Going Gone, Book 2 of the Irish End Games

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “It’s more important than ever that we not fight them. You see that, right? These bastards are insane.”

  “We got more sometime in the night.”

  Angie nodded. “I was awake when they came in. I heard ‘em talking and we’re nearly there now.”

  “Where’s there?”

  “I don’t know but the trip’s almost over.”

  Sarah looked away and saw a wedge of daylight from underneath the tarp. She was surprised to see the legs of a gray horse go by. That wasn’t Aidan’s horse. A stranger had just passed them on the road. She looked at Angie but she had her eyes closed.

  They were on a road with other people. And for the first time, Sarah wasn’t too drugged. She thought for a moment. If I scream out and alert someone that we’re back here and…and it doesn’t work, they’ll kill me. And John is an orphan. Or they’ll kill me and they’ll kill whatever innocent traveler happened to hear me.

  Her eyes filled with tears as she watched the legs of another horse and another mounted traveler pass the cart.

  Sarah bent her head and prayed. She had prayed many times since this nightmare had begun. The difference was, this time she prayed a desperate plea that had been lodged in her heart since she had first awakened in the back of this filthy cart from hell.

  She prayed God would help her believe Mike was coming for her.

  * * *

  At midday the following day, the cart stopped. After several minutes, one of the men reached in and pulled Angie out of the back. Moments later, Angie lifted the tarp and gestured for Sarah to come out, too. When Sarah stuck her head out of the back, she saw the cart was poised on a long pier leading to a steam-powered ferry. There were no other people or vehicles around them.

  She jumped down on the pier to join Angie. Aidan, sitting on his horse behind them, never once took his eyes from the two of them. She could see the bulge of his handgun under his jacket. Just turning her face to the sharp and bracing air of the sea brought tears of relief to Sarah’s eyes after the dank, claustrophobic world under the tarp. It took a moment for the realization to register that they were about to leave the country.

  Angie smoked a cigarette and turned her face upward to catch what few rays of sunshine escaped from the bank of grey clouds overhead. Sarah couldn’t help but wonder how in the world Angie had rated this honor. She hadn’t been out of the cart long enough to have performed a sexual service for any of the men. Maybe a promise of it had been enough? That also didn’t make sense given the number of rapes so far on the trip.

  “If they intend to ransom us,” Sarah said, keeping her voice low, “why are they taking us out of Ireland?”

  Angie looked at the gaping sea as the waves lapped against the dock. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What do they want with us? What possible benefit are we to them?”

  Angie glanced at Sarah and her eyes dropped to Sarah’s breasts.

  Sarah spoke with frustration. “If that’s all they wanted, they can do that right here in Ireland.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Angie repeated, looking back at the water. “They’re definitely taking us to England.”

  “You’re English.”

  Angie looked at her. “I was in Ireland on holiday when The Crisis hit.”

  “So why aren’t you thrilled to be returning to England?”

  Angie shrugged. “Like you, I don’t really have family back there.”

  “You’re lying.” Sarah glanced at the men as they spoke to the ferry driver. “Are you with them?”

  “Why would you say that? Are you barking? Them?”

  “Then what is an English girl doing in Ireland—”

  “I told you! I was on holiday!”

  “Where is it you said they grabbed you?”

  “Other side of Darnagh. I was camping with me boyfriend.”

  “Oy!” Aidan barked at them. “You two keep your voices down.”

  Sarah ignored him. “What happened to him?”

  “They knocked him out and took me.”

  Sarah watched her closely. “That story sounds rehearsed. You’re with them.”

  Angie’s eyes hardened and her face took on a transformation. “Fuck,” she said. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.” She threw her cigarette down and ground it out with the toe of her boot. A boot, Sarah now saw, that looked remarkably new and shiny. Angie turned and motioned to Aidan behind her. “Get her back inside and tell Jeff to move over. I’m done sitting in this shite.”

  As Aidan jumped down from his horse, Angie looked at Sarah. “Look, the one thing I told you that is the truth is that if you mind yourself nobody else gets hurt. Tell them inside, too. Everybody behaves, and we all arrive alive.”

  Aidan grabbed Angie’s hands and cut the knot in one swift movement. Without another word, he pulled back the tarp and grabbed Sarah by her arm. She looked wildly around to see if there was anyone anywhere to see that she was being shoved into the back of a cart full of sobbing, doomed women.

  There wasn’t.

  Back inside and under the tarp, Sarah leaned against the side of the cart and felt the first jolting pitch as the vehicle moved onto the small ferry. She looked at the lone woman across from her, staring blindly into space in numbed shock. From a gap in the tarp, Sarah could see the blue of the ocean of St. George’s Channel behind the woman’s head.

  And beyond that, England.

  9

  The moment Caitlin saw the two of them ride back into camp without Mike was the moment she knew she had already won.

  The boy sagged in his saddle she noticed with a smile, but the look on Fiona’s face worried her. Fi was tough and she could smell bullshit a mile off. She could definitely be a problem if Caitlin was to successfully finish what she started.

  She watched as several of the other community families rushed out to greet the two. Like friggin’ royalty. Like the little Yank was the feckin’ crown prince returned to his kingdom. Now that the little shite’s da was gone, there was nothing standing in the way of the Yank bitch crawling into Mike’s bed, and all of ‘em being the picture of the perfect little family.

  Nothing except her.

  A smirk formed on Caitlin’s face as she watched Fiona help the brat down from his horse. Two children around his age ran up to him, but he shook his head as if he barely had the strength to make it to his bed, let alone play a game of stickball. Too right, Caitlin thought as she watched him stumble after Fiona toward her cottage.

  Looks like he’ll be needing tending. Likely Fi has her hands full these days, what with big brother running after the new widow.

  Likely she’ll be glad of whatever help a loving sister-in-law could give.

  * * *

  Mike had never been to the east coast of Ireland. In his mind, he expected it to look much like the west coast, which he knew well. As he sat on his horse looking down onto the busy harbor, it occurred to him that the difference was that this coast, the one on the channel and facing Wales, looked a little more civilized than what he was used to. His coast was wild—uncontained by land or shuttle boats taking commuters to and fro. Although there was no denying the awe-inspiring beauty of the coast, he knew which part of Ireland he preferred.

  It was midday and the scene below him was controlled chaos. An outdoor market stretched from the bulkhead where the ferry was tied all the way through town. Even from where he sat—easily a half a mile away—he could hear the noise and clamor of the market.

  This is what we should still have in Balinagh, he thought. Except, without a natural conduit like the channel leading straight to the UK, there was no reason for people to come to it, let alone stay in the region. Most people around Balinagh had left months ago to be near family or better resources in the towns and along the coast.

  Only a barking mad Irishman would stubbornly insist on creating a community out of the godless wilderness.

  As he moved down the worn pasture path down the steep hill to the town, Mike
kept his eyes on the ferryboat lashed to the long pier that jutted out into St. George’s Channel. He wasn’t positive this was where they would have come. Mike had lost whatever possible tracks might have been Sarah’s. It was possible, if they had more raids, that they crossed the channel further north up the coast.

  Now, as he descended to the town, he realized he was going strictly on hearsay from Fiona’s sources, logic, and hope. If he was totally off the mark coming here instead of further up the coast, he’d likely never know. And since the alternative was to turn around and go back to camp without even a whiff of the trail of the bastards who took her, he pressed on.

  He knew he should rest and water Petey—it’d been a long and tiring trip, with rain most of the way—but he was keenly aware of the time. The lights and electricity may be out, but one thing stayed the same: it wasn’t going to get any easier the colder the trail got.

  He saw the covered cart as soon as he was close enough to make out shapes on the ferry. It was easily large enough to carry several people in back and the tarp covering it was loosely tied. In case people needed to breathe. He stood in his stirrups the last few steps down into the town to get a better look. A young woman sat in front with two drivers, both of whom looked like rough trade. One of the men had his arm around the woman but she kept shrugging him off.

  Sarah might be in there.

  When he stepped from the pasture path to the cobblestones of the town’s main drag, he worked to keep Petey at a walk although it was all he could do not to gallop him straight for the ferry landing.

  Did I figure it right after all?

  It made so much sense. This was the most direct route back to the UK, especially if you had cargo that wouldn’t stand close inspection. The closer he got, the better he could see the young thugs with the cart. Even the woman looked rough, her face hard and ugly. Mike strained to see if the back of the cart moved at all—anything to indicate there might be human cargo hidden under that tarp.

  “Whoa! Hold up, yer honor!”

  Mike jerked his mount to avoid hitting a large bald man standing in his path.

  “Watch where you’re going, you idiot!” Mike blurted. He could see over the man’s shoulder that the ferry was making last minute preparations for debarkation.

  “Oh, idiot, is it?” the man said, reaching out to grab Petey’s bridle.

  “Get your hands off my horse.”

  “Jimmy! Liam! Give us a hand over here, will ya?”

  Mike saw one of the men on the cart on the ferry jump down from his seat and go to the back, where he lifted up a corner of the tarp to peer inside.

  Why would he do that unless there were people back there?’

  Two men appeared on either side of Mike’s horse. One of them grabbed at Petey’s reins, trying to snatch them from Mike’s grasp.

  “What the feck?”

  The other man deftly slipped Mike’s rifle from his saddle scabbard.

  “I’m afraid you’ll be needing to come with us, squire,” the bald man said as Mike twisted in his saddle to try to grab for his rifle. When he turned back to face the bald man in front of him, he saw the snout end of a Colt 45 pistol, which the man was aiming at his head.

  10

  Sarah was stunned to realize she slept even fifteen minutes during the wretched and lengthy channel crossing. Interspersed between the sounds and smells of the remaining women’s vomiting and cries, she had turned off her brain and given herself up to oblivion. The agony of reawakening to her nightmare was softened by the renewed strength the rest had given her.

  It was three days after the attack. When Angie had convinced Sarah to resign herself to enduring the trip without fighting, and when she believed that there might be an end to it, Sarah had devised a method to keep track of how long she was gone. Now, after Angie’s treachery was revealed to be just a way to keep her and the rest of the women manageable, she tried not to think of all the opportunities to escape she had let go by.

  Three days since the attack meant that Mike’s camp had long since galvanized into action. While it was true she and David had taken a step away from the group, she knew they would try to find her.

  Mike would try to find her.

  Three days and nights. Mike and his posse would be on horseback and travelling faster than the loaded cart full of women.

  Why hadn’t he found them yet? Would he be able to track them to the coast? Would he know they’d left the country?

  Three days and no hint that anyone was coming for her.

  Her captors seemed, if anything, to be even more relaxed than when they started. They were drunk most of the time now that Angie was riding with them. They seemed to abdicate all control to her.

  How had she believed even for a minute that Angie was a victim like herself? She never looked afraid. Unlike the rest of them, who all sported either bruises or busted lips from their handlers’ impatience, she had never exhibited any signs of abuse. Looking back at the first two days of travel, it seemed preposterous to Sarah that anyone could have believed Angie was one of them.

  The cart heaved dramatically to one side, triggering hysterical shrieks from the seven women huddled in the back. Sarah determined that the crossing was over. She listened to one of the men cursing as, from the sounds of it, he roughly attempted to re-harness the horses to the cart for the exit from the ferry.

  The canvas flap hiding the women jerked open and Angie peered in. “Shirrup, back here,” she said harshly.

  Immediately, the women’s cries reduced to moans and muffled sobs.

  “You’ll have a chance to use the facilities after we’re off the boat. I’ll need you to move quietly and quickly when I tell you to, is that clear?”

  The women all nodded, clutching each other in fear as if Angie were the personification of the devil himself.

  They weren’t far wrong, Sarah thought, narrowing her eyes at the woman.

  “Where are you taking us?” Sarah asked.

  “Ah, now, I’m not at liberty to spoil that particular surprise. Just know that it won’t disappoint and that it’s better than lying dead in a ditch. Just ask poor Janice.”

  “Why are you doing this? For money?”

  Sarah thought she saw a shadow pass over Angie’s face but the woman quickly regained control.

  “I’m doing it because it’s my job, petal. That’s all.” Angie ended the conversation with an abrupt jerk of the canvas flap that closed the women back in and blotted out the slim wedge of light.

  An hour later, the cart was parked under a large grove of ash and aspens. Sarah and the seven other women had been allowed to relieve themselves without interference in a long ditch that ran parallel to the road. It occurred to Sarah that now that Angie didn’t have to play the part of one of the victims, there would likely be no more rapes or beatings. She was definitely the one in charge.

  Angie stood at the top of the ditch watching the women while the men watered the horses and smoked across the paved highway. Like the roads in the area around Balinagh, the road had been unused for over a year now. Already the sun and the weather had buckled the asphalt. Bushes grew wild on the perimeter.

  What little news she and the rest of them had received about conditions in England or the rest of the United Kingdom after The Crisis had indicated that England hadn’t been as badly hit. From what she could see—miles and miles of unused highway—that did not bear out.

  She climbed up the side of the incline toward Angie. “I can’t imagine what would cause you to do this to other women,” Sarah said when she reached her. “Are they holding your grandma hostage or something?”

  Angie grinned at her. “You know what I see when I see you, Yank? What I saw the very first time they threw you in the back of the cart three days ago?”

  Sarah wiped her hands on her jeans and looked away, forcing her face not to show her emotion. She didn’t want to think three days back. David had still been alive three days back.

  “I thought, blimey, we got
us a cuckoo. You know that story? We went shopping for wrens and robins and we pulled us a big Yank cuckoo into the nest. Let’s just say I expect a bonus for landing you.”

  “You got kids, Angie? Looks to me like you got childbearing hips. Maybe more than one?”

  “Shut up, Yank, or I’ll put the gag back on. Might wipe my arse with it first.”

  “Your kiddies know what Mummy is doing these days? I bet you got a refrigerator door full of their finger paintings back home. Maybe you got one showing Mummy putting a knife in someone’s back. Maybe Daddy?”

  “Shut up, I said! You don’t know anything about me.” Angie took a step toward her and Sarah forced herself not to move.

  “I know you’re a mother, same as me.”

  “Then you don’t know shit. Get back in the cart.” Angie shoved past Sarah and stood at the top of the ditch. “Let’s go! Nose powdering after we get where we’re going. Lunch is served once you ladies get your arses back in the cart.”

  Sarah looked down the long lonely highway. There were no hikers, no riders, no horses, no carts. She could still smell the sea and she knew it had been less than an hour since they’d made the crossing. But wherever they were off the coast of England, it was deserted and remote.

  The rest of the women struggled up the side of the ditch and hurried to the cart. Sarah noticed that they all avoided eye contact with the men. There had been one more rape before Angie revealed herself but none since.

  Once everyone was seated in the back again, Angie left the canvas off so they could get some air. The gesture depressed Sarah. It meant they were going nowhere near a town or any other place inhabited. The level of laughter and horseplay among the men increased too.

  They aren’t worried, Sarah thought. They know they’re in the homestretch now.

  * * *

  5 Days after the attack.