Tamsin Beech Ch. 07: Kerrera

Jessamy shrugged, "The what? Why are you saying it like I should be pissed off?"

"The Coalition," Merida piped up, "you know, Volk? The Russians and North Koreans?"

Jessamy Beech shook her head, "Can't say I do. But then we've been out of it for quite some time. Let's get your friend back to the house and you can explain it all," she shouldered her bow and grabbed one corner of Leonid's stretcher, "step where we step, don't stray off the path. Is that understood?"

"What about a lantern?" asked Ross, "so we can at least see where we're putting our feet?"

"NO!" Phoebe Beech stated firmly, "no lights."

"Okay, fair enough."

In an almost apologetic tone, Ross asked McTavish to stay with the Novoya Nachalo. Then with Phoebe leading the way, Tamsin, Ross and Merida took the other corners of the stretcher, with Hamnavoe bringing up the rear.

"Hey Angus," hissed Ross, "if Meri starts slowing down would you mind taking over from her?"

"Merida will just have to manage," Jessamy snapped, "like the rest of us."

Tamsin gaped. This wasn't the same Aunt Jessamy she remembered. She'd been fierce, but fair and always considerate of others. This woman was rude, abrupt and if what she'd said was to be believed, totally ignorant of the events occurring nationwide over the past eleven years. Why?

. . .

Jessamy's eldest daughter Phoebe led them up on to a rutted moorland track leading along Kerrera's coastline in both directions. Tamsin guessed that it might circle the entire island - a distance of no more than about seven miles.

"Good to see you all after all this time Tamsin," Jessamy said quietly as they passed quietly between scrubby heather and high gorse bushes, "why isn't your brother here?"

Talk of her dead brother John took Tamsin by surprise. She stole a look at her mother, but in the darkness Merida's features were hidden, "I, uh ..."

"The path forks up ahead," Phoebe called softly, interrupting them, "whatever you do, keep to the left."

"Tell me later eh?" Jessamy finished.

"We have a pit dug on the right hand path. There are deadfalls, covered pits and tripwires all o'er the island," Phoebe warned, "so while you're here, DON'T go wanderin' off alone."

Like mother, like daughter Tamsin thought. Phoebe had grown into an able, confident young woman. She wondered if this was where the girl and her parents had been living all this time. Eleven years on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere while the Coalition carried out all kinds of atrocities on the mainland. Of course her Aunt Jessamy hadn't known about the invasion. Because otherwise she'd have done something about it.

Feeling their way one step at a time along the uneven path, Phoebe led Tamsin and the others around the southern tip of the island then turned inland, pointing out hazards along the way.

"Why so many traps?" asked Merida. She was clearly struggling with the weight of Leonid's stretcher, but Hamnavoe made no move to help. He was busy scanning the low hills around them, SA80 at the ready.

"Reivers used to control the entire west coast," Jessamy answered, "from Mallaig down to the border and into Cumbria. We've found a good spot here. We just want to be left alone."

"I think you'll find they've spread further south," added Ross. Unlike the others he didn't have the luxury of changing hands every so often, so he too was beginning to tire a little, "we found a nest in Heysham a few days ago. We stole their boat."

Jessamy nodded, saying nothing.

"Exactly how long is it since you were on the mainland Jess?" Ross asked.

"Nine, maybe ten years?"

Ross was astounded, "Nine or ten ..."

Jessamy fixed him with a quizzical look, "I swam across to Oban to see if there was anything left."

"Swam? You mean you don't have a boat?"

"No. There are no seaworthy boats here anymore," she glanced pointedly in Hamnavoe's direction, "we used to have a trawler but some twat blew it up. We had one of Jack Aubrey's RIBs for a while - that's how we got across from Mull, but without parts we couldn't keep the fucking outboard going."

"How far to the mainland?" Tamsin asked.

Jessamy shrugged, "No more than a quarter, maybe half a mile? If it's fuel you want, there's plenty in the boatyard at the north end of the island. Take what you need and you can be on your way."

"Be on our way?" Merida cried, "wh ... aren't you coming with us?"

"Why would I?" Jessamy snapped back, "I've done my bit. I saved the fucking world. Now it's someone else's turn."

. . .

With the tiny island's highest point - a rugged crag called Carn Breugach looming ahead, the party finally arrived at their destination. Hidden behind a ten foot high defensive earthwork and ditch surrounding it, sat a cosy whitewashed cottage with a large extension. The garden had been long ago torn up and cultivated however, a variety of crops and medicinal herbs now arranged in neat rows that occupied much of the available space, all hidden from the air by an immense camouflage net.

Sealskins had been stretched over a rack to dry. Goats tethered in a small enclosure for the night studied them impassively as Phoebe led the stretcher party carrying Leonid Denisovich past. Tamsin was certain she heard chickens clucking away inside a tightly sealed coop, and in the farthest corner from the house sat a couple of wooden beehives.

"Looks like you've been busy sis," said Ross, looking up at the thick wooden shutters with arrow slits on every window, "this place is like a fortress."

"Needs to be," Jessamy murmured, "Angus, check the perimeter. Make sure we weren't tailed."

"On my way JB."

Merida breathed a loud sigh of relief and stretched her shoulder as the four of them deposited Leonid's stretcher carefully on a huge farmhouse kitchen table.

"Phee, can you boil some water?" Jessamy brought a lantern to the table then proceeded to draw blackout curtains on all the downstairs windows.

Merida laughed, "Aren't you being a bit over cautious Jess? No-one on the mainland will see us. There are hills and your great big earthwork in the way."

Jessamy didn't answer her. She unwrapped the stained gauze dressing from the wounded Russian's midsection, and sniffed, "It's not too bad. Think you got him here just in time. A few maggots to eat the necrotic tissue then we'll coat the wound with honey."

"Honey?" asked Ross.

"To help draw out the infection dad," Tamsin explained.

Jessamy nodded, "You know your stuff. Once it's stitched up he'll be okay in a few days, a week at most."

Merida flopped down in a lumpy armchair, exhausted by the trek from Slatrach Bay. Tamsin gazed around the wide, flagstoned kitchen. Shelves of books, and produce preserved in glass jars, trays of eggs, a worktop covered in woodworking tools complete with a vice, an ancient Aga upon which Phoebe had set a kettle to boil. And a gun rack with nine old British Army SA80 assault rifles. A homely scent of fresh bread, woodsmoke and gun oil.

"I see ye spotted the armoury," Phoebe leaned back against the Aga waiting for the water to boil, as Hamnavoe returned.

"Uh, yeah," Tamsin answered, "SA80s. Where the hell did you get them?"

"Ye know yer weapons. After mum used the Soteria network to blow up Jack Aubrey on Mull, we found a squad of his men had deserted. Driven up into the hills in a wee truck. It took 'em a while but she and Angus ... dealt with them. Brought all their gear over wi' us on the RIB."

"Impressive. You got ammunition?"

"Aye. NATO Standard 5.56mm. Enough to get by but we try not tae use it. We rely more on bows."

As Jessamy cleaned Leonid's bullet wound and applied maggots, Merida and Ross quickly filled her, Phoebe and Hamnavoe in on what had been happening for the last eleven years. The attack on Berwick Upon Tweed, the Coalition's invasion and the destruction of Novaya Nadezhda and the entire resistance.

"Helluva story. We saw their jets fly over when we were on Mull," admitted Hamnavoe croakily, "Sukhois. But without a boat an' Scotland full o' fuckin' Reivers there was no way we were gonnae risk comin' back to Berwick wi' a wee lassie in tow."

"Not so wee any more Angus," Phoebe piped up, smiling.

Hamnavoe returned the smile, stifling a cough.

"You didn't tell me what happened to your son," Jessamy looked seriously at Merida.

In the flickering lantern light, Tamsin could see that her aunt looked older. At fifty years old the first lines were appearing around her eyes and the blonde dreadlocks now marred by a few grey hairs. But the physical presence and the icy blue of her eyes hadn't changed, the intensity and unnerving directness of her stare.

"He ... was killed," answered Merida softly, "by Reekies when Berwick was attacked."

Jessamy placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder, "Shit, I'm so sorry Meri ... but that's why I'm even more surprised you've got one of them on your boat."

Tamsin butted in, "McTavish isn't like the others."

"McTavish? It's got a name?"

Tamsin wasn't about to be patronised by her aunt or anyone, "He owes his life to Leonid."

Jessamy sneered, her tattoo creating a grotesque chiaroscuro of her face, "Leonid, the traitor from the very Coalition invaders you're fighting against?"

"Yes," said Merida, staring at a point on the scuffed floor.

But Jessamy Beech wasn't finished. She laughed bitterly, "And you're a Zakhvatchikov, their leader's daughter? And my niece Tamsin here ... is his fucking granddaughter?"

Tamsin leapt to her mother's defence, "It's complicated I know but ..."

Jessamy stood up straight, eyes blazing, "None of you, have thought to tell me yet where my youngest daughter is. Where's Ada? Last I saw her she was in your charge Merida. In Berwick. I left her in your protection. A six year old girl."

"I-it was chaos. Th-the Coalition general, Volk, h-he split us up. Tamsin went to Lindisfarne. I was sent to Scarborough. Ross was ..."

"You mean you have absolutely no idea where my daughter is? Or even if she's alive? Do you even care?" Jessamy snarled, her voice dripping with venom.

Merida rose to her feet and took a step forward, fists balled at her sides. Tamsin was stunned. It took a lot to get her mother riled up, "Of course we care! My son's dead! And I had other things on my mind! I'm sorry Jess but whatever's happened to Ada was beyond my control."

Ross put his hand around his wife's quaking shoulders as Jessamy folded her arms and simply stared at them coldly, "Ross, Merida, I'm truly sorry about your son. I'll treat your ... friend. You can all take whatever you need - provisions, fuel, whatever. But after that I want you off my fucking island. That understood?"

"Jess!" Hamnavoe shouted, "she's your oldest friend ferfucksake! Ye cannae just throw her out!"

"It's not open for discussion Angus. They can sleep in the bunkhouse. I'm off to bed."

PART TWO: ISLAND LIFE

Tamsin Beech dreamt. It was a recurring dream she'd been having since the destruction of Novaya Nadezhde - the party on the evening of her eighteenth birthday back on Lindifarne. She saw herself taking a tiny sip of the single glass of champagne she'd been allowed, savouring the way the bubbles fizzed on her tongue. General Volk caught her eye from across the room and gave her a curt nod, looking resplendent in his neatly pressed dress uniform with new gold general's epaulettes.

She looked around the long candlelit room, the castle's so called Ship Room. The polished black marble floor cleared of furniture to allow space for mingling. Every guest either a senior Coalition officer or their spouse, or someone from the village brought in to make up the numbers.

But something troubled Tamsin about the scene, as it always did in her dream. A minor detail that was somehow vitally important, but hiding just out of sight beneath the surface of her subconscious.

Tamsin awoke with a line of verse in her mind, "Do not go gentle into that good night, old age should burn and rave at close of day ..." she whispered. She was alone. Early morning sunlight streamed in through the tiny windows of the cottage's bunkhouse extension. Where once foreign students studying the island's geology had slept, herself and her parents now sheltered while waiting for Leonid to recover. Despite the drama of the previous night Tamsin had slept well. The extension with its six bunks and woodburner was solidly built and cosy, though much of it seemed to be used as storage space.

Her Aunt Jessamy had made a heartbreaking decision. To either risk never seeing her youngest daughter Ada again or having her eldest daughter Phoebe fall into the clutches of Reivers if they'd attempted the return journey to Berwick. Phoebe was now twenty which would make Ada seventeen, almost eighteen - if she were still alive.

If anyone else had dared speak to her parents that way she would have drawn her Grach and demanded an immediate apology. As it had been her Aunt Jessamy and the tirade partly justified however, Tamsin had mixed feelings. Where was Ada? What with leading the resistance and trying to stay one step ahead of Volk and President Zakhvatchikov, the fate of one small girl seemed almost irrelevant. But Ada was family, a Beech ... and her cousin.

As Tamsin swung her legs off the bunk and squeezed her socked feet into her boots she vowed to discover just what had happened to little Ada Beech.

. . .

Phoebe was walking past as Tamsin headed across the garden towards the main cottage. It was a warm, sunny day with a stiff breeze blowing in from the west. Honey bees flitted to and fro and swallows swooped up under the eaves to feed their young.

"Good morning', did ye sleep well?" Phoebe called.

Tamsin yawned, "Surprisingly well," she watched her cousin cautiously. Was Phoebe about to continue the previous night's row on her mother's behalf?

Phoebe hoisted a battered leather bag over one shoulder, "I'm just about to check our traps. Ye're welcome to tag along an' I'll give ye a quick tour o' the island."

Tamsin nodded. It was hard to believe what they'd left behind on the mainland when such tranquility as this existed. Here on the island she could almost believe Reivers, her grandfather and the Coalition didn't exist, "Where's everyone else?"

Phoebe led the way to a grassy meadow dotted with wildflowers, stopping every so often to check hidden snares, "Angus took yer parents back to the boat to check the hull. My mum's looking after your Russian friend. Do you like eggs?"

Tamsin shrugged.

"We'll get some breakfast when we get back."

"So what's actually here on the island Phoebe?" Tamsin asked, "besides the cottage?"

She watched Phoebe as they strode along the worn path. The younger woman was the spitting image of her mother - though without the dreadlocks or Celtic tattoo, moving with an economic grace, like a warrior. Sunlight made her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail shimmer like a field of wheat on a breezy day, her eyes sparkle like pale sapphires.

"A few derelict farms, a few empty houses," Phoebe explained, bringing Tamsin back to her senses, "the boatyard at the north end too, but we tend not to go there too much, as it's in plain view of Oban across the water. Our cottage apparently used to be a tea room for tourists years ago."

Away from the meadows, the remainder of Kerrera appeared to be rough, craggy moorland. The ruin of an ancient castle sat silhouetted on a high promontory to the south. Was there really enough there to sustain three people? "What do you live on?"

Phoebe retrieved a dead rabbit from one of her snares and dropped it into her bag, "We set traps, we fish. I hunt seal too for skins to make clothes and we grow our own vegetables. We have everythin' we need here on Kerrera."

Surely living this close to the mainland was taking an awful risk, thought Tamsin, "Have you actually had any Reivers come on to the island?"

Phoebe shook her head, "No, never. Angus and my mum have taught me to shoot a bow and a rifle but I've never had reason to use them apart from huntin'."

"So you've never killed another human being?"

Phoebe indicated a concealed tripwire stretching across the path and stepped over it, "Nah. No' so much as a Reekie ... oh, sorry. Didnae mean it like that."

"S'okay," Tamsin reassured her, "the resistance could've used someone like you."

A formidable set of skills, she thought. Just a shame the girl was so naive and inexperienced. The path led past the collapsed remains of a farmhouse, and on down a rocky slope, "My mum hates them. Reekies I mean," Phoebe added, "they had a bit of a run in years ago when they went through Edinburgh. But then my mum hates pretty much everyone."

Tamsin peered around, trying to get her bearings. No more than half a mile away to her right across a narrow strait, a line of tree covered hills showed the edge of the Reiver infested mainland at Gallanachmore, "She seems very ... guarded?"

"Paranoid if ye ask me. I'm ... sorry about the way she was last night. I thought she'd be pleased to see you all," Phoebe nodded thoughtfully, "keep low along this stretch. I keep a few crab pots in the wee bay down here, the Little Horseshoe. I'll check them while the tide's out ... but mum'd shit a cow if she knew we were on the landward side. So, is it true? That ye're their president's granddaughter?"

Tamsin let out a deep sigh, "Yep. Tamsin Natalya Zakhvatchikov. I'm half Russian," she grinned, "but I much prefer the surname Beech."

Phoebe raised an eyebrow as she led them to the shelter of a wrecked fishing trawler beached long ago on the bay's rocky beach, "No way. I'm half kiwi, er ... New Zealander? My real dad was a fishing boat skipper in Cornwall."

"Yeah. My dad told me."

Phoebe's crab pots were anchored to boulders beside the rotting hull of the fishing boat. She tutted and pulled a face when she realised they were both empty, "Can't be lucky every day. So what's it like being a resistance leader? I'm sorry if I ask a lot of questions. It's just that apart from my mum an' Angus ye're the first people I've seen in eleven years."

"Understandable. I ended up as their leader completely by accident," Tamsin scanned the deserted road across the mirror smooth water of the Sound of Kerrera, wondering if they were being watched or if her Aunt Jessamy really was just being paranoid, "Leonid taught me everything he knows and I just kinda fell into it. For years we'd been taking out convoys and blowing up their infrastructure but not actually having that much effect. Then six months ago one of our sources told us where to find paperwork on the old Soteria satellite network."

Phoebe stiffened and watched Tamsin, "I know about it."

"Good," Tamsin was surprised. Many born post-Thanatos knew nothing of the old world. But then Phoebe's mother, her Aunt Jessamy had actually used Soteria against the asteroid and later against Jack Aubrey. It had always puzzled Tamsin how she'd managed to access one of the bunkers though, "the Coalition keep an archive in Lincoln of anything they think might be useful to them. I took a squad, we snuck in and got our hands on a list of key personnel in the Soteria project. The plan was to find one of them, open up one of the bunkers and use the satellites to blast the fucking Coalition back to where they crawled out from."

It seemed to Tamsin that Phoebe's voice took on a cautious quality, "Any luck?"

Tamsin shook her head. After six months on the run, accessing the Soteria bunkers had been the farthest thing from their minds, "No. For all I know they could all be dead."

Phoebe led them back inland, to the relative safety of Kerrera's rugged interior, leading Tamsin around more concealed pits and tripwires, "So what's the story with you an' this Leonid guy?"

"He's a Coalition traitor," Tamsin answered, "but he's also my second in command."