Tamsin Beech Ch. 02: Scarborough

The sounds of the supply truck being unloaded reached her ears from the far side of the tiny castle as Tamsin clambered down, carefully wedging the toes of her scuffed boots into each foothold, "You okay up there?" she hissed.

"Oh yeah your ladyship. Fuckin' brilliant," Craster was visible only as a darker silhouette against the night sky just above her head. If the whipping boy lost his grip and fell, he would no doubt take her with him. He clawed and scrabbled blindly at the ancient stonework of the near vertical wall, cursing and muttering under his breath.

Tamsin stumbled backwards as her left foot snagged in a bramble thicket. She fell, and landed on springy wet grass. She'd made it.

Pausing for a second to glance around, she looked up towards Craster. The sound of the helicopters would mask any sound they made but if they were spotted by any soldiers who happened to be patrolling ...

"Are you okay?" Tamsin whispered.

"Wh ...?" Craster looked back over his shoulder at her. That moment of distraction was all it took. He missed a handhold, and with a garbled cry of terror slipped off the wall ...

"FUCK!" Craster called out as he dropped the last ten feet and slammed into the ground next to Tamsin.

"Are you okay?" she repeated urgently. Craster groaned, rolling onto his back and clutching his ribs. He managed a thumbs up but was too winded to speak.

"Cummon," Tamsin urged, "we don't have time for pissing about. The tide will still be on the way out."

Keeping to the sparse cover of gorse bushes and heather growing around the base of the castle, they made their way east towards where the boat was hidden, in the old lime kilns. Ever watchful for Volk's guards patrolling the vicinity and still wary of the two helicopters circling some way to the north of the island.

"What are they doing?" Craster asked.

Tamsin shrugged, "Looking for someone? Don't know. I don't give a shit, so long as they're occupied up there, their attention is away from us."

The two of them waited in the shadow of the castle wall for tense moments as a Coalition guard struggled to light some foul smelling rollup with an antique Zippo, not more than twenty feet in front of them. He eventually managed to get it alight and inhaled deeply before continuing his rounds.

Tamsin squeezed Craster's arm, "Let's go."

"If we're not taking the boat, why the fuck're we going straight to it?"

Tamsin allowed herself a half smile, "Decoy."

. . .

Despite spending weeks repairing the boat, Tamsin and Craster hadn't had reason to actually move the thing. Both of them were surprised and alarmed at just how heavy the wooden dinghy was. Between them they rolled it upright, conscious of every creak and scrape as the weathered timbers grated against the dusty floor of the disused kiln.

With one last check to ensure the coast was clear, they began pushing the vessel out of the building's arched entrance to go the short distance to the beach and the open sea.

Distant shouts came from the ramp leading up to the castle a hundred yards away, as the unloading of supplies continued. Every moment Tamsin expected to hear Volk's men running towards them, ordering them to stop. If they were discovered, it wouldn't be her that faced the consequences. She shuddered at the thought of what they'd do to Craster.

The boat's keel scraped over wet shingle. Barely visible on the rocks of Long Ridge just offshore, the pale faces of a few seals watched them inquisitively.

"You ready?" Tamsin panted from the exertion.

Craster nodded, his sweating face screwed up in pain from the bruised ribs he'd sustained, "Aye. Ready as I'll ever be. Let's get off this fuckin' island."

PART TWO: CONVOY

She watched in silence as Myrtle happily tore off across Scarborough's South Sands, chasing down the thrown piece of driftwood. A stiff breeze off the North Sea made the damp air chill despite the hazy sunshine and blue sky. The storm of the previous night had left drifts of seaweed, branches and smashed debris all along the black sand. The collie was beginning to show signs of ageing but certainly not of slowing down. It had been almost five years since Angus Hamnavoe and her dear friend Jessamy Beech had found the dog in the ruins of Inverness, patched her wounds and adopted her.

Or was it the other way around?

When they'd all lived happily in Berwick Upon Tweed, Myrtle had taken a shine to Tamsin. So it was possible the dog made her own choices and judgements about who should be caring for her.

Tamsin. Her daughter. Where was she at that precise moment? What was she doing? She'd be eighteen by now. No longer a rebellious teenager selling kisses for favours to the local boys, but a young woman. When the Coalition general - Volk, had gone to such effort to provide an armed escort, she had no doubt that Tamsin would be cared for and was therefore still alive. Which was more than could be said for John and Ross.

The invaders had allied themselves with Reekies. Reekies for fuck's sake! Barely human cannibals who'd been armed with shiny new automatic rifles and ploughed effortlessly through Berwick's defences. The night before the attack had been the last time she'd seen her son and her husband.

Merida smiled faintly as Myrtle came scampering back, leaving deep pawprints in the wet sand. Then she turned slowly, regretfully away from the sea to walk back towards her apartment in the Grand Hotel, her permitted exercise period, her freedom, over for another day. Despite remaining at a discrete distance, her two escorts were a constant presence. They fell into place on either side of her, ever watchful.

The baroque hotel dominated the seafront of the the North Yorkshire town. Built in the late 1800s it had once been the largest brick building in all of Europe with its twelve floors to represent the months of the year, fifty two chimneys to represent the weeks and 365 rooms the days. That knowledge was a constant reminder of just how long she'd been away from her family. Every hour, every minute of not knowing felt like a knife twisting in her gut.

Time wasn't always a great healer.

A company of Coalition soldiers eyed her cautiously as they marched past, a mixture of Russians and the more brutal North Koreans. Everyone in Scarborough knew only too well who she was, her distinctive untamed red curls whipping wildly around her face as the wind skirled through the all but deserted streets. Myrtle trotted obediently beside her as Merida mounted the wide stone steps to the hotel's entrance, glancing up at the ten foot tall red steel star mounted above her head on the building's facade.

The magnificent Grand Hotel had once been a luxurious destination for holiday makers and lovers on romantic getaways to the seaside. But after Thanatos and the country's subsequent invasion by the forces of the Coalition, all that had changed. It had become Merida's prison. And for dozens of other women, something a whole lot worse ...

. . .

"I want every building on the island searched! They have to be here somewhere. They HAVE to be," General Volk's nostrils flared as he ground his teeth together.

The general could be unpredictable at the best of times, leaving his subordinates in a constant state of anxiety and unease. Now three Coalition officers, a major and two lieutenants crowded into his tiny office on the uppermost floor of Lindisfarne Castle, standing to attention and watching with trepidation as Volk's raging temper teetered on a precipice. It would only take a wrong word to push him over that edge.

The girl had somehow escaped. Merida Zhakvatchikov's daughter Tamsin and her whipping boy were nowhere to be found. Volk gazed out of the wide leaded window across the castle's Upper Battery to the first rays of the morning sun cresting the eastern horizon.

"Sir?" ventured one of the lieutenants, a blonde Muscovite in his forties who'd witnessed with his own eyes the destruction of his once proud city by Thanatos. But his countrymen had no-one to blame but themselves for bringing that fiery hell down on their heads.

Volk spun around and slammed his palms down on his massive desk, "WHAT LIEUTENANT? IF THE NEXT WORDS OUT OF YOUR MOUTH DO NOTHING TO HELP US FIND THE GIRL ... I'LL HAVE YOU SHOT."

The lieutenant nodded quickly, "G-general Volk sir. The s-supply truck from Scarborough made a drop off l-last night. It's possible that ..."

Volk stared at the lieutenant for long seconds as he digested the words, "Good ... very good. We know the boat was a decoy. Comms are unreliable at best on the convoy route and they'll be maintaining radio silence through the Red Zone. Have our helicopters fly south. Try to intercept the convoy ..."

The Major bravely interrupted, "General Volk sir. What about the other search we're conducting?"

Volk regarded him with blazing eyes, "The girl is your first priority. Our traitor ... will have to wait."

. . .

"I need to take a piss."

Tamsin jolted awake under the filthy tarpaulin. Despite the noise and vibration of the old MAN truck's engine, she'd dozed off and been having a wonderful dream. Aunt Jessamy's two daughters - Ada and Phoebe had been chasing her dog along Berwick's windswept battlements. It took her a disoriented second or two to realise where she was.

"Didn't you hear?" Craster hissed angrily. The truck jounced over another pothole causing the entire chassis to squeak and groan in protest.

Realistically it was anyone's guess how far they'd get. But they'd made it, which had to count for something. She and Craster were off the island. Away from Lindisfarne hopefully for good.

"Can't you just, I don't know ... think about something else?" Tamsin replied. The back cargo section of the truck was separate from the cab so there was no danger of them being overheard by the driver or his armed escort. But she kept her voice low nevertheless.

Once they'd launched the rowing boat into the outgoing tide the previous night to act as a decoy, it had merely been a matter of waiting for the right moment to creep into the back of the empty supply truck and secrete themselves away under a greasy tarpaulin in the darkest corner. No-one had even checked as they'd slammed the tailgate shut. Tamsin couldn't believe how easy it had been.

Within minutes they'd been speeding across the causeway towards the mainland after little more than a cursory glance into the truck by the checkpoint guards. Once Volk discovered they'd been duped, heads would roll.

"I really have to go," Craster pushed himself up to a kneeling position, wincing as he clutched his bruised ribs. It was growing light outside. Past the empty crates and stacks of flattened cardboard boxes, Tamsin could see stunted trees and ruined buildings through the open back of the truck. On their left was what looked like an enormous castle partly demolished by meteorite strikes. Alnwick? Possibly. The truck was heading south and eventually she and Craster would have to find a way off it undetected.

With no map, and all their provisions stupidly left in the dinghy, their situation was far from ideal. But she was free. Away from Volk and finally able to track down her family. If any of them still lived.

Craster threw out an arm to steady himself as the truck swerved around some obstruction in the road, "Fucksake!"

"You can't pee out the back," Tamsin explained, "you'll end up falling out."

The Coalition truck was maintaining a steady speed down what had once been called the A1. Which led Tamsin to think that Volk's people must have cleared many of the burnt out cars and debris from the road to make it navigable once more.

"I need to go. Or I'll fuckin' piss meself."

If Tamsin was honest with herself, she realised that she too could do with a pee, "Just do it in the corner there. And make sure you don't fall out."

Craster regarded her in the half light for a few moments.

Tamsin huffed, "Alright! I won't watch."

She looked pointedly away as Craster fumbled urgently with his trousers while trying to maintain his balance in the swaying truck. But she couldn't help herself. She stole a furtive look as Craster quickly fished out his cock and began urinating on the floor of the truck.

It was a beauty. Long and sturdy, encircled by thick veins with a bulbous tip. Though she'd not seen many with which to compare it. Was he hard? Was he actually aroused in front of her. It was impossible to tell. The first rays of the rising sun made the bitter smelling arc of urine sparkle golden as Craster moaned with relief.

"Feel good?" she asked.

Craster nodded, no longer embarrassed in the slightest.

Tamsin twisted around and stared, now making no secret of her interest.

"Take a fuckin' picture. It'll last longer," Craster snapped as his stream slowed to a trickle.

"What does that mean?" Tamsin asked.

Craster smirked, "I've actually no idea. It's just something they used to say years ago. Before Thanatos."

Tamsin shuffled closer, careful not to kneel in the urine dribbling along the truck's grooved metal floor, "Can I see?"

"See what?"

"Can I see ... your, um ..."

Craster tilted his head and peered at her, "Awh, the poor little rich girl's never seen a willy before?"

He shook himself and made to stuff it back into his trousers, but Tamsin moved forward, "No wait! Really. I'd like to see. I've seen one before but it's ... been a while."

Craster let out a sigh, "Are you for fuckin' real?"

Tamsin nodded.

"Okay. But then we get some rest. We've no idea how long it'll be until we can make our escape."

He held his hands up out of the way and let his cock hang loose. It had lost some of its rigidity but was still an impressive specimen, "Alright? Can I put him away now?"

Tamsin licked her top lip. If she expected Craster to stand by her and protect her through whatever dangers the journey ahead threw at them, he was going to expect something in return. Now was certainly not the time or the place for what she had in mind. But perhaps she could give him a taster, "C-can I touch it?"

Craster snorted derisively. Was it Tamsin's imagination or did his cock momentarily twitch upward in anticipation? With the swaying motion of the truck it was difficult to tell, "Sure. Whatever."

With a trembling hand, Tamsin reached out and stroked her fingertips along Craster's length. The skin felt warm, and surprisingly soft.

"Do I meet with your approval yer ladyship?"

"Will you stop calling me that?"

"Sure thing your ladyship," Craster goaded, "now can I get myself sorted if you've quite finished?"

But Tamsin wasn't finished. She encircled him with her thumb and fingers and gently drew back Craster's foreskin. The swollen glans gleamed wetly.

Craster moaned.

"Oh sorry. Did I hurt you?" Tamsin asked.

Craster steadied himself against the wall of the truck, "No. But it's probably best if you don't do that again."

Tamsin moved her hand, beginning to apply a little pressure with her fingers, "What, this?"

Now he was most certainly growing hard. Tamsin marvelled at the way the shaft gradually grew thicker in her grasp, as Craster knelt back on his haunches and closed his eyes, "F-fuck."

"D'you want me to stop?" Tamsin asked. She was secretly thrilled by the effect this little bit of physical contact was having on the youth and squirmed as her own body began to respond.

For this to go any further it would mean stripping off her trousers and underwear. Something she wasn't prepared to risk in their current situation. If the opportunity to leap out of the truck arose they needed to be ready, not half dressed with their clothes around their ankles.

Tamsin studied the tiny droplet of fluid oozing from the tip of Craster's cock, then gathered it on the pad of her thumb to smear around the engorged head.

"Ohmygod!" Craster involuntarily thrust his hips forward, only inches from her face.

Tamsin considered for a moment. Could she do this? She wasn't entirely naive and knew it was done, and had in fact once caught one of the cooks back at the castle kneeling in front of a guard. Natalya, clutching his buttocks as her head bobbed back and forth. They'd separated and adjusted their clothing instantly, muttering what she supposed were apologies in Russian that she hadn't understood a word of.

Fuck it. She didn't want to torment him any longer. If she wanted Craster's loyalty she was going to have to make the first move. Ignoring the faint odour of urine, Tamsin dipped her head and engulfed his cock with her mouth.

Craster sucked in a quick breath, "Ohfuck!"

Tamsin let her fingers trace the pulsing veins along Craster's shaft, as she concentrated on opening her mouth wide. His breath hissed again as she then licked him, her eyes tightly shut, completely absorbed by the extraordinary sensation of this new experience.

Instead of taking him deep in her mouth again, Tamsin licked delicately, gently, slipping the tip of her tongue under the shelf of his cock head, then up and down the length of his shaft until he was shiny and wet with her saliva.

Craster's eyes were tight shut, his nostrils flaring.

Hmm, she thought. My first time, but I must be doing something right. She brushed her lips against the whole quivering length of him, opened her mouth and took him in once more as the truck rattled and creaked around them. Craster let out a suffocated whimper and his whole body tensed. Tamsin sensed that he was trying not to thrust into her mouth and, although she appreciated that he was letting her stay in charge, she wanted to feel that raw masculine energy.

She grabbed hold of his buttocks and tugged him towards her, forcing Craster's thick cock deep into her mouth, right to the back of her throat, almost making her gag. Quickly Tamsin pressed her lips around him, sucking hard. Craster thrust again and this time she just touched him with her teeth, letting him feel the danger. She reached into his trousers, squeezing at the base of his cock, caressing his taut balls.

Craster's cock twitched and shuddered as Tamsin sucked away, sliding her lips up and down as fast as she could and licking at the end of each stroke. She knew he wouldn't last long and after only a few moments more Craster gasped and staggered. His cock jerked and pulsed in her mouth.

Tamsin swallowed quickly, once, twice, and then again. It tasted good, salty and surprisingly pleasant. Was that what she was supposed to do? Swallow it?

She released him gently and looked up into Craster's astonished face, "Was that okay?"

"Fuck me your ladyship," he said, "that was incredible."

Tamsin increased the pressure on his testicles a tiny fraction, "Call me that again and I'll feed you these."

"O-okay. Look ... uh, is there anything I can do for you now?" Craster hastily stuffed himself back into his trousers.

Tamsin thought for a moment, "Better not. Thanks for the offer but I can w ..."

Craster almost lost his balance as the truck abruptly decelerated, its balding tyres thud thudding on the cracked and rutted blacktop, metre high weeds scraping against the underside.

"What's happening?" Tamsin whispered, scrambling wide-eyed back to the relative safety of the tarpaulin.

Craster peered out into the misty morning. The remains of tall buildings like blackened teeth tearing at the sky crowded in on the road from both sides, gutted by thirty five years of fire, looters and meteorite strikes, "Where the fuck are we?"

He ducked down as their truck screeched to a complete stop next to another vehicle. A green painted behemoth rust stained and bullet scarred from years of neglect. Retrofitted with additional armour plate crudely welded onto its sloping flanks, chunks of peaty turf trapped in the treads of its eight enormous tyres from some off-road foray. An armoured personnel carrier.