face would force it’s way in, but she knew
she had to remain strong and clear-headed. She didn’t know what to
expect when she went ashore. Getting to the castle had to remain
her top urgency; injecting the serum into her vein at the right
time and place being priority number two.
Would the time travel serum actually work?
Veronica blew out a breath as she contemplated that question. It
was a feat Victor had pulled off once, yes, but regardless of what
her brother said to the contrary, she realized the technology was
too new and unproven to be absolutely certain of its usefulness.
Under normal circumstances, it would have been subjected to several
clinical trials. In essence, she was time travel’s second guinea
pig. She could only pray that the serum functioned properly and did
its job quickly.
Veronica took a sip of wine as Lachlan
sprang into her consciousness unbidden. No. Not right now. She
couldn’t and shouldn’t try to wrap her head around what life might
be like if the serum actually worked. One gigantic obstacle at a
time was enough to contend with. She downed the rest of the glass’
contents and readied herself to go to bed for the night.
She hadn’t drank enough wine to give her a
buzz, just enough to take the edge off and hopefully aid her in
sleeping tonight. Raising the boat’s protective shield, she padded
down into the ship’s innards, praying the wine did its job. She
needed good, restful sleep. No nightmares born of PTSD—Post
Traumatic Stress Disorder—and no tossing and turning.
Everything—her entire journey and sheer
existence—came down to tomorrow. It was almost too much pressure.
Luckily she had grown accustomed to high stakes situations. The
plague had demanded as much from its survivors.
Veronica crawled into bed and snuggled with
a pillow under the luxuriously plush covers. She could feel the
wine kicking in. Please God, she thought, please help me
reach Victor tomorrow.
It didn’t take her long to fall asleep.
Unbidden and per usual, she dreamt of Lachlan. And again, the
heavy-handed laird protected her in her dreams.