But these were not normal times and so John waited for someone to make the first move. No matter how things went down, he figured he could live with that.
It was the loudmouth with the bat. Because John was expecting it to be him, he had his gun drawn and aimed before the man lifted the weapon fully over his head.
John shot him. Not waiting to see the strangled look of surprise on the man’s face, not waiting for him to fall John swiveled on his foot and pointed the gun at the other two. They didn’t wait either but dropped the rope and axe and fled into the night. John watched them go. The pounding of his heart was loud in his ears. He could hear the last gurgling groans of the man on the ground. He vaguely heard the door open behind him and the grating shuffle of the old man coming out onto the porch.
“Lad?” the old man said.
When the man on the ground was finally, blessedly, quiet and John had lowered his arm to his side, the old man touched him lightly on the shoulder.
“Come inside, lad,” he said. “And rest. We’ll be fine for tonight.”
CHAPTER THREE
The morning Mike and Sarah left Dublin, the rain was pouring in torrential sheets but neither of them cared. Painted in hues of grey, especially through the wall of rain, the city felt like a wounded animal stripped of its pride and capable of doing whatever was necessary to survive. They were anxious to leave.
At what had once been the American embassy, breakfast was sausages and eggs with surprising amounts of good coffee. The American ambassador and his staff still hadn’t returned since weeks before the bomb dropped four years earlier. Besides office support staff, cooks and waitstaff, there were no diplomat representatives, American or otherwise, in residence.
“Don’t you think it was weird that there was no American presence at all in the capital?” Sarah asked.
“Nothing’s normal any more,” Mike said.
He looked tired to Sarah. His handsome face was still ruddy with color from the sun but the gunshot graze to his shoulder he’d received less than a week ago must be paining him. She detected a paleness beneath his tan.
“Does your arm hurt?”
Mike had refused to let the medics at the Irish Provisional Government building take a look at it.
“Nay,” he said, wincing, belying his words. “I’m grand. And yourself?”
Sarah knew he was referring to her pregnancy. It had been a surprise for both of them—especially at her age.
“I’m good,” she said, dropping her hand to her abdomen. “Just really anxious to finally be on the road to finding our boys. “I just can’t get over that there were no Americans at the American embassy.”
“Aye, it was odd. Odder still was the reception from me own lads.”
“I know! I thought so too. Is that the new provisional government? Because it looked a whole lot like nobody knew what they were doing.”
“Well, you’d better hope that’s not true since they’ve got their finger on the trigger. What with the Garda Sìochàna and all.”
“It was a little scary. Almost like there were no more rules.”
“Well, we’ve been isolated down there in the south,” Mike said as he drove down Abbey Street. “All we’ve heard are rumors. Nothing like seeing it for yourself.”
“It’s no wonder the ambassador hasn’t returned yet. It’s almost like Ireland’s a third world country now.”
“Well, in fact, isn’t it?”
Sarah shivered.
“I just want to collect our boys and go back to Ameriland,” she said. “Where everything’s in place and there’s a sense of community.”
They passed a thin man in rags standing with his bicycle on the curb eyeing them warily. Sarah wasn’t sure he wouldn’t try to jump onto their Jeep.
“Can you go faster?” she asked quietly.
“Aye. I’ll feel better when we’re past the city limits,” Mike said, accelerating and maneuvering around an abandoned car in the road.
“Why are we the only one’s driving I wonder?” Sarah asked. “The soldiers at the Provisional Government compound implied that there were still working vehicles in Dublin.”
They passed a bicycle attached to a small trailer. Sarah could see two legs sticking out of it—whether sleeping or dead, she couldn’t tell.
“I suppose the definition of working vehicles is the key there. But you’re right. After four years, I’d expect the capital to be in better shape. It’s almost like they’re not even trying.”
Sarah gripped the ceiling handle above the passenger’s seat as they made their way painstakingly out of the city. As soon as she saw the sign for the M50, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“What do you think they’ll do with Margaret and Father Riley?” she asked. “I mean, here we’ve been thinking if we ever get in really bad trouble we can always call the Garda and honestly, did it even look like they had a holding cell? Are they even set up to do trials and due process?”
“I don’t know, love.”
“Should we…should we have looked into that before we handed them over?”
Mike glanced at her. “They wouldn’t have taken them if they didn’t have a way to deal with them. I’m sure the one thing they’re set up for in post-apocalyptic Ireland is lawbreakers.”
“Assuming there are still recognized laws to be broken.”
“Are ye in a mood, then, Sarah? Because either there are laws or there aren’t and, except for Ameriland, there’s damn little we can do about it. Don’t we have enough on our plate?”
“You’re right,” she said nodding. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. The feeling that both Margaret and Father Ryan had somehow fallen outside the system.
“But next time—”
“Aye,” Mike said, his eyes on the road. “Next time, we take care of it ourselves.” He drove to the crest of the next hill and stopped so they could look down on the city for a moment. The blue expanse of sea stretched out to their right behind the once great city. From this distance and because there were no cars or trucks to distract them, they could see subtle movement below as the city struggled to begin its day.
Mike reached over and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Ready, love?”
She leaned across the gearshift to kiss him.
“Let’s go find them,” she whispered.
The plan was simple and Sarah took a great deal of comfort from that fact. Because they were carrying prisoners from Ameriland, they’d had to go straight to Dublin without stopping. Gavin had been gone for nearly two weeks and John one.
Their only hope was to meet people who’d met the boys or, if either of them was being held against his will, find clues deliberately left by Gavin or John for whoever might be trying to find them. Mike and Sarah would drive south from Dublin along the coast to Rosslare and then cleave the southern half of Ireland at Waterford, stop back in at Ameriland to refuel and then continue west and north depending on what information they were able to gather.
It was December and already quite cold but so far, no snow. Sarah wasn’t sure whether to pray that the roads stayed clear or just jump to the end and pray that the first person they spoke with had seen one of the boys. She decided to pray for both.
An hour south of Dublin, they found a cottage on the country road they were on. While it had obviously been someone’s home before the bomb, it was a waystation and pub now. Two bicycles and a pony trap were parked out front.
Mike let the Jeep idle in the middle of the road and glanced at Sarah.
“Hungry?”
“Not really. Do you think they have lager?”
“Doubt it. Likely they have something someone whipped up in the back dunney.”
Sarah made a face.
“Where’s your gun?” Mike asked, his eyes still watching the door of the makeshift pub.
Sarah twisted around and pulled a Glock from the back seat. She checked the clip and looked at him. “Are we both going in?”
He took the
gun from her and got out.
“Slide over and get behind the wheel. If I need to leave in a hurry, be watching the front door for me.”
Sarah felt a spasm of anxiety as she watched him stand outside the Jeep and tuck the gun into his back waistband before striding toward the front door. She climbed over the gearshift. When she put her hand on the throttle, she saw her hand was shaking. She didn’t wait long. When the door opened up, Mike strode to the car. His gun wasn’t in his hand, so that was a good sign. He walked around and hopped in the passenger’s side.
“Feel like driving?” he asked.
“What did they say? Have they seen them?”
“Yes and no. Drive on, Sarah. I’ll tell you as we go.”
She put the vehicle in gear and popped the clutch, making the Jeep jerk forward but it didn’t stall out. She could smell the alcohol on him. Again, another good sign.
“Three old boggers in there,” Mike said. “Friendly enough—at least after I bought rounds. They hadn’t seen Gav or John but they did say there’s been a lot of activity down toward Rosslare.”
Rosslare was the main ferry crossing to Wales.
“Oh, Mike, you don’t think they’ve gone to the UK, do you?”
“I don’t know, darlin’, and let’s don’t panic until we know for sure. The lads in the pub were all about the sickness they’ve been hearing about.”
“Has it made its way to Ireland?”
“They didn’t know about that. The good news is that taking the coastal road south seems to be a solid plan.” Mike eased back into his seat and closed his eyes for a moment and Sarah had to smile.
“The bad news,” she said, “is at this rate you’ll be thoroughly hammered before we get to Wicklow.”
*****
Mike and Sarah spent that first night on the road sleeping in the Jeep. They’d made it just north of Arklow on the coast. Forty-four miles south of Dublin. In a normal world, just under an hour’s drive. With them stopping any time they saw life and driving slowly around roads with debris and abandoned vehicles, it took nearly eight hours. There were two other waystations that served as publican houses that they stopped at. At each one, Mike heard the same story: there was a plague offshore and the rumors were that the Garda would shoot on sight anyone trying to leave or come across the channel.
Nobody had seen anyone fitting either Gavin or John’s description.
Mike knew Sarah was uncomfortable although she wouldn’t say why. Whether it was the pregnancy or just the low-grade terror she’d nursed ever since John slipped away from the compound to go in search of Gavin didn’t really matter. In any case he was powerless to comfort her. Even so, the fact that they were moving, actively searching, had to help. It helped him, God knows. Even though it was likely a waste of time and effort.
He shook the thoughts out of his head as he pulled the Jeep onto a crest along the side of the road overlooking the sea. There were tall trees that would shield them from the cold winds coming off the water—especially this time of year.
He looked over at Sarah. She had her eyes closed, her hands folded across her belly. She was just beginning to show. Her face, even in semi-repose showed the strain of her grief and worry.
What they now knew was that Gavin had left the compound with a trusted adult—the village priest—and was taken to the band of druids in the outlying woods. There, he’d been attacked and prepared for sacrifice but had—by some miracle—escaped. Mike knew why Gavin hadn’t come straight back to the compound. The druid settlement lay between Gavin and home. He’d have to go due north and then circle back the long way in order to make it back home. Somehow during that long circle back, something had happened.
He’d never arrived back home.
Mike drew a hand across his face as if to erase his very features. That had been two weeks ago. Somehow, whatever had prevented Gavin from returning home either still prevented him…or had prevented him permanently. He didn’t like to think of that but it had to be considered. It wasn’t like Gavin to just leave and not come back. The lad was loved and he knew it. He’d also had to know his dear old da would be apoplectic with worry.
No, Gavin hadn’t come back because something or someone was preventing him. Mike’s stomach muscles clenched painfully at the thought.
“Are we here for the night?” Sarah asked, her eyes still closed.
“Aye. We’re protected from the wind yet high up. We should have some warning in case someone comes upon us. Are ye cold, Sarah? I can blast the heater if ye like.”
She shivered under the heavy wool rug he’d laid across her knees but shook her head.
“I’m fine.”
“It was a good day,” he said, trying to force the optimism into his voice for her. Her eyes flickered open and she reached for his hand.
“I didn’t really expect to find them our first couple of days out,” she said.
“Really?”
She smiled sadly. “Well, all right. Maybe I did. But only a small, desperate part of me.”
“We’ll find them, love.”
“I know.”
The daylight was fading rapidly. It probably wasn’t much past four o’clock but they would be sitting in total winter darkness in another half hour. They’d bought sandwiches in Dublin for the road but neither of them were hungry.
Truth be told, Sarah wasn’t the only one who’d expected more than the day had given up to them.
Were all the days to be like this one? Beginning with hope and optimism until one shaking head after another brought them relentlessly to the night and another day with no word of where the boys were?
“I nearly didn’t come last year, you know,” Sarah said softly. Mike turned to see her eyes were open now and she was looking out across the Saint George’s Channel as if she saw something there. But it was all inky blackness, the water indistinguishable from the dark sky.
“I know. You told me.” Mike was well aware of how close the decision had been about Sarah’s return to Ireland. With the Americans shutting down all portals—coming and going—and her own parents begging her to stay, it was nothing short of a miracle that she was here with him now.
“But my hardest decision had nothing to do with hot showers or air conditioning,” she said. “I don’t care about any of that.” She reached over and slipped her hand into his. “That was a no-brainer, Mike—giving all that up for a life with you.”
He felt his throat close up with emotion and he squeezed her hand.
“That wasn’t the hard part.”
“I know.” And he did, too. He knew it wasn’t the convenience and safety of life in America versus the post apocalyptic nightmare that her daily round in Ireland with him often was. It had always come down to one thing: John. And when she was finally able to believe that coming back to Ireland—to the life they could have there with the love of people they knew there—there was always that nagging doubt for her: Had she done the right thing by John?
“He’s so smart,” she said. “And not just about trapping rabbits or problem-solving the compound’s electronic equipment, but really, really smart.”
Mike felt a flinch of guilt as she spoke. He was as much to blame as anyone for why Sarah came back. She came back to him. And while there was no doubt that was the best thing for Mike—and maybe Sarah too—nobody in their right mind could believe a brilliant lad with his whole life a head of him was better off in a mud fort in a third world country.
“I was so selfish,” she said in a whisper, her eyes closing again. A tear slipped down her cheek. “I wanted to have it all. I wonder if this is God trying to make a point to me.”
“I don’t think He works like that.”
“Maybe He does to the ones who are really thick-headed.”
“Sarah…”
“Never mind,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheek. “There’s tomorrow. Maybe we’ll hear something tomorrow.”
He leaned over and kissed her then eased her seat back into an inc
line. They were both exhausted, physically and emotionally. All they had left was their hope, their combined strength and their belief in the future. His eyes glanced at her belly again, still protectively covered by their folded hands.
He fell asleep wondering what would have to happen to force them to accept the truth that everyone else in the world probably knew by now—that the lads were gone for good.
The next morning, Mike was driving before Sarah was awake. He knew she’d feel better if they got some miles under their belt before breakfast and he was determined to make that happen. It occurred to him that driving the coastal road might make sense as far as a five-year plan of searching every kilometer of Ireland but it made no sense for two brokenhearted parents attempting to find their children as fast as possible. He pointed the Jeep inland, knowing the roads would be even worse the further south he drove and the further he went from the main highway, but also knowing that searching the coast for the boys was a long shot.
And they weren’t at that point just yet.
They drove three hours without stopping, drinking their own water and eating their sandwiches. They didn’t come upon another likely looking waystation until long past lunch time. If they were touring the country, this might be a decent day’s effort, Mike thought with frustration. But if they were hoping to find word of the lads, it was just about as useless as a day could be.
“Where are all the people?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know,” Mike said. “It’s not a very populated area.” They passed several cottages—all of which were obviously abandoned. “There’s a village up ahead.”
A sign choked with weeds taller than the pole it hung on announced Ballycanew. Sarah sat up straight and craned her neck as they drove down the narrow main road of the village.
“Is it deserted?” she asked. It had started to rain and the holes in the road began to fill and form puddles. More an alleyway than a proper road, it wound tightly through a brief section of attached homes with gabled and peaked roofs. Mullioned windows were set over empty window boxes. This must have been a charming representative of the classic Irish village in its time, Mike thought as he squeezed the Jeep down the road, mindful of the stone wall on one side and the painted doors and shrubbery of the houses on the other.
Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6 Page 27