Tamsin Beech Ch. 13: Bath

Through the heavy falling snow, Jessamy Beech could just make out a couple of figures crouched beside the bullet riddled corpse of a third - pinned down behind the inadequate cover of a gutted ambulance.

TAKATAKATAK!

Across one of the sprawling hospital's weed choked car parks a handful of others laid down sporadic fire from an assortment of weapons - assault rifles, a shotgun, compound bows.

Jessamy knew she'd have to pick a side. Any second now the shooters would notice the Tigr creeping slowly into the midst of their firefight. But which side?

As the windscreen wipers squeaked across her field of vision, the decision was made for her as one of the larger group yelled to his comrades, "AIM FOR THEIR LEGS! WE WANT THE WOMEN ALIVE!"

What the fuck was it with scavs? That they wanted to shoot, loot or rape everything and anyone they encountered?

"No better than fucking Reivers," she snarled. Her mind made up, Jessamy stamped on the accelerator. The Tigr shot forward, lurching wildly over chunks of rubble hidden under the snow, brutally smashing the rusted carcass of an old Fiat to one side. The scavengers spotted her a second before she ploughed into them. Too late.

The Tigr jolted as it ran over two of the scavengers. Ignoring the screams of someone trapped beneath its wheels, Jessamy pushed open the driver's side door before the vehicle had fully stopped and launched herself out into the snow.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" screeched one of the surviving scavengers, raising an antique SA80.

BLAM!

From one knee, Jessamy put a bullet neatly through his forehead, spinning around in a crouch to scan for others. How many had there been? Five? Six? She should've paid more attention.

BLAM- BLAM!

She blasted two more who'd thrown themselves into cover as the Tigr had approached, then thumbed the AK's selector to fully automatic. Any remaining would be making a run for it - and with limited visibility Jessamy couldn't guarantee hitting them with single shots ...

BLAM!

A body crumpled into the snow beside her, its face a red ruin where a bullet had torn it away, "What the fu ..."

A figure cautiously approached from the direction of the ambulance. Black overalls, face obscured by a black balaclava and snow goggles. Tarnished gold braid epaulettes and carrying a Beretta in a two-handed grip.

"Thanks," Jessamy called, "you saved my ass."

"Th-that was the last of them. I-is he d-dead?" stammered the newcomer. A girl or young woman by the sound of her voice, "I-i've never actually shot anyone before."

Great. A newbie. Jessamy climbed to her feet and kicked the dead scavenger, "Pretty much I'd say. Blowing someone's face off will do that."

The young woman turned away and threw up violently into the snow.

"Who were these guys?" asked Jessamy, wrinkling her nose at the smell of fresh vomit.

The woman wiped her mouth with the back of one hand, then raised her snow goggles, revealing terrified looking deep brown eyes. Tumbling brown locks fell around her face as she pulled off the balaclava, "Sc-scavengers. Thankyou so much. I really appreciate your help. They got the j-jump on us when we came out of the hospital. Th-they killed Hemlock. Is ... is that guy ... really dead?"

"Yes he's dead," Jessamy reiterated impatiently, "why are you in the hospital? It would've been looted for anything useful years ago. All the medicines and dressings will be long gone."

Behind the brown eyed young woman, the other black clad figure - a man, knelt somberly beside their dead companion. She continued, "Our c-commanding officer needed a-a ... new wheelchair. We came here specifically and managed to find one. Um, I'm Lieutenant Blackthorn. Royal Navy. And you are?"

"There's still a Royal Navy?" Jessamy's face broke into a wide grin. These were just the people she'd come looking for, "Jessamy. Jessamy Beech."

Lieutenant Blackthorn's eyes grew wider, taking in the blonde dreadlocks, scars and celtic knot tattoo, "Jessamy Beech? N-not THE Jessamy Beech?"

Jessamy frowned, "Is there another I should know about?"

Blackthorn holstered her Beretta and seized Jessamy's free hand, "Jessamy Beech! The bounty hunter. This is such an honour to meet you ma'am," she called back over her shoulder, "Campion! You'll never guess who this is ...*

"I suggest," interrupted Jessamy, "we get you guys and your dead pal into the back of my vehicle and get the fuck away from here. The scavs may have friends and we haven't exactly been quiet."

Blackthorn nodded, "Aye aye ma'am. Where to?"

Jessamy raised an eyebrow, "Where else? Take me to your leader."

. . .

By unspoken agreement, Tamsin and Yeonmi decided to make a move on the morning of the third day. Fat snowflakes spiralled lazily down from a sky the colour of a fresh bruise as they secured their weapons, shouldered their rucksacks and left the cottage in Brimscombe that had given them shelter in their hour of need.

"Which way now?" asked Tamsin.

"South," without another word, Yeonmi kicked through a rotting timber fence and stepped through sideways down onto a steep railway embankment, legs plunging into knee deep snow as she picked her way around bramble thickets and debris.

"I'm beginning to wonder if you actually know where the Baekdusan is. You better not be leading me on some kind of wild goose chase," Tamsin warned.

Yeonmi spun around, eyes blazing, "And why's that?"

"You're not exactly leading us by the most direct route."

Yeonmi shrugged, "I don't care what you think. Either you follow me or you don't. It's your choice. According to the map, it's thirty miles to the city of Bath. We can be there by nightfall," she announced over her shoulder and continued walking, in a roughly south westerly direction along railway lines buried under inches of ash, mud and snow.

"Chertovski suka," Tamsin swore under her breath at the North Korean woman's retreating back. Leonid Denisovich would have been proud. Her spoken Russian was continuing to improve, even without his teaching.

. . .

Phoebe Beech hoisted another bale of hay off the the wheelbarrow, cut the twine holding it together and began spreading it around the goats' pen. Her mother was missing, scouring the country for a daughter who might not even be alive. Her cousin was also missing - travelling south in the company of a duplicitous and dangerous North Korean woman.

And it was all her fault. She'd deserted Ada to follow her mother and Hamnavoe all those years before. And she'd allowed herself to be hoodwinked and seduced by Yeonmi. Allowing herself to trust her. How could she have been so fucking stupid?

But life had to go on. She gently pushed one of the more inquisitive goats to one side with her hip as she tossed hay into the corners of their covered enclosure for fresh bedding. They were shaggy haired native goats, the only breed indigenous to Scotland with their impressive long horns. What must it be like to be a goat, Phoebe wondered. Not having to worry about missing relatives and the looming threat of nuclear annihilation?

"Am I interrupting?"

Phoebe looked up, and was surprised to see Leonid Denisovich leaning into the goat hut. Her heart leapt as he grinned warmly at her through a few days' growth of blond beard.

He and the babies had been back at Fort George for a week. But with preparations for a possible evacuation occupying much of the Russian's time she'd barely seen him.

How many times had she fantasised about being the one in a relationship with him, instead of her cousin Tamsin? Phoebe had lain awake in the next room masturbating as she'd eavesdropped on the sounds of their lovemaking, wishing for all the world that she could summon up the courage to go and join them.

She was learning to dismiss them as adolescent fantasies, nothing more. Besides, what would Leonid possibly want with the girl who'd allowed his baby son to be kidnapped?

Phoebe cleared her throat before speaking, "Leo."

"Uh, Merida tells me you're ... blaming yourself for what's happened," the blond Russian stated in a serious tone.

Phoebe spread her arms, "Because it's my fault?"

"Believe me it's not," Leonid slowly shook his head, "Yeonmi is a trained assassin. Infiltration and deception will be vtoraya natura, um ... second nature to her. I know. I learned those skills myself in the Spetsnaz."

Phoebe pushed an errant lock of her blonde hair back behind her ear, "S-so ... ye're no' blamin' me for wee Angus gettin' kidnapped?"

"No. I'm not blaming you. Phoebe, you grew up on Kerrera with only your mother and Hamnavoe for company. You're still ... naive ... for want of a better word, to the ways of people. Yeonmi saw you as an easy target. A means to get what she wanted."

Phoebe tickled one of the long horn goats behind the ear, "I still feel so fuckin' stupid for fallin' fer it. I even gave her English lessons fer fucksake."

Leonid shrugged, "It's all in the past. And I'm sure Tamsin regrets the way she spoke to you."

"But Angus is yer son too," Phoebe protested, "are ye sure ye don't blame me?"

Leonid glanced around as someone called out from across the wide parade ground, "Listen. I'm on my way to the Girl Flora. See how many we can fit onboard if the worse comes to the worst. But drop by later and we'll talk some more. Okay?"

Phoebe nodded silently and watched as Leonid Denisovich jogged away towards the sallyport.

. . .

Devonport naval base had changed considerably since Jessamy Beech's last visit over thirty years earlier. Playing fields had been replaced with acres of cultivated fields, established but now lying dormant for the winter under inches of fresh snow. Roads around the perimeter were now guarded by regularly spaced roadblocks - forcing Jessamy to stop the Tigr each time, while the timid Lieutenant Blackthorn vouched for her.

Jack Aubrey had been in command back then. Also known as one Derek Skinner - an escaped convict who'd bullied and cajoled his way into the position of captain. Then gone on to threaten every village in the surrounding area with the devastating firepower of the frigate HMS Poseidon.

"You take a left up there past the MT sheds," Blackthorn directed from the passenger seat. Campion sat in the back along with the body of their dead companion, Hemlock.

"It's okay lieutenant. I know the way," Jessamy drove on through what years before she'd taken for an abandoned industrial estate, and had turned out to be the edge of the sprawling naval base. Whereas meteorite damage in the city centre had ranged from total to severe, here it was merely minimal.

Hangars. Workshops. Even a children's playground. A massive Fleet Auxiliary ship the size of an aircraft carrier - that had once replenished the smaller, faster ships while at sea with fuel and provisions - still lay mournfully on its side in one of the docks. Peppered with jagged holes courtesy of Thanatos, its rusting hull sat covered in barnacles and diseased looking clumps of seaweed. For Jessamy it reminded her of the great Caledonian MacBrayne ferry she'd seen every day sitting out in Tobermory harbour, but a whole lot bigger.

"So you all stayed on here after Jack Aubrey left?" Jessamy asked.

"Yes ma'am. The naval personnel he left behind decided to continue with what he started. But to be a force for good."

"It's looking great," Jessamy said truthfully, "what you've achieved, I mean. So, who exactly is your commanding officer now?" she asked as the Tigr skirted one of the few remaining meteorite craters.

"The captain? She doesn't really go in for the chain of command thing much so she just likes to be called Lou."

"Lou?" Jessamy nodded, "I'll remember that."

The Tigr eventually arrived at Devonport's Wardroom, an imposing stone building dating back to the 1700s close to the harbour itself. A faded white ensign - the flag of the Royal Navy flapped proudly from the top of a mast erected on the building's forecourt. Leaving Campion to unload the wheelchair and see to their companion's corpse, Blackthorn led Jessamy in through the front entrance.

"How did you know about me lieutenant?" Jessamy asked.

Blackthorn looked aghast, "You're kidding right? You're Jessamy Beech! After what you did at the Battle of Truro and everything else ..."

Fair point. It was nice to have one's exploits recognised. Jessamy shrugged, then fell silent as Blackthorn stopped before a polished oaken door. A brass plaque read simply 'Officer Commanding'.

Blackthorn knocked twice and pushed the door open, "Ma'am. Pardon the intrusion but I've brought someone I think you should meet. This is ..."

"Hmm," said a familiar voice from inside the room, "I've already heard from the sentries, so I know perfectly well who she is lieutenant. You better show the lady in."

The captain's office was large. Cluttered and cosy. Wood panelled with the walls covered in ancient framed oil paintings and annotated maps of the local area. An enormous desk groaned under the weight of stacks of papers and piles of books.

A black skinned woman in her late fifties, with greying dreadlocks guided an ancient wheelchair out from behind the desk. Captain's gold epaulettes on her shoulders glinted in the lantern light as she grinned up at Jessamy, "And where the fuck have you been for the past however many years?" asked Lupita Mpenzi.

. . .

As planned, it took Tamsin and Yeonmi the entire day of struggling through snow drifts and frozen mud to walk the thirty miles from Brimscombe to the edge of Bath. Of the bandits who'd ambushed them and crippled their BTR-94 on the Gloucester road, there was no further sign. A small blessing.

The largest city in the county of Somerset, Bath had been known for and named after its Roman-built baths, and indeed, before Thanatos had been a World Heritage site. After claims in the seventeenth century about the curative properties of water from the hot springs, the city had become popular as a spa town in the Georgian era. The place had flourished, with magnificent architecture crafted from the local honey coloured Bath stone, including the world famous Royal Crescent, Circus and Assembly Rooms.

As Tamsin and Yeonmi paused for breath near the ancient hill fort of Little Solsbury Hill, looking down on the once proud city, the sun descended into murky yellow mist in the western sky. To the east however, the brooding sky was darkening almost to black as roiling banks of dense cloud advanced, announcing the next of the winter storms. With the wind chill the air already felt well below freezing.

"Temperature's dropping," Tamsin observed, "we need to find shelter."

"I think I know just the place," Yeonmi replied quietly.

"You do? How come? You been here before?"

Yeonmi nodded solemnly, "I ... traveled around with my brother. You know, the one you murdered ..."

Tamsin shook her head. The North Korean woman never missed a chance.

"... when our fleet first arrived. By helicopter, we searched for a quiet retreat in the countryside. But years ago a local warlord calling himself General Chinnor came this way apparently, and destroyed many of the better properties."

Chinnor. Tamsin had heard of him. Some upstart psycho whose hordes of followers had advanced as far as Truro in Cornwall, before a bombardment from Jack Aubrey's HMS Poseidon had put a stop to their plans. According to her Aunt Jessamy, the only good thing the man had ever achieved.

Much of Bath had already been laid waste by meteorite strikes by then. The River Avon that had once meandered through the city and the Kennet and Avon canal that had paralleled its course through the valley had both been reduced to a dried up, mud filled crevasse in the landscape where some cataclysmic earthquake had swallowed up every drop of their water. A charred crater south of Sion Hill marked where the imposing Georgian houses of the Royal Crescent had once stood - its landscaped parkland now overgrown with stunted gorse bushes.

Tamsin leaned wearily against the rusting carcass of an old Stagecoach bus, the icy wind blowing spindrift across the snow dusted road, "Just why the fuck are we here Yeonmi?"

The North Korean feigned startled surprise, "You want me to take you to the Baekdusan?"

"There's no fucking aircraft carrier here," Tamsin waved a gloved hand irritably at the devastated city before them, "we're still miles from the coast."

"We'll stop here. Rest and shelter from the weather," Yeonmi adjusted the straps of her rucksack and thumbed off the safety on her handgun. Tamsin still felt apprehensive about the other woman being armed to the teeth, but they had no way of knowing just who or what might be lurking in the ruins, "then continue south in the morning."

Tamsin blew out her breath in exasperation, "Whatever you fucking say. Lead the way."

. . .

Phoebe couldn't bring herself to eat a bite that evening. She'd worked all day, tending the goats and Fort George's few scraggy Highland cattle, checking traps and their crab pots along the shoreline beyond the walls, and hauling and chopping firewood. She felt ravenous but knew without a doubt that she wouldn't be able to hold anything down.

She scrubbed at her grimy skin with coarse, seaweed based soap. Under a lukewarm shower she pulled the tangles from her hair and picked at the dirt beneath her cracked fingernails. Then she stood naked before the bathroom's blotchy full length mirror, staring at herself appraisingly.

Scrubbed clean and pink from head to foot. Apart from the few areas scraped and bruised by manual labour. But that was to be expected. She had curves, but not like her Aunt Merida's motherly figure or those of some of the fort's other women. So it would have to do. Hamnavoe had once told her that before Thanatos, women had been able to pay surgeons to make alterations to their bodies - increase the size of their breasts or make their lips fuller for instance. Hamnavoe, however, had been of the opinion that everyone should be content with what they had and not meddle.

He hadn't been an adult woman with the skinny body of a teenaged girl though.

Leonid wanted to talk. Nothing more, she kept reminding herself. But she thought she might as well make an effort anyway. Phoebe pulled on an ancient pair of pre-Thanatos era jeans, a fresh t-shirt and a thick, unflattering, blue woollen jumper - hand knitted by one of the fort's women. She was only going upstairs after all and wouldn't be venturing outside. She tied her hair back and tugged on her sealskin mukluks.

"Here goes nothin'," she muttered to herself and opened the door out into the corridor.

. . .

"L-lupita? LUPITA! I don't believe it!" Jessamy gasped. Her eyes stung with tears as she dropped to her knees and fiercely hugged her old friend, "I thought you were ..."

"What, dead?" laughed the South African woman, "nah, not me."

Surely Lupita Mpenzi had been with Jessamy's father John Beech at their cottage in Madron. The blast from Soteria's charged particle beam weapons had wiped out everything in a four or five mile radius. There could have been no escape, no survivors, "But Aubrey wiped out Penzance. He used the Soteria Lite system. The whole area was gone. I saw it with my own eyes!"

Mpenzi smiled, "You seem disappointed."

"Just ... just surprised. That's all. Pleasantly surprised."

Mpenzi thumbed away Jessamy's tears, "It's good to see you too Jess," she glanced up to the young lieutenant waiting patiently in the doorway, "Sally, can you ask the galley to bring up some refreshments."

"Aye aye ma'am," with a smart salute, Blackthorn left.

"Grab a seat," Mpenzi motioned, then guided her squeaking wheelchair back a few places, "was it just you that got out? What about Ada and Phoebe? And Ross?"

Jessamy unzipped her jacket and slumped gratefully into a chair, "Phoebe and Ross are safe. In Scotland. And Ada is one of the reasons I'm here. I take it you know about the invasion?"