Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “You’re smart,” she said to Katie.

  “Sarah, darlin,” Mike admonished. “You don’t mean that.”

  Sarah turned to the couple. “We’ve both lost our sons and are on the road looking for them.”

  “Lost them? Blimey,” Phelan said. “How?”

  “How indeed,” Sarah said miserably. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “And now you’re pregnant again?” Katie asked timidly, glancing at Sarah’s stomach.

  “It was an accident,” Sarah said, almost bitterly. She didn’t look at Mike. She knew her words were hurtful but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Another child to worry myself sick over. And look at these two! Happy as larks with just themselves to fret over. Tears burned her eyes.

  “It’s been a long day,” Mike said.

  Sarah turned to lean into him, her sadness a living breathing thing that sat on her chest and sucked all the breath and the life out of her.

  Just like the day that’s coming, she thought. And the one after that and the one after that.

  *****

  As they prepared to part ways with Phelan and Katie the next morning Mike split the rest of their bread with them. It seemed that after four years of living in Dublin in their old apartment, a band of toughs had pushed them out and they’d fled the city. That was barely a month ago and the pair had lived hand to mouth ever since.

  “You’re welcome to travel with us,” Mike said. “We have a Jeep hidden in the woods near Rosslare. We can drive you as far as Kilkenny. From there we need to split up but you can walk the rest of the way to Ameriland. There’ll be a place there if you want.” He grinned at Katie. “There’s no nightclubbing but we do have electricity.”

  “Saints be praised,” Katie said. “Electricity? Christmas came early.”

  They walked together the rest of that day. Mike was able to trap a rabbit which they cooked over a small fire on the beach at midday. They stopped early for the day when they found another vacant shelter to spent the night.

  “Do people have jobs in your Ameriland?” Phelan asked after they’d had dinner in the small stone house. “Because I’m handy.”

  “We used to have electronics and video surveillance,” Mike said. “But we had a bit of insanity recently and most of it got rubbished.”

  “Electronics?” Phelan looked at his wife and then back at Mike. “I bet I can fix it.”

  “Well, it would be worth a lot to us if you could. That’s grand.”

  “What about me?” Katie said. “I was an executive secretary in my life before the Crisis.”

  “Not much paperwork at the compound,” Sarah said with a sad smile. She wanted to involve herself in the conversation but the pain in her chest was like a hard knot that got in the way of eating and drinking and thinking and talking.

  “But if you’re good at organizing,” Mike said, “there’s lots of ways you can contribute.”

  “Failing that,” Katie said, I have my two hands. “I can knit, I can milk goats, I can garden.” She turned to Sarah. “And I can help with the babies.”

  “We weren’t entirely honest with you earlier,” Phelan said in a low voice as he took the brandy bottle from Mike and stared into the flames in the fireplace.

  “Oh, aye?” Mike said in a tense voice.

  “About being childless,” Katie said hurriedly.

  “So you do have children?” Sarah asked.

  “No, we were dishonest about us being happy and childless,” Katie said. “We were undergoing infertility treatments when the bomb went off. The truth is we were trying like mad to get pregnant.” Her eyes went to the soft swelling under Sarah’s jacket.

  “Oh.”

  “No big deal,” Katie said, tossing a small stick into the fire. “Just…I think I’d like to mind the kiddies if people need that.”

  “They do,” Sarah said, with a sigh. “Kiddies always need minding.”

  The weather turned nasty in the night and Sarah heard the pounding of the rain against the hard slate roof—and the sounds of Katie getting sick over and over again. The smell of the vomit and Phelan’s concerned murmuring combined with the terrible storm to ensure that nobody slept. Mike held Sarah as if by doing so he could somehow change whatever was happening to the couple on the far side of the abandoned cottage.

  Once, he put his hand on her stomach and she patted his hand reassuringly.

  “I’m fine. We’re fine. Do you think she has the illness?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought it hadn’t come to Ireland. What’s the whole point of shooting boats out of the water if it’s here?”

  “But she looked fine yesterday.” She shivered and Mike rubbed his hands up and down her arms to warm them.

  “I can start another fire,” he said.

  “Is it light enough to leave? I’d rather just get going.”

  Mike took an intake of breath as if he would speak but didn’t.

  “She’s not going to be able to go, is she?” Sarah asked quietly.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Make the fire.”

  Mike disentangled himself from Sarah and began to build up the wood in the cold hearth. At one point, he stopped and handed Phelan a water bottle for Katie and then went back and lighted the kindling. Sarah watched the fire catch and bring the room to life with a warm glow. An hour later, Mike spoke to Phelan and came back to Sarah. She saw he had the rifle in his hands.

  “Where are you going?” She dreaded him telling her they wouldn’t be leaving today. Even though it was hopeless and there was no way to go where John had gone, it still felt less monstrously awful to be moving. If there was an answer out there to finding John or Gavin, one thing Sarah knew was that it wasn’t going to be found on the inside of an abandoned cottage twenty miles from Rosslare.

  “I’m going out to bag a rabbit or two,” he said. “We’ll roast them and then leave them here. He says she’s done this before and she’ll be right as rain by nightfall. Or tomorrow latest.”

  “So we can go ahead and leave?” The relief was paramount. She knew it didn’t matter and they should probably just stay put and wait but right now the only thing that was keeping her sane was movement. She was pretty sure Mike felt the same way too.

  “As soon as I get back and dress the meat. They’ll follow when they can. I’ve given him directions to Ameriland.”

  “Is she contagious?” Sarah said, sitting up and brushing off her hands.

  “Phelan says no. And she’s asleep for now so just sit tight ’til I get back.” He gave her a quick kiss, then stood and said a few words to Phelan before slipping out the door. Sarah could see when he opened the door that it was still dark out. Phelan stepped outside too, probably to relieve himself.

  She moved to the fire and held her hands out to feel the warmth. She tried to imagine that John was just a few miles from where she was sitting right his minute. In her mind, she imagined a kind woman was feeding him soup and being charmed by his cheerful affect and his southern manners. He really was the best of both her and David. Her heart pinched painfully at the thought of David and the memory of how quickly life could turn to terror.

  The door suddenly flew open with a loud bang. Sarah gasped and turned on her knees to face it. Three men filed in. They looked to the fireplace where Sarah knelt and then to the pallet in the corner of the room where Katie lay. The man in front held a gun in front of him and pointed it at Sarah. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, obliterating all sound in the room.

  The two men behind the gunman turned as if startled by something and Sarah saw Phelan’s white shocked face appear in the doorway. The sound of the gunshot reverberated wildly off the stone walls of the cottage. Phelan sank to his knees.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Katie’s scream filled the house. Sarah lurched to her feet. She needed to get to Katie to make her stop. But out of the corner of her eye she saw the man’s arm raise up. She tried to make her voice form words to tell Katie to be quiet. And
then the explosion resounded off the rough stone walls.

  Katie, finally quiet, lay on her back, the hole in her chest pumping the life out of her in a steady fountain. Sarah dragged her eyes away from the dying woman to look at the gunman. He was in his forties, balding, with a big paunch. He pointed his gun at Sarah. Her first thought was a prayer that they hadn’t hurt Mike on their way here.

  “Oy, don’t shoot ‘er, Pete. I’ll be takin’ a piece of that first.”

  The shooter lowered his arm. A much taller man pushed past him. His face was pocked and one eye looked as if it had been stitched closed. He shoved a handgun into his jacket pocket.

  “Let’s go,” he growled as he grabbed Sarah by the arm and yanked her toward him. “I ain’t pretty but you won’t be looking at my face.” He glanced around the room as if in search of a bed or a table.

  “They got shite here,” Pete said, walking over to Katie’s body and toeing it with his boot in disgust.

  “What did you expect?” Sarah’s assailant said. “Check the berk in the doorway. He might at least have fags on ‘im.”

  The world seemed to slow down. Everyone was moving in halftime. Sarah felt the man’s hands on her arm gripping her flesh like steel pinchers but she didn’t feel the pain of it like she should. It was almost like the video part of her brain was off track and the physical sensations weren’t matching up with what was happening.

  She didn’t look at Katie or try to wonder if Phelan might still be alive. She only knew the moment she was in was being played out for her one frame at a time. The man ripped her jacket open and began to twist her shoulder around to push her onto the floor face first. She tucked her head at this movement and rammed it full force into his nose, feeling the cartilage crunch. A split second later she brought her knee up hard and slammed it into his testicles.

  He whimpered and sagged against her. Over his shoulder she saw Pete watching them, his eyes wide.

  “Feck me, ye fecking bitch!” Pete bellowed. “What have ye done to Jeff? I swear I’ll make it hurt before I shoot ya!”

  When Sarah heard the gunshot, for a moment she thought he’d made good his threat until she saw the third man—the outside watchman—fall backwards into the house. He was holding his stomach and blood gushed out of it. Pete turned and fired his gun blindly at the open door. Sarah heard another shot and saw Pete’s head snap violently backwards. He dropped his gun and slowly crumpled to the floor.

  “Mike!” she screamed. “There was only three!”

  Please God, let it be Mike.

  Mike stepped into the room, filling the door for a moment and blocking out all light. He looked at her ripped open jacket and then at Katie’s body. He walked to Sarah and shoved two more cartridges into his rifle.

  “I’m fine,” Sarah said. But he took her arm in his free hand and led her past Jeff, moaning and writhing on the floor.

  “You bitch, you bitch,” Jeff said, rocking in agony.

  “Wait for me outside,” Mike said, giving her a gentle push toward the door.

  “Mike—”

  “Just do it, Sarah. Go on now.”

  Sarah hesitated and then ran from the house, stepping over the two bodies and Phelan who was face down just outside. Dawn was breaking and there was a soft glow over the sea. The early morning chill pierced through her jacket.

  She heard one gunshot ring out from inside the stone house.

  *****

  Daniel Heaton sat at his desk in the Palace of Westminster. Sometimes it was all he could do to believe that he came to work here everyday. Imagine, a Scotsman, an indifferent student and son of a butcher—sitting as a Member of Parliament. Everyday he passed through the Peers Lobby and walked down the Central Hall to enter the House of Commons where the country's Members of Parliament met. Even as a lad, he’d never aspired to this.

  His office, although not lavish, was decorated with taste and style. At times like these, sitting in his office and looking through the window at the city stretched out below, he felt glad he’d never married. The fact was, the opposite sex had never interested him but, truth be told, neither had the same sex. Daniel Heaton had been happy to accept early on that his was a singular nature. He was sure he was well enough liked on both sides of the aisle and he never had trouble finding someone to go for the odd pint now and again.

  But still, the only person Daniel Heaton MSP had ever really been remotely close to was his brother Finlay. He was fond of Finlay’s girl Gillian, of course. But he saw them rarely and was sure they didn’t pine to come to London any more than he longed to visit the sticks. Still, it was pleasant having a relation you had positive feelings for— probably even love. Made you seem more human in conversations with others. Yes. All in all very useful.

  The phone rang and Heaton frowned. The plague had eliminated all tourist and school children tours of parliament but it had unfortunately also decimated support staff in the House of Commons. While there was a central operator ensuring that the more rambunctious nutters didn’t get through to an MP or in his case an MSP, it was still bloody tiring dealing with constituent contact when he’d been so comfortable with virtually none before.

  “Hello?” he said cautiously into the receiver.

  “How’s the cure coming?” A strong Irish accent purred in Daniel’s ear and he felt a flutter of nausea trickle through his gut. Liam O’Reilly. On paper, such a good idea. In the skin-crawling flesh, less so.

  “These things take time,” Daniel said knowing it wouldn’t be enough to pacify the man.

  “Indefinitely would be good.”

  “I do understand your position, Liam. You’ve been quite clear on the matter. I’m confident a cure is not immediately forthcoming. At least not from the UK. Which is the whole reason I assigned it to my brother.”

  “And if Europe finds one first?”

  “The signs aren’t pointing that way but if they do, I have people in position who might be able to intercept it before it gets to the World Health Organization.”

  “Jaysus, Heaton! Do you have to say this shite over the phone?”

  Daniel sighed at the man’s quick temper.

  There was a reason nobody liked the sodding Irish.

  “We’re lucky to have mobile service at all,” Daniel said. “Trust me, our national security is not in a position to monitor every phone call. Besides, aren’t you using a burner phone?”

  “I have a lot riding on this, Heaton. There must be no cure any time soon.”

  “Not to worry, Liam. My brother is a lovely man but he couldn’t find a wildly-flatulent ox in a china shop. His reputation for incompetency is renowned in scientific circles. Even the berks here in London had heard enough of his lunatic theories to be astonished when I named him as lead on the project.”

  “Do you know how close he is to finding something?”

  “My eyes and ears in Oxford tell me he’s working on a new and improved bucket purification system.” Daniel snorted. “Unbelievable. Even for Finlay.”

  “So he’s not reporting to you himself?”

  “A very secretive man, my brother. Even when his secrets are total rubbish.”

  “Yeah, well, make sure he doesn’t accidentally stumble onto the cure.”

  “Trust me, my dear Liam, there’s no fear of that.”

  *****

  The days that followed the morning Mike and Sarah buried their new friends were filled with relentless, long marches. Mike hunted rabbits which they cooked and ate by day, leaving the evenings to hunger and hiding in the cold, wet woods. While they had a gun now what they had lost that terrible morning was one they found hard to forget. And they were still eighty miles from where they’d left the Jeep—if it was even still there.

  Eighty miles was three days of walking in the cold and the rain with little to no food, with discouragement and heartbreak instead of hope that they might be reunited with the boys, and with fear and trepidation at just how quickly warmth and laughter can turn to horror.

&nb
sp; Sarah couldn’t stop thinking of poor Katie, how desperately she’d wanted a baby of her own and how much hope she seemed to hold out that she could have that some day—at the compound with Mike and Sarah. To watch both of them come alive with hope for the future reminded Sarah of how she used to feel when the future was something to hope for.

  And then to watch it die like so much else had died. So many others.

  But worse than the realization that death and evil were right around every corner and under every rock was the stark slap-in-the-face realization that the idea of finding their boys alive in this wicked new world would truly be a miracle. And one thing Sarah knew like she knew every callous on her hand and every blister on her feet—miracles weren’t being granted any more.

  The final day before reaching Rosslare they walked the last thirty miles straight down the highway, abandoning the protection of the woods. Sarah’s legs ached badly but she pushed past the pain. Her world was broken down into little bites now. Just make it to the next rise and then you can have a sip of water. Just make it to the Jeep and then you rest. The idea of the Jeep had grown to enormous proportions for Sarah. She knew John wouldn’t be waiting for her there but she couldn’t help but think all would be well, the pain would subside…and she’d feel the baby inside her again.

  Ever since they’d left Dublin the first time, she’d felt the little tickling bubbles inside her that she knew was the baby moving around. She’d hesitated to tell Mike because even if he’d put a hand on her belly, he wouldn’t have been able to feel it. It was something only between Sarah and the baby. And as she remembered with her first pregnancy with John, it was a special time that would only last a very brief time.

  But she’d felt nothing since the moment her would-be rapist had laid his hands on her. And while she knew she’d experienced more physical pain from attacks in the past, for some reason when that creature touched her she felt the blood in her veins freeze. Had he been so evil that he had the power to extinguish the life in her belly just by his touch? Or had she been so horrified by what she’d seen—the senseless murders of the young couple—that something had seized up inside her, taking the baby with it?