Surrender - Part 1

He suspected she was not human... - FOUR MINUTE SCI-FI

Feb 22, 2025

Surrender was originally posted on 🌿Leaves in 2023. This is part 1 of three.

They have all gone now, and Hamish is alone. His footsteps echo on the uneven floor as he goes to the window that faces the river. He watches a long time through the glass for any movement, any hint of life. He sees nothing but peaty water bubbling across stones, the thin forest of scraggly pines, the broad expanse of the wet moorland in the distance.

He goes upstairs to look around, shuffles through all the dim empty rooms. He finds one green sock on the floor of Lily’s room, puts it on the chair. So much had to be abandoned; they only took what they could carry on their backs. The old house seems so much bigger now that the family have all gone — a deserted nest strewn with the disposable remnants of over-indulged lives.

They’d been planning their journey for over a week. There was no longer any electricity or gas for the generator. Their cell phones were not working, no TV, no radio. With no screen to consult, no on-switch, they had nothing but real-time, face-to-face talk with each other. They were all slowly going mad with the deprivation.

They’d mapped out the way through Glen Orchy, avoiding the roads, heading up toward Fort William, hoping they’d find other refugees along the way. They’d divided up the food that was left, taking what was light enough to pack out, the wrinkled apples, raisins and oats, leaving Hamish the tinned and bottled foods in the cupboard. He knew a few cabbages hung on in the garden, turnips and pumpkins. He’ll learn soon enough to eat pumpkin and be glad for it.

They took one of the hunting rifles with them; he kept the old Remington and a few rounds, “Because ye niver know,” they said. “Ye niver know.” Last night they still tried to convince him to come with them, to leave the old place. But he said, “ Nay, go along wi’ ye. I’m staying right here. Waiting it out. Och, aye, ye’ll find me here when ye get back.”

“If we get back,” they’d said.

Hamish got up early this morning after a night of disturbed sleep. He sees the sun rise red with unnatural streaks of blue, and wonders what is happening away in the south, in London, in Carlisle. He steps out on the porch and listens. Nothing … nothing but the movement of the foamy brown water and the odd warm wind soughing through the branches of the rowans.

He goes up into the attic looking for anything useful and finds only some corroded pipe and wire. Outside, he opens the shed door. Rooting around in the dank and dark, he finds a tin basin full of half-burned candles. He finds two old kerosene lanterns, with a rusty, half-empty can of fuel. Covered with dust and spider webs are two shelves of home-canned food in glass jars – peaches, pickles, rhubarb. Labels say they were put up two years ago.

Hamish has been alone now for four weeks. He spends his days cutting firewood, keeping watch. He’s cleaned up the garden for wintering. He combs the woods and fields for edible greens – mustard, water cress and dandelion. At night he dreams of meat. He has books for company, plays his penny whistle only to hear a familiar sound. Today he thinks he sees three people away north, stumbling along a track toward Glencoe. He thinks they are men. He can’t be sure.

Today he is startled to find a woman getting water from the river. A tall woman, dressed in a long robe. She straightens up, sees him standing there watching her and stares back without moving.

How long has it been since he’s talked to another living soul? “Hallo,” he calls. “Hallo!”

She nods and starts to cross the stream toward him. She doesn’t look afraid. He scans around, wondering if there are others, but sees and hears no one.

“I’m Hamish,” he says, “I live here. I have food. Will ye no come away in?”

She says nothing but follows him to the house.

He suspects she is not human.

He no longer cares.

To continue, see Surrender Part 2 and Surrender Part 3

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