Jessamy Beech Ch. 07: Threlkeld

"Hah. That has gottae be the biggest crock of shite I've ever heard JB," Hamnavoe's booming laugh bounced off the steel bulkheads around them making Jessamy wince. Keaton's militia could still be outside, searching for them.

"Ssh," she hissed, "I've seen photos, documents, maps. It's real."

The 'Ocean Princess' had once been one of the largest luxury liners to visit Orkney. All through the summer months, the islands had been a stopping point for cruises from all over Europe, offloading their passengers at Hatston Pier to take in the sights of the town of Kirkwall before whisking them away again at the end of the day to travel on to their next port of call.

When the meteorite strikes had begun, the Ocean Princess had stayed.

The deserted liner wallowed in the shallows, listing at an angle that made her rust streaked hull grate against the dock in time with the waves. Over thirty years, much of her furnishings, lifeboats and consumables had been salvaged by the Orcadians and repurposed. She was now not much more than an empty hulk. With the coming of the dawn, Jessamy and Hamnavoe had secreted themselves in the deepest, darkest corner of the crew's quarters on the bottom deck to nurse their wounds and wait for nightfall.

Jessamy had finally revealed all she knew about Thanatos, Trevithick's true identity, and the network of defence satellites that could possibly save the planet. Hamnavoe tried in vain to stop giggling as Jessamy fixed him with a stern gaze, "I think I know where the bunker is. I've stood right on top of it."

She remembered Lupita Mpenzi and Alison Nethybridge - comrades who'd become good friends and more all those years before, "We were told the bunker was hidden in the Gloucester area, but we had no idea where. It CAN'T be a coincidence that Trevithick had highlighted the same quotation that's on that slab. He's one of the few men left alive that can actually get inside ... and he's a total fucking fruit loop."

"Maybe he's going to activate this thing, bring Thanatos down once and for all," Hamnavoe suggested, munching on peanuts. They'd ransacked a vending machine on the passenger decks on the way down and by an extreme stroke of luck found some snacks that were only thirty years past their sell by dates.

"No," said Jessamy. She'd seen the message scrawled on the wall of his flat ...

EVERYONE WILL DIE

"He's unhinged Hamnavoe. I think he means to sabotage it. Destroy it so it can't be used at all . If Bromden's calculations were right, Thanatos will then enter the atmosphere and wipe out all life on Earth."

"Pfft. That's a big assumption JB," Hamnavoe scoffed. He dug a grimy finger under the dressing on his leg wound and scratched.

"Do you really want to take the chance I'm wrong?" she asked.

Hamnavoe nodded, after a few moments thought, "Good point. We need to catch him before he gets to Gloucester then. It'll take him time. Scotland's still swarming with Reivers, and anyone that recognises him is likely to lynch him after his little war with General Chinnor."

"We need him Hamnavoe. Alive."

"There's thousands of square miles of wilderness, ruined cities, wasteland. Fort William and Lochaber is a no go area. Edinburgh too if the rumours I've heard are true," Hamnavoe peered out of the grubby porthole at the grey dawn, "what makes ye think we can even find him?"

Jessamy lifted one corner of her mouth in a half smile, "In my thirty eight years, I've been a slave, a gladiator, soldier, diplomat, general and a mother ... and at the moment I'm a bounty hunter. And ... I don't like to blow my own trumpet ... but I'm the fucking best there is. I'll find him."

Her companion took a deep breath, "I don't doubt it. Look uh, Jessamy ..."

Jessamy's ears pricked up. It was the first time Hamnavoe had ever addressed her by her proper name and she sensed that he was about to say something of importance.

"... ye took a chance on me lass. You trusted me when no-one else did. And look where it's got ye. Naught but strife ... I'll go with ye, and I'll do whatever needs to be done. I give ye ma word."

"Thankyou," Jessamy looked Hamnavoe in the eye and smiled, "now ... do you have any idea how we're going to get to the mainland?"

"If we can avoid Keaton's bunch of amateurs he calls militia and get across the island to Stromness, there's an old smuggler friend of mine who owes me a favour ..."

CHAPTER ONE: THRELKELD

Just over nineteen years earlier. The night Jessamy left Threlkeld ...

Mrs Douglas tried not to let her attention wander. Despite the overcast sky, the dawn mist collecting in the floor of the valley was a beautiful sight.

Before Thanatos, she and her late husband would have been already out on the fells by now, walking their Bedlington terriers and eagerly photographing the start of a new day. But now her only companions were an M16 assault rifle and a flask of coffee. Until she was relieved in an hour or so, her task was to perch on the roof of a bungalow at the edge of the village and watch for intruders.

Mrs Douglas tried to stifle a yawn. At least she had breakfast and a warm bed to look forward to.

The community was going from strength to strength with a newly appointed leader - Mrs Taber, and the discovery of enough supplies to last them for years. And the news that one of the young newcomers was pregnant was the icing on the cake.

Mrs Douglas smiled, then yawned expansively.

THUNK!

The crossbow bolt entered her open mouth, tore through the back of her throat and severed her spine before pinning her head to the bungalow's chimney. She had perhaps a second of consciousness to register the grim looking armoured figures climbing stealthily onto the roof below her before she died.

. . .

Less than half a mile away, in the master bedroom of the Horse and Farrier pub, Merida moaned and pushed her hips desperately up towards Ross's questing tongue, "Uuh, stop teasing me Ew. Suck my clit ..."

Merida moaned softly and rotated her hips in his hands, forcing his tongue into little circles. Her hands gripped the headboard, rocking it against the wall as she moved.

Ross glanced up from between her smooth thighs and grinned, "You're more beautiful than ever when you're pregnant."

Merida impatiently pushed his head down, "So you keep telling me. Don't stop ..."

She spread her labia, encouraging him. Ross continued exploring the succulent folds of her vulva. Teasing her shining pink clitoris then lapping all the way down to the warm mouth of her vagina, his stubble tickling her skin in the way that drove the pretty redhead wild.

"Ooh ... lower ..." she gasped.

Slowly, very slowly, Ross shuffled backward down the bed and concentrated on Merida's perineum. Jessamy had always enjoyed it there. With one or two fingers inside her she'd be cumming in seconds when he dipped his tongue into the tight pucker of her asshole.

That was of course before he found out she was his sister. He'd spent hours deliberating how he was going to break the news to Merida. She still thought of him as Ewan, her amnesiac saviour who didn't even remember his own name.

Trying to put his sister Jessamy out of his mind for a moment, Ross pressed experimentally with the tip of his tongue at Merida's most intimate area, moistening it, tracing the ridges of the little pink knot of muscle there.

"Save some energy for the main course," Merida warned.

"And why's that?"

"I'm really horny," groaned Merida expansively, stroking Ross's back with her feet, "must be the hormones ..."

He paused, "Shouldn't the word be 'hormy' then?"

"Stop talking Ewan. Put ... put your finger up there ..." whispered Merida, her head thrown back against the rumpled pillows, eyes tightly closed. Her slender hands kneaded her breasts, tweaking the nipples into painful erectness. Ross loved to see her like this. Touching herself. Taking pleasure in her own body.

He quickly wetted a fingertip with his tongue and ...

BLAM - BLAM!

"What the fuck was that?" Merida cried, sitting upright on the bed.

Ross looked up, his face shining with her wetness, "Sounded like gunfire."

"Somebody hunting?"

"In the street?" Ross clambered off the bed and struggled into his jeans and underwear, having to squeeze his raging hardon in to get the zip fastened. He stepped over to the window and peered out as another volley of shots sounded from the eastern end of the village.

"Get dressed," he said urgently, pulling on his boots, "I think we're under attack. Stay low and away from the windows."

"Under attack? From who?"

Outside, a woman started screaming. A desperate, animalistic scream of someone being put through tremendous pain. Ross finished dressing and snatched up his weapons - a shiny new M16 and a Glock handgun - both liberated from the wreck of Air Force One, currently rusting away in the flooded streets of Keswick.

"I'll go next door and wake Jess," he said and started for the door.

"Please Ewan, don't leave me on my own ..." Merida looked pale and terrified as she pulled on her clothes.

Ross looked torn for a moment, then, "Okay, but be quick."

The screaming stopped as a deafening row of automatic weapons' fire sounded outside. Shouts, breaking glass, the wet thud of bodies hitting the ground ...

The villagers were untrained, mostly middle-aged civilians, not seasoned warriors able to mount a worthwhile defence of their territory.

"RAB! TO YOUR RIGHT!" yelled a guttural voice outside.

Rab? Surely not. Ross's blood ran cold as he realised just who Threlkeld was under attack from, "Meri, it's Reivers. We have to go. Now. Get the fuck away from here."

A crash beneath them reverberated through the building as the pub's front door was kicked in, followed by booted footsteps clumping through the deserted public bar.

"Stay back," Ross flicked off the M16's safety and eased open the bedroom door ...

"Upstairs!" shouted a voice.

BLAM!

Ross opened fire as a bald tattooed head appeared at the foot of the stairwell. He ducked back as bullets and a crossbow bolt thunked into the solid oak newel post and wall beside him, "Shit!"

With shaking hands, Merida pulled on her purple goretex jacket behind him. He remembered how she'd been on the West Highland Way when they were captured by Reivers. Petrified with fear.

There was no way they'd be going out the front door.

"Meri ... you're going to have to climb out the back window," Ross whispered urgently, "I'll hold them off and follow as soon as I can."

Merida looked as if she were about to argue, then quietly slid up the old sash window. Outside, the low, sloping roof of the kitchen extension led to the beer garden, enclosed by waist high drystone wall. Beyond that, the dark, rugged flank of mighty Blencathra.

She lifted a leg through the open window then turned, tears glistening on her pale cheeks, "I love you."

Ross didn't trust himself to reply without his voice breaking, so simply nodded. He was scared. Not for himself, but for Merida and their unborn child, "Be careful," he grunted quickly.

Then Merida turned and clambered out on to the roof. Ross prayed that no Reivers had thought to cover the pub's back entrance, as another volley of gunfire sent wood splinters and flakes of plaster spraying across the landing outside. A framed print of Blencathra in winter shattered as it dropped from the wall.

"How many are there?" shouted a voice from below.

"Dunno, but they're putting up more of a fight than the others."

The others. Mrs Taber. Mrs Douglas, and all the other villagers. Were they already dead? He sincerely hoped so, knowing what capture by the Reivers would mean.

"I'm going up," said a voice quietly.

Ross counted slowly to five ... then leapt out onto the landing and strafed the stairwell with the M16. One Reiver was caught only two steps from the top, a bullet tearing out his throat at point blank range. Another close on his heels clutched himself as 5.56mm slugs stitched a line across his chest and knocked him backwards.

The other Reivers sensibly ducked back out of sight. How many were there?

Being as quiet as possible, Ross hurried over to the window and outside after Merida ...

Where the fuck was Jessamy?

Outside the cold dawn air chilled Ross's face. There was no sign of Merida so he guessed she'd already found a way down off the roof. He was about to turn when ...

BLAM!

Something punched him painfully in the shoulder, the impact spinning him around. His feet slipped on the dewy roof tiles and he fell ...

"Got the fucker!" was the last thing he heard as he crashed down onto one of the beer garden's wooden picnic tables.

. . .

"Rab! They've got a shit ton of guns here," shouted a muffled voice from the front street.

"Leave them for now. Search the houses, then torch them. Round up any survivors ..."

Merida crouched beside Ross behind the Horse and Farrier's enormous brick built barbeque, hoping that no-one would notice the smears of his blood across the concrete patio where she'd dragged his unconscious form.

She tucked Ross's Glock in the waistband of her jeans. If capture by the Reivers looked inevitable she wasn't going to let them take her alive. Ross murmured something in his sleep, "I love ... you, sis ..."

He was delirious. Probably in shock. The Reiver's bullet had passed through his upper right arm and out the other side, taking a fair sized chunk of muscle and bone with it. She quickly unlooped her belt and tightened it just under his armpit to try to slow the bleeding.

Where the fuck was Jessamy? Was she dead? Or even worse, captured?

Merida dreaded to think what kind of infections Ross might have from something handled by Reivers. Once they were safe she'd have to track down some antibiotics.

Safe?

She almost laughed out loud. How could she possibly escape from this situation with an unconscious, heavily bleeding grown man in tow? She barely had the strength to drag him, let alone lift him alone.

A faint rustle from the dead rhododendron bush behind her made her snatch hold of the handgun with shaking fingers.

"Merida? It's me lass."

"Jess?"

But it wasn't Jessamy. Old Mrs Taber the community's leader crawled out of the bush, glancing furtively around. Her clothes were filthy and a smear of drying blood covered one side of her wide-eyed face, "Are you injured?"

Merida shook her head, trying to hide her disappointment, "No. No, I'm fine. But Ewan's wounded."

Mrs Taber sucked in her breath as she caught sight of the state of Ross's arm, "That looks nasty. But we can't stay here love. It's almost light ... and the whole bloody village is swarming with these bastards."

"Have you seen Jessamy?" Merida asked desperately.

"No lass," answered Mrs Taber, "they're already inside her cottage so ..."

Merida stifled a sob.

"Look. I ... think it'd be best if we left Ewan. With the amount he's bleeding, he's going to die soon anyway."

Merida's eyes blazed, "And leave him for the Reivers? Like fuck we will. I'm getting him out of here with or without your help."

Something in Merida's voice convinced Mrs Taber she meant what she said. The old woman eventually nodded and awkwardly lifted Ross's good arm around her shoulders, "If we can get out on t' open fellside we mebbe able to lose them."

Merida wrapped her arms around Ross's torso and lifted, not wanting to touch his ruined arm, "Let's go."

. . .

Weeks and months later, whenever Ross asked Merida how they'd ever managed to escape Threlkeld on that dreadful night, she couldn't answer. Luck? Fate? She simply didn't know. When she lay awake at night she had fleeting memories, impressions, of intense cold, hiding, paralysing fear, stumbling blindly over scree littered mountainside and practically screaming with frustration whenever Ross's wound started bleeding again.

But her exhausted mind had thankfully seen fit to block out all the details, leaving her with just a series of jumbled sensations and images like a badly edited film trailer. And all through it, there had been Mrs Taber, remaining determined, calm and focussed while Merida cried and ranted and swore brutal vengeance if the worst should happen.

To the west beyond Keswick there was only poisoned land and the radiation from the damaged nuclear reactor at Sellafield. To the south the uninhabitable devastation of the big cities. Mrs Taber reasoned that if the Reivers had come from the north - Scotland, there would be more on their way soon. So they headed east.

They scrounged basic medical supplies and a little food from an abandoned cottage hospital near Penrith and fashioned a makeshift litter to drag Ross as they no longer had the strength to carry him.

. . .

On the third or fourth day of their flight, Mrs Taber pulled a disgusted face as she changed Ross's dressing. They'd spent the night in a secluded bungalow set back from the road behind a screen of dead conifers. With much of the roof collapsed, only one room remained habitable.

"What is it?" asked Merida, trying her best to clean the Glock the way Jessamy had taught her. With her friend dead and gone, Merida felt that she was somehow honouring her memory by maintaining her weapon in perfect working order.

"I was afraid of this. The wound's infected," answered Mrs Taber, "it stinks."

Ross had been drifting in and out of consciousness since leaving Threlkeld. He sometimes cried out in pain, pleading with them to leave him behind and occasionally muttering delirious ramblings about Jessamy being his sister ...

"What can we do?" Merida asked, setting the dismantled handgun to one side.

"I can deliver babies pet," said Mrs Taber, "but this, I'm afraid, is beyond me. He needs proper medical attention and antibiotics ... and quickly."

. . .

So they continued. The landscape became bleaker and more desolate as Merida and Mrs Taber strayed north east. They saw no-one.

A few days later, they discovered their way ahead blocked by the overgrown ruins of an enormous wall stretching off to the east and west for as far as they could see, hugging the landscape and following its every contour.

"Hadrian's Wall," Mrs Taber informed her, "the Romans built it to keep the likes of the Reivers out. A lot of good that did."

"Jess ... we should tell ... Merida you're my ..." Ross thrashed his head from side to side on his litter, his grey face drenched in a cold sweat.

"Why does Ewan keep talking about Jess like that?" asked Merida, squinting into the cold sleet stinging her face.

Mrs Taber placed a hand gently on her arm, "He's delirious pet. He doesn't know what he's saying. I ... don't think it'll be long now ..."

With the physical and mental exhaustion of fleeing from the Reivers finally taking its toll, Merida's face crumpled as she began to sob. First Jessamy, now Ewan. She was going to lose both her best friends. She gazed out over the featureless grey hills remembering their first night together near Loch Lomond. It had felt so right. The three of them, lovers, in one sweating tangle of limbs.

She couldn't remember ever being that happy.

Black spots flittered across her vision through the film of tears as she continued staring ...

Then ...

Merida held her breath as three spots in particular appeared to be getting larger, weaving purposefully amongst the withered heather and rocky outcrops. Was she hallucinating?

Too big to be people, too small to be vehicles. Approaching fast. She glanced around. There was nowhere to hide except beside the wall. And that was so obvious she guessed they'd be found in moments. They'd been spotted already, so there was nothing to do but stand their ground and wait ...

Mrs Taber noticed them too as a rhythmic thudding sound reached their ears. She gaped, "Horses! I've not seen horses in years! I thought they were extinct."