Yesterdays Lost

Part 1

25 Years after First Contact

The aftermath of a nuclear holocaust was unpleasant, to say the least; especially for an Immortal who might endure the effects time and again, dying and reviving repeatedly in the same hell. Fortunately for Morgan Doyle and Martin Penwarden, their friend William Farrell had lived through the end of the world more than once and he was prepared for it. By the time World War III broke out in 2026 he had taken steps to secure a small holding in an isolated community on the east coast of Ireland. The three friends had weathered the storm fairly comfortably, at least at first. They were too far away from anything of strategic or military importance to risk becoming the target of a nuclear device and likewise, well enough isolated and provisioned to survive the aftermath with a well stocked range of livestock and produce. Goats, chickens, pigs, a couple of sturdy ponies and even a solitary alpaca that had appeared from... somewhere (none of the three were exactly sure of the circumstances). It was only as time passed and the global collapse worsened that things became more harsh. Radioactive fallout was one thing, but global economic collapse and the devastating effect on the environment were quite another. Morgan especially found the times hard as the mains utilities that she had known all her life were cut off and communities fell apart. Much as she had in the early days, she came to rely heavily upon her older, more experienced friends. In some ways it was a step back for her, but Farrell was more contented than he cared to admit to anyone that the unorthodox family was together again. Penwarden simply carried on as he always had, like a tree in the wind, he moved according to the prevailing direction, turning his hand to almost anything. The most obvious change for the three generations of Immortals was that they could no longer afford to wander alone, only meeting up from time to time. For the present at least, survival lay in numbers.

It was early morning when Morgan woke as usual. By the time the others rose she had cranked up the generator and managed to scrounge up the last few spoonfuls of instant coffee.

"Time for a supply run?" William's voice broke through her thoughts as he came in with a box full of fresh eggs from the chicken coop.

"Yeah... could probably use some more gasoline and propane too" Morgan nodded as she attended to the frantically whistling kettle.

"And a bunch of other stuff" Martin butted in. "We're low on just about everything".

"We'd better all go if there's a load to carry" Morgan observed.

"She just wants mules" William grumbled to Martin. "Come on then... it's better than staying here and listening to that crackpot on the Emergency Broadcast channel.

"Let me guess" Morgan snorted. "The Vulcans are going to steal our souls"

"Something along those lines".

Although it was nominally spring, a late cold spell had frozen the ground to a near iron consistency. The air outside had such a bite to it that it took the breath away and the rough road to town had become an ice slick. The three Immortals climbed into the old crew cab pick up truck; Farrell and Penwarden insisting that Doyle drove. She was Canadian by birth, they argued; she had learned to drive in these conditions and was the most at home in them, the safest. The fact that the only working heater in vehicle was the front offside (the driver's) they conveniently ignored. Morgan had long since learned to simply accept these gestures from her friends without mention. If she attempted to argue equality, she knew she would lose.

The large warehouse on the outskirts of town served as community meeting place, messenger service, garage, grocers, butchers and general store for most of the county and nearly all of its' inhabitants turned to it to meet their needs. An enormous, cavernous building filled with booths and stalls selling and trading everything obtainable (for a price), The Centre was always busy, not even the poor conditions succeeding at keeping people away. As usual, today it was a heaving mass of humanity. Morgan had never quite overcome the intense fear of closed in spaces, of other people so close that had come upon her in her early days as an Immortal. This place was a neccessary hell but she hoped that their business would be concluded swiftly. Martin lined the pick up with others in the queue at the garage for the heavy propane tanks and gasoline canisters to be filled and loaded whilst William, his friend and one time Immortal mentor ushered Morgan into the crowd. As the couple disappeared, Penwarden sucked air through his teeth. The young woman had a hand in her pocket, worrying her prayer beads as she walked. Today was not going to end well. All three were ignorant of the interest that they had drawn from a visiting Vulcanian Disaster Relief team.

Six or seven hours later, Martin settled into the passenger seat, glad to believe that his premonition had been incorrect. The day's trading seemed to have gone well. Supplies had arrived shortly after they had, replenishing meagre stocks and all but causing a stampede. Farrell had even managed to procure some fresh apples and the trio crunched them contentedly as the pickup crept through the icy darkness towards home. The route led through dark pine forests and in places was treacherously steep even without the ice. Even so, it was nothing that Morgan had not driven through a hundred times before. She was careful, the tyres were in good condition and gripping well. When the headlights and electronics died abruptly on the steepest part of the road Farrell lunged through from the back seat, adding his strength to Morgan's as she fought to control the pick up without the benefit of powered steering or anti-lock brakes. Their combined efforts where useless and the vehicle slammed off the road into the thick trees that climbed the hillside. When silence finally fell it was eerie. Only a passing meteor was there to bear witness.

The lungs gasped, desperate to answer the demands of cells that had been starved of oxygen for hours. Farrell coughed as the icy air rushed into his chest and forced his eyes open. He was on his back he realised, soaking wet and lying in snowy mud. With a groan he rolled over and sat up, gingerly probing the rapidly healing wound on his head. By the grey light filtering between the trees he guessed it was either just before or just after dawn. Much of the light came down the bank through a trail of devastation in the undergrowth. The two thousand year old Immortal, staggered to his feet, searching for the vehicle and for his friends. Before long he discovered the Pickup, lying upside down with its' engine block crumpled against a tree. Vaguely, Farrell remembered being catapulted forward as the truck had smashed over the precipice at the side of the road. He must have been thrown through the windscreen he decided. Obviously he had come to a sudden stop when his head impacted the ground. Reaching the overturned pickup, a Quickening prickled his conscious; Morgan, he realised gratefully. It wouldn't have been the first crash where the driver had been dismembered or even decapitated enough to count as Endgame for an Immortal. A woman's hand extended through the twisted metal and he grasped it. "I gotcha" Farrell panted. "Can you get out?" There was a scraping and scrabbling inside the wreck as Morgan answered by wriggling free of the pickup.

"Goddamn!" she swore, pulling a shard from her leg and discarding it with a wince. "I'm sorry... it was just... like it had a mind of its' own... I couldn't..."

"Not your fault" William assured her. "It was a bad night to be driving for anyone. Right, let's get the Peacock out of there".

The younger woman frowned suddenly. "Martin's not with you?"

At her words, Farrell froze. "He's not still in the pickup?"

Morgan shook her head slowly. "Maybe... he wasn't killed... maybe he healed up and went for help".

"I'm sure he's around here somewhere... let's salvage what we can and grab the swords".

There wasn't much to be rescued. The cans of gasoline and propane they didn't dare move just in case there was a leak. The fresh produce was utterly ruined. Some of the generator and filter system parts they could salvage but there was little else. Morgan had been trying for an hour before she finally managed to reach the hidden compartment where the three of them had stowed their precious weapons. Frowning she pulled them out, her own curved Sabre, William's basket-hilt Colchimarde and finally, Martin Penwarden's Civil War Mortuary Sword. "Something's not right" she announced, rolling onto her heels and brushing her black curls off her face. "He'd never go off unarmed..."

"Calm down" Farrell soothed. "I expect he was thrown clear like I was. We'll wait an hour, he'll show up" His words were confident, but glancing again at the wrecked pickup, he knew that the assertion was unlikely. They would have found their friend by now; close by. More for Morgan's benefit than his own, he did not protest as she began to beat through the bushes, searching again for her Mentor. Finally however, the former Parliamentarian Officer was forced to intercede. Damn, but the woman was persuasive. One hour had turned to two, then four... eight... "He's not here" William insisted gently. "Come on. We've a long walk home. The old Peacock will turn up sooner or later".

Morgan opened her mouth to object, but he cut her off.

"He's like a bad penny in that regard. You just can't get rid of him".

"Ok... ok..." Reluctantly the younger woman acquiesced. Together they shouldered their packs. Farrell was careful to pick up Penwarden's sword and stow it with his own and slowly the two Immortals began a careful descent through the winter forest towards the village on the valley floor.

Both of them were more than a little surprise to find their little homestead bore no signs of occupation. Clearly Penwarden had not yet returned however Farrell counted them fortunate that the property had not been looted when they did not return yesterday. Much of the countryside (and, he imagined, the wider planet) was still in a state of near-anarchy with little law enforcement to speak of. Looting and pillaging were as commonplace as they had been in centuries past. Some days in his darker thoughts he wondered if this truly was the End of the World.

"Damn! I wish I knew what the hell he was playing at!" Morgan sighed, almost banging the mugs down on the table.

"Martin?"

"Yes Martin... Who else?"

"Me too, child. Me too. Try not to worry. He's smart and resourceful. He'll show up eventually. Probably as soon as he smells dinner" the older Immortal tried to lighten the atmosphere. "We could have Bacon... punish him a bit?"

Morgan just grunted and went back to her vigil at the Window.

Days passed slowly. Then weeks, months and finally more than a year went by without any communication from Martin Penwarden, let alone any sign of him. Doyle had become very depressed and withdrawn as her 100th Birthday approached. It was a bright, clear morning and seemed a time to be feeling good about life as a light breeze set the heads of the early spring flowers nodding. She was sitting alone on the doorstep as William entered the kitchen. Carefully he laid a package down on the counter and moved to join the young woman. He was hardly surprised, as he settled his weight on the stone slab, to see that she was crying silently. Gently, tentatively he laid a fatherly hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Hey... got you something Birthday Girl"

Slowly she looked up at him. "He promised..." she whispered harshly. "He promised... I could always rely on him... Whatever happened I didn't ever imagine that he would abandon m... us... his friends".

Wordlessly, the older Immortal let his arm slide about her shoulders and he drew her close against him and into and hug that at one time she would have feared to accept. "Don't cry" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Oh Angel, please don't cry. It'll be alright". I'll look after you. This last he did not vocalise. It was simply a silent vow to the ancient gods of his youth. Angel Morgan Doyle was under the protection of William Farrell. They would get through the end of the world, together.