Jessamy Beech Ch. 15: Mull

Late August 2021...

"My name is Lieutenant Beaconsfield. It's my job to ensure that you're all sheltered, safe and well fed during your stay here on Mull."

Jessamy Beech looked nervously around at the fifty or so other girls sat on neat rows of folding wooden chairs in Tobermory's slightly musty smelling church hall. Most of them appeared to be the same age as her - eight, or slightly older. But there were also a very few who looked no more than five or six, and clearly terrified. Worried adult carers in fluorescent orange vests hovered attentively close by in case any of them started fussing, crying or even wandering off.

A hundred questions jostled one another in Jessamy's mind. What had happened to her brother, Ross? Why hadn't her mother seen them off at the railway station in Penzance?

When could they all return home?

The uniformed army officer standing on the hall's small stage continued, "You've all been evacuated here for your own safety. Once the danger is past you will be returned to your parents and families. "

Jessamy was vaguely aware from watching Horrible Histories of children being evacuated from Britain's cities to the countryside during one of the big wars, to escape the nightly bombing raids. She guessed this was a similar precaution. Something to do with the giant asteroid she'd seen on the TV news. Jessamy found most of the adults nice, but wasn't entirely sure what to make of the soldier, Beaconsfield. He appeared friendly and smiled a lot but his eyes were cold. Emotionless, like those of the fish she'd been to see at the Sea Life Centre once. Jessamy got the impression he wasn't really comfortable being there and would rather be out doing whatever it was soldiers did when there were no wars.

The train journey from Cornwall had seemed interminable. Through the Midlands and the Lake District in a carriage full of scared children, with only a handful of stressed adults to deal with tears, tantrums and toilet breaks. The food had been basic and they'd had to sleep curled up on their seats. Several times the train had juddered alarmingly to a halt as streaks of fire and explosions lit up the sky outside.

In Oban back on the mainland, Ross had suddenly been ushered away without so much as a goodbye, before all the girls were led onboard an enormous Caledonian MacBrayne ferry for the trip across to the island.

"If you're wondering what's happened to all the boys... your brothers and so on, they've been taken to a different island called Skye. They'll be perfectly safe and you can stay in touch online whenever you like. Now, there's a dormitory all prepared for you in the local school. If you need anything or have any problems, Mrs Dervaig, Mr Snook and Mr Calgary are the people to talk to," Beaconsfield gestured to a woman and a couple of men at the rear of the hall who looked pleasant enough, but all even older than Jessamy's father.

"So..." Beaconsfield stared intently down at them all, wearing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "welcome to Tobermory."

The first week on the island was actually quite enjoyable. Fun even. Jessamy missed Ross and her parents, but there was so much else to do to occupy her time. A morning of lessons followed breakfast in the airy dining room, before lunch and an afternoon outing if the weather permitted. The food was all freshly cooked, tasty and in plentiful supply.

Snook, Calgary and the teachers from the school took the girls of Jessamy's age around the island in a comfortable heated minibus, showing them seals, deer and even dolphins playing offshore. They went rockpooling in search of crabs and starfish in the understanding that anything caught was to be returned to its habitat before they reboarded the vehicle. Jessamy made friends. Girls from London, Manchester and Leeds who also had brothers on Skye.

And all was well. Jessamy Beech collected seashells and laughed with her friends. Oblivious. While further to the south, the world burned.

...

Jessamy and the others were in Tobermory harbour watching a shabby group of refugees come ashore, when Thanatos unleashed hell on the school buildings high on the hill overlooking the town. Fiercely glowing chunks of black rock tore across the cloudless sky and destroyed it all in the space of a few seconds. Thankfully there were very few casualties.

After that day, life on the island was no longer fun. The girls were made to sleep fully clothed in the old Tobermory distillery, on the bare concrete floors with nothing but a thin blanket or sleeping bag for bedding - whatever could be salvaged from the ruins of the school.

Beaconsfield was given a promotion and declared something called 'martial law' on the island. Contact with Skye ceased abruptly as communications satellites high above were destroyed by meteors. And any newly arrived adult refugees were put straight to work in the fields to grow enough food to support Tobermory's growing population. News reached them that the US President's plane was reported to have apparently crashed somewhere in Cumbria with a group of scientists onboard. A volcano that was long believed to be extinct had erupted in the middle of Edinburgh. Birmingham and London had been reduced to smoking, ash filled craters as the strikes continued.

More soldiers arrived on the island. More refugees too, bringing sickness and disease. The eldest girls were no longer taught in the school but taken out each morning to work on the crofts like everyone else, or to Beaconsfield's headquarters at Torosay Castle to work as servants. By Jessamy's ninth birthday, food was strictly rationed on the island, with brutal justice meted out to anyone caught stealing more than their share.

The sky remained a mass of dense black cloud for weeks at a time and even in August it snowed heavily and the oily waters of Tobermory harbour froze over.

Jessamy was put to work in the fields, picking and planting, the blisters on her soft hands quickly becoming hard callouses over the months. Lessons, afternoon outings and the mere sensation of being warm seemed like distant memories now. Several of her new friends succumbed to disease and starvation as the island became virtually cut off from the mainland. From the rest of the world.

"How much longer do I have to stay here?" Jessamy asked Old Snook one bitterly cold day. They'd been put to work breaking up huge whisky barrels by candlelight, to clear more floor space in the draughty old distillery buildings. Any work that took them indoors out of the sleet and snow was welcome. The wood, she guessed would probably be used to heat the soldiers' quarters. The island's military presence, Preens and Fodders alike always seemed to get the best of everything.

The white haired Scot squinted at her in the gloom, picking a jagged splinter from his hand with grubby nails. He'd been some sort of marine biologist before the strikes and had already appeared ancient to Jessamy when she'd first arrived. So he didn't seem to mind her calling him 'Old' Snook, "Until this asteroid business is over or ye reach your eighteenth birthday. Whichever comes first. Once ye're eighteen ye'll be an adult. Ye can do whatever you like."

"Snook! I can't stay here for another nine years!" Jessamy complained. To her perception it was literally a lifetime, "I need to find my brother, get back to my parents."

"Rules is rules. Beaconsfield makes 'em, we follow 'em."

Jessamy felt stinging tears welling up inside her. She'd realised the previous week that she could no longer clearly remember what her mother looked like, "I m-miss them so much. I hate it here. When I leave I'm NEVER coming back. NEVER!"

Snook patted her shoulder, "Dinnae fash lass. Me an' Calgary'll take good care o' ye. Make sure nothin' untoward happens, eh? Then soon's yer eighteen ye can go wherever ye like."

"Promise?"

"I wouldnae lie to ye Jess lass. Ye've a canny head on yer shoulders," Snook knelt to look her in the eye, "I think ye're destined for greater things than livin' oot yer life stuck on this bloody island. Years from now people will remember the name Jessamy Beech. You mark my words."

Jessamy giggled, "Now you're being silly."

"I don't believe it!" gasped a voice from the darkest corner of the room.

"What now?" Snook snapped irritably.

Calgary emerged from the shadows cradling something close to his chest. Unlike Snook he was an islander, from the village that bore his name on the far side of the island, "I thought I'd seen the last 0' these little beauties."

He carefully unwrapped a cobwebbed piece of sackcloth from around a gleaming green bottle filled with some goldish liquid.

Snook gasped, "Tobermory! My god, it might be the last one in the world. Someone must have hidden it before the world turned to shit."

"What is it Snook?" Jessamy asked, craning her neck to see.

"This, lass," Calgary held up the squat little bottle, still sealed and corked, "is what put this wee village on the map. Scotch. Ten year old single malt."

Jessamy vaguely remembered going on a guided tour of the old Tobermory distillery many years before with her parents. She never would have expected in a million years to end up living there. She remembered the humidity, the mouth watering aroma of the steam from the enormous mash tuns and the oppressive scalding heat given off by the tall copper stills when it had been a thriving place of work for many of the villagers since 1798. She'd been far too young to sample the distillery's produce back then.

"We should crack this open on a special occasion," suggested Calgary.

"Pfft. There's no' really much tae celebrate at the moment is there?" Snook replied disdainfully.

Calgary pondered for a second, "Aye, no. I s'pose ye're right."

"Och, put it back," Snook suggested, "see if ye can hide it somehow... and who knows? We might get to have a dram one day."

Jessamy helped Calgary remove a loose stone from the wall. With her smaller hands, she reached in and scooped out any loose debris to form a hollow space behind. Calgary carefully laid the wrapped bundle inside, then replaced the stone and packed around it with handfuls of mud to replicate the building's crumbling mortar.

He fixed Jessamy with his wise old eyes, and grinned, "Until we've got a reason to celebrate lass. Now we better get back to work. Wouldn't want to piss off Butcher Beaconsfield, eh?"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: MULL

Thirty years later, 2051...

PART ONE: THE LUPITA

Aubrey had to admit that the sex hadn't been all bad. Good even. With the lights off he'd almost been able to forget about Alison Nethybridge's hideous scars and facial reconstruction. She was fortyish but kept herself trim and toned with a brutal regime of daily exercise. If he avoided touching the angry raised tissue on her right side or ignored the feel of her three fingered clawlike hand stroking his cock he could almost believe she was a beautiful blonde goddess sharing his bed. Clutching at him, gasping, screaming out loud as she came.

That had been the deal. Alison Nethybridge, also known as the assassin Nemesis had offered him information gleaned while on her recent trip to Cornwall. In return she wanted to be fucked. Often. Taken to bed and treated just like any other woman, not the mutilated freak she'd become.

It had been worth it. Aubrey knew for sure that Jessamy Beech was alive. And on her way to a heretofore undiscovered little enclave in the north - Berwick Upon Tweed. Her family, her friends, would all be there. All eggs in one basket. Why the fuck Brian Newald had chosen not to share that information was anyone's guess. His loss. The little shit was dead. No-one had seen his Merlin go down but with the amount of lead pumped into it as it flew off, it was almost a certainty.

Aubrey clicked on the battery powered lantern beside the bed and stood up, leaving Nemesis asleep. She lay on her front with a thin sheen of sweat glossing her spine and buttocks, clearly sated for now.

Rain pelted against the ancient leaded windows and the view across to the hills of Morvern was obscured by dense sea mist. Duart Castle was cold and draughty despite having undergone extensive renovation in the early years of the century. But a place like this, remote, defensible, and on the coast where his frigate could be moored alongside, almost literally within spitting distance, was ideal.

The Poseidon would be arriving soon. Her crew providing protection around the castle's perimeter while the Soteria Lite apparatus was set up properly. The targeting system was still malfunctioning but as long as the target's coordinates could at least be entered manually it would still operate. Then it would be time for the ultimatum...

Aubrey grinned, his cock growing hard again. He estimated they still might have a couple of hours to kill. He crawled back on to the bed, spooning up behind Nemesis and switched off the lantern.

...

Alison Nethybridge could feel Aubrey nuzzling against the backs of her thighs, his breath hot on her flesh. She moaned and parted her legs, allowing him easier access.

He hovered above her, supporting himself on wiry muscled forearms, "Do you want me to?"

With mounting excitement, Alison nodded, and closed her eyes as she felt his hands press against her buttocks, gently spreading them. Aubrey kissed delicately where her skin was softest, breathing her in, his nose brushing against her most intimate place. Jessamy Beech had denied her this for twenty years. It was Jessamy Beech who was to blame for turning her into a scarred freak that repulsed any man who laid eyes on her.

It was only as a result of the knowledge she'd gained that Aubrey was here now. Eager to please in any way Alison demanded. All she'd ever wanted was to be loved. But for now this animalistic fucking with Jack Aubrey would have to suffice.

Alison felt the wet dab of Aubrey's tongue against her flesh. First he slowly licked and kissed his way around her anus and perineum, sending tingles of electricity sparking through her. He then moved down, searching for her damp crevice with his mouth.

A couple more days and it would be over. Berwick Upon Tweed would be annihilated if it didn't surrender. Jessamy Beech would be dead. Alison's only regret was that it wouldn't be by her hand. She quivered with the urgency of desire as Aubrey's tongue found her clitoris. As his nose teased her with subtle up and down motions, he sucked, very lightly, on her. Aubrey kissed and nibbled until she could feel the climax building deep inside her.

Alison again wondered what it would have been like. To have had a relationship with Jessamy Beech. Waking up beside her every morning, sharing every moment of every day... but her rising lust soon pushed those thoughts aside. Aubrey lifted a hand and she felt his strong fingers pushing up into her, filling her and exploring her. This was the signal she needed. She rode out her orgasm with Aubrey's mouth still clamped to her pulsing vulva, biting her lower lip to prevent herself from screaming out.

Aubrey gave her bottom a slap and lay back down, "There. Enjoy that?' he asked. He really was a smug bastard. He could have any of the women they kept prisoner at Devonport. But a deal was a deal. Sex in return for the information she'd provided. Aubrey always insisted on darkness but she could live with that.

She nodded mutely, the strength of her orgasm having temporarily robbed her of the power of speech. Aubrey leaned forward and kissed her briefly on her asymmetrical mouth, "Couple more days and this'll all be over. Then you can find someone else to fuck you."

Alison could taste herself on his lips, tangy, salty. Bitter.

...

A ptarmigan in full winter plumage picked its way across the snow covered slope a hundred yards off to Jessamy's left. She wriggled forward on her stomach, using the SA80's sight to study her target's camp. A tatty orange Mountain Hardwear dome tent sat in the lee of an icy crag, difficult to see under a sprinkling of last night's fresh neve. A pair of cross country skis had been rammed upright into the snow.

Spindrift pirouetted across the landscape as the sun climbed slowly behind her, oblivious to the drama about to unfold.

"Cummon, show yourself," she murmured. Jessamy had followed the tracks all the way down from Braeriach and up to the summit of Ben Macdui, the UK's second highest mountain, before high winds had obliterated them and darkness had forced her to take shelter for the night. Finding the tent at first light had been more luck than anything.

As if on cue, the sound of a zipper pierced the quiet stillness and a figure crawled out of the tent. Bulked up in layers against the sub zero temperature and wind chill it was impossible to even tell if it was male or female, let alone the figure's identity. That was until he stood and let loose a stream of steaming piss into the snow.

"FREEZE!" Jessamy didn't like to use a cheap shot like surprising a guy in mid flow but after a week of tracking this particular bounty her patience was wearing thin. The figure spun around, stuffing himself hastily back into his trousers. It was him.

Late fifties, close cropped greying hair and beard, the weather beaten look of someone who'd spent a lifetime outdoors. It was definitely him alright.

Hamnavoe.

"HANDS ON YOUR HEAD! DO IT!"

Usually when Jessamy aimed an assault rifle at an individual, they had the good grace to comply. Or at least pause for a second to listen to her demands. But Hamnavoe simply turned away and began sprinting down the mountainside, stumbling and slipping as his legs pumped, lifting high to clear the snow.

Jessamy swore under her breath, "Shit!" and took careful aim. There was no way she'd be able to catch him when he already had a head start...

BLAM!

A hundred and twenty yards away, Hamnavoe gave a surprised yelp and clutched at his thigh as he tumbled into a drift.

Now all she had to do was get him all the way north to Orkney.

...

"I've still got the bloody scar JB!" Hamnavoe whined.

"I only winged you. If I'd wanted to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Jessamy poked the embers of their campfire to stir it back into life.

"People used tae meet in nightclubs or on Tinder. But oh no, not us. We met on a mountain top wi' you tryin' tae fuckin' kill me!"

"Do you regret it?" Jessamy wondered what a Tinder was. No doubt another vital piece of pre-Thanatos culture she would miss out on.

Hamnavoe turned the spitted Cormorant they'd shot down a quarter turn, watching as the bird's flesh blistered and browned. He watched her for a second, eyes glinting orange in the firelight, "If I had to, I'd do it all over again lass. Ye know that. I love ye."

The Lupita bobbed gently in the current fifty yards offshore. If they were to accomplish what they'd set out to do, the scruffy little yacht would be their means to do so. Jessamy prayed that the rest of their voyage would be as uneventful as the beginning, "You know that we may not make it back alive this time? I'm going to finish Aubrey and the Poseidon once and for all. Nemesis - whoever the fuck she is - is still out there too. Mull is where it all started for me. And that... is where it's going to end."

...

Hours after the mortally wounded Brian Newald had crashlanded his Merlin helicopter in Berwick Upon Tweed, the town had received a message by shortwave radio. The same chilling ultimatum repeating over and over...

"... this is Captain Jack Aubrey of the Royal Naval frigate HMS Poseidon. I am in possession of the Soteria Lite satellite weapon system. I have already successfully tested it on Penzance in Cornwall. You will all surrender unconditionally to me or your settlement will be destroyed. You have three days in which to comply...

"Didn't Newald say something about Soteria's targeting system being fucked?" Jessamy had asked.