“I have no idea what she knows,” Regan said as she defiantly tugged on her blouse.
“Sit,” Mike said tersely, pointing to one of the chairs.
“You can’t order me about. I’ll stand, thank you.”
“Suit yourself. Why are you not at the compound?”
Regan’s eyes widened. “Are you and Sarah just now getting back?”
“Aye.”
“So you don’t know,” she said. “Bugger me. All this time I thought they went to meet you somewhere else and start up a new camp.”
“Where are the people of Ameriland and why are none of ye at the compound?”
“They left,” she spat. “They just picked up and left.”
That was bollocks. One thing Mike knew from what few clues they had was that the people did not just pick up and leave. They were driven out.
“Okay,” he said patiently. “And why is it you didn’t leave with them, may I ask?”
“I never got the chance, did I?”
He watched her eyes fill with angry tears.
“They left without us.”
Mike sighed. Regan and her mother must have been out of the compound when it was attacked.
“And your father?”
“After the strammish everyone made of what I did when the other ones…” She shrugged.
“You mean the druids?”
She nodded. “He never forgave me. So when they all left, he went with them.”
“You’re asking me to believe that Barney Murdoch left you and your mother…when you were, what?…off blackberry picking or something?”
She looked down at her hands. The memory of the pain of that day was written on her face.
“That’s exactly what he did,” she said. “Me mam and I took a picnic in the woods and when time got away from us it was near dark and so we hurried back.” She swallowed hard. “And they’d all gone.”
The weariness began in Mike’s shoulders and began filtering all the way down to his legs. If the trip to the village hadn’t exactly been for nothing, it’d come pretty close. Regan had no idea of what had happened to the compound. This was a dead end. Probably the first of many.
“I need to talk to your mother.”
“She’s not well,” Regan said, her eyes darting to the ceiling.
“All the more reason for her to come back to Ameriland with us.”
“Come back?” Regan stared at him.
Mike glanced up the stairs. “Is she just up here then?”
Regan ran to him and grabbed his arm. “I don’t understand,” she said. “You’re taking us back to the compound?”
“Lass, the people of the compound, including your father, didn’t leave voluntarily. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth of it.”
Regan stared at him with her mouth open and her eyes glazed as if seeing the misery of that day through a new and even more painful prism.
“They didn’t deliberately leave us?”
“No, lass. Nothing about that day seems deliberate except the evil that came calling.”
Chapter 4
“Is there anything cuter than an Irish baby?” Sinead Branagan stood at her office window and held the photo of the newborn in her hand. “Honestly? With the fair skin and curly brown hair, they really have to be the most adorable children in the world.” She tucked the photo back in the envelope and tossed the packet on her desk.
“Plus,” she said, turning to “Mac” MacMurray sitting on the couch in her office, “I read in Vanity Fair a few years ago that the Irish pug nose is the number one most requested model for nose jobs in the US. Did you know that?”
“I did not,” Mac said solemnly. He was tall with black hair and blue eyes. Handsome in a glowering sort of way. Just how Sinead liked her men.
“Nor do you care.” She sat down next to him on the leather couch in her office and touched his jaw. “I wonder how much I could’ve gotten for you when you were a wee bairn in your mother’s arms.”
“I’ll thank ye not to talk of me mother, Sinead,” he said sourly. “She’d’ve taken a lot less for me than you’re asking, trust me on that. A shot of whisky most like.”
Sinead laughed. With the successful delivery of the last shipment and the referral orders coming in, she should—in nine months or so—be well on her way to making the fortune she’d always imagined. She shook her head in wonder.
Who could possibly have expected that it was the EMP exploding over the Irish Sea that would be the beginning of all things good for her? How could anyone have foreseen that? With the rest of Ireland digging under rocks for their next meal, here she was, Sinead Branagan, recently of the Dublin Nail and Hair Salon, ex-battered wife and grammar school drop-out heading for riches beyond anyone’s imaginings.
And all because she saw a void that needed filling. And she filled it.
It wasn’t hard to figure out. You just needed a clear vision of the facts and a basic understanding of human nature. The world wasn’t going to stop wanting certain things just because Ireland was living without electricity. Infertile couples in Sweden and Portugal—and especially Germany who waited too late to get on the baby boom wagon and now found themselves without much of a future generation—had always looked to third world countries to adopt their babies. With the bomb dropping, Ireland now qualified as the Russia or China of the late nineteen nineties—beautiful white babies going for a fourth of what they’d cost any where else.
But those fourths add up when you’re able to provide your product in volume, Sinead thought with a smile. She glanced around her office—her throne room from which she ruled the small camp and everyone in it. It was true she’d always had a good head on her shoulders but even more valuable was her ability to recognize an opportunity when she saw it.
Mac moved restlessly next to her on the couch. She’d found him a few years earlier—a wily opportunist doing what he had to in order to survive. Even Mac would admit that his luckiest day since the bomb dropped four years ago was the day he bumped into Sinead Branagan on a lonely road outside of Dublin.
“You’re in a brutal mood, darlin,” she said. “Is it the men again?”
He let out a snort of frustration.
“It’s fecking impossible to keep the eejits in line. You’d think they’d all be suckin’ diesel to be paid for getting off.”
“You’ve told them they’re replaceable?”
“Of course.”
“Well, what’s the problem?”
“Aside from plowing the same field twice?”
Sinead sat up straight. “It is vitally important that the women not be touched after they’re with child, Mac. Tell me they’re not stuffing the ones already pregnant.”
Mac dragged a hand through his hair.
“I’m doing me best. But once they’ve been at ‘em, it’s hard to say they’re now off limits.”
“Fine,” Sinead said. “Shoot the next one who touches a pregnant woman. That’ll help get the message across.”
“I can’t do that in the camp!”
“Why in the world not?”
“The children, Sinead. Plus, you don’t want to cause a miscarriage, do ye?”
“Well, I’ll leave it to you to sort out. But once they’re up the spout, they’re not to be touched. I don’t care how you work that out, just see to it you do.”
“I’d forgotten how hard it was to break in a new group of women. This new lot spends all their time hatching escape plots.”
“Have they been serviced yet, any of them? That usually takes the fire out of them pretty fast.”
“We’re in the process, so to speak. I swear, I don’t know how equine breeding farms do it. What with the randy stallions and the resistant mares, it’s a wonder any of ‘em gets knocked up.”
“And yet, sooner or later most of ‘em do,” Sinead reminded him.
“This lot looks a fertile group, I have to say. And the one who’s already up the pole? That was a bonus,” Mac said.
“And the men know not to touch her?”
“They know I’ll have their balls if they even look at her.”
“Well done. Now, speaking of balls…” She slid off the couch and nestled next to him, pulling his arms around her waist.
**********
Fiona combed the snarls out of Ciara’s hair and for once the child allowed it without whimpering. The rain had been steady all day now. Not unusual for this time of year. Normally, Fi would be dodging raindrops, trying to gauge the best time to finish the planting—in between downpours. March wasn’t her favorite time of year. Still too cold and wet and the greenery and new life of flowers and early buds had yet to show themselves.
Fiona stood up and walked to the tent door to look out. The rain was coming down hard and creating rivulets of mud in the path in front of her tent. The other Ciara—the nonterrified one—would’ve loved to play in those little rivers of dirt. Fiona looked out across the camp. There were three large tents in all. The one she was in and two across from a small grassy patch. Neat, solid, and well-constructed of heavy canvas the tents were new and they were comfortable. The rain never got in. Fiona never got her feet wet. The chill never penetrated the tent walls.
Fiona lived in this tent with five other women and their children. Five strangers—each terrified, damaged, and pregnant.
However many times Fiona relived that day in December when the soldiers came, it never felt the same way twice. At first, she revisited it to imagine that there was something she might have done differently—that anyone might have done differently. Could they have been better prepared? Was there any one person or thing that she could point the finger at who had been to blame?
It hadn’t occurred to anyone to fight. They were the Irish government! Fiona tried to remember who it was who’d lifted the gate. What had the captain of the troops said to gain entrance? Did it matter? If it had been Fiona herself on the rampart looking down at the Garda Siochana, the country’s national police force, would she have hesitated to let them in?
Is the government our enemy now?
It hadn’t taken much for that thought to stretch into full-blown worry over what might have happened to Mike and Sarah. They’d left for Dublin in late November to take the prisoners, Margaret Keenan and Father James Ryan, to the authorities to stand trial. Is it possible that’s as far as their journey went? Are they even now wasting away in prison? Because if they’d somehow found their lads and returned to Ameriland, wouldn’t they have set out to find them by now?
Were they not coming? Dear God, had they really forgotten them?
Chapter 5
Sarah saw the men returning late that afternoon through the kitchen window.
“Sarah!” Sophia called to her from the porch where she had been waiting impatiently for Gavin to come back. Sarah stepped outside to stand with her.
“Oh, my,” Sarah said as she watched the forms of Ellen and Regan Murdoch trudging up the main path leading to her cottage.
“They are from the compound?” Sophia asked.
Sarah could tell the girl was longing to run down the steps and throw herself into Gavin’s arms but even Sarah could see by the way Gavin walked—his head down, his hands swinging in fists at his side—that now wasn’t the time.
“They are,” Sarah said. The closer they got, she could see that Ellen was not well. Mike kept a hand on her elbow as if steering her. Regan stepped through the gate, looking around as if she hadn’t been there in months.
“They have a story to tell,” Sophia said softly.
“I certainly hope so.” Sarah grabbed the bannister of the porch and eased herself carefully down the stairs. She smiled at John as she passed him. Gavin went immediately to the center fire pit and began tossing wood around as if focused on building a fire. Regan stood at the edge of the cook fire watching him.
Sarah walked as quickly as she could over to Mike and Ellen. She held out her arms to Ellen, who broke down and began to weep. Sarah shot Mike a concerned look over Ellen’s bowed head as she took her friend into her arms. Through Ellen’s coat, she could feel how thin the woman’s arms had become.
An hour later, Sarah had put Ellen to bed in their cottage. It meant that Gavin and Sophia would have to move to another cottage after all, but now that Regan was here, Sarah thought that was probably for the best anyway. Clearly, Gavin had neglected to mention to Regan on the walk back to the compound that he’d married since he’d last seen her.
Leave it to a man, Sarah thought as she watched Regan put the pieces together in front of everyone. As Gavin had been building the cook fire, Sophia joined him and planted a demonstrative kiss on him. The gesture wasn’t lost on Regan who stomped off into the interior of the compound.
After Ellen was down for the night and a supper of potatoes, canned brisket and yeastless biscuits was cooking, Sarah sent John off to find Regan. While Sophia set the table in Mike and Sarah’s cottage, Sarah took Gavin out onto the porch for a quiet word.
“Ye needn’t bother,” Gavin said once they were outside. “Da already had his say.”
“I know you’re mad at her, Gavin,” Sarah said. “I’m not saying you don’t have a right to be but I won’t have you going off on her. Do you understand?”
“Aye,” he said with disgust. “I’m assuming you’ll be telling me now she’s been punished enough.”
“More than enough, frankly,” Sarah said. “You’re alive and married to a wonderful girl with your whole family, if not intact, then on its way there. Regan’s mother is ill, her father is God knows where, and she has to watch her ex-boyfriend in the throes of blissful marital happiness.”
“She doesn’t care about that. She tried to lead me to me doom.”
“Don’t over-dramatize. She does care about that and it hurts. A lot. I can’t explain it to you so you’ll just have to trust me. I’m asking you not to rub it in her face. She has a lot on her plate right now.”
“Whatever.”
The porch door opened and Mike stepped outside and frowned at them both. “Where’s Regan?” he asked. “Do I need to go get her?”
“John’s getting her,” Sarah said.
“I’m surprised you let him,” Gavin said as he headed back inside. “She’s not exactly harmless is our Regan.”
Sarah sighed as he left but Mike patted her shoulder.
“Don’t mind him,” he said. “The lad doesn’t have it in him to be a true wanker to her.”
“I can’t imagine how bad things needed to get for Regan to be turning tricks in a way station, Mike. Nobody deserves that.”
“Aye. But it’s over now. We’re here.”
She smiled. “Thank God for you.”
“Aw, darlin, it’s only the decent thing. When I don’t want to wring her neck, I’m feeling that sorry for her.”
“She has a gift for eliciting contrary emotions in people, that’s true,” Sarah said with a laugh. She saw John and Regan walking side by side up the walkway.
It hadn’t occurred to her before but John, always calm and logical, was a naturally soothing influence on Regan. Because he didn’t tend to be emotional and was very slow to anger, he came off as sympathetic to most people. She could hear the murmurs of their conversation as they approached.
It would do well to keep an eye on them, she decided. Being a soothing influence was all well and good but the fact remained that Regan was trouble. She’d always been trouble and she always would be trouble. And the bottom line to that little equation was that no matter how sorry Sarah felt for Regan—no amount of pity was going to make that particular fox welcome in Sarah’s henhouse.
*********
Even with John’s calming influence, dinner that night was a tense affair.
“Wash up please, Regan,” Sarah said as Regan and John came into the cottage. Regan was looking around the cottage as if she’d never been inside. She glanced down the hall to Gavin’s room where her mother was sleeping.
“There’s no water,” Regan said
sullenly.
God! It’s just like having a bratty teenager. Sarah kept her temper in check and handed Regan a bar of soap and pointed to the porch.
“There’s a bucket out there.”
Regan shrugged and left the room.
“You too, John,” Sarah said. When he joined Regan on the porch, Sarah looked at Mike. He sagged into a chair and ran his hand across his face. She knew how disappointing today had been for him. Another day gone and still no answers. Sophia and Gavin sat down at the table as John and Regan reentered the room. Sarah directed them to their seats and sat while everyone filled their plates.
Regan’s hands were clean—and it looked like she’d taken a pass at her face too, Sarah noticed—but her hair hadn’t been washed in weeks and her blouse was filthy. The girl had been a murderous handful before she started turning tricks to survive. How was this possibly going to work for anyone?
They all sat down around the familiar cottage table.
“So did you find the village deserted?” Sarah asked as she passed the corn.
“There’s a few old folk there,” John said.
“Did they know anything about what happened to the people here at Ameriland?”
“They only heard from Regan that everyone had left,” Mike said.
“I’m surprised you didn’t invite them to come to the compound.”
“I did invite them. They’re barely surviving.”
“Before we left you were dead set against opening our doors to Ameriland.”
“A lot’s happened since then,” Mike said.
“I can’t believe you married this skank,” Regan said suddenly and dropped her fork on her plate.
“Regan!” Sarah said, her mouth falling open in surprise.
“You are a prostitute,” Sophia said simply, as if that was all the response necessary.
“Shut up, Regan,” Gavin growled. “You don’t know your arse from a cabbage.”
“Shut up all of ye,” Mike roared. “Regan, mind yer tongue and don’t speak if it’s only snakes and toads slithering out.”
Regan glowered at her plate.
Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6 Page 51