Ferry Into Barrenlands20:42 Mar 30 2025
Times Read: 33
Ferry Into Barrenland
Early morning sunlight flooded my small room,as I contemplated rising.
I glanced to the mirror before me, as I thought of my journey to come.
It would be a long day. But, I had enough coin, to cover the journey and, the prospective issues of the day would be nothing, compared to what I intended to do.
My hometown needed help and only one woman could aid our peninsular.
We were suffering, once again.
So, I had to act, for the many.
That is why I'd risen, to provide our community with what it needed,
And to do that, I'd need to travel.
For the first time in an age, I knew I had to move forward.
So, I'd finished dressing and smiled at my reflected image, with a slight smile.
It was then, I'd been finally content to leave the bathroom.
I had a mission. It was simple; obtain the anti-virus for The Wirral, as The Wirral Borough Council had asked of me.
That request had led to me making this journey, including The Ferry, on a journey I never thought I would make again.
The Wirral is a peninsular.
Simple as.
The Walls of The 'Pool held the horde aside, while the occupants inside thrived.
Meanwhile, I disliked both sides of the river, from my experiences over the years.
Yet, I had been chosen to represent 'our people'. Not that they were to me.
I've simply had enough of conflict; yes here I was.
Bah, I'd exclaimed, pouring my coffee, a pleasant breeze caressing my face: I'll do what I can do...
That is when I'd begun to dress, aware of where I'd be travelling to.
Liverpool... I'd sighed with exhaustion and, more than a hint of desperation.
I didn't like the place. I'd been there before: not a happy place.
I donned my coat, pulling it over my smartest, crinkled black-shirt, with a grey waist-coat, worn over it. I looked good and knew it.
So it was, I left the house with a confident air...
Too much has happened, since 'the fall'.
So it was, I boarded the first train of the morning: watched the hissing, puffing machine issue into the station.
The hissing billy was packed to the gunnel, as ever. But maybe it's the way I carry myself, but fellow passengers avoided my presence, which I don't mind, at all.
The train pulls three carriages, each has a corridor, off which there is six compartments, two assigned for smokers.
The trains were a recent renovation: borne of the past, the few steam engines on the Wirral Line run two the hour, with a turnaround at the Hamilton Square, where I'd disembark.
The train had rattled on tracks that were hundreds of years old and need regular maintenance. The Council had got hold of the steam trains from a local museum, just two of them and, enough bits and pieces, much needed for everything, up to a full-rebuild.
Both machines ran two carriages and a luggage truck, all being used well.
These thoughts rattled around my head, as my journey continued onward.
Each station we stopped at had many passengers waiting, several of them having station staff waiting with baggage, to be loaded onto the luggage car.
The Wirral Line was always busy. And, I do like looking out of the window and watch the world go by, at speed. It energized my morning, as I chilled back into my seat.
I'd be getting The Ferry down at Woodside. And, it wasn't too much of a walk from the station, to the ferry.
'Whoopee...' I mused, recalling well, how little I enjoyed this journey.
Finally, we reached journey's end and Hamilton Square, where I'd disembarked the train, as smoke plumed around me.
I'd trudged up the stairs and exited the turnstyle; then leaving the station, I'd begun the walk to The Ferry.
It was still early in the morning and, there were not too many people out on the street.
There are jobs on The Wirral and, I'd assume that's where they'd be heading.
Quickening my pace, I cross Hamilton Square, then take a turn, heading down towards the river and, The Ferry.
The air was getting warmer and after a short while, I'd enjoyed the walk... until...
I got to The Ferry and, encountered a queue, unlike any queue I've ever encountered before, it was that long.
'Hells teeth,' I mutter. I'd not expected this.
Passing through the throng, I approach one of The Ferryman's assistants clipboard in hand.
And, as the acne-covered young man scribbled furiously away, I stood scant inches from his well-polished brown brogues.
He looked up, stating brusquely, You're in my light mister...
Immediately, I find myself not liking his manner. So staring him down, I tell him quietly, Council business.
As he looked up to me from where he crouched, I saw fear in his eyes.
The Council could be harsh, at times.
Do you have any I.D.? he stammered, to my amusement.
'It's too early for this,' I remind myself, enjoying his discomforture.
Uh-huh, I drawled dryly, taking my papers from inside my coat pocket; papers that stated I am who I am and, another set that pronounced my position as ambassador ad hoc, for The Council.
If his bladder had been full, I'm sure he'd have pissed himself now. But, I'll the kid ten-outta-ten, for distraction and deferrance.
Within a short while, I was in front of a long queue and looking to board The Ferry.
This was the third time I'll have made my way to Liverpool, The Borderlands. Each time my visit had proved eventful and a memory I'll not forget, although not all are bitter, many are.
The Borderland was across the river, a land few visited nowadays. My home on the insular peninsular was nothing short of a haven, compared to the rest of the country.
A couple of thousand years ago, a monk rowed his customers across the river, into what had become Liverpool.
Though the city had been one of many that had fallen, the Welsh hills, the sea and rivers had protected the Wirral, through its relative isolation from the rest of the country.
The current Riverman charges sixpence a trip, his cousin providing the return journey home, which I do find reasonable, considering the isles switched back to Imperial from Metric, almost a decade after the collapse and the rising of the afflicted.
No-one knows why the change happened, but it had.
It seemed it had been an opportunity to promote Imperial measurements as a form of National Identity.
I had not got used to it, until I had turned thirty. The idea of two hundred and forty pennies to the pound had just done my effin swede in, goodstyle.
In the end, life carried on, just with different pennies in my pocket and, a new way of measuring distances.
As I'd got older, I'd worked hard to understand, but eventually I had.
And so, I paid Wallace The Riverman, my sixpence and, joined the horses, cows and people on the ferry, across the river, into the old city of Liverpool.
As I exited the gate and The Paperman, who checked your papers, I looked back, over my shoulder at Wallace's brother, a larger man than his brother, already sweating from the heat of the day.
He was already collecting his coin, for the return journey, playing the song on a loop, that annoyed many, yet advertised his services, like nothing else could.
'Ferry Cross the Mersey'... sang a fellow, from a hundred years ago or so, on a gramophone that someone wound up, to play.
The song was iconic and, even second gen like me, knew it, all to well.
A sign is held up, with my name written upon it and I walk over, asking, Waiting for me?
The young woman, with a lot of colour on her, told me Yes.
Approaching her with a grin I tell her, "Well, I'm here now."
She nods and say to me, "I can see that."
"So where to now?" I ask earnestly.
Now, I take you to see our Leader, she tells me with a wide grin
She grasps my left coat sleeve, dragging me through a multicoloured crowd, telling me, I'm Sarah!
I pull us both still a moment and stare into her eyes and say with mock seriousness, Hello Sarah, I'm Aaron.
I bow, right hand behind my back and kiss her free hand.
Sarah giggles, then turns serious and says to me, We should be going.
She was right of course, after all, we only use pigeon-post for those things considered truly important and, this mission of mine was considered very important. But, the effort should be worth it,' He assured himself.
For years, I had tried to forget Francine and, that time of bloodshed.
Yet here I was now, as this pretty multicoloured young teen dragged me through the crowd of people, up London Road, then up Brownlow Hill and the small church on Percy Street, where The Borderlands leader resided.
C'mon, c'mon, the teen enthused, calling me brightly.
C'mon Aaron, she's waiting... She calls to me, dragging me, up stair and, round a column, then onto the church's backdoor.
I'd been pulled into the gloom of the churches interior, the only colour being the stained-glass windows.
My memories were sufficient but proof had been to be shown, to justify our need.
That meant a lot of talking.
Or perhaps, I was relying on all I knew of my former paramour. Pass.
After all Felicia knew, she deserved more than me, as appointed representative, for Wirral Borough Council.
But, I was what she had.
The people who speak the loudest, often have little to say, my lil Mother had said to me, as she had baked, one sunny afternoon.
'There's something quite satisfying about challenging someone's arguments and keeping one's composure,' I find myself musing.
With that thought in mind, I'm abruptly finding myself feel nervous. Finally.
Hey? I call out.
C'mon Aaron, she's waiting. the teen encourages, suddenly stopping and saying to me earnestly, Go down there...
She had point to the darkest part of the church, off a corridor.
Her office is over there, she points, then turns to me and once more her face brightens, as she offers me her right hand, Name's Rainbow, she told me.
I shake her warm hand and, then she is gone.
Having stumbled through several pews, I find the corridor Rainbow indicated.
I approach the office door and knock on the heavy oak door.
Enter, a voice calls out.
So I do as requested, immediately struck by the ornate gold fittings and fixtures, surrounding a large shiney wood desk, behind which she sat.
The chair was high-backed which seemed to diminutize the woman sitting there, arms at her sides.
Felicia, I greet and bow at the waist, formerly.
I hadn't seen the 'Pools mayor in over ten years and, bar a few added laughter-lines, the green-haired goddess of war had changed little over time.
Back then, Felicia had stood with her men against the horde. She had fought as a demon, sweeping two blades in a swirling manner, cutting heads in twain. In close quarter, she fought for hours, her endurance unrelenting.
Aaron Lancaster, she nods, her hair swirling over her face, What brings you to my table?
'Her table', I knew what that meant; it was literal and descriptive. The woman had true power, power within Liverpool's City Walls.
You still live over the water? She quizzed of me.
Yes mayor, I responded, making a point of using her honorific, a matter of respect, to a powerful woman.
I hadn't seen the 'Pool's mayor in over ten years and, bar a few added laugh lines, she had changed little. And, I say 'laugh-lines'. She rarely smiled. She'd had little reason to do so. But, that's an aside, Felicia had changed little: green long hair and, highly-defined cheek-bones, weaponry at her side.
The land of milk & honey... she opined, staring at me; her glance unwavering.
Hardly, I concede, that's the reason I'm here.
She stares at me, Do explain that one to me Aaron?
I need your help Felicia, to ensure that The Wirral has the autonomy it needs... I requested simply.
I grimaced, having acknowledged we, or rather The Wirral Borough Council, needed her help.
Mentally shaking my head, I admitted to the fact that I'd probably grovelling to her soon, if needed.
I knew there was an unspoken excuse; I'd not going to need to pay the ferryman, again.
Felicia was why, simple as. Period, conversation ended.
She was something to me and, The Council knew that.
Her hair still holds my attention and, I try to slow my heartrate, staring into the rooms shadows.
The dark things were waiting for me, I knew: as I stood there, waiting for an answer.
It was an answer I sought, but did not expect a positive response, in truth.
But, it had meant I'd had to move, again. That was a damned irritant.
Somehow, I find myself recalling, 'Avenues & Alleyways', a song I really related to, that I recall my little Mother had played on the old wind-up gramaphone.
Your wall keeps them out and you have the antidote. The Wirral, we need your help now...
Francine sat there hands clasped together in her lap, as I continue to talk.
And we have the minerals the 'Pool needs, for continued manufacturing processes...
My green-haired warrior queen grinned at me, eyes twinkling.
Damn, she pronounces, you could always talk, a good talk...
Feeling myself blush a little, I waited to hear what she would say to me next.
Yet I wonder, she muses aloud, why does The Wirral need the antivirus now?
I swallow, before I speak.
A ship came upon the shore down on New Brighton shore... it...
I paused, not for dramatic effect, but simply because I truly disliked requesting aid; after all, the peninsular had always been insular, thus needing no-one.
But now The Wirral needed help...
...it had been the infected on board: the former crew. I finished.
You don't ask for much, do you? She queries.
Is the antidote too much, to ask for Felicia? I retort, quietly.
'Was this the beginning of bargaining, or teasing?' I wondered, very curious.
'Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,' I mused, knowing full well where this was heading.
I recalled well her aggression, as Francine had re-killed one zombie after another, her eyes wild.
And now, I awaited her decision, feeling very small.
She knew me too well.
Francine knew I represented The Council. The question was, 'what could I offer in return?'
Our eyes held contact and, her hair fell over hair shoulders.
'This is business,' I remind myself, my eyes on her face, her eyes and, for some reason, her elegant feet, within hand-made light-brown sandals.
Her big toes fascinated me. And, all of of those thoughts lasted a second, a second that seemed to last for hours.
Finally, she looked at me, with a knowing tight smile.
The second had ended and, although I tried to remain stoic, it was hard.
She is dangerous. She knows it and, so do I. And in truth, I already suspected, nay would be demanded from me, or 'The Council', in exchange for what we needed.
I did try not to look at her thighs, I did, I truly did.
Oh-boy, I remembered them well, wrapped round my neck as we had sweated together, hours after a harsh and bloody battle.
I tried not to look at Francine. But I had.
Momentarily her smile widens into a grin, which leaves her face, as quickly as it found its place.
Then she claps her hands together, Alright my old friend, you'll get what you want!
I sigh inwardly, waiting, waiting, for the shoe to drop. There would be a price to pay. I knew that.
She had what we needed and, the scales were in her favour.
Finally, Francine leans forward, those beautiful eyes fixed on me.
I only have one thing to ask in return...
For years I had tried to forget her and now, I was before her.
She stood, wearing little but scant material, that covered her breasts and sex, wearing those those sandals, her toes exposed.
Aaron, she said softly, to me.
My mouth was dry, yet still I managed to answer, Yes?
I only want one thing, Francine says to me, seduction in every word uttered.
Just one thing... she informs me, stepping from her 'throne', to my level.
And, I think... she adds softly, I think you might know what I want.
Her words sat there, in the air awhile, as I digested what had been said to me.
My trepidation had been warranted. Though it wouldn't be word-for-word, I knew what Francine would say to me next: am sure of it.
And as I intimate, don't quote me; it's not a transcription. It was an illuminating revelation.
We just want you to open the tunnel and, start running trains through... she touched my right cheek lightly, using her fingertips, to remind me that she knew me and, that I owed her.
'Open the tunnel? I think, warming at her touch; 'Oh-boy, I don't know what The Council will think of that...'
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