It felt like such a waste of time and energy to pour hatred into being mad at a concept rather than buckling down to the immense amount of work there always was to do these days. He couldn’t imagine how many hours it must have taken the women in town to create those flags—some looked like works of art in their craftsmanship—only to destroy them at a party that wasn’t going to make anyone feel better after it was over.
When he saw a young man lounging by one of the ale barrels waiting for the festivities to start, Mike had the nagging feeling that he’d seen him somewhere before. As he made his way through the crowd, he examined the boy’s clothing and his hair, trying to place where in the world he had seen him. Suddenly, a snapshot formed in his head of a man jumping down from the horse-drawn cart on the ferry to look inside the back of the cart.
Was it the same guy?
Mike squinted and pulled hard on Petey’s reins as he approached him. It could be him. But did it make sense that a week later he’d be back on this side of the channel?
“Hey!” he said, getting the lad’s attention. “A word?”
The young man looked at Mike with the same expression Mike was used to seeing on Gavin’s face when he knew he needed to be respectful but there were things he’d rather not be called on.
Guilt, I think they call it.
The boy instantly stopped leaning on the barrel and straightened up to take stock in whatever kind of threat Mike might be to him. “Whatdya want?” he asked, a vein of insolence in his voice.
“You seen an American woman?” Mike asked. “About this high, dark hair? Came through here a week ago in the back of covered cart?”
The boy looked at him in confusion, and the honesty of his look made Mike realize that he didn’t know him after all, had never seen him before.
But by then it was too late.
“Oy! This bugger’s asking about ‘is American girlfriend!”
Before Mike even had the chance to open his mouth to refute it, they were on him.
15
Angie had never seen Denny so unglued.
And she had once watched him attempt to draw and quarter a man with his bare hands.
“I want the bitch dead,” he said. He sat in his study, fists gripping a heavy paperweight that Angie had reason to believe would be lobbed at her before she would be allowed to leave. While technically not Angie’s fault that the Yank bitch had murdered Gil, stolen a gun and escaped from Denny’s bedroom, the fact that she had brought her in—what was supposed to be her great achievement—perversely made her the one responsible. Angie only hoped Denny wouldn’t try to use her as a temporary substitute for whatever he was thinking of for the Yank.
Goddam her! If I catch her first, Denny better hope there’s something left for him to murder.
“Angie? May I hear your plan, please, of how you intend to correct this cock-up?”
Angie knew the reasonable tone hid a malicious intent. She had heard him speak in that same voice on occasions when a knife to the kidney was his next move.
“She’ll try to head back to Ireland,” Angie said, hoping her voice didn’t shake. “We’ll have the main roads covered. I am confident we’ll pick her up by lunchtime.”
“Really? Lunchtime? So should I save my appetite for dessert? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, Denny.”
“Because I have to tell you, Angie, that regardless of how I may look to you, I am really, very upset.”
Don’t speak. He wants you to respond. Don’t do it.
Four men stood with her in the library. She tried to imagine the kind of person who had lived in this house before Denny took it over. There were so many books lining the shelves, it seemed incredible to believe one person, or even one family, could read them all. Likely they were just for show. She wondered how Denny had taken possession of the place. Did the original owners leave of their own accord, or had Denny helped them along?
She turned to the men, two of who, Jeff and Aidan, had been with her on the trip to Ireland. “We’ll need five horses. Make sure you’ve got enough rounds for your weapons.”
“I don’t want her dead.”
Angie nodded and then dismissed the men with a hand gesture. When the door closed behind them, she braced herself. She knew she couldn’t go until he released her. She’d learned that the hard way. Today, that release could be anything from demanding she get on her knees in front of him to a beating that would prohibit her from getting out of bed for a week.
Or anything in between.
On impulse, she cleared her throat. She knew she was taking a chance, but what did she have to lose? As soon as the thought came to her head, she banished it.
Dana.
She had everything to lose.
“Got something to say, Angie?”
“The bitch has a kid.”
“So you’ve said.”
“At the compound near where she was taken. After we get her, I was thinking we might go and get him.” She lifted her eyes from the carpet to see the effect of her words and was rewarded by what looked to be a genuine smile.
“Angie, my girl,” Denny said, standing up and tossing the paperweight onto the floor, where it hit with a thud and rolled impotently across the room to thump against the couch leg. “You are a feckin’ genius.” He turned from her and went to look out the window.
It was a cold day, but sunny. Not bad for a picnic by the river or a walk in the park, Angie thought. But not good at all for running barefoot and practically bare-assed though the woods and the highways.
“Now go get her.”
16
11 Days after the attack.
Barefoot, hungry, and afraid of just about every person she glimpsed from the safety of her ditch, Sarah had spent the last two days travelling exclusively at night and hiding by day. She knew Correy wouldn’t just let her go. At least she had to assume he wouldn’t. Making it clear of his property without raising the alarm had given her the hope and the energy to walk the entire first night without stopping to rest. She knew she had to get as much distance between her and Correyville as possible. The problem was she had no idea which direction she should be traveling.
Hoping for the best and accepting that she might have to backtrack, she moved quickly in the steep ditches that lined the now rarely used highways. More than once, she stumbled over corpses in the dark. Her determination not to be one of them forced her from reacting as she normally would. She told herself that decomposing bodies were just one more hurdle in a nightmare of obstacles that stood between her and being with John again. The first body she fell over nearly unglued her. As she lay in the mud and stared at the rotting head, seeing the lips that once sang or kissed or laughed, she forced herself to shake the thoughts from her mind. And when she did, she leaned over and peeled off the dead woman’s shoes.
In the morning of that first day, she found a large elm tree and climbed it, praying that Correy didn’t have whatever the English equivalent to a bloodhound might be. She wedged herself in the highest forking branches and slept on and off until it was time to slip back into the darkness and walk on.
Somewhere in the wee hours of that second night, her thighs aching and her lips cracked and scabbed over, she met the gypsies. She heard them a good mile before she spotted them. They were nearly a dozen ragtag homeless crouching around a fire that had been built at the base of an overpass. She knew she could avoid them by skirting wide around. But in addition to the singing and laughing, she smelled meat cooking and the aroma drew her to the group as decisively as a collar and leash.
She was starving.
She watched them for a while from the shadows. There were six men, four women and two children. She watched them huddle together for warmth and affection and hand feed each other like they were on a picnic. The men looked harsh to her, with chiseled features and jagged hair. The women all looked old and the children cross-eyed and silly.
Her intention was to beg for food, but if she had to she
would take it by force. She knew they could overpower her if it came to that and she prayed it wouldn’t. She didn’t want to kill anyone else. She hoped nobody would make her do that.
She stepped out of the dark and stood waiting for them to see her.
The music stopped and she watched as all twelve heads swiveled to look at her.
“Hello,” she said. “May I join you tonight?”
She wasn’t at all sure what she must look like to them. Her clothes were ill fitting but she looked obviously female even so. She remained where she was standing.
Finally, one of the men stood up and held a hand out to her beckoning her toward the circle of warmth. “You’ll be welcome.”
* * *
The leader of the gypsy band was called Declan. Sarah realized it must be a sign of the new times that few people offered a surname any more. Declan’s family had been living under the overpass for nearly three months. They’d been chased out of most communities pretty steadily ever since The Crisis.
Sarah’s intention after sharing their food with them was to leave immediately. She didn’t know how far she’d already come or how far she needed to go. But now, if anyone were to speak to this group, they would know how close Sarah was. Even so, it was very hard to leave.
“If you’ve come from Correyville as you say, you’re only about ten kilometers outside. But kilometers only matter if you’re measuring a distance to something, don’t you think?”
Declan was intelligent but simple. Sarah couldn’t help but think that he and Mike would get on very well. Plus, incredibly, Declan seemed happy with what he was doing. Sarah liked him immediately. The food they offered her was some kind of woodland creature, either possum or rabbit. She didn’t know, she couldn’t tell, and she didn’t ask. It was hot and delicious and she ripped the meat from its bones like she were a wild animal herself.
“How far is it to the coast, do you known?”
Declan accepted a cup of something hot from his wife and passed it to Sarah. She smelled the aromatic vapors of alcohol coming from over the lip of the cup. She drank deeply.
“In miles or time is it you want to know?”
“Miles, I guess.”
“I don’t know.”
Sarah grinned. “Okay, then time.”
“Well, that depends. Can you do twenty-five miles in a day?”
“I’m traveling at night so it’s a lot slower. I don’t think so.”
“Traveling at night because you’re fearful of strangers?”
“That,” Sarah said evasively.
“Or people who are not strangers to you?”
Sarah sipped from the warm wine again and handed it back to Declan. “I don’t want to cause trouble for your family. The people who are after me are evil.”
“You’ll never get where you’re going traveling by night,” Declan said as he leaned back against a tree and lit up a pipe. He grimaced. “Ran out of tobacco almost a year ago now. Ragwort doesn’t draw well and it tastes like shite, but it’s still a comforting habit.” He pushed a stick into the fire and one of the children came and curled up in his lap. Sarah thought the child looked to be about five.
“So how far do you think the coast is from here?”
Declan shrugged. “Two hundred miles, at least.”
Sarah tried to remember the cart ride after they left the boat. She had slept through some of it but it had easily taken the bulk of three days. How was she ever going to make two hundred miles on foot traveling in ditches by night? It would take her months and Correy would surely find her. She closed her eyes, as if the news was too much to take in.
“But that’s the long way, mind.”
She opened her eyes. “The long way?”
“Aye. Nobody takes the shortcut, you see. That’d be daft. But you, Sarah, you might just be crazy enough.”
“Why does nobody take the short way?”
“Because it’s straight through the Brecon Beacons which is five hundred miles of wilderness, wild animals and bandits.”
She stared at him.
“But it cuts off nearly a hundred miles of going by highway and nobody—not whoever is after you nor anybody else—is going in there if they don’t have to.”
“I have to,” Sarah said with determination.
Declan put down the wine cup and leaned over to hand Sarah another piece of meat from the spit in the fire. “I believe you do. You can travel by day without worry, at least until you come out t’other side.”
“And then?”
“Then it’s another sixty miles of watching your back to the coast. But you should be safe ‘til then.”
Sarah finished chewing and stuck the animal bone in her jeans pocket. She didn’t know when she’d eat again and she could at least suck on it if things got bad.
And things were almost certainly going to get bad.
She stood up. “How far did you say I’m from this Beacons place?”
“Around thirty miles. If you continue on as you’re going, you’ll see a sign for it. It’s a national park. Or at least it was. The people coming after you won’t expect you to go in there.”
“Because I’d have to be crazy.”
“Aye, that’s right. You’ll be safe from them. But there are other things to worry about in there. Mind, keep your eyes open.” Declan stood up and set the child down next to the fire. He took a few steps over to the where a pile of knapsacks were and dug around and returned with one. He handed it to Sarah.
“There’s some jerky in there, and some hardtack. It’s not wonderful but it’ll keep you from starving. Once you’re inside the Beacons, you’ll need to catch some food for yourself. I wouldn’t count on the kindness of strangers. I tucked a slingshot inside. Do you have a knife?” Sarah nodded and took the bag from him.
“That’s good. You know how to skin and gut what you kill? Only I notice you don’t sound like someone from round these parts and most people have had to get their hands dirty since the bomb went off.”
“I know how,” Sarah said. “I can’t believe how generous you’ve been to me. I wish I could do something for you.”
“We have everything we need.”
Amazingly, Sarah thought he really believed that. “You sound Irish,” she said. “Is that where you’re originally from?”
“Aye, it is.”
“Well, Ireland is where I’m going. If you ever find your way back there, I come from a community of people who would love to meet you.” She waved a hand to the rest of the group, who were huddled sleeping around the campfire. “All of you. And you would be very welcome were you to come. Ask for Mike Donovan’s place.”
“Thank you, Sarah. Now you’ll need to be going if you want to make any time at all. You won’t manage it to the Beacons by day’s light, so you’ll have to decide whether to risk it or stop.”
“May I hug you?”
Declan laughed and held out his arms. “Cor, I don’t know where you’re from,” he said, “but it most certainly is not from around here.”
She hugged him tightly and felt his goodness and his generosity help to wash away the horrors of the people she had met in the last two weeks. She released him, hoisted the bag onto her back and, after a brief nod of thanks, slipped back into the shadows.
* * *
If she had to guess, Sarah would say it took sixteen hours from the gypsies’ campfire to the sign that said “Brecon Beacons National Park 5 kilometers.” Six hours walking in the dark and praying she hadn’t gotten turned around, and ten hours waiting for the shroud of darkness to cloak her entrance into the park. In the end, she was too afraid to risk walking by day. It was painful to be so close, but Correy’s people had to figure she would go back the way she came and she was still too near the main highway, the A7. If there was ever a perfect time to find her, this would be it.
She found a good elm tree across from the park sign. Just looking at it gave her optimism that sanctuary was close. She hid herself among the branches and found
a secure perch where she could doze off without falling. Her stomach growled and she ate the small bits of jerky that Declan had put in the pack for her. He had also included the dented wine cup and a thin, patched blanket, and Sarah blessed him with real tears when she huddled shivering under it against the night’s cold.
The days were the worst because, with no activity, it was hard to turn off her brain. And her brain was full of fears and what-ifs and terrible memories. She tried to will herself to sleep, but the occasional movements below of travelers kept her alert and fretful. She just had to survive undetected until nightfall, then she’d find a cave or a campsite and really sleep.
For now, she just had to not be seen and not fall out of the tree.
* * *
When evening fell, it was hard not to climb down before it was really dark. The longer she sat in the tree, the more keenly she felt John’s pain and imagined his tears. And the more frantic she became to get back on the road toward him.
Finally she slipped to the ground. She hadn’t seen or heard anyone in over an hour. These days, most people made sure they were some place safe before night fell. As usual, Sarah stood absolutely still for a moment and listened. When she was sure she was alone, she walked over to the ravine that ran parallel with the highway and looked in. On more than one occasion, she had found people sleeping in the ditch.
She preferred the corpses.
There was no moon and she was tempted to jog along the highway instead of getting back in the ditch. Five kilometers were at least a solid two hours at the rate she had to move in the ravine. On foot on the highway, even in the ill-fitting dead woman’s shoes, she could make the distance in less than an hour. The urge to get somewhere she could feel safe and not have to constantly look over her shoulder was paramount.
Going Gone, Book 2 of the Irish End Games Page 10