The government of the Independent Republic of Scotland has other ideas.
I don’t have long. Jamie. I need to keep Jamie safe. I run out to the fields screaming Jamie’s and Cameron’s names until I’m hoarse. Within minutes they’re running toward me, terrified, chorusing What’s wrong? What is it?
“The government is evacuating teenage boys. They’re sending them here, to us.” Cameron’s face falls like a stone through water while Jamie’s twists into a frown.
“They can’t do that, we’re safe here,” he says, outrage tinging every syllable with scorn.
“But they are. We have to keep you safe.”
“The hut,” Cameron says. “It’s right by the stream, it’s far away enough.” Yes, it’s perfect. It’s secure enough to survive however many months that Jamie must be away from us. We can deliver food a hundred meters away and never touch him. My heart lurches. Never touch Jamie, no hug, no ruffling his hair. No, I don’t have time for this. The grief can be felt later.
We race around the house packing together everything we can think of. Sleeping bag, blankets, cooking equipment, books, magazines, walkie-talkie, medicine. Everything someone could need to survive alone.
An hour and a half later we hear the rumble of a coach on the gravel in the driveway. “You have to go now, son,” Cameron says. Jamie has a huge pack on his back; it must weigh almost as much as he does. One of us has to stay here to deal with the arrivals.
“You go,” I say to Cameron. “Go, get him settled.” I grab Jamie and hug him so hard Cameron has to wrench me away again. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mum.” He waves as he heads off to be alone and wait this awful disease out. His shoulders are set with determination and this attempt to be adult in the midst of fear cracks my heart open.
I walk up to the side of the house, swiping away treacherous tears. Teenage boys are starting to make their way off a coach. They all look terrified, cold and very young.
“Hello, I’m Morven,” I call out. It’s not these boys’ fault that they’ve been sent here, away from their homes and families.
One of the boys hands me an envelope in shaking, cold hands.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Macnaughton,
Thank you for your cooperation in the Highland Evacuation Program. This is a government-mandated program requiring remote, safe locations to house uninfected boys aged between fourteen and eighteen for the duration of the Plague. You have been tasked with caring for seventy-eight boys aged fifteen and sixteen until a vaccine or cure is found and the boys can be safely reintroduced to their homes. Please see their names and addresses in Appendix 1, enclosed.
It is essential that you do not leave your property. A food delivery will be provided to you in a number of days, followed by additional monthly deliveries, and we understand that you have good food supplies on your property. Until a vaccine is discovered, these boys must be kept isolated to eliminate the risk of infection. Each of the boys you are caring for has been monitored for symptoms of the Plague virus.
Each boy has been provided with a package of supplies. If you need further supplies you should call 0141 954 8874. Please do not call this number to request further information. Additional information will be provided to you as and when it is available.
When a vaccine is created, the Scottish government will prioritize the boys within your care to ensure the quick return of them to their families.
Please note that as per the emergency legislation passed by the Scottish Parliament, the punishment for breaching the requirements of caregivers in the Highland Evacuation Program is a prison sentence of up to thirty years.
Yours faithfully,
Sue O’Neill
“Right, boys,” I say in the most cheerful tone I can muster. “Let’s get you settled in.”