Tamsin Beech Ch. 05: Conwy

Leonid taught Tamsin to throw and fight with a knife, an axe and her bare fists. Every day it seemed she suffered new bruises, scratches and muscular aches. She stole furtive glances at her teacher and protector whenever she could. If they returned to the cottage and the Russian stripped to the waist to wash himself, or if he deemed it necessary to sleep out under the stars and it was her turn to stand watch. Tamsin couldn't help herself. At every opportunity she would masturbate with her head filled with images of the blond Russian. Wondering how it would feel to kiss him, wrap her legs around his muscular body, feel him thrusting inside her ...

"Just do what you need to do and get back to mum and dad," she told herself each time as the tremors of her orgasm subsided and her breathing returned to normal.

PART TWO: BOUNTY HUNTERS

"Skinned and gutted and left on the mountainside it was!" Davies, a hill farmer from the edge of Conwy's territory proclaimed in a loud voice. The guildhall was packed with most of the community's two hundred strong population for the quarterly town meeting.

Oil lamps guttered as the cold wind blasted sleet against the ancient timber building. After assessing whether or not the people of Conwy would have sufficient food and firewood to last through the winter, the council had called for any other business.

Leonid and Tamsin had arrived late after trekking back from a scavenging trip to nearby Colwyn Bay. They'd found standing room right at the back of the hall and listened uncomfortably as their wet clothes steamed. The Evans sisters looked back and smiled at Tamsin as the throng listened to further reports of some kind of large predator on the loose in Snowdonia, fifteen miles to the south west. Sheep and cattle had been found slaughtered seemingly on a regular basis.

"I reckon it's big cats escaped from a zoo when the meteorites hit I do. Bred in the wild," Davies continued. There were murmurs of agreement.

"You said skinned?" Leonid asked, interrupting. Everyone present turned to see who'd spoken. He'd grown a beard and was finally looking less like a Coalition officer and more like an average citizen. Though Tamsin hated it, the townsfolk seemed to have become a little more comfortable around him.

"Th-that's right. Skinned. It's been happening about once a month near Snowdon," answered Davies.

Leonid carefully shouldered his way through to the front of the crowd, "In all honesty, I don't think a big cat would go to the trouble of skinning its prey first."

There was a ripple of laughter through the townsfolk.

"What are you suggesting?" Davies asked indignantly. He didn't appreciate being made to look a fool.

Leonid stared at him for a few long seconds, "You've got a person killing your sheep."

"A person? A man?" Davies scoffed, as if it was the most ridiculous idea he'd ever heard, "We need our livestock. For milk, meat and skins. We need it. If someone's up there in the mountains killing we need them stopped. We're farmers here, not bounty hunters like some Jessamy bloody Beech. So what ... do you propose we do about it, Mr Russian?"

Tamsin tensed as she heard her aunt's name. Did Davies know something?

Leonid scowled, "You? Nothing. But myself and Tamz here will gladly go take a look. The people of Conwy have opened their arms and their hearts to us ... and it's the least we can do."

"You and the girl? There's snow on the way up in the mountains mind," Davies warned.

"Then we'll need crampons, ice axes and rope," Leonid responded. He turned to Tamsin and spoke softly and quickly in her ear, "solve this mystery, show me what you've learned, and what you're capable of ... and you'll be ready to return to your parents."

Tamsin looked intently at him. Over the past weeks, she'd thrown herself into her training and the rigours of day to day life in the tiny Welsh town so wholeheartedly that she'd not given returning to her parents very much thought, "Y-you mean it?"

Leonid nodded.

"Estron gwaedlyd. Beth mae'n ei wybod?" Davies muttered behind them as they turned to leave.

"Digon i sylweddoli pan fydd rhywun yn siarad amdanaf y tu ôl i fy nghefn," answered Leonid warningly, without even looking around.

. . .

As predicted, the night brought snow, and the following morning the narrow streets of Conwy were dusted with an inch of fresh white powder. The weather at altitude, inland and away from the sea would be much worse. A council representative dropped by at the cottage with the equipment Leonid had asked for and as he and Tamsin packed what they'd need for a week on the road she turned to him, "What did Davies say to you last night at the meeting?"

"Basically, what business did we have sticking our noses in," Leonid replied, "when people are scared they act instinctively, not rationally. They do and say stupid things. When you lead the resistance it will do you good to remember that."

Tamsin laughed as she strapped an old Grivel ice axe to the side of her rucksack, "Me? Lead the resistance? Are you having a laugh?"

"I know you're capable. You just have to prove it to yourself."

. . .

Large snowflakes were spiralling down from a leaden sky as Tamsin and Leonid shouldered their packs and left Conwy. The two Evans girls and their father, a fisherman with an eye patch waved them off, pressing a small package of dried fish into Tamsin's hands, "It's not much but you've been a good friend to my girls. Stay safe and we'll see you in a few days. Hwyl fawr am y tro."

For the first day they followed the old Llanrwst Road south along the river, as far as Betws y Coed - a distance of roughly twenty miles. They camped in the gutted shell of an outdoor clothing store, the walls providing a respite from the wind but the gaping holes in the roof doing little to keep the snow out.

The following morning they turned west, the snow capped peaks of Snowdonia stretched across the horizon ahead of them. For Tamsin it was her first sight of real mountains. And in the centre of the panorama, with its jagged ridges converging into a single sharp point, Mount Snowdon itself - the tallest mountain in Wales. How could anything possibly be so big, she wondered.

The landscape and weather so far from the coast changed. Isolated farm ruins amid rutted tracks and mile after mile of tumbling drystone walls. Much of the arable land around Capel Curig had been reclaimed by gorse and heather, the jagged rims of meteorite craters softened by fresh snowfall. Wretched looking hill sheep picked morosely around the decades old wreckage of a crashed airliner. The sky cleared to a watery blue but as they ascended higher into what had once been the national park, the temperature dropped noticeably.

Leonid and Tamsin took it in turns to break trail where the snow was at its deepest, between the walls bordering the A4086. How she wished they had brought horses. But unlike in Northumberland, she reminded herself, horses in Wales were all but extinct - out of necessity killed for food.

. . .

Despite an early start from Betws y Coed, it was already dark by the time they reached the dilapidated youth hostel at Pen y Pass. Leonid assured her that the foot of Mount Snowdon lay just off to the west, but in the impenetrable darkness and stinging wind Tamsin could see nothing. They'd only walked another thirteen miles, weaving their way through the valley to avoid the dangers of traversing high ground for the moment, but Tamsin's feet were numb and her fingers ached, even with two pairs of gloves. It was Leonid's plan to use the youth hostel as a base from which to explore the surrounding area for tracks, scat or any other sign of Davies's mysterious predator. They would do whatever was necessary and return to Conwy.

Leonid stopped by the roadside as they both noticed a dull orangey glow through the grimy, cracked windows of the building.

Tamsin automatically drew her Grach and worked the slide, "Aren't we going in?"

Leonid shrugged, "You decide."

"Me? Wh ... why me?" Tamsin blustered, confused.

"Show me what you've learned."

She'd been admiring his ass for most of the day, studying the flex of the muscles under his tight fitting canvas trousers and had been looking forward to perhaps finally cosying up to the Russian while gazing into a roaring campfire ...

But now he'd ruined it all by being a twat.

Tamsin considered for a minute then reholstered the handgun and tucked her rucksack behind the wreck of an old minibus. She slid her ice axe out of its loops and held it loosely by her side, then waited while Leonid did the same.

"Stay behind me but out of sight," she told him, "conserve ammunition, don't shoot unless absolutely necessary. It might be a shepherd or refugees in there, just sheltering for the night."

"Good thinking. Or," Leonid whispered, "it could be a Coalition scout, or a bounty hunter searching for you."

Tamsin raised an eyebrow, trying not to let her fear show, "Or for you."

She paused for a moment outside the youth hostel's front door, the reception area's entrance being a mangled pile of stone blocks and metal where a cattle truck had long ago smashed into it. Had she heard voices from within? With the howling wind skirling around the mountain pass it was impossible to tell. She pushed the door open ...

The noises she thought she'd heard ceased abruptly as Leonid let the door bang shut behind him.

"What the fuck was that?" growled a voice from a doorway on their left.

"Probably the wind," replied another.

Tamsin poked her head around the doorframe, "Uh, hi?"

Three men dressed in filthy parkas lounged on sleeping mats around a modest campfire in what had probably been some kind of breakfast room, Tamsin guessed, from the number of broken plastic tables and chairs piled against the walls.

"Who the fuck are you?" one snarled, a thuggish looking brute with obscene tattoos covering every square inch of his shaven head. He snatched up an M16 with underslung M203 and notches carved into the stock as he sized Tamsin up.

Definitely not shepherds. And probably not refugees, thought Tamsin. She stepped into view, "My friend and I are lost. We need somewhere to stay until the weather clears."

The second man pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, taking a long swig from a hipflask, "An' what's yer name wee girl? Ah can think of somewhere you an' yer friend can spen' the night," he lewdly grabbed at his crotch.

Tamsin watched from the corner of her eye as the third man off to her right began drawing his handgun from a shoulder holster. Definitely not refugees either, "My name's Tamsin Zakhvatchikov. Are ... you gentlemen looking for me by any chance?"

"IT'S HER!" Tattoo yelled and raised his weapon.

Tamsin quickly sidestepped, swinging her hand holding the ice axe up. The adze caught Handgun a jarring blow under the chin. He dropped his weapon and fell back, just as Leonid stepped into the spot Tamsin had vacated.

Tattoo's eyes widened as he caught a fleeting glimpse of the Russian's own ice axe swinging down, before the serrated pick buried itself in his head.

Tamsin drew her Grach as Hipflask scrabbled under the sleeping bags for his own weapon, "Don't!"

Hipflask ignored her, grabbing desperately at a shotgun with sweating fingers ...

"I said DON'T!" Tamsin warned again.

Hipflask swung around to face her, aiming the shotgun at her chest. The men were bounty hunters. And in order to make any claim, they'd need proof. A body without a recognisable face was worthless.

Tamsin winced as she pulled the Grach's trigger ...

CLICK!

"What the f ...?"

Hipflask grinned as he adjusted his grip on the shotgun. Then his eyes went wide with astonishment as Leonid's ice axe smashed the side of his skull.

"Th-thanks," Tamsin stammered.

Kicking his weapon out of reach, Tamsin crouched in front of Handgun. She slotted her Grach back in its holster. Had it jammed? She cleaned it thoroughly every day so what reason had it to?

"Who sent you?" she demanded, trying to keep the fear she was feeling from her voice. The adrenaline that had coursed through her veins on entering the room was spent, leaving her feeling quivery and light headed.

Handgun coughed, wiping his bleeding mouth and nose with the back of his arm, "Fuck off."

Tamsin could feel Leonid looming close behind her, using his size to intimidate.

"I'll ask again. Who sent you?"

Handgun glowered at them, "A guy called Volk. Coalition big wig."

Tamsin nodded, "And you were no doubt told to take me in alive for the big wedding eh?"

"Wedding?" asked Handgun, "I don't know nothin' about no wedding. Volk said DEAD or alive. He didn't seem to care which."

Tamsin exchanged a look with Leonid.

"Some Korean guy's payin' the bounty. A ... Kim Napp somethin' or other."

"Kim Napp Gylan?" asked Leonid.

Handgun clicked his fingers, "That's the one."

"H-how did you find us?" Tamsin asked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice any longer.

Handgun smirked, then winced as fresh blood oozed from his split lip, "To be honest we're here purely by chance. After some other little fuck last seen headin' this way. You guys don't have a med kit do you?"

"No," said Leonid and shot the man dead.

"WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?" Tamsin yelled.

"If we let him live we'd have had to look after him. If we let him go he'd have given our position away. Three less bounty hunter scum on our tails," Leonid began searching the bodies, collecting together what little ammunition they'd been carrying. He tossed a 9mm handgun magazine to Tamsin, "you'll be needing this."

Tamsin glared at him puzzled, then checked her Grach. Empty.

"You ... you unloaded my gun!" she shouted in disbelief, "I could've been fucking killed! Are you insane?"

"Last night while you slept. I wanted to see how you'd react. You froze. I expected that. Now, get the bags and I'll find us somewhere to sleep ... away from our friends here."

. . .

Tamsin insisted on spending the night in a separate room. The youth hostel's top floor was divided into many smaller rooms, each furnished with bunkbeds and mattresses - that had once been hygenically sealed in plastic, but now after thirty years neglect, lay rotting away into piles of rusted springs.

She was furious with Leonid's behaviour. The 'bounty hunter scum' comment had rankled when he knew damn well how her Aunt Jessamy had made a living. Just as she'd been starting to like the Russian, he'd shot a prisoner in cold blood and left her defenceless.

And on top of that she now had other worries ...

The North Korean leader, Kim Napp Gylan had finally arrived on British soil and evidently taken being jilted personally. He was paying Volk to send bounty hunters to seek her out.

No matter what Leonid thought of her performance over the next few days, she simply had to get back to her parents. With the Coalition and who knew how many bounty hunters out searching for her, it was surely only a matter of time before someone stumbled across Novaya Nadezhda.

If they hadn't already ...

PART THREE: SUMMIT

The following morning began bright and sunny with a sky so cloudless and intensely blue it almost hurt Tamsin's eyes to look at it. With Leonid leaving it up to her to decide how they would proceed, Tamsin had opted to begin their search in the nearby town of Llanberis. If it was indeed a person (or persons) they were hunting, she guessed they'd need shelter.

Fresh snowfall in the night made finding tracks highly unlikely, but perhaps in amongst streets and buildings they'd have better luck. Leonid listened in silence as she explained her reasoning. He'd found a couple of pairs of old but serviceable snowshoes in a storeroom which might speed their progress along the length of Llanberis Pass somewhat.

Leaving their rucksacks well hidden, Tamsin lowered her snow goggles against the glare of the snow and they set out.

Through Gwastadnant and past the slate quarries at Nant Peris they toiled through knee deep snow. By the time they reached the southern end of Llyn Peris, the huge reservoir bordering the town a couple of hours later, Tamsin was sweating and panting for breath. The freezing air stung her throat as she stooped to remove the snowshoes.

With not even a breath of wind, the silence seemed almost tangible.

"Do you need to rest for a bit?" Leonid asked her. He carried a bow but also had his AK12 slung over his shoulder she noticed. His eyes seemed to glow the same brilliant blue as the sky as he looked at her.

"No," Tamsin snapped. In all honesty her legs were bone weary. But she wasn't going to give the Russian the satisfaction of telling him that. Crossbow at the ready she strode into Llanberis's main street.

They searched all day, for tracks in the snow, for fresh animal carcasses, or any evidence to indicate someone was living in one of the town's derelict buildings. But apart from deer tracks and a buzzard that circled inquisitively high above them, they saw nothing. Llanberis was deserted. A ghost town.

The trek back to Pen y Pass was sapping, most mentally and physically. A few times Tamsin spotted hill sheep picking their way along the boulder strewn flank of Snowdon to her right, now in shadow as the sun dipped towards the horizon. If it was some kind of animal they were hunting perhaps they could lay a trap, with a sheep as bait?

She considered how demoralising it would feel to return to Conwy if they were unsuccessful.

Tamsin and Leonid ate in silence that evening. A thick, tasty broth made with the fish Evans had given them, seasoned with some wild herbs she had collected along the way. Fuck this, she thought. If they found nothing the following day she was leaving. With or without Leonid she was going to take her chances and return to Novaya Nadezhda alone.

She fell asleep and dreamt of being held protectively by strong muscular arms.

. . .

Their fourth day out from Conwy was again clear and sunny. Tamsin stepped outside the youth hostel and squinted up at the bulk of Snowdon towering off to the west, her breath pluming in the cold air. The paths crawling up the treacherous upper slopes looked so inviting, the crenellated summit ridge tinted orange by the rays of the rising sun cried out to be explored.

"Where do you plan to search today?" Leonid asked as he came up behind and handed her a mug of tea.

Tamsin could tell the Russian was unimpressed by her performance so far. Their search had been fruitless but she wasn't about to ask Leonid for help or advice. To do so would be admitting failure. She gratefully accepted the drink and took a sip, "Up there!"

. . .

An hour later, they slogged up the icy slope of the Miner's Track, one of Snowdon's main routes of ascent, the snow sparkling brilliantly in the sunlight. The mountain reservoir of Llyn Llydaw at around 1300 feet appeared frozen, the surface more closely resembling grey marble than water.

Leonid had helped her don crampons, strapping them securely to her boots for much needed extra traction on the slippery rocks. With the ice axe in her right hand to hopefully stop any downhill tumbles, they moved towards the narrow causeway leading across to the path's next section.

Tamsin stopped, staring at a flat area near the water's edge.

"What is it?" Leonid asked.

She didn't answer, but crept slowly forward, carefully watching the placement of her feet. Tracks, scuff marks and a few patters of frozen blood marred the otherwise pristine whiteness.

Leonid nodded, "Good. Well spotted."

Tamsin scanned around, looking for more tracks. Where had they come from? Where had they gone? She spotted scattered pellets of sheep shit, frozen hard amongst tracks coming from the south. Then more. Widely spaced human footprints leading towards the causeway.