Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  **********

  The first night on the road Mike and Gavin came upon a way station in a small village. Two bicycles and a pony trap were parked out front. The road sign announcing the village said it was called Ardagh but someone had painted a line through it and written in Survival.

  “Cor, that would be a challenge to half the wankers around here,” Gavin said, shaking his head.

  “Aye,” Mike agreed. “Does seem like tempting fate a bit.” Nonetheless, unlike so many other places in the southern part of Ireland, the village seemed to be fairly well inhabited. For whatever reason, the people had found a way to band together and make it work. It puzzled Mike how that was possible without farming.

  Unless the village trade was waylaying any unsuspecting travelers who came along.

  “Keep your wits about ye, eh?” he said to Gavin as they dismounted in front of a dark stone building with the hand-made sign PUB nailed to the front door.

  “Always,” Gavin said. He tied his horse’s reins to the wooden post in front of the building. The interior of the pub was dark except for a handful of flickering candles positioned in front of the mirror behind the bar.

  A woman stood at the bar polishing beer glasses and watching them as they entered.

  “Evening, gents,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  “A glass would go a long way,” Mike said, as he approached the bar. “Is it real lager or a home brew?”

  “Oh, it’s real enough.”

  Mike could see in the mirror that there were four men in the room. They were all sitting at a single table in a dark corner.

  “Come a long way, have ye?” the woman said as she slid two small glasses of beer across the bar.

  “Long enough. Would ye have a room for the night?”

  “We’re not an inn.”

  “Ah, well. No place in town, then?”

  She shook her head and picked up another glass that looked perfectly dry already to Mike and began polishing it. He sipped his beer and prayed she hadn’t slipped a mickey finn in it. Might as well get right to it…

  “Would ye by chance happen to have seen a large transport truck in the last several months go through here?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he could hear the men’s chairs scraping back from their table. Mike put his beer down and turned to face them.

  The four men were all standing, their drinks forgotten in front of them.

  “We want no trouble with you,” Mike said. “We’re just looking for a few answers.”

  One man stepped to the door, dropped the bolt on it, and stood with his arms crossed.

  Mike straightened his shoulders.

  “That is not very friendly, mo chara,” he said, mindful that Gavin was standing between him and the other three.

  A second man joined the one by the front door. The other two stepped out of the shadows. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike could see that the woman behind him was holding something large in her hands.

  “We’ll be needing you to empty your pockets,” the largest man by the door said. “Or we’ll kill ye both where ye stand.”

  Chapter 10

  Mike eyed the biggest of the four men, clearly the leader, and so far the only one who’d spoken.

  “Did ye think we’d bolt without paying?” Mike said easily. “No worries. In fact, it’s our shout.”

  “Oh, it’s your shout, boyo, that’s true enough,” the tall man said with a sneer.

  “But I’ll be needing you to unbar the door for us,” Mike said, hoping Gavin was picking up on his tone and not about to do something stupid.

  “Yer money, arsehole,” the man snarled. “Now.”

  None of the louts had weapons that Mike could see. That didn’t mean they weren’t armed. Not at all.

  “I suppose then there’s nothing for it,” Mike said with a sigh as if resigned to handing over his money. “Will ye be taking everything or will ye leave us enough to pay our tab?” As he spoke, he reached into his jacket. “Gavin, will ye see to it the lady gets her tip?”

  He’d offer them one chance to unlock the door and let them leave in peace. And frankly, it was against Mike’s policy to give them that. He pulled Sarah’s old Glock 45 from his shoulder holster.

  “Feck me,” the man said in a startled tone as Mike leveled the gun at him. Gavin took a step toward the bar, drew his own pistol and pointed it at the woman’s head.

  It was a simple plan and at this stage in his life, Mike liked things simple.

  The minute anyone reaches for a weapon, they all die.

  “Unlock the door,” Mike said evenly. The man standing beside the leader hesitated then lifted the bolt on the door.

  “Now step aside,” Mike said. “And tell me, was it my question about the truck or do you just rob everyone who drives into your charming town?”

  “Feck you,” one of the men said.

  “We never saw no truck,” the woman said from behind the bar. Mike noticed one of the men reacted to her answer. For a moment the man looked as if he’d comment. But he remained silent.

  “Cheers,” Mike said as he and Gavin stood by the door. He nodded at the man nearest the door. “As our hands are full, if you would be so kind…” The man, scowling, opened the door for them.

  Gavin slipped out and grabbed the reins of both horses while Mike stood in the door of the pub.

  “We’ll be outside watering our horses for a quarter of an hour,” he said, his gun on the leader. “I’m afraid ye’ve made us nervous so we won’t welcome any further fellowship with you lot. If anyone comes outside, I’ll assume ye mean us ill and I’ll shoot you.”

  No one moved or spoke.

  “Thanks for the beer.” He closed the door behind him, and took the reins from Gavin, holstering his gun only after Gavin was mounted and had his own pistol trained on the pub door.

  Mike swung into the saddle. They turned their horses toward the main road and left.

  **********

  Mike and Gavin rode in silence until it was completely dark and they’d put at least ten kilometers between them and the town of Survival. The good news—which was scant in itself—was that it wasn’t raining and they could camp down in the woods for the night. While Mike didn’t hold out much hope that they’d find a clue—a dropped ribbon or some such thing after all these months—perhaps they’d find a friendlier village where they might find which way the truck had gone.

  “I think they did see the truck,” Gavin said as he rode beside Mike. “And I think they either wanted to forget about it or were told to forget about it.”

  “They didn’t look like people determined to do what they were told.”

  “Maybe there used to be more women in town. Maybe the truck picked up their lasses on its way through.”

  “Then why was the old bitch behind the bar still there?”

  “Maybe even low-life arsehole kidnappers have standards.”

  The evening had turned cold, which was not unusual for late March, and Mike was looking forward to building a fire when they stopped for the night. While it had been years since he’d traveled this road—and then it was by car not horseback—he seemed to remember there was a natural clearing just up ahead tucked into the first curve by the forest. The clearing was hard to see from the road. They could hobble the horses and it would likely be safe to make a fire. After their visit to Survival, he wasn’t feeling entirely secure on the road.

  “She’s preggers, ye know,” Gavin said as they stopped and squinted into the darkness ahead, trying to get their bearings.

  Shite. Is it Regan he means? Mike twisted in the saddle to stare at his son but the lad’s grin quickly reassured him.

  “Ah, that’s grand, Gav,” Mike said reaching over and clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’ll be repopulating Ameriland in no time at this rate.”

  Gavin laughed. “I wasn’t sure you’d be happy about it.”

  “Are ye daft, lad? I’m that chuffed.”

  “Ye’ll be
a grand-da,” Gav said, his eyes twinkling in the half light. “Are ye ready for that?”

  “More than you are to be a father, I’ll wager.” They both laughed and then stopped, the breath sucked out of them at the sudden sound carrying across the night.

  Men’s voices. Faint but audible and bold.

  “Dismount,” Mike said as he slid of his horse. “Hurry, lad.” He grabbed the reins of Gavin’s horse and led both horses off the road. Gavin jumped off and jogged beside him. They climbed down the ditch bordering the road and the woods. They stood, holding the horses and facing the road. Both of them were breathing hard more from nerves than the exertion. Mike held up a hand to Gavin to ask for silence. They both listened.

  The voices sounded jovial and appeared to come from further down the road, not the woods.

  So much for making a campfire tonight. Mike led both horses deeper into the woods. When they could no longer hear the voices, he stopped and tied the reins to the branches of a nearby sapling full of budding leaves.

  “What do you reckon?” Gavin asked.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Mike said grimly. “Not a word now, eh? We look and then fall back to assess. Got it?”

  “I’m not a kid,” Gavin said. “I can follow directions. Sometimes I can even come up with me own ideas.”

  “Aye. That’s what I’m afraid of. Softly now.”

  They crept through the woods, keeping parallel to the road. Mike stopped from time to time to listen. The voices were louder now. People out at night were never a good thing. Decent people were indoors this time of evening. Thugs and bandits roamed at night. And people having a laugh at night was not good either. It meant they were unafraid. And the only reason for that would be they were armed or stupid or both.

  Mike already knew they’d likely have to spend most of the first part of the evening painstakingly passing the group by way of the woods. Until he knew what he was looking at, he didn’t want to involve the horses. An unanticipated whinny at the wrong moment could prove disastrous for both of them.

  The closer they got, the louder and more rambunctious the voices became. Mike’s gut tightened as they neared. There sounded to be easily five men, maybe more. He slowed his step and put a hand on Gavin to pull him back. There was another sound now that hadn’t been obvious before. It was the noise one makes after running or extreme exertion. It was difficult to pick it out under the laughter and shouts, as the men’s voices raised in volume, but when he and Gav stopped, they could hear it. Someone was struggling.

  Not our fight, Mike thought. Let ‘em beat each other to death. One less wanker I’ll have to deal with later.

  Mike and Gavin were thirty yards away now, squatting in the forest on the rim of the road and they could see the shapes of the men camped out in the middle of the road. The first thing Mike noticed—even before he counted up how many were in the gang—was the fact that there was a Jeep in the road too. This wasn’t totally unusual as the country roads were littered with abandoned cars from when the EMP went off four years ago. But there was something about the way this lot leaned and sat on this Jeep that hinted to Mike that it was a working vehicle.

  They crept closer. Now they could see a line of men standing with their backs to them as if watching a performance of some kind on the other side. The lights Mike had assumed were lanterns or torches were the headlights of the Jeep shining like twin spotlights on what appeared to be a fighter. He squinted. Strike that. Two fighters.

  A roar of noise from the watching crowd reminded Mike to do a headcount. Six men, counting the combatants. He’d seen what he needed to see. He noticed there was some kind of emblem on the side of the Jeep but in the dark he couldn’t make it out. He turned to tell Gavin it was time to leave.

  Gavin had moved out of his crouch and was standing, staring at the men. Before Mike could pull him back down, a woman screamed.

  Chapter 11

  They came in the middle of the night. Fiona wasn’t sleeping and so she heard them outside the tent. A crowd of men, women and children. And the children were crying. She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding, and glanced at Ciara sleeping soundly on her pallet next to Fiona’s bed. Somewhere in the distance someone was wailing.

  Fiona stood up. Julie and Megan were out of their beds too. In the half gloom of the tent, she could see Julie’s eyes. She was afraid. Something was happening. Something bad. The front flap of the tent door opened and a small figure slipped inside. A boy. Then another one behind him.

  Someone switched on a small flashlight hanging at the corner of the tent. Fiona recognized the lad as one of Nuala’s. His eyes were wide with fear.

  Within seconds his mother appeared behind him. Nuala held Bridget’s three-year old daughter in her arms. And then more and more people stumbled into the tent, tripping over sleeping children in the dark.

  “Nuala!” Fiona called. “Over here!”

  Nuala touched the shoulder of one of her boys and they moved toward Fiona. Nuala’s face was flushed with relief and dread. Ciara sat up at all the noise and began to cry.

  “What’s happening?” Fiona asked as Nuala settled the toddler she carried onto Ciara’s pallet. The two girls clung to each other and lay back down.

  “They’ve separated us,” Nuala said, beginning to cry. “I don’t know where Abby is. My God, I don’t know where they’ve taken her.” Fiona pulled Nuala into a tight embrace.

  “We’ll find her,” Fiona said. “I promise we will.”

  “Listen up, please.” The voice was cold and shrill and every head turned at the sound. Even the smallest children stopped whimpering.

  “I’m that sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep but night was the best time to do this.” Sinead Branigan stood in the door of the tent with Dr. Mac by her side. She was wearing jeans with riding boots and a wool tunic. Her hair was pulled back in a long pony tail. There was no riding crop tonight.

  “From this time forward you will remain separated from the nonpregnant women. It is for your safety. The children will remain with the pregnant women from now on. Under no circumstances will you be allowed interaction or communication of any kind with the women who have yet…to become with child. In their absence—which I hope will be brief—I assume you will care for their children as your own—as they will some day do for you. There will be steak and eggs for breakfast. I expect to hear a good report that everyone cleaned their plates. Growing babies need protein. Good night, ladies.”

  As soon as Sinead and Mac left the tent, Liddy and Mary O’Malley rushed over to Fiona and Nuala. They embraced tearfully. After settling the children down on makeshift beds, they huddled with the other women at the center of the tent.

  Fiona touched Nuala’s hand. “How far along are you?”

  “That doctor wanker is an idiot,” Nuala said. “But I’m pretty sure it’s three months.”

  “Four months for me,” Mary said and blushed as if getting pregnant so quickly were somehow shameful.

  “Two months,” Liddy said. “But I’m afraid I’ll lose it.” Liddy and her husband Davey had tried for eight years to get pregnant and had finally given up.

  “And yourself, Fiona?”

  Fiona dropped her hand to her belly. “Six months,” she said. “It’s Declan’s.”

  They nodded solemnly. Six months meant Fiona would be the first on the other side of the wall after delivery. Ninety days. Julie was seated next to two women visibly pregnant who had come into the tent that night. They all looked at the opening of the tent when the sounds of hammering and men’s voices filled the air outside.

  “What’s happening?” Fiona asked.

  “They’re putting a wall up,” Julie said. “Down the middle of camp to keep us separated from the others.”

  “The non pregnant ones,” Nuala said miserably, her voice threatening tears. “Abby.”

  “This is Hannah and Catriona,” Julie said indicating the two young women next to her. “They said they’re putting all the pregnant women tog
ether so we’re not…so we don’t…” Her voice trailed off as the sounds of construction got louder.

  “It’s so we won’t hear what’s happening to the others,” Catriona said. She looked young. A teenager still. “They don’t want the babies inside us getting upset.”

  “Isn’t that thoughtful?” Nuala said with disgust. “The witch said when we wake tomorrow, the fence will be up. The only time we’ll see the others is if they get pregnant.”

  “But by the time they get pregnant,” Megan said, “we’ll be on the other side of the fence.” Megan was closer to that than any of them, followed next by Julie. The two seemed to listen to every hammer fall outside as if it were the sound of nails being pounded into their coffins.

  Fiona glanced over at the little girl Nuala had brought with her, now sleeping peacefully even with the noise outside.

  “They took little Maeve away from Bridget?” she asked, the tips of her fingers tingling in horror.

  “Aye,” Nuala said. “The witch said the women wouldn’t want their little darlings to see what they were getting up to—running about naked and such. Plus they need the women to work full days in the garden and the laundry. Fiona, you know Abby isn’t right in the head. She needs me.”

  “I’ll go talk to Sinead first thing in the morning.” Fiona said. “You’ve blotted your copybook with her, Nuala. Best let me approach her.”

  “It won’t do any good.”

  Fiona glanced at a little boy that had come in with the group. His mother Jill was one of the compound women. The thought of her on the other side of the fence being raped over and over… Fiona looked around the room at the pregnant women. Can we all be so truly helpless?

  “At least we’re together again,” Liddy said. “And help is surely on the way, don’t ye think?” She lowered her voice and spoke in a fierce tone that Fiona had never heard from her before. “If I can hang on to this pregnancy, they’ll have to kill me before I let them take my baby away.”