With no time to lose, he disembarked the train at Waverley Station and ran for dear life, fighting his way through the crowds, the steam from the engine being prepared for another trip down to London. There was absolutely no time to loose and with every passing second, the chances of their survival reduced. He was focussed as he sped up Market Street with vigour and rounded up towards the High Street.
He was soon making his way up Roxburgh’s Close and could almost see the end; within touching distance and just beyond at the lantern beckoning him on the Royal Mile, the huge imposing shadow of St Giles cast all over the cobbles where the old Edinburgh Tolbooth once stood.
In an instant he would be upon them and they would be free. They would all walk together for the first time in so long, together again and reunited. He would win; they, would win. There was nothing to stop him but himself and with no further delay, he was almost at the top of the close and on to the High Street.
The scream from far below sounded as it could be miles away yet he knew to be in his earshot, the voice belonging to the man he thought was four hundred miles south was a whole lot closer than that and a little closer again! He must have followed him, stowing away on the train from London to Waverley. He ran all the quicker, his last few steps slightly more laboured. He wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t give up and he wouldn’t give up on them. He ran on, the footsteps behind getting closer and faster but still he continued. There could be only one winner in this race, one survivor…