Tamsin Beech Ch. 05: Conwy

"Thankyou," whispered Tamsin, "it was nearly perfect."

Leonid frowned, "Nearly?"

"Well, I don't have anything to compare it to. So ... maybe if we did it again?"

PART FOUR: MASSACRE

The following morning, Tamsin and Leonid ventured outside to await McTavish's return. His head wound had scabbed over and he'd managed to wash the dried blood from his hair and face with melted snow.

It was another stunning day. Tatters of cloud up high in the stratosphere stretched across a deep blue sky while banks of early morning mist sat in the valleys and hollows waiting to be burnt off by the sun. McTavish strode up the last few yards of summit ridge towards them with one of their rucksacks over each shoulder.

"You do realise he's indebted to both of us now?" Leonid asked while the Reekie was still out of earshot.

Tamsin nodded grimly. No matter how indebted the Reekie was to her, she would never forget that these things had killed her brother. She would never like them and she would most certainly never trust them.

"What's that?" she asked squinting against the sun. Far away to the north east, a pall of black smoke could be seen, just visible in the distance rising from somewhere up on the coast.

Leonid stared, a look of horror slowly contorting his features, "Bozhe moy. There's only one place it can be. It's ... Conwy."

. . .

A blizzard blew in from the Atlantic on the return journey, and despite their best efforts it still took Tamsin, Leonid and McTavish three days to get back to Conwy. All the while they considered that they could be mistaken. That the smoke may have been from another source. While at the same time remaining vigilant to the possibility of an ambush.

As they passed alongside the Conwy River they caught their first sight of the town, and their worst fears were confirmed. The castle walls had been blasted apart by artillery shells, many of the surrounding buildings pockmarked by bullets and scorched by fire. Timber buildings like the guildhall had been completely destroyed, reduced to smouldering charcoal.

"Who the fuck could have done this?" Tamsin gasped.

"And where is everyone?" growled McTavish.

As they turned the corner into Lancaster Square, the Reekie's question was answered. It seemed every single inhabitant of Conwy had been lined up against a wall and systematically shot. Tamsin dropped to her knees and wept as she spotted two bodies in particular - smaller than many of the others, and lying next to a familiar man wearing an eye patch, "WHY? Why did they have to kill everyone?"

Leonid's jaw clenched as he spoke, trying to keep his temper in check, "Because they could? Because they were looking for us and our brave Welsh friends didn't betray us."

"H-how do you kn-know they didn't?" Tamsin howled. Her tears were by now flowing fast and free.

"Because if they had, we'd have met half the Coalition on our way back from Snowdonia," Leonid crouched beside her, "Tamsin ... we can't afford to give all these good people a decent burial. But what we can do is stop this from happening again. I'll gladly join your resistance, and fight alongside you until we either defeat the invaders ... or die trying."

THE END OF CHAPTER FIVE

2062, six and a half years later ...

The darkening sky outside suddenly brightened. A blinding, searing brightness that surpassed the sunniest summer's day Mull had ever known. Moments later an almighty thud like a single peal of thunder shook the walls and was abruptly cut off, as on the eastern side of the island, millions of cubic metres of atmosphere were displaced. It could mean only one thing ...

The nightmare was the same every time ...

It began with the vivid memory of Duart Castle and Jack Aubrey's damned ship, the HMS Poseidon being vapourised as the satellites of the Soteria network discharged charged particle beams down from orbit.

But no matter how many times it woke him sweating in the early hours, one element of the dream always differed from reality. When he guided the stolen RIB back along the coast to the blast site, they found absolutely no survivors.

He gazed lovingly at the sleeping form curled up under the patchwork quilt next to him. She'd been up late making yet another new bow. As if an army of volunteers in need of weapons might materialise in the event their island retreat ever needed defending. He eased himself out of bed carefully, so as not to wake her and dressed in the dark.

Outside, the first orange glow of sunrise showed in the distance behind Cruach Lerags and Creag Bhan. Wrens and Blue Tits flitted around the vegetable garden as he took a deep breath of fresh morning air. This wasn't at all how he'd expected to spend his retirement when he'd joined up. Growing old with Laura while Hamish and Iona began productive careers after university perhaps, or possibly a couple of grandchildren. But not hiding from shadows on some remote Scottish island.

Laura his first wife, and both their children were long dead though. Just two more victims of Thanatos and the ensuing chaos that had consumed the planet. Mere statistics in the larger scheme of things.

The cold air irritated his throat and brought on a coughing fit. He quickly pressed a sleeve across his mouth to muffle it, so as not to wake the others. Just as it had been doing for the previous few weeks his arm came away spattered with fresh blood, "Awh, shite. No' again."

How was Hamnavoe ever going to break the news?

COMING SOON ... CHAPTER SIX: AYR