Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  The room was empty.

  The old guy wasn’t here. John jammed the gun back into his pants and hurried to the front of the house. He looked out the window and felt a light sheen of sweat erupt across his brow. There was still nothing in sight.

  Would he have gone outside? John knew there was a shed in the garden that the old couple were using as a dunny. It was possible he was out there. John wished he’d brought the penlight he had stashed in his knapsack but maybe it was just as well he hadn’t. While it would help him see, it would also help others see him.

  Quietly, he slipped out the front door and jumped off the porch. There wasn’t a sound to be heard anywhere. He walked quickly without running—it would be all too easy to trip over something—to the rear of the house. With his back against the house, he stood and waited for his eyes to adjust. He estimated he should be staring right at the makeshift outhouse. If Mr. Walker was outside, this was John’s best chance to find him.

  As he waited, he listened but there was nothing to hear. Now that he was standing still, he realized his head was pounding with a dull ache and he wondered for a moment if that was the reason he didn’t hear anything. Afraid to test his theory by clearing his throat or snapping his fingers, he passed a shaky hand over his face and brought it back with more perspiration. There was a cutting breeze weaving its way down the residential streets and through where the houses were set. It seemed to slice right into him. For a moment, John wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there and was horrified to realize he’d blanked out for a moment.

  Really smart, Woodson, he admonished himself. The setting before him was still dark but he could see well enough now to realize there wasn’t a body or anything else visible out of the ordinary. He had no idea where Mr. Walker had gone and tonight was not going to be the night he found out. He was cold and tired. He hadn’t slept in a bed in over a week and he ached in places he didn’t know were on his body to ache. He said a silent prayer for Mr. Walker, wherever he was, and turned to find the path that led back over the hill to Fishguard.

  It took him much longer this time. The wind fought him at the crest of the hill and he stayed as far from the edge of the promontory as he safely could. He heard the water below, pounding angrily against the rocks, and he felt the salt stinging his lips and eyes. Something was wrong. That much he knew but it took all his effort to stay upright on the path and moving forward. Any thoughts that didn’t focus on the path or putting one foot in front of the other were dangerous now. When he finally came to the downward slope of the hill that led to the town street, he slipped on a smooth rock and lost his footing. His gun, still wedged into his pants, cut painfully into his back as he tumbled down the hill, crashing into the rocky ground several times, and finally skidding to a stop at the base of a tree a few yards from the street.

  He knew he was hurt but he couldn’t feel the cuts and bruises. It was like his entire body was insensate to the physical world. Something was ruling him from the inside and nothing that happened to the vessel mattered. He lay against the tree, willing himself to move, to sit up, to keep going. But he couldn’t. At one point in his fall, his face must have hit something that didn’t give because he tasted blood in his mouth. He smelled the loam and the dirt and the grass where it pressed into his face. His body felt like it didn’t belong to him.

  He would never know how he got himself back up on his feet and down to the street or how he managed to walk the three city blocks to the clinic and stumble to the front door. When he fell into the arms of the drunken security guard in the foyer, he felt his body shut down entirely, as if it had accomplished what was required and now it was finished.

  He felt himself being carried down the hall. He saw flickering lights through his half-open eyelids and heard Dr. Heaton’s voice.

  “I’m sorry,” John mumbled before the darkness claimed him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Where Antonio had found a Catholic priest in Ireland in the middle of the wilderness, Gavin would never know. And he didn’t care. All that mattered now was that in one hour, Sophia would be his wife and a few hours after that, his in every sense of the word.

  His stomach cramped at the thought and he glanced nervously at his soon-to-be father-in-law as if the man could read his mind. Antonio Borgnino stood beside Gavin, his face solemn as befitting the occasion but with a twinkle in his eye that communicated his good mood. He was a striking man. Even Gavin who normally didn’t notice such things, could see that. Jet black hair although he had to be well into his fifties, and dark, nearly pupil-less eyes. Beside Antonio stood Benito, Sophia’s teenage brother. Benito wasn’t the kind of bloke Gavin would normally choose to hang with—a little too intense for his tastes. But, hey, you don’t get to pick your family, do you?

  Gavin cleared his throat and smiled nervously at the priest who faced him. The man was severe and disgruntled. Not, Gavin, had to admit, unlike most priests of his acquaintance. He felt a twinge of anger when the thought came to him. That bastard Father Ryan had led him with a lie to the woods where the fecking druids had bashed him about. Gavin’s cheeks burned at the memory of how Ryan had made him believe that his girl Regan was waiting for him in the woods and that it was God’s will that the two be united.

  How stupid can one randy fecker be? Gavin thought, shaking his head. He glanced at Antonio who was frowning at him as if worried that Gavin was about to bolt. The very thought made Gavin smile again.

  Was the man barking? Would anybody in their right mind run in the opposite direction from the vision that was the lovely Sophia? In fact, now that Gavin put the two notions together, if it weren’t for that tosser Ryan, Gavin would never have met her and for that reason alone, he could forgive the fecker, lying bastard though he was.

  When Gavin had cut through his ties with his hidden boot knife in the druid camp and escaped into the forest, he set out going due north because he knew how widespread the druid’s reach was east and west. The plan had been to go north and then east to the coast before coming back around south to the compound. Unfortunately, he’d had to escape with only the pants and boots on his feet, the head wanker druid having stripped him of his favorite shirt. Bastard! Just thinking about that first freezing cold night spent hidden in the leaves and underbrush of the woods with no shirt made Gavin want to go back with a shotgun and find the twitchy bastard.

  Instead, he’d been found by Antonio and his family. When they came upon Gavin they hadn’t hesitated but swept him instantly into their community. They fed him, clothed him and even promised vengeance for him on the druids—although nothing ever came of that. They were good people and it was nothing short of providence from God Almighty that they’d found him when he needed so badly to be found.

  But of all the good fortune that Gavin had to be grateful about nothing could top the one amazing bit of luck that he never in his whole damn life ever thought he’d experience.

  Sophia.

  Dear God, just thinking of the lass now turned his insides around in seriously gratifying waves of desire. The second he laid eyes on her he knew he loved her. He knew he’d do anything for her. He knew, if God was in his heaven and Sophia was daft enough to have him, that he’d never leave her side not even to save his own life if she’d have him, please God.

  Never had he even come close to the way he felt when he was with her. And when he held her in his arms? He swallowed and moved his feet, not bothering to look at Antonio. Holding her in his arms was like a living sacrament and he didn’t care how blasphemous that sounded. It was as true as rain in winter.

  A flash of color and movement caught his eye and he turned his head with his heart pounding in anticipation of what he knew his eyes would see.

  Sophia stood at the end of the path, her mother and two cousins flanking her like attendants. There was a glow from the climbing sun behind her that gave her a radiant outline as she moved toward him. She held a bouquet of winter flowers in her hands. Her long, black hair was down, curled in fl
owing tendrils. She wore a gown made from several dresses but Gavin didn’t notice the seam lines or the different colors on the multiple hems. He saw an angel with dark brown almond-shaped eyes and a smile of promise on her full lips as she walked slowly toward him.

  He was getting married today. Married to a goddess he’d never imagined could possibly exist—let alone love him. As he stood there waiting for his bride to come to him, he knew that nothing and nobody mattered except this perfect moment.

  CHAPTER NINE

  For two days, John was only aware of intermittent darkness and wavering light behind his closed eyes. When he dreamed, he felt himself being spooned broth or water. He heard Gilly’s voice and her father’s like they were calling to him from across a gymnasium, their voices echoing and reverberating. He knew he should tell them not to worry about him but his body was too heavy, his arms and legs unresponsive. He was surprised how philosophical he felt about dying. He didn’t have the emotion to deal with it. He was just so tired.

  When he finally opened his eyes, it was because the dream he was having was so physical that he wanted to see for himself what was happening. His whole body vibrated and hummed in a very pleasant fashion so he was pretty convinced he’d made it to heaven, which was good. Mom would be sad but only because she didn’t know yet how awesome heaven was.

  “You’re awake. Dad! He’s awake.”

  At first John couldn’t understand where he was or what was happening. It had been so long since he’d ridden in a vehicle that for a moment, he flashed back to being a child again in his car seat, cartoons on the car video, Mom and Dad in the front seat. He licked his lips.

  “Are you thirsty, John?” He saw that Gilly poised a water bottle in front of his face.

  “I…where…?”

  “We’re going back to Oxford,” Gilly said, pushing the bottle into his mouth. He drank deeply, deciding to process her words in a moment. They sat in the back seat of a large SUV. Dr. Heaton was in the driver’s seat. John was wrapped in a blanket with a large pillow behind his head.

  “I’m sick,” he said. God. It was all coming back to him. He had the sickness. He left poor Mr. Walker’s house and…that’s all he remembered.

  “You’re a lot better now,” Gilly said.

  “How are you feeling, laddie?” Dr. Heaton called to him. “I told you he was coming around.”

  “Dad thinks maybe flu. What with sleeping in cold ditches and eating bad.”

  “I…it wasn’t the plague?”

  “Blimey, no,” Gilly said. “But it was still bad, mind you. I was sure you were going to wake up with brain damage. I’m not completely sure you haven’t.”

  John closed his eyes. He had just enough energy to smile. He felt so weak, and so very comfortable. He wasn’t ready to address the fact that they were taking him to Oxford. There was no way Gavin was in Oxford. Neither was it a direct route back to Ireland. All in all, being on his way to Oxford wasn’t great.

  “We had to leave,” Gilly said. “And we couldn’t leave you there.”

  “I…’preciate all you’ve done for me,” he said with his eyes still closed.

  “Go back to sleep, John.”

  He could feel her tucking his blanket around him.

  “When you wake up we’ll have roast beef.”

  Since that seemed the perfect ending of his fairly perfect dream, John nodded and fell back to sleep.

  *****

  By the time they reached the outskirts of Oxford, it was nearly dark. Normally a two-hour drive from Wales, because of the number of abandoned cars on the roadways and the necessary detours due to permanently closed roads, it had taken them six hours to make the trip.

  True to Gilly’s word, they stopped at a pub in the village of Compton Abdale for dinner before continuing on to Oxford. John was surprised to see the small pub had electricity and a full menu. Even in just two days of being sick, he could tell he’d lost weight when he walked from the car to the pub. Gilly led him to a booth by a roaring floor to ceiling fireplace and his legs nearly gave out before he got there. The fire smelled like cherry wood. He was still dopey from his deep sleep and stared into the dancing flames. Gilly chattered away but didn’t seem to need encouragement or participation.

  When Dr. Heaton came to the table, he brought three glasses of beer with him.

  “There’s the stuff, lad,” he said, pushing John’s glass to him. “Liquid bread. It’ll help fix the wobbles.”

  “Or cause them,” Gilly said, giggling.

  John drank his beer down. Warm, thick and foamy. It was delicious and made his head spin.

  “Whoa, slow down, laddie. A little goes a long way in the beginning.”

  The proprietor brought a tray with their food and for a moment it was all John could do but stare at the steaming plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes and roasted carrots on the plate. It had been so long since he’d eaten good food that his hand trembled as he picked up his fork.

  “You’ll be wondering why we kidnapped you, I imagine,” Dr. Heaton said, winking at Gilly. “We couldn’t leave you, lad. Gilly and I had to make an executive decision.”

  “I’m grateful to you for everything you’ve done,” John said, trying not to talk with his mouth full. The dinner definitely took precedence over conversation tonight.

  “It’s rather urgent that I get back to my lab. We couldn’t wait. You’re not but three hours from the coast.”

  “If that’s what you want, John,” Gilly said, meaningfully. “I mean you can’t cross back over anyway. Why not stay with us for awhile? At least until Ireland eases up on travel?”

  John really didn’t know what to think at this point. He knew he was taking a detour in his plan to find Gavin but until he got strong again, staying with Gilly and her dad sounded like an intelligent move.

  “I’m grateful to you,” John said, finally slowing down on his meal. The warmth from the crackling fire and his now full stomach combined with the lager to make him long to lay his head down again.

  “Well, that’s settled then,” Heaton said with a smile. He looked at his daughter. “Are you ready to be home, darlin’?”

  Gilly looked over her father’s shoulder to the proprietor. When she did John noticed for the first time that they were the only ones in the pub.

  “Did you talk to Mr. Smails?” she asked.

  “Aye. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “But the sickness? Is it still bad?”

  “No change. Eat your supper and let’s get home. Young John there looks like he’s ready to park his cot in front of Mr. Smails’ hearth.”

  John smiled, his eyes drooping sleepily. He put his fork down and propped his head up on one hand. And promptly fell back to sleep.

  Life in Oxford was not something John was prepared for on any level.

  He woke up the next morning feeling much stronger and ready to begin to sort out his new plan for returning to Ireland and finding Gavin. The Heatons lived in an Edwardian semidetached house walking distance to the college. John figured it must have been pretty old even before the EMP sent everyone back to the eighteen hundreds but it was cozy and it was warm against the cold December temperatures. He was grateful to have found the Heatons and that they seemed to like him well enough to help him. But he couldn’t stay any longer than another day at the most.

  He found his clothes and realized that they’d been laundered at some point in the last few days. His bedroom was upstairs with a window facing the back garden. He hoped the doc wasn’t sleeping on the couch downstairs. He’d hate to think he took his bedroom. When he stood in the hallway, he was surprised to see Gilly coming up the stairs with a steaming cup of tea.

  “Oh! You surprised me,” she said. “I was just bringing you a cup of tea. You look good this morning. How do you feel?”

  “Good.”

  “Well enough to come downstairs for your tea?”

  “Sure.” He wondered how long she’d been up but the light in the hall window s
eemed to suggest he hadn’t slept the whole day away. He followed her down the steep stairs leading to the salon. A fire was blazing in the grate and a teapot with cups and toast on a plate were sitting on the kitchen table.

  “Dad’s already gone to the lab. But he said we could meet him for lunch if you were up for it.”

  “That sounds great.” John sat down at the table in the small kitchen. The window over the sink looked out onto the brick side of another house not six feet away. Gilly set his tea down and shoved the toast toward him.

  “I can make you an egg if you like?”

  “No, thanks. Toast is great.”

  “I know you want to get back to Ireland as soon as you can.” Gilly said. When he looked at her, he could see panic in her eyes. He was surprised because up until this moment, she’d always been so happy and so sure of herself.

  “Well, my family is there. Great toast by the way.”

  She looked at him as if trying to decide something and then stood up.

  “It’s nearly lunchtime, so I’ll just change, shall I? Won’t be a tick.” She turned and walked back up the stairs. John sat and drank his tea and felt a little more relaxed, as if Gilly had taken some of the tension out of the air when she left.

  He stood to look out the kitchen window and was surprised to see a boy about his age pulling up on a bicycle. John watched as the boy set two bottles of milk and a package of what looked like bread loaves on the back porch. As if feeling someone’s eyes on him, the boy looked up and saw John in the window, grinned and waved.

  Thirty minutes later, Gilly locked the townhouse. A thick hedge of bushes lined both sides of the front walk. John could see thorns and imagined in the summer the hedge was full of roses. He’d left his gun in his bedroom. He was anxious to get some exercise and to try to strength his legs. Gilly assured him the walk to the college wasn’t long. They walked through the largely residential neighborhood and met nobody. Not mothers pushing prams or bikers or students.