Road North

This story is very long (46298 words). It is broken into chapters. It is the second in the road series and continues on from the first: Road West.

If you haven't read that then I wouldn't bother reading this it will make no sense at all.

There is sex, a bit more than what Lit. would allow in Non-Erotic so Sci-fi post-apocolyptic. Apologises for the swap. The in-depth detail around the technology follows the sci-fi genre. The era is 1970's/early 1980's Australia, (circa: Mad Max) pre computors, internet etc. The story contains a lot of characters. A lot are wallpaper background to the story. Don't get lost in the background.

The story, dialogue, terms of reference and descriptions are in UK/Australasian english. All spelling and grammatical errors, blah-blah-blah is on me.

Sex is sparse, there is girl-girl sex and the sex is descriptive. The story contains a lot of swearing and some scenes portray violent acts and outcomes. If any of this is not to your taste, this may not be the story for you Mate.

Characters.

1. Wayne

'Jigger'

Kelly: Former TCP Mechanic, inventor. Close friend of Stephanie Crick, John Worth & Art Burke.

2. Alison Jordan: Former TCP Mechanic and Jigger's Partner.

3. Brother Henry: Ketch Captain.

4. Scylla: Warrior and Daughter to the Northern Blue Group Leader Yarran.

5. Cort: Commander, Alliance Reconnisance Unit.

6. Sis: Alison's mutant friend.

7. Captain Elanora: Blue Group Trimaran Unit Commanding Officer.

8. Alan Gale/Roman Sevrynska-Costa: Enemy Force Leader.

9. Ketch Crew:Dogear. Neti. Noosa. Fens. Naomi. Maar. Jacob. Thomas. Heath. Muffy.

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CHAPTER ONE - LOOK INTO MY EYES. TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE.

He came awake, a dull throbbing set in behind his eyeballs. A sharp pain stretched across the back of his head from the top of his spine to his left ear and jaw hinge point, moving any or all, increased the pain. Periphally left, right and looking up it appeared his head was in a wooden box of some kind. It restricted movement, probably for good reason, but he didn't know for what. Shutting his eyes slowly drowned the throb. And that was all. Darkness and seared pain.

Again he woke, this time to two angels voices, "Look, see Alison, his toes moved. I told you!"

"Alright. I can see." The fuzzy blackness cleared. '

Alison?'

Alison looked into his eyes, "Don't move, don't talk. Blink. once for yes, twice for no. Jig... Trust me. We don't know what injuries you still have. We need to find out. Slowly."

Next time, and all the times after that she explained where they were, where they were going. And finally who they were. In his brain he realised Alison at least had a question mark hanging over her head but the others despite their care and attention meant nothing to him.

Three older men, they respondered to '

Brother'

although they definitely weren't, their sometimes wearing of cloth robes, he guessed they were monks. The one called Adriaan knew medicine. He treated and made the decisions. Sometime later, Adriaan declared him healed enough from his injuries to be able to move, try some exercise. Tiredness and exercise made his head ache. Alison scratched his back every night, simple comfort.

Still, he was with a boatload of strangers, with no recollections. Even the little Alison told him meant nothing and it frustrated him. He knew there was more he wasn't being told. The headaches would come and go but not as severe now. He wanted out, up on-deck. That got a stern

'no

' from everybody. He took to staring out of port holes, no fun. He could walk twenty steps now without an attack of nausea striking or passing out.

He'd snuck forward to the main cargo hold and found a ladder to a hatch he knew would give access to the for'ard deck. He planned, he had to. Ten of the young crewmembers had hammocks in the cargo hold so it was never empty. He watched. Early morning. Dawn. Before the night watch were relieved, everybody was up. Starting their duties. They left him alone, asleep. Alison would return with a meal but it was always well after daybreak.

He opened the hatch. Breathed in the fresh but salty air. He crawled out hidden by the big cargo hold cover. He sat silent watching the sea, the sun rising from the east cascading its brilliant hues of yellows, oranges and reds across the skies, the first dashes of early morning light shining, reflecting off the water.

The boat was travelling at a quick clip. There was no engine noise, the two mastheads had a full head of sail.

He took in the large tarpaulin strung across side to side of the bow, it appeared to have something big and bulky hidden underneath. Maybe room enough he could use the cover as his own little hide.

Quitely he slid along the deck and beneath the tarp. Even in the dark, the form, the shape appeared familiar. Somewhere in his brain a memory said

'home'

as his eyes adjusted letting him take in more. He moved to the front cockpit, felt the smooth surface of the machine, ran his hand over the letters, forming a word. He realised, a name.

He sat in silence staring, he had no idea how long. Long enough that he heard the crewmembers yelling his name in a mad panic and getting more distraught by the second. When they found him he sat mesmorized. When Alison lovingly craddled his head to her, he turned and spoke, "Ally, I remember honey,

'Diana'

told me everything."

When Jigger Kelly's story was told everybody was relieved they'd taken his care so seriously. They felt sad that Art, Steph, John and the rest never knew Jig had survived but Brother Henry said it would be temporary, he'd tell them on his return. That was still the plan, go back pick up more young'uns and bring them north to the

'free zone.'

There was no reluctance to tell Jigger what was going on and where they were headed. The journey so far had been fraught with double backs and outpacing pirates. Sometimes they would have to make for open sea to outrun marauders which meant miles off their charted course.

Then came the endless days being becalmed. In the old days this was never a thing especially along this coast: the warm winds clashed with cold air from the southern arctic and the winds from the tropics but since the

'big shit'

the weather and climate in the north changed. Continuous days of heat, winter or cold seasons were just a memory.

Even the sky was a shadow of its former self, the bright blues and billowy white clouds replaced by diluted hues of blues, whites and greys. The further north they drifted the heat had an intensity they'd not been used to in the south.

Originally they had planned on six days at five to ten knots and that was being very pessimistic. This was day twelve and they were yet to make six hundred miles according to the map. Despite that and even though she was built for island cargo hauling she could run well against the foes they'd encountered.

'Diana'

had given up her L7 heavy machine guns which hung off the stern and port side. They'd used them twice and in both cases quick burst's killing or wounding some of the chasing crews was enough for the pirates to break chase and turn.

They had made sure to use the canvas bags to save the brass, Neti and Dogear did what they did best, casting lead bullets filling the jackets with powder and assembly. Some of the others showed interest and were learning the skill. Others had taken to sailing the big boat.

When they'd come close to shore, mostly where they saw signs of people living or fishing always prepared to make a run for open water if they needed. They hadn't needed to.

The settlements they found were isolated from civilisation or what masqueraded for it. The ones they came across always had a friendly attitude and when one of the boatcrew queried why the locals weren't feeling threatened by their intrusion they got the reply

'But you're from the sea. Everything from the sea is good.'

They warned the villagers about pirates which still caused little concern. The settlements helped the crew with restocking fresh water, bathing and showed them where to find fresh fruit. The crewmembers never asked to share the villagers food. They gave fresh fish and seafood to grateful villagers. When the ones who hunted had a kill, mostly pig or wild beef, that too they shared with the villagers.

The number of crew had increased. From various settlements they had picked up seven extra people, four were two couples. They wanted to go to the free zone and the boat provided the chance. All of them were young and Alison told Jig she thought they missed being with ones of the same age.

Some compensation had to be made for the extra mouths to be fed but the extra hands around the boat made life a lot more bearable.

At each settlement the crew asked about the free zone, mostly distance and location. The further north they went numbers for distance got smaller, down to twenty days walk etc.

What worried them most were the looks of apprehension and fear when they tried to engage the locals about questions of what being inside the zone consisted of.

William of seed.

'A grower of all. A plantologist. God's gardener

.' He'd been given a lot of names. They knew they were about fifty or so miles short of their target when they met William and others walking south, stranded at the rivermouth with no way to cross the fast flowing river.

One boat crew had gone upstream to fill waterbarrels. They left a shore party including Jig and Alison who took the oppurtunity to do a

'walkabout'

and have some alone time.

They launched two boats, each boat to carry two barrels back to the ketch. The second boat crew picked up the travellers and bought them to the shore on the otherside of the rivermouth.

When Jig and Ally returned the shore crew had doubled. William wasn't the leader, that was left to one who called herself Scylla. To Jig and Ally Scylla looked to be a good leader, aware and alert. She was eager to move on but the appearance of food, extra for them when the longboat returned from the ketch was enough to persuade Scylla that the freely offered feeding of her band of eight weary travellers should take priority.

Ally was talking to Scylla, Jig wandered to where a bedraggled bearded stranger sat eating with two young girls or women, from the length and coverage of their hair across their faces Jig couldn't tell which. He knew that size or structure of a female wasn't a good indicator either. He quietly sat with the three.

"Thank you. For carrying us here. And the food. I am William of seed." Jig looked up into the strangers sincere stare.

"You're welcome William. I'm Jigger Kelly."

"These are my daughters, Mace and Tulip." The two girls didn't look up, engrossed in eating. Mind you, so was William. Jig thought it made sense to leave them to it, brushing the sand from his legs he went to rise when William spoke, "You're going to the free zone. Then go on further. Go to old town. To the north of old town but no more than two mile out is an island, built into a fortress and an invisible wall of warriors that stretches from there inland. Beyond the wall is real freedom. Still danger. Still death. But not like that in the free zone.

His look turned sullen, "I should never have took my little ones or my most loved to the zone. Every day is cursed now. The only thing I have left lies before you broken and scared. Do not stop at the free zone. Do not listen to the lies. Do not trust what they say. Do not let them near your cherished and do not turn your back to them."

Jig thought it ominous that both daughters stopped eating instead looking up at him, pushed the hair from their faces so Jig could see them, could judge what he saw in their eyes. Jig told Ally their eyes look haunted and the expressions they wore were way beyond their young years.

Jig knew He, Ally, and the rest needed to hear more of the stories from these travellers but what worried him more was what these nine were walking into.

The last three days they had come across some disturbing scenes. At first it appeared to be a huge cloud formation maybe sign of an approaching rainstorm. The smell they came upon ruled that out. In places along the shore it looked like the whole world was ablaze. The light from the fire allowed them to travel at night close to shore in safety knowing they weren't going to hit something or run aground.

They'd seen people ashore, but the sight of others or what was happening had reassured nobody on the boat.

In one case they were so distraught about what was happening to the helpless on shore Jigger had angrily dismissed Brother Henry's order to turn eastbound and run for open water. Instead Jig ordered the helmsman to come about and take the ketch as close to shore as possible.

He ordered the two guncrews to fix both L7's to starboard bow and stern positions and to, "Shoot anything that moves and I mean anything."

Nobody complained. Nobody talked. Everyone knew Jig had given the right order, even the ketch Captain, Henry.

As they'd passed by moments before the screams had changed their understanding of what was happening ashore. The horror of men, women being macheted was beyond belief. Victims devoid of limbs but not dead, the machinegun teams made them a priority which incensed those with machetes. That made them priority number two.

Jigger could read the thoughts going through the minds of the gun crews as the first machete weilding idiot came rampaging towards the surf, his head disappeared although for a good second the headless body charged on. Both of his guncrews wore evil but subtle little smirks as another drew their ire.

The other bejerk mutants though weren't so lucky, they lost legs first. Sometimes both, other times one and maybe an arm. In either case it gave the guncrews time to choose the next delimbing, "Let the fuckers bleed out. Don't kill them. Let them die slowly."

Jig didn't pay attention as to who spoke. He noted the looks on the faces of those surrounding him. No sadness. No horrified grimaces and nobody turning away from the scene not even the brothers.

They all shared it.They'd all been in the position those victims on the shore had been in. Made to fear. Stare death in the face. Then, in all their cases, going through the mental anguish of watching love ones perish and taken from them. Being left behind. Alone. Alone and in some cases souless.

They all knew that what they'd watched was the ongoing revenge and finality being dealt out to those deserving of it. Simple. No quarter asked and absolutely no quarter given.

"I hear infants crying, stop. STOP!! I hear children... I know I do." The cry came from one of the young women picked from the last settlement. A long boat, the women and an armed shore party set off and returned with three babies.

Nobody asked the question as to why the babies were untouched, an answer wasn't worth thinking about. It helped pick the spirits of the crew up. If there was a time where a good outcome was needed right now was it.

Only two good things came out of the incident, the rescue of the babies and the weaponry, equipment and stores they had found. While out gunned by the bejerk mutants the unfortunate exiles were well stocked with food. The bejerk hadn't got as far as going through the packs contenting themselves with the killing orgy.

One team of crewmember's silently worked to find all the bodies and parts of the unfortunate's, laid them with as much dignity as they could on a hastily made funeral pyre. They all stood silently as the fire engulfed, the remaining ashes they buried.

As he watched the goings-on Jigger was deftly aware: If they'd been ten minutes early they would of saved a whole lot more souls. He knew that was a fairy-tale, knew that didn't happen in these times.

But saving the little ones; this was a win in his book,

'And I'll take it.'

While ashore he'd lost track of what Alison and her team had been doing, knew she'd ordered them to strip all of the dead of weapons, ammunition and anything else worth salvaging. Now back on board he realised from the amount of gear spread around the deck what her team had managed.

Already the young crewmembers had chosen their weapons of choice, some the fn-fal semi auto rifles, some the Kalashnikov, others ma-1or.303. The adoring looks they gave their new found toys as they silently worked, caresses the machines got as the new owner first lovingly cleaned and then oiled the working parts.

The crew knew these weapons intimately. At home he, John and Art and later Steph and Alison had spent time when other work allowed teaching them about the weapons they now had charge of. They were shown how to strip, clean and maintain.

When they left home the only weapons they had besides

'Diana's'

L7's were a Lee-Enfield.303, one AK, two ma-1's and four handguns between thirty. Now, they were fully armoured-up with spares to burn.

Alison and her crew had also managed to winch on board the mutants ten bikes and sand buggy, although they were all piled in one heap on the stern after deck but he knew she'd have a plan with how to deal with that.

As babies always do they were endlessly pampered, not just by the ones given primary care but all of the crew. Arguments and bickering broke out if one or other

'bludged'

more cuddle time than the rest.

Jigger realised that in the short time the babies had been aboard all three seemed to have put on weight. Not that he'd been immune to feeding them the odd treat or fresh bit of raw fish to suckle on.

They'd not come across any other groups on the shore until two days ago. They worked out that the bejerk mutants they'd killed were probably a hunting party that travelled up and down the coast looking for hapless victims.

The group they came across two days ago heading south was large. A head count showed fifty. Jigger was pretty sure there was movement in the trees both forward and rear of the main group.

The armed escort reminded him of Constantine Vasilakis' men. Big guys well and heavily armed.

When the hand signals from the shore came, left Jig with no doubt. John and Art had both

'drummed'

it into him: '

Stand facing the ones you want to see you, feet apart about twelve inches. Weapon held barrel down diagonally. Right hand raised just above head height, palm open fingers straight and vertical. Swipe hand horizontally from left to right, no more than three times means okay. One means do not approach. More than three less than six - danger.'

Military, or ex-military. They wouldn't stop but Jigger returned the same message, then a friendly normal hand wave which the escorts returned. He noticed everybody watching the shore party move on their journey silently wishing them good luck. Jig felt Ally's presence as she entwined her arm in his and finding his hand. She had a solemn, sad look as she watched the group disappear into the distance, "They'll be fine Ally. They're well prepared for anything honey, they'll make it... Wherever

'there'

is."

Which winds this story back to William of the seed and his little party. Alison had seen and thought the same as her partner. Sitting down with Jigger she spoke, "I'm really worried about this group. They'll have no chance against the bejerk mutants. They're so lightly armed. And none except Scylla are capable of looking after themselves."

"I've been talking to William and he's been open about his experiences wthin the free zone. The bits he's told me aren't good. We really need more information to get a full understanding and a layout of the settlement. He said we should not stop in the free zone but keep on 'til we reach a place called old town and some island thats a fortress and wall of warriors... invisible wall of warriors. Anyway we need time with them all, to learn."