Big Dog [ONC 2022]

1

"As the embattled Prime Minister took questions from the House, he continued to reiterate that ending any and all pandemic restrictions was best for the economy, the country and the great British people, that, he said, had suffered long enough under the yoke of a virus.

Meanwhile, a new variant of the virus, Omega, identified first in the Scandinavian countries, appears to have now taken over from the previous variant as the most identified in tests. It is not yet known whether this variant is more or less infectious, or whether it has greater or lower mortality rates. Tests are still ongoing."

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1

As the wind whipped and snatched at her hair, Runa MacCabe took a long look at her new surroundings. There seemed little of anything to see. The cottage stood to the side, a single blemish upon a wide, open heathland that stretched out towards the horizon, where she could make out the tips of the white electric wind turbines atop the nearby hills.

Hertha, her daughter, nearing the age where rebellion called, watched over the hyperactive excesses of Stigr, Runa's son and Hertha's brother. He had the energy of the wind itself, running and screaming and laughing as he explored his new surroundings. New surroundings for them all, though the cottage, and the lands that came with it, were almost as old as the island itself. Though greatly modernised in recent times. Something she had only recently learned.

She caught stray strands of her hair, that forced her eyes to blink, and tucked them over her ear. They wouldn't stay there for long, but she had to do something with her hands to stop them from wringing against each other. Even now, far too late to change her mind, she still wondered whether she had made the right decision but, as she glanced towards the children, she knew. It was. It had to be. For their sakes.

"There's enough food for six months in the freezers, non-perishables in the pantry, as you requested and old McAreavey said he'll sell you fresh eggs, milk and butter for a fair price." The older gentleman, a solicitor of good standing in the area, so they had told Runa, coughed and indicated the turbines on the horizon. "You have your own well, with fresh, clean water. Electricity from wind turbines and, if the Sun ever shines again, from solar panels. Heating from a ground source heat pump. Everything. Everything a family would need, I'd say, without relying on the mainland."

She already knew about everything the solicitor, McTomminay, had told her. She had found about the entire modernisation enterprise soon after her husband's death at the very beginning of the pandemic. At first, she had thought about selling the entire island. It wasn't her family's land, it was her husband's, handed down from generation to generation. Then, as the pandemic had waxed and then begun to wane, she had found herself more and more inclined to move here, as her husband had wanted.

If nothing else, the pandemic had shown that she had no need to live near the university in order to tutor her classes. They had made good use of remote learning for almost two years, now, and, she thought, you couldn't get more remote than here. She gave a little nod to herself. The island would stay in the family. Hertha and Stigr would inherit it and what they did with it when they did inherit was entirely up to them. She wouldn't ruin her husband's legacy.