Jessamy Beech Ch. 11: Penzance

"W-we're not with J-jack Aubrey," Jessamy announced. She screwed her face up as a wave of pain pulsed through her foot.

"What's wrong with you? You injured?" the woman demanded.

"WHO YOU GOT THERE, WEN?" shouted one of the men from the ambush, striding over before Jessamy could answer. It was the massive one who'd thrown the Molotov cocktail. He was well over six feet tall and barrel chested, dressed from head to foot in grubby camouflage gear. But what really struck Jessamy was the man's face. It had been either painted or tattooed jet black, leaving a line of bare skin a couple of inches wide down the centre over his nose and another horizontally across both cheeks, to form a white cross.

"The cross of St Piran," whispered Jessamy without even thinking.

"What do YOU know about it?" sneered the man. He drew a wicked looking hunting knife and grinned at shotgun woman, "looks like we'll need to plant a couple new posts."

"I know the cross of St Piran is Cornwall's flag. My dad told me," Jessamy blurted, "I know because before Thanatos I saw it every day from my bedroom window, flying over the church in our village."

Shotgun woman paused, glancing at Jessamy's crutch, "You're Cornish?"

"I am," said Jessamy, "but my friend is from South Africa."

"And you're wounded?"

Jessamy nodded, "Stepped on glass escaping from Jack Aubrey. One of our friends ... was killed."

Shotgun woman winced. She visibly relaxed and broke her shotgun, leaning the barrels over her shoulder, "Let's get you somewhere safe and take a look at you. Then you can give us a good reason to believe you're not just Aubrey's spies."

. . .

Shotgun woman introduced herself as Morwenna. The huge man with the tattooed face turned out to be her husband who went by the simple name of Ox. Jessamy assumed it was a nickname that had stuck.

"You got a weird accent for a Cornish maid," Ox told Jessamy. She and Mpenzi were being escorted into Liskeard at a frustratingly slow pace as Jessamy was finding the going difficult on the uneven road. The others who'd ambushed the pickup spread out across the road and covered their backs.

"I got evacuated from Penzance when I was eight. I grew up on Mull, just off Scotland. I've not been back since."

Ox nodded, apparently satisfied.

Jessamy stumbled as her crutch caught between two slabs of tarmac.

"Fuck sake," Ox swore, "we carry on like this we'll be 'ere all bleddy day."

Without waiting for Jessamy's consent, he swept her up in his huge arms and carried her as if she weighed no more than a child. After a moment Jessamy awkwardly wrapped her arms around his thick neck.

"What's happened to the road?" asked Mpenzi, "we noticed it's pretty chewed up all the way back to Plymouth."

No-one responded, but Morwenna motioned down the road ahead.

The wrecked carcasses of six tanks lay scattered around the next intersection. Each bore black scorch marks across their turrets and bullet holes from some savage attack. Two listed at awkward angles over deep craters where the ground beneath them had been blasted away by huge explosive devices. The street was littered with buckled armour plate and track links twisted by intense heat.

The side of each tank had been boldly daubed with the cross of St Piran.

"Challenger III MBTs," said Ox conversationally, as they negotiated the clear route through the wreckage, "left 'em here as a warning to anybody else who gets ... ideas. Though Aubrey knows better n' to come this side o' the bridge."

"You lot ... took out six tanks?" gasped Mpenzi.

"Wasn't easy. Lost a lot o' good people. You'd be surprised 'ow much dynamite our granite quarries 'ad lying about. Must be nine or ten years ago now. 2023, 24 maybe. After the first meteorite strikes on Camborne and Redruth, and after all the evacuations, there weren't any more hits for ages," Morwenna explained, "what was left o' the government decided to impose martial law and seize Falmouth harbour ... by force if necessary."

"Why? What's so special about Falmouth?" Mpenzi asked. She was beginning to suspect that her loyalties had been with the wrong people.

"Second deepest harbour in the world after Sydney," Ox supplied. The party skirted around barricades and deep ditches designed to slow the advance of an enemy attack.

"They could get bleddy big ships in and out to evacuate all the rich and famous, the great and the good, the MPs, the Royal family an' whatnot - not that it would've done them a lot of good," Morwenna continued, "Preen buggers sent their tanks down to 'control' us. But we'd 'ad enough. Cornwall's bin shit on fer long enough. If Cornwall was the safest place in the country we were gonna keep it that way. We fought 'em off. Only threat we got now is that bastard Aubrey."

They reached a peaceful terrace of Victorian houses. Townsfolk going about their daily business shouted greetings to Ox and Morwenna and openly stared at the two newcomers.

"H-how's the rest of Cornwall further down?" Jessamy asked.

"We got some cunt tryin' to start his own army over Newquay way at the moment," said Ox, "the old airfield at Perranporth. Ex admiral or somethin', he wants to invade the rest of Britain. Bleddy tosser. Truro's like a fortress now. It's at the top of the River Fal leading down to Falmouth. So if the army decide to invade again that's prob'ly where they'll 'ead to. Strategic importance an' all that."

"An' if that tuss Aubrey ever gets his HMS Poseidon up 'n runnin', he'll be able to sail her up the Fal to within a mile or two of Truro city centre. They'll be fucked," Morwenna added, "we've got a couple 'undred good people 'ere in Liskeard, livin' in peace, an' we wanna keep it that way. But if Truro falls we'll be next."

"I'm not sure about Aubrey, but I don't think the army's going to give you any more trouble," said Mpenzi quietly.

Morwenna frowned as she pushed open the cast iron garden gate to one of the houses, "Why's that?"

Mpenzi held her gaze, "We're it. We're all that's left. London's gone and the Reivers have invaded the north from Scotland. There's a new guy calling himself General Chinnor who was hot on our heels when we left Gloucester like something out of Mad Max. Any way you look at it ... there's probably going to be a war."

Morwenna pushed open the front door, "I best put the kettle on then."

"Who's Mad Max?" Jessamy whispered to Mpenzi.

. . .

Morwenna and Ox quizzed Jessamy about her history. But her memory of her life in Cornwall before being evacuated to Tobermory was sketchy to say the least. She remembered that her mother Vicky may or may not have been in the navy. Her dad John had been some sort of artist and that there'd been two family dogs - springer spaniels called Frodo and Chester.

Jessamy remembered her older brother Ross too. Very well in fact. After all, only months before she'd have been in Threlkeld in Cumbria, writhing underneath him, legs wrapped around his back as he ploughed his beautiful cock deep inside her, while Merida squatted over her face presenting her delicious vulva to be licked. She decided it was probably best not to share that particular memory though.

Morwenna, a veterinary nurse before Thanatos and now the town's chief medic, removed the glass from Jessamy's foot, cleaned the wound thoroughly and carefully stitched it up. She then sprayed the area with some sharp smelling purple chemical.

"What's that?" Jessamy asked.

"Tetracycline. Antiseptic. We used it on sheep with foot rot before Thanatos."

"Oh."

Both Mpenzi and Jessamy were offered some more suitable clothes as it was decided that their military uniforms were likely to get them killed, "They're not much. We tend to recycle stuff 'til it falls apart here," Morwenna explained.

"Guess I'm not a soldier anymore then," said Mpenzi, pinching the material of her second hand softshell in what may have once been a lurid shade of purple.

"I think your ... unique skills might come in useful again, one day," Jessamy reassured her.

. . .

They stayed at Morwenna and Ox's home in Liskeard for another week while Jessamy's foot healed. Their son Jethro had been at university in Leeds when the strikes had begun and they'd not heard from him since. So Jessamy and Mpenzi were given his cosy attic room, taking it in turns to sleep on the narrow single bed, with a second bed made up on the floor.

The house, like the rest of the town had no electricity, no gas and no water supply. So Mpenzi helped earn their keep by carrying water from a local stream, tending the townsfolk's crops and chopping wood. Many of the surviving townsfolk were involved in building greenhouses in which to grow food, using materials salvaged from the nearby Eden Project.

Jessamy did all she could without putting any undue strain on her slowly healing foot - cleaning and maintaining weapons and, a new experience for her - cooking.

"I s'pose if you'd bin Aubrey's spies you'd 'ave poisoned us by now," Ox joked one evening. Before Thanatos he'd been a welder working at Devonport and therefore knew the layout of the dockyards intimately.

They'd all seated themselves around the big round dining table for their evening meal - traditional pasties, but made with rabbit and squirrel meat.

"You haven't tasted them yet," Jessamy grinned.

Ox laughed loudly enough to make Jessamy's ears ring.

Trago, a scrawny ginger cat that Ox had found while out scavenging, wove in and out between their legs meowing pitifully hoping for scraps.

"It's been lovely 'avin you two girls 'ere," said Morwenna seriously.

Something in her voice made Jessamy put down her knife and fork and look up.

"Shall you tell 'em or shall I?" Morwenna asked Ox.

Ox grinned, "There's a transport leavin' for Truro in the mornin' ..."

"Transport?" Jessamy asked.

"I've 'ad a word an' you can be on it," Ox continued, "it'll cut a bit off your journey and save your poorly foot young lady."

Jessamy looked excitedly at Mpenzi, "Truro's less than thirty miles from Penzance. I could be home the day after tomorrow."

. . .

Jessamy's pasties went down extremely well. They sat up late with their hosts, sipping homemade blackberry gin and sharing stories of their own adventures and of the surviving population of Liskeard banding together and starting to rebuild.

Hours later, Jessamy lay wide awake staring at the sliver of moon outside their bedroom window up under the eaves. Once she'd checked on her parents she still had a mission ...

Mpenzi had returned Bromden's laminated list to her. Not that Jessamy needed it. She could remember and recite every name without even trying - General Sir Kenneth Turkle, Admiral Dale Fredrickson, Air Chief Marshal Charles Harding (deceased), Major Angus Banavie, and many others ...

On the floor beside the bed, Mpenzi rolled on her back and punched her pillow in frustration.

"What's up?" Jessamy whispered.

"Can't fuckin' sleep. I can guess why you're still awake though. Excited. You're going to see your family the day after tomorrow."

"Yeah," Jessamy sighed.

"What's the matter? Aren't you looking forward to it?"

Jessamy turned to face her in the gloom, "Lupita, I don't even know if they're still alive. And even if they are, one of the first things I've got to do is tell them Ross, their only son, is dead. The last time I saw my dad, he was putting me on a train to live as a slave for ten years on Mull."

"He didn't know that though."

"No, but ... things have changed," said Jessamy, "I've changed."

Mpenzi was silent for a full minute, then quietly sobbed, "At least ... your family, are only fifty miles away. Mine are thousands of miles away."

"Oh fuck," Jessamy's eyes widened, "sorry Lupita, I didn't think."

The South African woman had always seemed so untouched by the trifling concerns of the regular soldiers in her charge, such as emotions and mourning what they'd lost in the old world, that Jessamy had always regarded her as something more than mere human. An amazon warrior. Fearless, unbeatable and unflappable. So this sudden display of vulnerability scared her.

It seemed that Lupita Mpenzi was just like everyone else.

She clambered down off the bed and sat on the floor beside Mpenzi, tugging the duvet around herself for warmth, "Tell me about them. About your family."

Mpenzi sighed, "They might all be dead ... but okay. My father was Mexican believe it or not ..."

Jessamy didn't have a clue what a Mexican was.

" ... a foreman or something high up ... in the gold mines. My mother Upine divorced him when I was little."

"That's a lovely name. What does it mean?"

"It means rainbow in Swahili. Very appropriate for a South African wouldn't you say? I have two younger sisters Uzuri and Mfalme. Their names mean beauty and princess."

"Wow. So your name, Lupita, must mean something too."

"It does. It means valley of the wolf. My father's idea."

Jessamy raised an eyebrow, "Valley of the ... so does your surname Mpenzi mean anything? Maybe ... skull island, or something?"

"Yes, it does," Mpenzi looked deep into Jessamy's eyes, "it means ... lover."

"You're kidding."

Mpenzi shook her head.

In a heartbeat the atmosphere in the room changed as if the very air was charged with anticipation. Expectation. Jessamy leaned closer towards Mpenzi, a question in her eyes ...

Mpenzi waited, wanting Jessamy to make the first move. What happened next would change them both irrevocably. Their actions would dictate, for good or bad, how every part of their future relationship would be.

Their lips touched tentatively, unsure. Then again. Then each of them became bolder, their kisses more urgent, more forceful. Mpenzi pulled back, gasping for air, "You've no idea how long I've waited for that."

Jessamy looked down, embarrassed, "Do you ... want to stop?"

Mpenzi reached a hand behind Jessamy's neck, entwined a hand in her long blonde hair and pulled her down on top of her, "Not a chance."

The duvet slid away as Jessamy straddled the tall black woman, feeling a delicious tingling warmth spreading through her belly. She frantically tugged off the threadbare Assassin's Creed t-shirt she'd been wearing to bed and let Mpenzi gaze on her nakedness for the first time.

The moonlight transformed Jessamy's body into an erotic chiaroscuro. Hardening nipples casting tiny shadows across pale gooseflesh. Jessamy shivered. Whether from the cold or anticipation of what was to come she didn't know.

Mpenzi carefully drew the discarded duvet over both of them ...

... then with a grunt of effort pushed Jessamy sideways onto her back and straddled her instead, "My turn first Beech," she smiled.

Holding one of Jessamy's wrists in a vicelike grip, Mpenzi grabbed the elastic waistband of her panties and began tugging them down over her thighs. Jessamy squirmed, trying to throw Mpenzi off, but simultaneously giggling, "Haha, geddoffome ... I'm ticklish."

Mpenzi froze, "You're ... ticklish?"

Jessamy nodded, panting for breath. Mpenzi stared down at her heaving chest, eyes wide with desire, "The last thing you want to do if you're ticklish is ..."

"What?"

"TELL SOMEONE ABOUT IT!" Mpenzi's hands were suddenly all over her, fingers tickling her waist, her ribcage, her nipples. Jessamy squealed. Merida and Ross had known her secret but had never taken merciless advantage of it as Mpenzi was doing now. She snatched desperately at Mpenzi's arms with her free hand, wanting her to stop ...

... and wanting her to never stop.

"Ohfuck!" Jessamy gasped out loud, as she realised that Mpenzi had finally succeeded in removing her underwear and her fingertips were now teasing in an entirely new area, delving into the moistness between damp curling hairs.

"My god you're wet," Mpenzi murmured. She lowered her head and took one of Jessamy's nipples in her mouth.

"Mmm, I've wanted this ... since you invited me to ... your quarters at Woodvale. Only I expected a little ... foreplay," Jessamy purred as Mpenzi's fingers probed up inside her, separating her folds.

Mpenzi leaned up to nibble Jessamy's earlobe, "I don't believe in foreplay ... and I ... have wanted you ... since I found out you wear thick woolly socks to bed."

"I get cold feet and it stops ... my stitches snag ... ahhh!"

With two fingers stroking lazily in and out of her, Mpenzi chose that moment to press the pad of her thumb firmly down against Jessamy's clitoris, "You like that?"

In response Jessamy wrapped her socked feet around the South African's legs, blissfully giving herself up completely to the moment, clutching at her lover's hips, her waist, her ass, "What ... do your ... lovers ... usually wear then?"

Mpenzi nuzzled Jessamy's neck, her dreadlocks tickling the blonde girl's face and shoulders, "A corset maybe ... a thong ... a great big anatomically correct strapon?"

"What's that?" Jessamy had no idea what a strapon was but could make a wild guess.

"Hopefully I might get to show you one day," Mpenzi chose that precise moment to push three fingers up into her at once.

"Uuh ..."

"Are you okay? Too much?" Mpenzi asked.

Jessamy shook her head, biting her bottom lip. What she'd had with Alison Nethybridge before had been just sex, pure and simple. A necessary way of scratching an itch. She regretted the outcome, but ultimately couldn't help that the poor girl had read too much into it.

But this. Two friends, two equals with no misconceptions that it would ever develop into anything more. No strings. So Jessamy thought she might as well enjoy it. She placed her hands on Mpenzi's head and gently pushed down.

Mpenzi understood what was expected of her and shuffled down, planting tiny, nibbling kisses at various points along the way. With her face between Jessamy's parted thighs she slowly, very slowly leant forward, extending her tongue. Jessamy squeezed her eyes shut and gasped.

Mpenzi's probing tongue lapped its way sensuously up the tender skin of Jessamy's inner thighs, then withdrew.

"Don't stop," Jessamy found herself tense and quivering with the promise of what was to come. She squirmed, writhing her hips. Trying to push herself against Mpenzi's teasing mouth, "please ..." she moaned, "get on with it. Lick me."

But Mpenzi ignored her, taking her time. Prolonging Jessamy's delicious agony. She set her lips to Jessamy's mound and traced her tongue expertly down through the damp, engorged folds of flesh ... then drove deep up into Jessamy's vagina, "Mmm."

Mpenzi's tongue licked and quivered, lapping along Jessamy's wet satin walls. Not at all like Merida's playful, teasing touches. The South African's movements were more deliberate, forceful even, like Ross's, the only man she'd ever slept with - demanding.

A detached part of her mind considered that if they ever did this again, Mpenzi might need a little coaching. Nevertheless, Jessamy cried out in an agony of pleasure. It was easy to believe that her friend's long determined tongue would slither its way all the way up inside her, filling her completely like Ross's cock had done. She wanted to concentrate on how it felt, to remember the sensations and file the memories away, but the buzzing in every cell of her body forced all rational thought out of her head ...

... and simply yearned for it to continue. On, and on, and on.

Without willing it Jessamy's loins began to undulate, arching to push herself off the floor against Mpenzi's searching mouth. She pressed her clitoris against Mpenzi's lips and moaned with delight, "Don't stop. That's it ... put your fingers inside again ..."

Then Jessamy shuddered, every muscle spasming, a bright explosion of lightning inside her head. Mpenzi clutched her hips and drew her close as she rode out the wave, "Uhh ... fuck, Lupita ... uhh ..."

Jessamy lazily twiddled with Mpenzi's dreadlocks as she lay panting, face flushed and a delicious warm glow pulsing through her limbs, "That ... was lovely."