Jessamy Beech Ch. 13: Newlyn

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know this is supposed to be erotic fiction but it's difficult trying to shoehorn regular smatterings of sordid sex into a post apocalypse story about saving the world and keep it credible. Apologies for the previous episode being a bit, ahem ... dry. Hope this one, that begins days after Chapter 12, sates your appetite.

I mean no disrespect to the lovely people of New Zealand and your fantastic country, but the character of Jiff IS based loosely on a real person with a very strong accent. He's a great bloke and that's really how he speaks.

I'd welcome any comments you have, good or bad, about the story so far and will endeavour to respond if you so wish.

. . .

Porkellis was such a tiny place that finding Dale Fredrickson's cottage took no time at all. Hamnavoe insisted that Jessamy wait in the pickup with her brother Ross while he went inside to see if it was indeed the right property.

Jessamy scratched her head, peering at herself critically in the rear view mirror. She smiled as she remembered Hamnavoe shouting up the stairs of the Beech family home in Madron that morning, "How much longer ye gonnae be in the fuckin' bathroom JB? Have ye fallen in?"

Then the stunned silence as she'd walked into the kitchen, all eyes on her.

"Mummy! You cut your hair," Ada had exclaimed around a mouthful of scrambled egg on toast.

Using scissors and one of her father's recycled razors, Jessamy had completely removed her dreadlocks then shaved her head. The celtic knot tattoo covering one side of her face now looked more vibrant than ever, "New beginning," she had announced, "Thanatos is gone, so ... I fancied a change."

Hamnavoe had held her at arm's length and studied her new look, "Suits ye lass," he'd gently kissed the top of her bald head, "but then again ye're so gorgeous anyway ye'd look good wearing nothin' but a traffic cone on yer head."

"That could be arranged," Jessamy had purred as she'd nibbled his earlobe, though she wasn't sure what a traffic cone was.

But that had been hours ago before they'd left Madron. The sky over the Lizard Peninsula was the brooding grey black of old charcoal when they arrived, with the promise of rain later. The weather precisely suited Jessamy's mood.

It had been days since the events at the bunker in Gloucester. Days since Thanatos had finally been destroyed, and since she'd fucked Hamnavoe and Ross in a whisky fuelled threesome in her father's lounge.

"Are you going to tell Merida what happened when you go back?" Jessamy asked her brother. The first fat raindrops splattered on the cracked windscreen in front of her.

"Do you want me to?" Ross asked. He thought it strange that Merida hadn't been in touch from Berwick Upon Tweed to tell them Newald had gotten back safely in the Phoenix.

"I love you both Ross ... and I don't want to cause any trouble between you. Merida is my oldest friend and you're my brother. It ... might be a good idea to keep it to yourself after all."

Ross was about to respond when he spotted Hamnavoe emerging from the house. An enormous oak tree had fallen and smashed through the front part of the roof years before letting in the elements. Rubbish left by looters was strewn across the garden and the scorch marks of someone's campfire blackened the end wall.

Jessamy watched Hamnavoe silently as he opened the rusting pickup's door, a question in her eyes that she dreaded hearing the answer to.

He held up a faded plastic ID card to show her ...

"PETTY OFFICER VICTORIA BEECH," Jessamy read, her voice devoid of any emotion.

"She's laid out on the kitchen table in there," Hamnavoe told them quietly, "looks like someone may've tried to save her. There's ... not much left. Few scraps of uniform, but ... there must have been wild animals got in ..."

Jessamy placed a hand on his arm, "Thanks Angus. Thanks for finding her. At least now we can give her a proper burial."

Hamnavoe tugged a folded tarpaulin out of the pickup and walked back inside, the rain now coming down steadily.

"He's a good man," Ross observed.

Jessamy nodded, "Yep. We've both got our baggage, our old scars ... but I think we fit well together. I never thought that after Jiff ... was killed, that I'd get a second bite of the apple."

"You've not told me much about Jiff. How did you two even meet?"

Jessamy laughed, "That, big brother ... is a long story."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: NEWLYN

Eighteen years earlier, August 20th 2033 ...

"... happy birthday ... dear Jessamy ... happy birthday ... to you."

"Okay, okay Lupita, I get the message," Jessamy squirmed and giggled as Mpenzi slowly kissed her way down between her breasts under the duvet.

"It's not every day you get to be twenty, birthday girl," Mpenzi murmured, planting a kiss on Jessamy's navel.

For the first time in what seemed a very long while, the sun shone over Madron village. A warm beam of sunlight through the old sash bedroom window made Jessamy squint as she struggled, not very forcefully, against the South African woman's amorous advances.

"I'd love to stay and ... you know," Jessamy gripped the waistband of her panties as Mpenzi started to slide them down her thighs, "but Dad's asked us to help with the harvest."

Mpenzi tutted and sat up, throwing the covers off. The sunlight turned her skin a radiant, golden brown. Jessamy groaned inwardly, gazing at Mpenzi's hard nipples, wanting nothing more than to spend the next few hours suckling and teasing them.

"We need to earn our keep so I guess we better get up then, birthday girl," pouted Mpenzi. She flicked her long dreadlocks back over her smooth shoulders as she clambered naked off their bed, "I almost forgot! I got you a present."

"Present?" Jessamy watched as her friend rummaged through her drawer of clothes. It would be a while until her own dreadlocks were as impressive as Mpenzi's but it had only been six months since she'd been persuaded to adopt the more manageable style.

Six months. It was hard to believe. They'd settled into village life in Cornwall so quickly, growing crops, fishing, setting traps for game and going on scavenging expeditions. It was almost as if the nightmare of ten years living as a slave on the island of Mull and the eventful journey home had never happened. Though occasionally Mpenzi still mentioned her plans to return home to Johannesburg to find her own family in South Africa, she always seemed to find an excuse to delay leaving.

"Ta da!" Mpenzi handed over a small parcel sealed neatly in Christmas wrapping paper.

"Merry Christmas?" Jessamy gave it an experimental shake.

"It was all I could find."

Jessamy tore open the paper, eyeing Mpenzi suspiciously. What appeared to be a nine inch long anatomically correct purple silicone penis with a series of fabric straps and plastic buckles attached fell out into her hand, "What the ...?"

Mpenzi clapped her hands, "A strapon! I told you I'd get one. I asked Ox and Morwenna up in Liskeard to keep their eyes open."

Jessamy's eyes sparkled, "We've got a busy day ahead of us. I hope we've still got the energy to try this out later. Thankyou," she wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders and hugged her tight.

"JESSAMY! LUPITA! ARE YOU UP?" John Beech shouted up the stairs from the kitchen.

"No. But I might be later," Mpenzi sniggered quietly.

"JUST COMING!" Jessamy yelled back, giving Mpenzi a playful shove. She pulled on a worn pair of Craghoppers and went rooting about for clean socks.

"You might be saying that later too," Mpenzi whispered, waggling the strapon at her.

"Behave," Jessamy hissed, but couldn't stop herself smiling.

. . .

John Beech was sitting at the kitchen table when the two women finally arrived downstairs. Jessamy was surprised to see two other middle aged men there, both whom she recognised from the local area, who had no doubt called around early to help with the harvest too.

"Happy birthday young lady," he said as Jessamy and Mpenzi sat and helped themselves to coffee and thick slices of buttered toast with homemade blackberry jam.

After six months living under his roof, Jessamy and Mpenzi had given up trying to keep their relationship a secret from him. To begin with they'd waited until they thought he was asleep and crept across the upstairs landing to each other's bedrooms. But he'd no doubt been getting suspicious every time they fell asleep in each other's arms after their more enthusiastic lovemaking and ended up emerging from the wrong rooms in the morning.

One or two whimsical comments along the lines of 'Couldn't you sleep last night?' or 'Did anyone else hear that sound in the night?' after Mpenzi had had Jessamy squealing with ecstacy in the small hours were another dead giveaway. If his daughter chose to sleep with another woman then so be it. Her health and happiness were all that mattered.

"Beautiful morning Mr Beech," Mpenzi said brightly.

"It is. But how many times have I told you, you can call me John."

Mpenzi lowered her eyes as she looked across the table at Jessamy's father, "Sorry ... John."

Jessamy squinted. Was she missing something? Being cooped up on Mull for a decade may have deprived her of many nuances of human interaction but she was certain she could detect ... something, going on.

"I was just sayin' to yer father, bleddy shame about Ox," said one of the other men.

Jessamy paused in mid chew, "What?"

He was grey haired and grizzled wearing a patched body warmer over old John Deere overalls. His accent was about as Cornish as it was possible to get, "Sorry miss. I was just tellin' yer dad 'bout Ox up Liskeard way. Found a couple days back, dead."

Jessamy sat back, stunned.

"You knew Ox, didn't you Jess?" John Beech asked.

"Y-yeah. They ... put us up for a few days on our way here. How? What about his wife, Morwenna?"

Body warmer seemed mortified to be relaying bad news, "Both of 'em. Lyin' naked in bed with their throats cut. Murdered. Couple locals saw somebody sneakin' out the back way, face covered an' all in black like some bleddy ninja."

"Fuck," Mpenzi swore. She turned to body warmer, "and no-one saw where they went ... sorry, Mister ...?"

"Pengelly, Miss. But you'n call me Jake. Well ... word got 'round an' apparently a bloke down in Looe a few miles away spotted somebody fitted that description buying passage on a beamer comin' this way."

"Sorry, uh ... beamer?" Mpenzi asked.

"Beam trawler. We still got a few fishin' boats workin' out o' Newlyn down the road," the second man added, then by way of introduction, "Bob Davy. Friends call me Bob."

Jessamy could scarcely believe it. Sweet natured Ox, built like a tank with a heart of gold and a personality to match was dead, murdered in his bed alongside his lovely wife Morwenna. She was stunned, "Do you, by any chance ... happen to know anything about the trawler?"

Jake Pengelly sat back and folded his arms, "I should do. I crewed on 'er myself before all this bleddy asteroid business. The Demelza. She's skippered by some kiwi now, calls 'imself Geoff."

"Kiwi?" asked Jessamy.

"From New Zealand," Bob Davy supplied, "got stranded over 'ere when all that bleddy asteroid shit kicked off."

Jessamy and Mpenzi exchanged a look. But Pengelly wasn't finished, "They say this person all in black ... might o' bin a woman."

. . .

Jessamy and Mpenzi worked hard that day in the fields surrounding Madron village, trying to concentrate on bringing in the harvest before the weather turned. But with two of their friends brutally slain by some mystery assassin, any conversation between them quickly circled back to identifying the culprit.

Jessamy paused and wiped a sheen of sweat from her face, leaning on her scythe as she watched the dozen or so other workers bailing the hay by hand. With so little fuel available, agricultural equipment such as tractors and combine harvesters were luxuries no-one could afford to run, so blacksmiths were making a big comeback making hand tools from scratch.

"What's up Jess?" Mpenzi called. The black woman had stripped down to her grey sports bra that clung enticingly to her chest with sweat.

"Why just Ox and Morwenna?" Jessamy pondered, "no food or weapons were stolen, so why target them specifically?"

Mpenzi took a long swallow from a battered metal canteen, "They were leaders of the community. But, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Jessamy nodded, "An assassination ... when we're finished up here I'm gonna walk down to Newlyn this evening. It's only three or four miles. See if I can't find this Geoff guy who skippers that trawler and get some answers."

"You want me to tag along?"

Jessamy shook her head, "No thanks. It might look a bit intimidating if there's two of us going around the harbour asking questions."

Mpenzi pecked her on the cheek, "Hurry back. I ... am going to make you scream the place down tonight."

Jessamy slapped her friend playfully on the backside, "I look forward to it."

. . .

After a quick bite to eat and a change of clothes, Jessamy set out for Newlyn just before dusk. Although Mpenzi offered once more to tag along, Jessamy assured her that her presence was unnecessary and simply asking a few questions of a fishing boat skipper could hardly be dangerous. But she secretly tucked her trusty Glock in the waistband of her jeans anyway.

She took the shortcut across the fields and past the overgrown ruin of what had once been Old Man Pollard's farm, then through the scarred landscape beyond. A development of holiday homes and a farm had once stood there, nestling in a quiet wooded valley. But it had all been destroyed by one of the many meteorite strikes ten years before.

The flooding caused by the tsunami that had wiped out the eastern half of Penzance stretched over a mile inland, so Jessamy was forced to make a substantial detour around the deep, oozing mud and piles of debris to walk down into Newlyn from the west side.

. . .

What had once been a respectable little fishing port before Thanatos, had over the last few years earned the nickname 'The Wild West'. Being one of the few harbours along Cornwall's south coast that had escaped devastation by super heated spaceborne rocks, Newlyn had become a transport hub for the few boats still sailing between what had once been the UK and mainland Europe.

Not everyone was interested in rebuilding and trying to make the most of what they'd been left with however. Many saw Thanatos as an opportunity to turn their lives into something more. To find their destiny along a different road with little concern for how many others they trampled into the dirt along the way.

A market filled the intersection at Newlyn Bridge as Jessamy arrived. Even at this late hour, hundreds of shabbily dressed figures moved between stalls selling food, weapons, clothing. She heard a startling variety of different accents and languages as she shouldered her way through, senses prickling for any sign of trouble.

A scuffle broke out somewhere ahead as a novice pickpocket was caught in the act and dealt swift justice - beaten senseless by his would be victim, a man twice his size.

"Alright darlin'? Wanna come back to mine? I'll give you food for a BJ," a tattooed brute with a patch over one eye leered at Jessamy, no doubt mentally undressing her.

"No thanks," she said firmly. Her hand slid under her battered leather jacket to check the Glock was still there.

"Frigid bitch!"

The harbour lay just around the corner, opposite Newlyn's most notorious pub - The Swordfish. It had stood for over a hundred years and its reputation was well deserved. Whenever Jessamy had heard her father mention it he would put on a pompous sounding old man's voice and say 'You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy, we must be cautious' as if it was some clever joke.

Jessamy never understood the reference, but realised caution was probably wise.

The patrons drinking outside, both men and women, eyed her hungrily as she walked quickly past. Pirates, bounty hunters and other assorted dregs. Jessamy was beginning to wish she'd invited Mpenzi along after all. If any of these caused trouble there was no way she'd be able to fend them all off - particularly since most of them were undoubtedly much better armed. Being gang raped and left for dead in an alleyway wasn't how she wanted to spend her birthday.

The half dozen remaining boats of Newlyn's once great fishing fleet were moored in a line along the long granite built eastern quay. Rusting hulls decades past their last coat of paint wallowed in the oily black water, their cramped decks stacked with fish boxes, coils of tarry rope and forlorn looking piles of gear in desperate need of repair.

They all looked the same. How was she to know which boat was The Demelza? Trying to look inconspicuous, Jessamy strolled along the quay wondering if Ox and Morwenna's murderer was even now close by. Possibly a woman, dressed all in black with their face obscured. Who the fuck was it? And why were they in Newlyn?

Jessamy felt a chill crawl up her spine as she wondered if either Mpenzi or herself could be next. They'd stayed in Liskeard so had at least a tenuous link to Ox and Morwenna.

She dismissed the idea, "Now you're being paranoid," she muttered.

The smells of rotting fish and seaweed filled the salt laden air. Gulls screeched at one another, fighting over every available morsel of food. The last boat in the line, a tatty sixty foot beam trawler flew a ragged flag from its scruffy wheelhouse. Blue, with red stars and a union flag squeezed into one corner. Jessamy had no idea what the flag was, but it certainly wasn't Cornish. Could this be the one?

Sure enough, in bright yellow letters the words 'The Demelza' had been painted rather untidily across the boat's rusting stern.

"Elp you love?" a balding man in greasy overalls stepped off the boat onto the quay, wiping his large hands on an oily rag.

"Um, this is The Demelza?"

The man nodded, eyeing her up suspiciously but making no attempt to move closer.

"I was looking for your skipper ... Geoff?"

"Geoff?" the man laughed, frighteningly loud in the relative quiet away from the market, "Jiff! You want Jiff!"

Jessamy was confused, "No I'm sure it's Geoff."

The man clapped a massive oily paw on her shoulder, "He's a kiwi love. It comes out as Jiff, so we call him that. We've got engine trouble so we ent puttin' out again f'ra couple days. Skipper ent 'ere, so if he ent in The Swordfish, he'll be in Eleanor's."

"Eleanor's?"

The man waved a hand vaguely, "Back that way, turn right. The old Fisherman's Mission buildin'."

Jessamy thanked him and left. That had been remarkably simple. Having seen the clientele The Swordfish attracted she opted to begin her search at the aforementioned Eleanor's. It was an establishment she'd never heard of and wondered distractedly how two pubs could keep going with such a tiny population.

. . .

The tall granite Newlyn Fisherman's Mission had seen better days. It was scorched and scarred, pockmarked by bullets and stained by a grimy tidemark ten feet up from the tsunamis that had struck the bay. Many windows were boarded over and the roof patched and repatched. But it somehow still retained the air of permanence that many Cornish granite buildings had about them. Solid, virtually indestructible.

Tinny music played from somewhere inside. The word 'ELEANORS' had been daubed in five foot high pink letters across the building's facade, decorated with flickering strands of Christmas lights.

"What time you on love?" a grizzled man in a stained yellow Musto jacket asked her as she approached the door.

"Wh-what?" Jessamy didn't have a clue what he was talking about.