Day of Deliverance

go and find out who your mystery girlfriend is.”

The Tower

In a moment they were back on Angus’s bike heading out of town and towards the forest. The Forestry Commission owned large tracts of land above Soonhope, and had populated it with pine and spruce plantations that spread for many kilometres across the hills. Soon they were powering up one of the forest tracks, a plume of dust rising from the back tyre. At intervals there were fire warning signs with a picture of a red flame and lists of ‘DON’TS’ beneath — ‘DON’T’ do this and ‘DON’T’ do that. It was as if they’d been put there by VIGIL themselves. But you would need more than that to deter Angus. He worked his way up and down the gears as they ascended steadily. At one point the forest track swept round to the right and a steep path rose through the thick woodlands at an angle from the bend.

Angus pulled up and shouted through his helmet. “Hold on — I’m going to take a short cut.”

Before Jack had time to object, Angus had re-selected first gear and the bike shot up the narrow path. All Jack could do was hang on. After a while, the steep path levelled off and they picked up speed, the densely packed conifers whizzing past on each side of the narrow track.

Suddenly, a shape appeared in front of them, right in the middle of the path. It was a man, just standing there, looking at the oncoming bike as if caught in a trance. Angus hit the front brake and then the rear a split second later. He twisted the handlebars to avoid the man and, as he did so, both tyres lost their grip on the loose track surface. In an instant, the bike, Jack and Angus were horizontal and sliding along the ground. The man leaped free, moments before impact, and the boys slid to a halt in the tall grass on the verge. Jack’s heart was pounding. His leg hurt from where the bike had pressed down on it as they scraped along the track. Thankfully nothing seemed to be broken. Angus was first to his feet.

“What the…?”

Jack groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position. He looked up and immediately wished he hadn’t. He felt nauseous.

The man looked at them from the side of the track. They had slid past him by a good twenty metres. He was, maybe, mid forties, slim and fit-looking and wore jeans, hiking boots and a grey fleece jacket. He had not shaved for a few days and his yellow hair was ruffled.

“What the hell are you doing — trying to get us all killed?” Angus bellowed.

The man did not reply. It was as if he were weighing up something in his mind. Then, still saying nothing, he turned and melted back into the thick, dark woodland.

Angus was apoplectic. “What? He’s just run off!”

Jack pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself down. He could see the grazing on his leg through rips in his jeans.

“You okay?” Angus said. “Can’t believe that guy!”

“We probably shouldn’t be on this track anyway.” Jack looked down at the bike, still lying on its side. “Will it start?”

Angus hauled the machine up, inspecting the scrapes to the petrol tank and chrome.

“What a mess. If I ever see that bloke again…”

He straddled the bike and tried the engine. It fired immediately.

“Thank God for that.”

“What now?”

“Well we might as well finish what we came up here to do.” Angus looked at Jack’s pale face. “If you’re still up for it.”

“I’ll survive.” Jack mounted the passenger seat gingerly and Angus set off, this time at a more sedate pace.

After a while, they left the cover of the dark green canopy and were released onto the open heather moorland above the treeline, where they re-joined the main track. Apart from the mystery hill walker they had nearly hit on the way up, there was no one around and the fire tower loomed into view as they crested a final ridge.

Angus cut the engine and the air became still. They took off their helmets and walked towards the tower. Jack moved with a slight limp but Angus seemed to show no ill effects from coming off the bike. Sometimes it seemed like he was indestructible.

“Can’t see anyone here at all. No sign of your mystery admirer.”

Jack shrugged. “Weird. Shall we go up?”

They clambered up the wooden ladder to the lookout cabin.

Angus knocked on the rough wooden door. “Hello! Anyone at home?”

There was silence, except for a light spring breeze which teased the top of the trees in the distance.

“Nothing. Come on, let’s check it out.”

The door opened into a crude wooden room with panoramic views of the surrounding forest and hills. It was like being in a small boat in a big green ocean. Far below you could see the river meandering its way down the valley, shining like a silver ribbon in the late afternoon sun. In the middle of the cabin was a rough, three- dimensional model, a sort of topographical map of the surrounding area. It showed the hills, the main plantations, tracks, streams, the river, each peak, each village and the positions of the other fire towers. The whole world was suddenly defined in detail across a square metre of plastic and modelling paint. From this lofty position you could see how the fire wardens would have a sense of control… of watchful power.

“Nothing here. Certainly no clue as to your mystery texter.”

Jack peered into the one adjoining room. It was a bedroom — but it was more the size of a large cupboard.

“Hey — looks like there’s been someone sleeping here.”

In the room, there was a sleeping bag, a gas burner and a couple of books.

“One of the wardens?”

“Bit early in the year.”

“And I’m not sure they’d be reading these.”

Jack picked up a couple of books that had been left behind. One was entitled Principles of Quantum Mechanics. It looked old, and was by someone called Paul Dirac. The other book was a complete works of William Shakespeare. It was open at one page and the reader had circled an extract in pencil. Jack peered down at the book.

“That’s funny — this guy’s been reading Hamlet.”

“Please no, I’ve had enough of Hamlet for one day.” Angus looked around furtively. “Beattie’s probably got this place wired, just to check I don’t say anything dodgy.”

Jack read the circled extract from the book:

“Let us go in together;

And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.

The time is out of joint; O cursed spite,

That ever I was born to set it right!”

“Sorry, Jackster that sounds like complete gobbledegook… as per usual.”

Jack smiled. “It’s actually one of my speeches from Hamlet.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me what it means and make me feel stupid?”

“Of course. From what Beattie says, Hamlet’s basically saying that things in Denmark, which he calls ‘the time’, are all messed up because of what his uncle, King Claudius, has done — killing Hamlet’s father and marrying his mother. Hamlet’s thinking about what he has to do to put it right… and he’s kind of worried and also resentful that he’s the one who’s got to sort it out. Do you understand?”

“No.”

Jack rolled his eyes.