Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  A woman pushed through the crowd and put a hand on the boy’s arm. Her face was badly bruised yet she stood tall and raised her chin proudly.

  “My name is Bianca Borgnino. We did not hurt your son but he had every reason to think we would. We have today buried my husband who your son murdered.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Mike said.

  “It is the truth. He killed my husband, the leader of our family and Benito’s father, and then he ran. So fast that he did not take the time to put on his shoes that sat drying by the fire.”

  “When?”

  “Last night.”

  “I don’t believe her,” Sarah said at Mike’s elbow. “Gavin wouldn’t kill anyone. And he wouldn’t leave without his shoes.”

  Bianca turned to look at Sarah. “You are his mother?”

  “Close enough,” Sarah said.

  “Perhaps we none of us truly know what our children are capable of.”

  “Prove to me he left here alive,” Mike said.

  “You can search the camp,” Paco said.

  “There’s only one grave,” Benito said with a leer. “Maybe we put two bodies in one hole?”

  Mike dropped his gun arm and jammed the heel of his palm into Benito’s throat, dropping him to his knees. Bianca screamed and ran to her son.

  “The Irish boy is not dead!” she shrieked, cradling her son’s head in her lap. “He left here alive, shoes or no shoes. He and Sophia.”

  “Who is Sophia?” Sarah asked and pulled Mike away from Benito.

  “His bride,” Bianca said, not taking her eyes off her son’s face.

  Only a punch to the gut could’ve stopped Mike as abruptly. “What did you say?”

  Paco went to where Bianca crouched with Benito on the ground.

  “His wife,” Paco ground out. “Bianca’s only daughter. And the daughter of the man your son killed. You have your information. Leave us in peace. I hope you do not live to find your son but if you do, I hope he is dead.”

  The venom and hatred in the group was palpable. No faces stared back at Mike from the crowd that didn’t wish him ill.

  Had Gavin lived with this lot? Had he really married one of them?

  “I wish you endless tears that only a mother can shed,” Bianca said, then spat in the dirt at Sarah’s feet.

  Sarah tugged once more on Mike’s jacket. He turned away in bewilderment and disgust.

  *****

  All they knew…all they needed to know…was that Gavin was alive and he was near. If he’d bolted from the Italian’s camp last night, he would head south toward the compound. Was he really barefoot? And with a wife?

  Mike didn’t say a word as they walked to where they’d left the horse and wagon. Up until then, they’d planned on returning to the village for the night. It was getting dark and it was already too late to make any distance today. But Sarah couldn’t blame Mike for not pointing the horse’s head back to the village.

  If it had been her who’d just heard news of John—and the direction he’d likely taken—she’d travel all night if necessary. She could do no less for him.

  “He’ll have gone to Ameriland,” Sarah said as they rode down the darkening road.

  “You’d think so anyway,” Mike growled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, how is it he’s way the hell out here? We’re practically to the western coast—nowhere near the compound. Does the lad not want to come home?”

  “We’ll hear the whole story once we find him,” Sarah said, slipping her hand onto Mike’s knee. “I’m sure there was a good reason.”

  “I hope so. After all this, I’d hate to have to kill him right after I find him.”

  Good intentions and enthusiasm only went so far and they were soon helplessly in the dark. Hobbling the horse on the road was safe enough—most bandits or marauders tended to stay away from dark roads at night. And they’d be well away before light. Mike let the horse graze on the side of the road while Sarah attempted to make a bed for them in the back of the cart. They ate some of the food Darby and Molly had given them, and then held each other close for warmth and comfort as they fell asleep.

  In the middle of the night it began to rain. Sarah had prayed it would hold off and had to assume the good Lord had His hands full elsewhere. All things considered, a sleepless night and wet clothes weren’t the worst thing that could happen to them.

  Unless the worst was still in the offing.

  Mike dragged the bedding out and placed it under the cart. It was at least protection from the rain which began to come down in sheets, splashing rivulets and rivers on both sides of the cart but thankfully not under it. Sarah surprised herself by falling back asleep.

  When she awoke, the rain had slowed but not ceased. It was still dark but Sarah could tell that dawn was near. When she crawled out from under the wagon, her knees and back screamed in protest. For a moment she tried to imagine the baby inside her—comfortable, safe, and oblivious to the elements that were torturing her and Mike.

  She looked around. He was nowhere to be found. It was possible he’d gone to relieve himself. She stood next to the wagon, using it as a support until her knees were working properly again. The only sound in the early morning was the patter of the rain against the leaves and pebbles of the dirt road. She realized she’d heard that same background noise in her dreams all night long.

  He should have been back by now.

  Damn! What did I say about not splitting up? How tricky is that to remember?

  She moved to sit in the driver’s seat of the wagon which afforded her a better view down the road. That was when she realized—the horse was gone. They’d left him grazing along the side of the road, hobbled. She looked all around but could not see him anywhere. She held her breath and tried to listen for any sounds under the rain, anything she hadn’t been aware of before. It was faint, but she did hear something. Footsteps, steady and coming toward her. She reached down and grabbed the semi-automatic on the floor of the buckboard. Her fingers tightened around the handle.

  “Sarah?” Mike called out in a low voice. She felt her whole body sag with relief.

  He morphed out of the darkness and swung up onto the wagon with her and ran a large hand down her back.

  “We lost the horse,” he said. “Damn thing’s probably half way back to Darby and Molly’s by now.”

  “How far from the compound do you think we are?”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “Two days? On foot any way.”

  “It’s Christmas tomorrow,” Sarah said, her throat closing up as she fought to keep the sob from erupting.

  “Oh, darlin,’” Mike said, drawing her into his arms and kissing her face. “I’m so sorry, lass. I’d give anything to have your John back by Christmas.”

  “I know,” Sarah sniffled. “But we still have a chance to find Gavin.”

  “We’ll find them, both, Sarah. I problem we will. We’ll not stop until we’ve got him back.”

  She patted his hand and forcibly collected herself.

  “Let’s go. The sooner we start walking…”

  “Aye. I’ll shoot something later. We’ll have a hot lunch.”

  “Are you sure you want to stop long enough for that? Gavin can’t be that far ahead. Let’s just keeping going. Plenty of time for hot lunches after we’re all together.”

  She could tell he was relieved to hear her say it. They left the wet bedding and the frying pan that Molly had given them, carrying only what they absolutely needed—guns and ammunition. Two days wasn’t the end of the world. Sarah knew she could handle two days. Walking, blisters, and a hunger that started in her stomach and spread through her whole body. But there was an end in sight. In two days she’d be warm and the walking would be done.

  Except there would be no John at the end of it.

  They walked down the road until it was full light. Blessedly, the rain stopped, but dry or wet it didn’t matter at this point. One foot in front of the other. Going home no
w and home was where they’d find Gavin. They had to believe that. To even imagine that they’d arrive back at the compound and he wasn’t there…it was a scenario so unimaginable that it wouldn’t fully form. Sometimes she and Mike held hands and sometimes they just walked side by side, allowing the other to set their own pace. They’d left the compound nearly a month earlier with a working Jeep full of people, provisions and hope.

  They were coming back with nothing but their lives and the clothes on their backs.

  They walked without stopping until the late afternoon sun began to set, leaving them chilled and squinting into the dim light of the dying day. Sarah had two biscuits left—both were stale and hard—but she and Mike could suck on them as soon as it was too dark to walk. While there was still light enough, Mike found a small clearing off the road and into the woods with a flattened patch that looked like it had been used often for a campsite. He began gathering kindling to start a small fire to warm them. Sarah put the paltry biscuits on a flat rock beside the fire and went into the woods to relieve herself.

  They’d spoken little on the walk. It was exhausting trying to be excited about arriving back at Ameriland for any reason other than food and refueling and to briefly give Gavin a hug—and maybe an ear boxing. John wasn’t back at the compound. That was one thing they knew for sure. John wasn’t in Ireland and the attempt to be cheerful or optimistic was more than Sarah could manage.

  Her thoughts had taken her mind off where she was going and she realized that she no longer heard Mike snapping branches and humming to himself as he typically did when he worked. It was darker in the woods, but a half-moon peeked through the branches above. Quickly, she lowered her jeans, relieved herself, and pulled them back up. Then suddenly, for no apparent reason, she felt vulnerable and afraid. She’d gone too far. She turned around quickly to head back in the direction she’d come and her foot caught a raised root.

  She pitched forward to her knees and grabbed at a nearby branch for support. The branch came off in her hand and the ground beneath her fell away as she clawed desperately at the air. Her scream robbed her of her last strength as she fell through the earth itself.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It was dark and wet and crawled with life. Sarah slapped at the tendrils of roots and worms clinging to her hair, her clothes. She tilted her head up to see the moon through the tree branches above. She screamed, flinging the creatures and the dirt from her hair, the terror and revulsion grabbing her like a living thing. She didn’t dare touch the dirt walls of the pit—dark and invisible in the evening light. Her foot touched something soft. An animal. And her scream retched out of her in one agonizing wail.

  “Sarah! Lass! What happened? Where are you?”

  “Mike! I’m in a hole! Don’t fall in! Don’t—”

  The light from the moon blinked out as Mike’s form filled the opening of the pit, his cursing trailing him as he fell with a heavy thud beside her. She reached out to touch him. It was too dark to see more than shadows.

  “Mike, there’s something in here…”

  The sound of the gunshot thudded into the thick walls of the pit and Sarah screamed. Mike reached for her and pulled her into his arms. She was shaking violently.

  “What…what was it?” she stuttered.

  “We’ll find out in the morning,” he said gruffly.

  “Oh, my God, do we have to stay here all night? I hate things that belong in the earth crawling on my skin! You’ve got to get us out of here!”

  “Steady on, love,” Mike said soothingly. “We’ll get out. Just let me think for a moment.”

  “I’m flipping out, Mike.” Sarah saw the rim of the pit was at least five feet above her. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I’ve got to get out of here.” She felt his hands sure and strong holding her firmly around the shoulders as if he could somehow help her keep it together, keep from flying apart.

  “Whoever built this pit is likely to have heard my gunshot,” Mike said reassuringly. “We won’t have to wait long. I’m sure.”

  “You’re just saying that so I won’t freak out! Where’s your gun? Shoot some more in the air. Help! Help!”

  “Sarah…”

  “No! Give me your gun!”

  “Sarah, stop it, lass.” Mike shook her gently. “Take a breath.”

  She sucked in a noisy breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Let it out, darlin,” he said softly, rubbing her back. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “I just really don’t think it is,” she said, fighting back a sob as she covered her face with her hands.

  “Nothing is ever going to be all right again, Mike. If I can’t find him, if I can’t hold him, I just don’t think I…” She broke down in agonizing howls of pain and loss, finally letting go of the reserve and the strength she’d needed to go on. There was no going on now. Now she was done.

  “Sarah, please, love…” He held her tightly, rubbing her shoulders and back, his hands warm and firm.

  “Oy! Whoever’s down there,” said a voice from above. “If you don’t throw your weapon up here right now I’ll shoot ye like fish in a barrel!”

  Mike squinted up at the opening of the pit.

  “Gavin? Is that you?”

  *****

  Shane walked down the long corridor to O’Reilly’s office. It had rained on and off all day and night. Not that it mattered. He lived like a fecking mole these days, spending more time underground than out and about. And what was out and about anyway? Watching the riff raff burn rubbish in the streets? Was this the Ireland he and O’Reilly had inherited? O’Reilly didn’t seem to see any difference between the country they’d lost—the country before the EMP went off over the Irish Sea—and the one they had on their hands right now.

  And yet. The idea of starting over in the old parliament building had its merits. Problem was, O’Reilly knew it would be just the carrot for Shane that it was. O’Reilly didn’t give two shites about where the seat of power was located. He didn’t care about history, or how Ireland looked on the world stage or where it was poised to be in a year’s time.

  Jaysus. How could the man be so obtuse?

  He passed a cadre of Garda Síochána guards and noticed their shirts were hanging out of their trousers and their dress shoes were replaced with trainers.

  How close to losing the support of the Garda were they? Or am I just being paranoid? He forced himself not to look at the men’s faces as he passed. The last thing he wanted to do was convey any nervousness or hint of insecurity to them. Like effing pit bulls. Everything is fine until they smell your fear.

  His phone vibrated in his slacks pocket and he pulled it out and studied the screen. He took a long breath and deleted the received text. No guts no glory. But no sense in being foolhardy.

  He went into his office. The door to O’Reilly’s office was open.

  “That you, Shane?” O’Reilly called.

  Shane walked to the door that separated the two offices. O’Reilly was smoking a cigar and squinting at his computer screen.

  “Why is our Internet bollocks?” O’Reilly said.

  Maybe because our infrastructure got fried about four years ago? But Shane didn’t answer.

  “Sometimes it works great,” O’Reilly said. “Other times it’s rubbish.” He looked up at Shane. “Did you hear any more about those wankers over in Cows Lane off Lord Edward Street?”

  It seems the Garda had broken up a rally late yesterday afternoon that was annoyingly well attended. The rally—mostly people who would normally be in college and not causing trouble—was the first grassroots effort to promote the idea of storming the government compound and bringing rule back to Ireland.

  Two dozen people had been rounded up by the Garda.

  “Apparently they don’t want whatever government they currently think they have. They’re frustrated with the rate of rebuilding in Dublin.”

  “Shite. They’re not the only ones,” O’Reilly said, tossing his keyboard do
wn with disgust.

  “What’s your intentions with them?” Shane asked.

  “Jaysus, you’re a formal berk, Shane,” O’Reilly said, shaking his head. “Take ‘em to the camps. We need the manpower and I need this pain in my arse here in Dublin gone.”

  “It’s probably just the beginning,” Shane said. “The people are unhappy. There’ll be more.”

  “That’s grand. We’ve plenty of work in the mines. More is good. Now. The bigger problem at hand.”

  Shane nodded.

  “The plague is definitely in Ireland. Do you have any idea how far from a cure they are in the UK?”

  “Well, since I’ve been paying good money to ensure the finding of a vaccine was indefinitely stalled, I’d say we’re not close, wouldn’t you imagine?” O’Reilly said sarcastically. “Which village is it affected?”

  “On the western coast.”

  “How many people?

  “Five hundred maybe.”

  “I’m thinking I’ll send a Garda contingency down there. Fast. Effective. Make this problem go away. As if it never happened.”

  Shane pressed his lips together. Did the bastard really think there was no more accountability? Is that what he was counting on?

  “But if they’ve got it,” Shane said patiently, trying not to telegraph his frustration, “it got in and if it got in then it’s only a matter of time before it comes at us from another direction, so…what you’re suggesting, it’s not a solution.”

  “Few things absolutely are, Shane, but it’ll buy us some time.”

  “Look, why don’t we quarantine them? Throw up fences and keep it top secret.”

  O’Reilly’s mouth fell open in exaggerated astonishment and Shane felt his own anger building deep in his gut.

  “I’m not being squeamish, Liam,” Shane said. “You know I’m not. But sooner or later, if we do something like this…someone’s going to talk.”

  “Someone like you maybe?” O’Reilly’s face was impassive as he said the words. His eyes dead, his mouth pressed in a straight line.