Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “I would be entertained to hear what you think that might be,” Heaton said coolly.

  “Ye forgot what devious bastards we Irish can be,” O’Reilly whispered into Heaton’s ear as he pulled the man close to him. A knife materialized in his hand.

  O’Reilly plunged it into Heaton’s chest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  O’Reilly held the Scotsman in an embrace before taking a step backward. The knife clattered to the wooden floor. Heaton grasped for O’Reilly as he sagged to the ground. The wound in his chest was a fountain of blood. John gaped at the scene before him when a horror-laced scream pierced the unnatural quiet of the room.

  Gilly stood in the doorway, her eyes on her dying uncle on the floor and the crazed man standing over him. O’Reilly swiveled around at Gilly’s scream and pulled his handgun out. All John saw was the clear intent on the man’s face. John launched himself at O’Reilly, hitting him at chest level just as the gun fired and knocking it to the floor. O’Reilly twisted in John’s grip, slamming a palm into his chin, but John jerked his head away and missed the full brunt of it. O’Reilly swore and brought his knee up hard into John’s stomach. John lost his breath. He fought not to react to the pain.

  O’Reilly was still on the floor and he was reaching for something. It was precious seconds later before John recovered enough to see the knife in O’Reilly’s hand. It was poised high in an arc over John and slashing downward. There was no place to go, no time to move out of the way.

  The gunshot felt like it ripped through John. The noise filled the room until only echoes of the terrible sound were left vibrating through his head. O’Reilly lay instantly still beside him, a bullet hole in his throat and his eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

  John scrambled to his feet. “Gilly!” He ran to where she lay in a growing puddle of blood. The hole from O’Reilly’s bullet where her left eye should be.

  “Noooooo. No, Gilly!” He pulled her across his lap, feeling her warmth, the softness of her skin. So still. So completely still. He knew she was gone but he couldn’t let go of her. He couldn’t help feel like he was keeping her warm, keeping her safe. When none of those things she would ever need again. He was dimly aware that a man was in the room, going first to the bodies of O’Reilly and Heaton and then to Dr. Lynch in her chair.

  Finally, he came to where John sat with Gilly’s body in his arms. John looked up at him, his face streaked with tears, He didn’t even care what happened next.

  The man held a gun loosely in his fingers. The same gun that had shot O’Reilly seconds earlier.

  “My name is Shane,” he said to John in a thick Irish accent. “And I am so sorry, lad,” he said as he rechambered the gun.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  It was cold everywhere in Ireland in February. Sarah liked to remember when she lived in Jacksonville, Florida where February often meant an early taste of spring more than a continuation of winter. Ireland wasn’t like that. There’d been no snow for most of January—especially on the coast where she lived now—but it had still been bone cold.

  The cottage she and Mike moved into two months earlier had served them well. Although she missed the larders full of stored harvest—corn, beets, and potatoes—that they enjoyed in the compound, she had to admit the steady diet of fresh fish almost made up for it. Every morning she woke up to the chill coming off the channel. There was a window at the front of the cottage that faced the sea and so she began her day with a prayer to God and a greeting to her boy across the water.

  Wherever you are, dearest one, she thought as she gazed out the window toward England, good morning. Take care of yourself today. Be well. Come back to me.

  Mike and Gavin spent their days along the coast fishing from shore or occasionally from small dinghys. The boats made her nervous. The little coastal village they lived in now which had once been the bustling fishing town of Rosslare was full of rumors of boats being sunk when they ventured too far from the shore.

  When the men left, Sophia would come over and she and Sarah would bake bread, mend the men’s clothes, and salt and store yesterday’s fish for trading in the village—although trading fish in a fish town was a hard sell, as Mike would say. Each day, they breaded and fried up the day’s catch when the men returned.

  They had very little, except what they could trade for wine or whiskey or vegetables but the fellowship with the rest of the people in the town was good and it was warm. Sarah was reminded daily of the inherent goodness in people and that bolstered her hopes that John had found someone kind to look out for him.

  During that special time of day when her chores were done and the men weren’t back yet and the sun was sinking in the sky, she would walk to the stone kneewall that jutted out from the edge of the water. It was unprotected by trees or any other natural windbreak and so she was always alone when she went there to sit at the edge—the closest she could get to Wales without getting in a boat. And she would feel a sort of communion that gave her the strength to go another day with no news, another day where no boat came.

  One day in the first week of February after Mike and Gavin had gone out as usual to fish, Sarah and Sophia walked the quarter mile to the center of town where there was often a market happening. Sophia was good with yarn and they often traded for wool for her to knit. Then they would trade the socks or sweaters that Sophia made. Often, they went just to talk to the other women and to see if there was any news.

  This afternoon, Sophia had a pair of thick wool socks she’d made and Sarah hoped they would find produce to buy. She was closing in on seven months pregnant and any bit of greenery was precious to her. She craved anything fresh and worried the day would come when she couldn’t stomach one more fish filet.

  Sophia was always good company and Sarah had grown to love her. The girl worked hard, stayed generally cheerful, and adored Gavin. Mike was pretty crazy about her too.

  “You think I am getting much for these?” Sophia asked holding up the socks as they walked to town. The small stump where the girl’s pinky finger should have been never ceased to anger Sarah when she saw it.

  “It is almost spring. Perhaps people will not want?” Sophia asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Sarah said smiling. “It’s freezing out. Trust me, they’ll want.”

  She could see activity up ahead in the town center and felt a surge of relief that there was a market going on today. Just the thought of trading for some greens made her quicken her pace.

  “Merda!” Sophia said with a gasp. “What is this thing?”

  Sarah slowed when she saw what Sophia was pointing at on the beach. It looked like the metal grey of a tank or maybe a huge truck. Was it the Garda? Why were they here? As she moved closer, she realized it wasn’t a tank or truck but a helicopter.

  She began to run toward it.

  The military helicopter had an insignia on the side that for Sarah was second only to an American flag—it was the British Union Jack. A helicopter from the UK? Did this mean the travel ban was lifted? As she got closer, Sarah saw that a small crowd had gathered around the helicopter. And since it didn’t look like anyone was being arrested, she pushed through the crowd to get closer. Two young men in British military uniforms were standing by the enormous aircraft. One had a small notebook and was talking to an old lady from the village, while the other soldier seemed to be standing guard.

  Sarah came upon a woman she knew from the village who was watching the soldiers. “Why are they here?” Sarah asked. “Does anybody know?”

  A look of recognition passed across the woman’s face and she immediately started waving her arms to the men by the helicopter and shouting. “Oy! Here she is!”

  Looking back at Sarah she said, “They’re looking for you, love.”

  Sarah saw the twinkle in the old woman’s eye. She turned and walked toward the helicopter as the crowd parted to make a way. She was soon standing before the soldier with the notebook.

  “Good morning,” he said politely.
“May I ask if you are the American Sarah Woodson Donovan?”

  Sarah put her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out. “I am,” she said hoarsely.

  The soldier held a finger up to indicate she should wait a moment and then pulled a cellphone out of a pocket in his jacket, pushed in a number and held the phone to his ear. “Lieutenant,” he said. “Tell the lad we found her.”

  He listened for a moment and then held the phone out to Sarah. “He’ll have a word, Missus.”

  Sarah took the phone in her trembling hand. “Hello?” she said into it.

  “Mom?”

  EPILOGUE

  The day after that phone call, the helicopter returned. This time, Sarah was waiting for it. Waiting with Mike and Gavin and Sophia and the entire village of Rosslare. If she ever had to recount the happiest moments of her life she knew it would have to be every minute and every second after she’d heard John’s voice and knew he was alive and well—and coming home. Nothing else mattered and nothing else ever would.

  She’d been tested and lived through an emptiness only a mother who has lost a child can ever know. And somehow, against all odds, she’d come out on the other side. The first day that the helicopter had come, she and Sophia went rushing back to their cottage to wait for Mike and Gavin to tell them the good news.

  They were going to be a family again. All together. They’d paid no permanent price for their mistakes, their bad choices, their bad luck.

  And now they stood and waited, watching the sky, and listening for the sound of the rotors that would herald the coming of the completion of their happiness.

  Gavin saw it first.

  “There it is!” he cried out. “Coming in at three o’clock. Dya see it?”

  At first only a speck in the sky, it was all Sarah could do not to break down just to see the helicopter, growing bigger and coming closer.

  “Happy, darlin?” Mike said kissing her cheek. He hadn’t stopped grinning—not since he’d arrived home the day before and heard the good news. The miraculous news.

  John was coming home.

  As the four of them stood watching the speck grow larger in the sky, people from the town walked by and patted her shoulder, shook Mike’s hand, and clapped Gavin on the back. They were all so happy for them.

  Mike slid a warm strong arm around Sarah’s waist and held her close. The helicopter was loud now and hovered overhead. Some of the crowd moved back to make room but Sarah knew they weren’t standing on the landing spot. And she was never again going to be any further away from her child than she had to be.

  Once the helicopter finally touched down, it seemed to take forever before the door opened. John was the first one out and Sarah literally moaned when she saw his familiar form as he jumped to the ground, looked around for her, and then grinned and came running. He flew into her arms. She felt the solid warmth of him and the familiar smell of him. She buried her face in his thick hair, then pulled back to look into his face.

  It was him. Not changed. Not scarred. Her boy.

  “Whoa, Mom,” he said grinning. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  She paused and then realized, he hadn’t known she was pregnant!

  She laughed and put a hand on her stomach. She wanted to say that if he hadn’t left in such a hurry she’d have told him, but she couldn’t. She was too full of emotion to quip or do anything but hold him and cry.

  “Oy! Can I have him long enough to throttle him?” Gavin said.

  Sarah relaxed her grip on him and Gavin grabbed him and hugged him, thumping him on the back then pushing him to Mike who did the same. John looked so happy and now that Sarah was standing back a pace or two she noticed he was thinner and, for all the laughing and great big smiles…sadder.

  There would be much for him to tell later. And she would hear it all. But for now, he was back and God was smiling on all of them.

  *****

  That night after dinner they all sat outside around a roaring fire in a giant black kettle that sat on the ancient stone seawall. John had just finished telling the basic facts of his adventure. Sarah didn’t press him for the details she knew he’d left out. They had the rest of their lives for her to hear them.

  “I wish you could’ve met Dr. Heaton and Gilly,” John said to Sarah as they listened to the fire crackle in the pot. “I really loved them.”

  “I’m so grateful you found them and they you. I prayed you’d find people like that.”

  “So is the travel ban lifted?” Gavin asked with his arm around Sophia.

  “It is,” John said. “There’s been a change of government here in Ireland. I met the new guy in charge.” He made a face as if reliving an unpleasant moment. “He’s maybe not the friendliest guy you’d ever meet but I think he’ll do right by Ireland. At least a lot better than that wanker O’Reilly.”

  “Oh, my God!” Sarah said. “Liam O’Reilly? We met him. He took all our money.”

  “It was him that killed Gilly,” John said. His voice was steady but Sarah could see how hard it was for him to say the words.

  “I am so sorry, John,” she said softly, reaching for his hand.

  Mike came from around the cottage with an armful of kindling and dumped it by the fire kettle.

  “So did I hear the ban’s lifted because there’s a cure now?” he asked.

  “Yes sir,” John said. “A cure that everyone has. Every country. Or they will have. It’s being manufactured right now. In fact, a good friend of mine is in charge of doing it.” He turned to his mother.

  “I didn’t want to ask you on my first night home and all, but I really want you to meet her, Mom. And if it’s okay with you and Mike, I’d like to talk about me going back to Oxford to live with her.”

  Sarah’s mouth fell open. “How…how old is this…is she?”

  “No, Mom,” John said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like that. She’s ancient. At least forty-five. But she’s offered to give me a place to stay while I go to school and if you really hate the idea, that’s cool. It’s just…”

  “No, I understand. You’re your father’s son. Of course you want to go to school. And you should. Yes, we’ll talk about it.”

  She looked at Mike and he smiled sadly. He knew exactly how she felt. She’d just gotten him back and now she needed to let him go again.

  “I mean, it would just be for the school year. I’d come home to Ireland for school holidays and for the summer.”

  “It makes a lot of sense, sweetie. What is her name?”

  “Dr. Sandra Lynch. She’s leading the work on the cure. Or she will be as soon as she recovers. She…had an accident.”

  “How soon would you want to leave?”

  “No time soon, Mom,” he said laughing. “I just got here! Maybe April? Be gone for two months and then home for the summer?”

  “That sounds good. That sounds perfect.”

  As the evening wound down, Sarah snuggled beside Mike and listened to John, Sophia and Gavin talk and laugh together.

  “I couldn’t be happier,” she murmured to Mike. “It’s all turning out the way it should.”

  “Aye, it is. Even with the lad going to school. You’ve tortured yourself for months wondering if you did the right thing by him.”

  “I know. And after the shock of the suggestion wore off, I can see it really is the best of all possible worlds.”

  “The lad’s been through some things, though. I’ll get him to talk about it bye and bye.”

  “That’s good,” Sarah said sleepily, fighting a yawn. “And we’ll need to make plans for our trip back to Ameriland.”

  “That reminds me,” Mike said. “Oy, John!”

  “Yes sir?” John looked at Mike from across the fire, his face happy and relaxed.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t go straight to the compound when you went looking for your mum?”

  “Well, naturally, I did,” John said with a glance at Gavin. “I meant to ask you about that.”

  “I
trust they haven’t burned the place to the ground?”

  “No sir,” John said. “It was totally deserted.”

  <<<<>>>>

  Cold Comfort

  Book 6 of the Irish End Game Series

  Susan Kiernan-Lewis

  Some people were born to take advantage of a bad situation.

  In the sixth installment of The Irish End Games, Sinead Branigan has found a way to create happiness for a nation of childless couples—by stealing and selling the babies of post-apocalyptic Ireland.

  When Mike and Sarah return from their search for John and Gavin, they find their home and compound deserted, their friends and family inexplicably gone without an apparent struggle.

  Will they be able to piece together the mystery in time to find their people? Or, like so many other things they’ve adjusted to in Ireland after the bomb, will they be forced to accept a new kind of life—one tragically changed for generations to come?

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32