Joyride

By S.T. Gillard

Sprawled out on the grass, Lobo reaches blindly into the solarbike’s mechanisms, searching for the broken part.

“Come on, ya prick. Where are you?”

The times he’s had to fix this bloody thing, he should know its inner workings like the back of his hand by now. Still, it feels like his knuckles are scraping every sharp edge possible as his fingers probe for the busted whirligig.

“Bastard!” Lobo winces as he snags a cuticle on something pointy. He retracts his hand and sits back on the ground, sucking his bleeding finger.

This is taking forever. To be fair, he’s never been much of a mechanic. That’s more Kelty’s forte.

“Nae scran for you until you’ve fixed it, mind!” As if on cue, Kelty’s voice rings out from the entrance of their workshop. They poke their head out. “I’ve told Iona not to give you a single bite until it’s working again.”

Lobo ignores them, plunging his hand back inside the belly of the bike.

“Are you fixing that thing or birthing its offspring?”

“Be done a lot quicker if you gave me a hand,” Lobo calls back, making no effort to hide his snark.

“Aye, you wish. Only work I’ll be doing on it is boosting the bloody brakes!”

Lobo chuckles, guiltily. “Aye, I figured.”

It’s entirely Lobo’s fault the whirligig broke, no question about it. Kelty stuck a new solar battery into the bike last night, a bigger, better one than before. They scavenged it from a village in the north of the island a few weeks back; a surprise discovery for everyone at the farm who thought anything useful had been picked clean years ago. Somehow, they’d missed this⸺an absolute beauty tucked away in the back of a garage. The second it was installed, Lobo couldn’t resist taking the solarbike out on one of his joy rides up the glen. Of course, he pushed it too far; rode right up the glen’s sheer side at full throttle until the whirligig conked out and the bike lost balance. He flew right over the handlebars, nearly breaking his neck. He neglected to tell Kelty about that last part.

Lobo pushed the broken solarbike back to the farmhouse with his tail between his legs and a sheepish grin plastered across his pus. No one was surprised he’d totaled the bike, it was far from the first time he’d done it, but this had to be a new record.

Finally, Lobo’s fingers close around the gyroscopic stabiliser core — the whirligig — at the heart of the engine.

“Gotcha.”

His thumb brushes the rotor and feels the fracture running through the middle of the metal disc. He shuffles in closer to get a better angle and twists the part anticlockwise until it comes loose. Gingerly, he pulls it free.

“Rotor’s fucked,” he calls to Kelty.

Kelty sticks their head out of the workshop door again, face blotchy with grease. “No shit, you kamikaze.”

“What’s that?”

Kelty sighs. “Lad, you need to read more books.”

Lobo holds up the broken rotor. The crack runs like a vein about halfway through, a jagged fissure. “Got a spare one? Or do you think we can weld it?”

Kelty comes over, lifting a pair of goggles off their face. They take the rotor and hold it up to the light. “It’s fucked.”

“Aye, that’s what I said.”

Kelty rolls their eyes. “You’ve got to be more careful, lad. These things don’t grow on trees, you know.” Lobo flashes a hangdog smile. Kelty roars with laughter. “Och, don’t bother. That shit-eating grin is wasted on me, pretty boy.”

Kelty ruffles Lobo’s hair, a little rough for his liking. He pushes their hand away. “Do you have a spare or not?”

“Aye, somewhere. Two secs.”

Kelty disappears into the depths of their workshop. There’s a clattering as they dig through piles of scavenged junk. Lobo taps his foot on the grass, impatiently. Gray clouds are gathering around the hills. If he’s going to get another ride in before it starts pishing down, he’ll have to get a move on. After a minute Kelty reappears, new rotor in hand.

“Catch!” They toss it over.

“Cheers pal,” Lobo smears grease off the new rotor with his thumb. “How many more of these have you got?”

“Like I’m gonna tell you!”

Lobo grins. He reaches back into the guts of the solarbike, slots the rotor in place and turns it til it’s tight. Should be good as new. He hops to his feet and taps the bike’s power switch. It hums to life with an electric purr. Turquoise lines light up along the hull. Inside, the whirligig spins freely. “Fixed it!”

“Hooray…”

Lobo picks up the broken rotor. “Can we use this for anything else?”

“Doubt it,” Kelty doesn’t even glance over, they know what he’s talking about. Everything gets recycled at the farm unless it’s truly useless or broken beyond repair. Kelty gets the final say on all the scraps; they can find a use for most things but this, as they said, is fucked.

“Okay,” Lobo says. “You got any string?”

Moments later, a ball of twine flies out of the workshop. Lobo catches it, unravels a piece about as long as his forearm and gnaws on it until the end splits. He holds up the old rotor and threads the string into the deepest part of the crack with a grin. The jagged metal bites the twine in place, no chance of it coming loose. Lobo ties it around his neck.

He strolls over to the workshop entrance and returns the ball of string to Kelty. “Cheers.”

Kelty looks up from the arrows they’re notching. “What did you want it f-” The old rotor hangs like a medallion on Lobo’s chest. He beams. Kelty rolls their eyes again. “You’re a proper wee dickhead, you know.”

“Aye, I’m aware.”

Kelty can’t help but crack a smile at that. They pass him a handful of fresh arrows. “Take your bow with you. We’re alright for game but there are wolves about.” They look him up and down and sigh. “You’re looking thin, Lobo. Grab some scran from Iona before you go off on another jolly.”

“Cheers, Kelty!” Lobo tears off towards the farmhouse, his new necklace slapping against his sternum.

“Lobo, wait a second!”

He skids to a halt and wheels around. “What is it?”

Kelty’s throat visibly tightens, their eyes straining to stay soft. “Your Dad was asking for you. Have you spoken to him this morning?”

Lobo had the nightmare again last night, the same one as always: him, naked and alone atop a thin pillar of rock, teetering perilously in a dark and choppy ocean. In it, he dares not move in case it topples and sends him plunging into the black depths. There’s no help, no rescue on the way. Everything is gone. His home, his family, all taken by the tide.

Like always, he awoke in a cold sweat, gasping. Unable to get back to sleep, he carried the fear with him until dawn, the night’s terror bleeding over into the day.

Only one thing can distract him: going for another ride. This morning’s short-lived stint up the glen wasn’t enough. He needs more.

Lobo sneaks into the farmhouse. Quickly and quietly, he packs a bag, loads up on food, grabs his bow and shrugs on his parka. As he heads out the front door, a hacking cough sputters from one of the bunks behind him. Then, a weak voice:

“Lobo? Is that you, lad?”

Without looking back, Lobo shuts the door.

He’s flying. The glen streaks around him, a blur of greens and browns. The solarbike hums eagerly between his legs.

Faster.

Lobo twists the throttle and the solarbike responds with a lurch of speed. He leans forward, the grey-sky horizon beckoning. A fine drizzle of rain spatters his face, but he cuts through it like an arrow. The wind is cold flint on his skin, but he can barely feel it. He wants more, more speed.

The land ahead veers sharply upwards. “Let’s go!” Lobo cranks the throttle until it maxes out. The bike soars up the incline like it’s nothing. He can’t help but roar with triumph; this new battery is an absolute dancer.

The bike rips over the top of the glen, catching some air for a split-second. It thuds heavily as the wheels touch down, the new whirligig smoothing out the landing. Lobo doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even blink. He speeds onward towards the coast.

He only releases the throttle once he reaches the jagged cliff line. The bike’s engine sighs as it draws to a gradual halt, coming to a stop a safe distance from the edge. Lobo pushes locks of damp hair off his face and lowers the kickstand.

“Fuck me,” he says with a grin, patting the bike on the handlebars as if to say well done, pal.

Lobo shrugs off his backpack and digs out the food Iona left him: a tupperware box full of stovies. Suddenly ravenous, he wolfs it down. As he eats, he listens to the sound of the waves as they smash into the cliffs. The sea is restless today.

When he’s done eating, he stuffs the box back into his bag. There’s a sliver of onion stuck in his teeth. Hopping off the bike, he plucks a blade of grass from the ground and strolls towards the cliffs, using the grass to pick between his cuspids. The onion eventually comes loose, landing on his tongue. He crunches it up, releasing its sour tang.

The waves grow louder as he approaches. Every so often, a spray of water bursts over the cliff edge, raining down around him. A few drops land on his face and he shuts his eyes⸺a mistake.

In the few seconds of darkness that follow, memories of his nightmare rear up like a snarling beast. A black ocean, a thin pillar of rock and, accompanying them, that same cold dread, crushing and inevitable.

Shit. Lobo opens his eyes and tosses his head back, shaking off the dregs of the bad dream like a cloud of midges that won’t leave him alone. He knows reality will never get as bad as his nightmare. Sure, the island’s getting a wee bit smaller every year, but not so much that it will completely disappear in his lifetime. Not even close. Even the rising tide can’t chip away at the land that fast, but it isn’t really the ocean that frightens him…

Don’t think about it, he recites in his head though, of course, that never works.

Lobo clenches his fists so hard it hurts, and uses the pain to center himself. It’s because he’s stopped, he decides⸺that’s why the nightmare has come back. When he’s riding the solarbike, it’s as though all fear gets blown away in the wind. Now he’s standing still, the dark thoughts have caught up with him again. So, it’s time to get going; speed off somewhere else. Ride away, as far as it takes until they’re gone. He’ll outrun them eventually, he always does.

Lobo powers up the bike, picks a random direction and drives.

He rides for hours, but it’s not working. Every time he takes a break, fear rises up inside him again, an icy stalagmite in his gut. Why now? Normally a quick stint on the bike is enough to get rid of the nightmare’s residual wisps. So why can’t he shake them off today? Frustration claws at his throat; he isn’t a boy anymore. He’s a man, twenty summers old. Too big to be scared of bad dreams.

Lobo laps the southern half of the island, circling the coast. Then, he veers inland, zigzagging through the glens, past the forests, cresting hills. At the rear of the bike, the solar panel is flipped to face the sky, keeping the battery topped up. It won’t run out. His grip on the throttle tightens, his knuckles white peaks. He’ll ride for hours if he has to, not stopping until he’s rid of fear.

The day ebbs away, the stark morning light fizzling into yellow embers in the afternoon. Lobo rides east, chasing his shadow. The warming thrill of riding has long since worn off. Rain falls in nervous showers, off and on, but frequent enough to keep him cold. His sodden clothes chill him to the bones, and with every mile he covers, a gnawing feeling in the back of his mind grows tighter⸺the nightmare’s teeth chewing on his nerves. Today, it isn’t letting go. No matter how fast he rides, he can’t outrun it.

There comes a moment when Lobo can no longer bear it. He slams the brakes and the bike grinds to a halt. A spray of mud erupts as the front wheel slips and the whirligig fights to keep him upright. Lobo gets a faceful of muck and rage boils over inside him.

“Fuck sake!” He spits out a gob of mud and dismounts the bike. Useless piece of junk一can’t even distract me from my bad fucking dreams any more.

“What’s the point of you?” Lobo roars at the idling solarbike. His blood surges. The temptation to kick it, to topple it over and stamp on the hull until it cracks, courses through him. It takes everything he has to hold back; it isn’t just his bike after all. Taking risks in the glen is one thing, but if it breaks down all the way out here and he can’t get it home, that’s not just his problem, it’s everyone’s. Instead, he looks around for something else to smash, something to throw.

An old cairn stands nearby, sprinkled with moss. Lobo storms over to it, bends down and lifts one of the bigger rocks from its base. He marches to the nearby cliffs, boulder balanced on his shoulder. When he reaches the edge, he hoists it overhead and hurls it into the ocean below.

It falls for a second, spinning in the air before a gigantic wave consumes it. It barely even makes a splash. The wave slams into the cliff, sending shockwaves through the ground. Lobo staggers back from the edge, a hollow growing inside him, spittle frothing through gritted teeth.

He thought it would make him feel better, letting his anger out but, if anything, he feels worse. His gut tightens, as though clenched by an iron fist, and a tiny voice speaks up in his head:

Is this what it will feel like once everyone’s gone?

With that thought, Lobo’s final defenses crack and shatter, his worst fears washing over him with the force of a tidal wave.

He stumbles back and almost trips on loose stones. He glances down. The cairn has toppled, vandalised by his outburst. He slumps down on the damp ground next to it, hot tears brimming in his eyes.

Why? Why me?

There’s no doubt he’ll be the last one. Out of everyone that’s left, he’s by far the strongest, the healthiest⸺and it’s not like anyone’s having any more bairns! He’ll outlive them all. But how could anyone, even the toughest fucker around, be expected to bear that burden? Why did his parents even have him一?

More images shudder into Lobo’s mind. Old memories: his mother on her deathbed, frail but still smiling as he crouched next to her and wept; his father a decade ago, taller and stronger even than Lobo is now; a skeletal figure in a bed…

No, Lobo tells himself. You’re not going there, lad. Not now.

He glances around desperately for a distraction. Staring out to sea, he longs for a way to fix things, to save himself from his fate. A vision of a landmass on the horizon comes to him, a distant mirage of another island. Lobo blinks it away before it can manifest.

He’s long since given up on the fantasy that someone across the sea would rescue them one day. It’s a big world. Maybe there is another island out there somewhere, one where they’ve made things work, done better. But if there is, it isn’t anywhere close. His island was once a whole country. Scotland. It would have stretched out for miles and miles before the sea swallowed it all. Miles of mountains, of glens and rivers. It must have been beautiful. Now, this is all that’s left. This spit of land will be all his one day⸺a whole country, all for him and he didn’t even ask for it.

The sun teases the horizon and the island is bathed in twilight blue. He’s shivering now, his damp clothes doing bugger all to keep him warm. He should move, get his blood pumping again.

He scoops himself up and trudges back over to the solarbike. He parked it on the crest of a gentle hill, where the land dips down into a wide glen. At the bottom, a dark forest of pines.

Lobo grabs the handlebars and wheels the bike around; pushing it for a bit will warm him up.

He’s hardly taken ten steps when a howl pours out of the forest below, echoing up the glen. Then another. Soon, a chorus of them rings through the air.

Wolves.

Lobo’s hand strays automatically to his longbow.

He’s twenty summers old and hasn’t had to kill one yet, but there’ve been more than a couple of close calls. Silently, he wills the wolves to stay away from his own glen. Leave us alone and we’ll do the same for you. A chill coils its way around his spine. Just because he was named for them, doesn’t mean he fears these creatures any less.

The howling crescendos until it’s deafening. So many of them. Lobo bites his lip. Kelty once told him about a book they’d read on rewilding, how people had purposefully reintroduced wolves to the wild. Now, they basically run the place. Hopefully, they’ll leave the farm alone. There’s only so much they can do to defend it, especially against a full pack.

The howls grow bolder, the sound circling the hills as though the land itself is joining in. It dawns on Lobo he was wrong about the island being all his one day, because it’s not humanity’s island anymore — hasn’t been for a long time, really. Nature’s taken it back, and now the people are almost gone, it’s thriving. Lobo almost laughs at the arrogance of it all. No matter how much they might have thought so, it never really belonged to them. Sure, they’ve built their settlements here, left their footprints, but it was nature’s island long before people had come along and would continue to be for years after they left. Humans are just passing through, a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of nature’s plan.

The wolves’ howls are in concert now, weaving together in harmony. If they attack him, he’s outnumbered. An easy kill, if they can catch him. Lobo pictures his dead body, mauled and mangled on the ground. An ugly death. The image lingers in his head: would it be the worst thing, he ponders? Maybe dying is the easy way out? Then he won’t have to worry about being alone anymore. Darkness swirls in his mind as the wolfsong eddies around him in haunting currents. Surrounded by their melody, Lobo’s heart beats its own terrified rhythm. He can’t move… or doesn’t want to? It’s strange. Scared though he is, he can’t deny there’s something hypnotic about it. Something enticing, a call from the wild…

A feral instinct comes over him, a mad compulsion. He doesn’t know what makes him do it, but he throws back his head and howls, big and booming. He howls to the sky and the sound carries on the wind, a louder noise than he thought possible to make.

Silence from the wolf pack.

Then, they start their song again, a yowling chorus. And Lobo joins in.

He doesn’t know what he expects to happen — if he’ll frighten the wolves off or draw them to him — but he loses himself in the sound. There’s a strange sense of belonging, of being part of something bigger than him, bigger than people. He can tell these wolves aren’t going to attack him. They’re talking to him, an ancient language without words. He howls himself hoarse but doesn’t stop, not before they do. Eventually, the pack’s song fades until he’s the only one left singing.

No, come on. Keep going.

Lobo draws in a deep breath and howls again, his tattered cords straining with the effort. The wolves don’t answer. His next howl comes out as a croak. Come on, please!

Silence.

“Wait!” Lobo shouts into the glen. “Don’t go!”

But the wolves are done. They’ve gone their own way. A new kind of sadness comes over Lobo, like when an evening of food and games comes to an early end and it’s time to go to sleep. As wonderful as that moment had been, he can’t expect the wolves to hang around for him. They are a pack, after all, and he’s an outsider with his own glen, his own family一

The iron grip clamps his gut again.

Instinct compels him to hop back on the solarbike, to ride off as fast as he can, but something stops him⸺an invisible force, like a hand on his shoulder.

You’re doing this to yourself, you know. That small voice in his head again, the one he’s been burying.

Stop running.

Lobo’s fingers hover above the solarbike’s power switch.

What good will it do?

“I’ll feel better,” Lobo whispers.

No, you’ll feel guilty. There’s no venom to the voice. Guilty for running away.

Lobo shakes his head. “Running is easy.”

But regret is hard.

The faces of Lobo’s family swim into his head. He sees his mother as he wants to remember her, vibrant and full of life. She felt guilty, didn’t she? Guilty for leaving him, she said. But he doesn’t resent her for that. He just misses her, more than anything. Then, there’s his Dad —

Lobo gives in. His hand strays to the piece of metal hanging from his neck, the bike’s broken heart. He pulls it off. Then, he pushes the button.

The sky is black by the time Lobo gets home. Only the palest smudge of moonlight is visible through the clouds. He rides slowly, carefully, the solarbike’s headlamp illuminating his path.

Lobo parks a short distance from the farmhouse, not wanting the sound of the bike to wake anyone. He switches the engine off and dismounts quietly. He pats the saddle, gratefully. Don’t worry, I’ll take you out again tomorrow.

Treading lightly, he heads to the front door and nudges it open.

Inside, it’s dark except for the faint glimmer of power lights on kitchen appliances and the turquoise glow of solar batteries. Soft snoring fills the air. Lobo clicks the door shut behind him.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Once they do, he draws a girding breath and tiptoes over to a bunk in the far corner. A gaunt face peeks out from under the blankets. As Lobo approaches the figure, their eyes open.

“Alright, lad?” Cracked lips spread in a pained smile. Lobo sits on the end of the bed and takes his father’s hand.

“Hi Dad,” Lobo whispers.

His father stifles a cough. “Missed you, pal. Where’ve you been?”

Lobo retrieves the necklace from his pocket. “Around…” He ties the string around his father’s neck and the metal disc rests on his collarbone. His dad smiles. “But don’t worry, I’m here now.”