The Shaking

Chapter Seven

Thursday.

04.48. The B2677 approaching Alston, Cumbria.

The squalls of argument in the McLean's car which had raged on and off for the last two hundred miles had blown themselves out by now; leaving a stilted, tense atmosphere in their wake. In the rear seat eleven year old Sophie McLean was suffering the withdrawl symptoms of being dragged out of bed and having her phone confiscated by her father: She'd gone into a uncommunicative sulk before dozing off into fitful episodes of sleep. Her parents - now that the anger and recriminations had subsided to an extent for their daughter's sake - were beginning to come to terms with their new lives as public fugitives.

The McLean's had done as Michael Wilson suggested; stopping briefly at a nearby hypermarket soon after they'd left home, brimming the car with fuel, emptying the cash dispenser, then conducting a hurried trolley dash for supplies of ready to eat food and bottled water. Paying by card at the self-service checkout Rosalyn McLean was relieved to find its transactions were still being prcessed without being queried for the moment. That done, the family left; driving north and hopefully off the grid for a while.

They'd kept off the major roads as far as possible, keeping within the speed limits to avoid attracting unwanted attention; but there were times when there was no choice but to use them. Brian couldn't help but notice the normally inconspicuous roadside grey boxes and wonder how many of them, or the many traffic cameras dotted around were betraying his whereabouts at this very moment. At least the McLean's car was an older model; one of the newer versions with their always-on interactive GPS, smart traffic warning and real-time telemetry systems would have given away their position long ago. With the cutting edge models it was possible the police would have been able to flag the vehicle as stolen, in which case their engine might have been remotely shut down and the doors locked, leaving them stranded by the roadside awaiting their arrest.

Fortunately that wasn't the case and McClean had switched off the dashboard console sat-nav just to be sure, relying instead on memories of previous journeys and a large-scale road atlas to get him this far. Even so, every sighting of a police car had his heart leaping into his throat; he took particular care to stay well clear of them and their live linked Automatic Number Plate Recognition system onboard cameras. Though innocent of any crime, Brian now understood how it felt to be a hunted man.

He yawned deeply, the accumulated stress and lack of sleep beginning to catch up with him.

"Do you want me to take over?" asked Rosalyn; the first words she'd spoken for twenty minutes or so.

"No, I'll be alright, but I might pull in to the next quiet rest area I see and stretch my legs for five minutes."

"Have it your way!" There was still an unreconciled edge of bitterness to her voice, and frankly Brian could hardly blame her; not after having a quiet evening so suddenly disrupted and within the space of a few minutes being hustled out her home, her daughter dragged out of bed, and forced to go on the run with her husband, now the subject of a media feeding frenzy.

"Besides, we're not far from the Border now." He said. Their plan - thought up as they fled - was to head for Scotland. With its separate legal system and police force along with an increasingly militant independence minded nationalist government it seemed the best place to drop out of sight for as long as it took for McLean's uncertain position to become clear. Rosalyn had family there, though as yet Brian hadn't decided whether to try and seek shelter with them; relatives' addresses might be one of the first places the authorities may check. If they got that far...

Joining the A269 and driving through Kirkhaugh the silent but rapid approach of flashing blue lights in his rear view mirror evaporated Brian's fatigue. Oh shit! And we were so close... With a bowel loosening sinking feeling he began to slow down in anticipation of being ordered to pull over but the police car swept past, momentarily filling the car's cabin with disorienting strobing light before speeding away unheeding of them into the distant brightening dawn. As the sudden spike of fear began to ease back down to the gnawing background worrying of his predicament McLean wished for the umpteenth time that he could rewind the past day and decide against sending that email to Nathan Rookley. Brian vowed if he were ever to meet that sly little runt in person he'd make sure the bastard would never be in a fit state to write another misleading article or ruin other peoples' lives ever again.