Yesterdays Lost ~ A Highlander/Star Trek Crossover Fanfic

Crash and Burn at the End of The World

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.