Mike nodded. Ryan was thin, his face scarred, the lines around his mouth set in deep grim grooves. But his eyes locked on Mike’s in a steady gaze.
“I had no idea they’d put you in a place like this,” Mike said gruffly although he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t the right place for the bastard.
“It’s better than what happened to Margaret,” Father Ryan said. Mike hadn’t even thought of Margaret, the one who’d betrayed them all and killed Siobhan Murray last fall.
Mike noticed the other men—the ones who didn’t belong to the compound—were watching him closely. There were around thirty men living in the small hut. But there were not thirty bunks.
How the feck was he going to get five men who barely looked capable of walking out of this hellhole?
Gavin shared Tommy’s bunk that night—the lad was so thin, he didn’t take up that much space. Mike insisted on sleeping on the floor, although it was slick with spilled fecal matter and urine. He couldn’t let a single man living in this mess give up his bed to him—not even Father Ryan. The ones who weren’t so terribly bad off, and that included all the compound men, really, with the possible exception of Tommy, would be expected to go to work in the morning. They needed every ounce of comfort they could find, if not in food—of which there seemed to be precious little—then in physical ease in the form of desperately needed rest.
He leaned against Terry’s bottom bunk. His heart squeezed painfully as Terry periodically reached down to touch Mike’s shoulder as if to reassure himself that Mike was really there.
“What work is it that they have ye do?” Mike asked.
“Breaking up rock, mostly,” Terry said. “It’s a lithium mine and we do the brute force to release the ore.”
“How is it they can make you do it?”
“Do ye think we’re cowards, Mike?” Terry asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Whisht, nay, Terry, lad,” Mike said soothingly. “I’m just trying to get a picture of what they use against ye so I’m prepared, like.”
Terry shook his head. “Sorry, Mike,” he said. “Ye end up feeling like not much of a man after all this. I wouldn’t blame ye if ye thought so too.”
“That’s rubbish, Terry. I’ve seen the guns outside. I’ve talked with the wanker foreman. I know what you’re up against.”
“Aye,” Terry said. “They keep us in line with beatings—often for no reason—and withholding food. The foreman’s a right bastard.”
“Don’t they worry ye’ll fecking starve to death and they won’t have any workforce?”
“Aye, ye’d think so, but nay. They had some problems earlier on with men causing problems and such and decided that cutting food was the answer to it. Failing that, they just shoot ye.”
“We’ve got to get you lot out of here,” Mike said, feeling a lot less confident than he sounded.
“It’s impossible,” Terry said. His hand clutched Mike’s shoulder. “Have ye heard from the women, Mike? Are they safe?”
Mike had dreaded this part.
“Not yet, Terry,” he said. “But we’ll find ‘em. I swear on me mother’s grave we will.”
After that, Terry didn’t speak any more and Mike let him sleep. If they really were going to load them up to work tomorrow, they’d need every ounce of their strength to face it. He closed his eyes and gave a prayer of hope that Sarah was safe. He hated her being on her own now of all times.
The morning came early and long before daylight. The door swung open with a bang jolting Mike from his half-doze. The smell was the first thing he became aware of as he fought to get to his feet. The bunk beds were coming alive on all sides of him as men scrambled out of their beds and lunged for the doorway, the sounds of their bare feet hitting the floor with soft thuds.
Terry stood next to Mike and they watched the battle at the door as a large basket was slid into the room. The door slammed shut.
Mike watched in amazement as the men battled each other to reach the basket. One bearded man reached it first and ripped the lid off but he was shoved aside by two others who grabbed at the contents with both hands.
This explains a lot, Mike thought grimly as one of the men bolted back toward his cot with a piece of bread in his hands only to be intercepted by two younger men who snatched it from him.
“Is it like this every morning?” Mike asked Terry.
“Aye. At first we all fought hard to get our share.” He shrugged. “But then it got harder and harder to see the point.”
Mike glanced at Gavin who was standing by Tommy’s bunk looking like he was about to join the melee, his hands still cuffed in front of him. Mike shook his head at him. Seeing Tommy made him think of Jaz. Where was she? Had she left the city? Could he dare hope she might have?
“Is Tommy just malnourished?” he asked Terry.
Terry turned to look at his son. The anguish across his face made Mike look away.
“Nay,” Terry said. “The poor lad took a truncheon to the back of the head last month. Been having dizzy spells ever since. And I can’t get enough food in him for it to matter.”
Mike looked back at the food fight to see the basket had been ripped to shreds, the pieces of wicker on the floor the only thing indicating there had ever been anything there at all. The other men had taken their prizes—or their empty hands—back to their bunks.
“They’ll come for us soon,” Terry said. “Only time they don’t is when it rains. And then they have us work around the camp.”
“In the rain?”
“Oh, aye.” Terry looked at Mike. “I’m sorry you came for us, Mike. There’s no way out for any of us. And now not for you neither.”
Chapter 25
Sinead hurried out of the lawyer’s office in the old house of Parliament, south of the Liffey River. The building had been a bank for as long as she could remember, but clearly the new provisional authority had romantic ideas of recreating it as a seat of government once more.
Soldiers and official looking political types filed through the halls as Sinead walked out of the open air alcove and stopped in the courtyard. She pulled a cigarette out of her purse and lit up, annoyed with how upset the meeting had made her.
Stupid wanker, she thought inhaling angrily until the tip on the cigarette glowed fiercely. How dare he talk to me about fecking prenatal care? I’d like him to see how we slobber all over those fecking women…fresh milk and vegetables, tons of meat no matter the cost…how fecking dare he!
She watched her hand holding the cigarette tremble. She didn’t want Mac seeing her like this. He held her aloft on a pedestal of perfection and although she had to admit he was right up her nose these days, she still didn’t want to lose his adoration. She flashed back to the meeting with the German solicitor and the hag he’d brought with him to carry the baby.
God! Couldn’t Mac get his hands on a simple fecking baby carrier? Do I have to go prancing into every adoption meeting like Mother fecking Theresa with a baby in me arms?
“The child is jaundiced, Mrs. Branigan,” the bastard had said in that clipped nasal way the krauts speak when they think they’re better than you. She wanted to tell him, if you’re so superior, Herr Arsehole, why aren’t your people having babies without me?
She didn’t say anything of course. This was business. And puny babies made for bad business. That was all. She couldn’t take it personally. She ground out her cigarette with the toe of her pump and walked the rest of the way across the courtyard. It felt strange to see people milling about wearing suits and carrying briefcases. Most of them were here only for the day with helicopters waiting to whisk them back to countries with working Wi-Fi and automobiles. But still, it felt like a little patch of normalcy, an oasis of pre-2012, in the middle the chaos and third world ghetto outside these walls which more resembled a bad Mad Max remake than the vibrant city it had once been.
Mac stood by the sedan watching for her. As she approached, she reminded herself that Mac was only a problem if she allowed him t
o be. She had a fat wallet of cash in her bag that would spend well enough in the capital to get the supplies they needed to trade for the services they required from the countryside. Life was going to be good again very soon now. It would or someone would die for it.
“Everything okay?” Mac called to her as she approached.
“They said the baby was underweight.” Sinead slid into the driver’s seat. He got into the car next to her.
“Did they weigh her?”
“No, Mac. They could just tell. And she was jaundiced.”
“But they still paid?”
“This time, yes.”
“What will we do?”
“We need to arrange better prenatal care.”
Mac let out a frustrated breath. “That’s daft. What more can we possibly do?”
“For starters, we can have our mothers seen by a real physician.” She saw his face fall and decided to soften the blow. “Sure you’ve been doing a fine job, Mac. But the women need specialized care now. You see that?”
He nodded. “Aye.”
“Taking care of them is our most important job—that and getting and keeping as many women pregnant as possible. But once we finally have a pregnancy, we need to make sure the baby comes out fat and healthy on the other end. We can’t afford to lose any. Or have spindly results.”
He looked out the window to avoid eye contact. She stroked his arm.
“You’re good with the mothers, Mac, but we need someone who knows obstetrics. Not just someone who won’t embarrass them by asking if he can peek under their aprons.”
“Did ye have someone in mind then, Sinead?” He still wasn’t looking at her.
Bloody hell, men were such babies sometimes. Did he not want what was best for the business, for Chrissake?
“I’ve got a name. We’ll be paying him a visit if he’s still in Dublin.”
Mac jerked his head around to look at her. “Not that wanker from the women’s prison? The one thrown out for taking advantage of the female prisoners?”
She was losing patience with him.
“Dr. White is a pregnancy doctor,” she said tightly. “That baby I just handed over was seriously underweight. It was a miracle she was born alive and the German attorney said he wasn’t at all sure about brain damage. How many full price babies do you think they’ll continue to pay for if we keep handing over underweight products?”
“Why the feck would you hire someone with a history of sexual assault when I’m busting my arse to make sure the pregnant women are not touched?”
“He’ll never be alone with them. You’ll always be in attendance. And he can do what he wants to the nonpregnant women. Sure that will keep him happy.”
“So what am I now? A glorified voyeur?”
“You are what you have always been, my darling,” she said cupping his cheek with her hand and forcing him to looking into her eyes. “You are the women’s champion and their protector. And what we are doing for them is as much for them as for ourselves. You know that, right?”
He didn’t pull away and when she felt the tension in his jaw soften, she knew she had him.
**********
There was always a stack of ancient celebrity magazines in the pregnancy tent. Fiona wasn’t sure exactly what Sinead’s intention was by making them available to the women but they did tend to lull them into a sense that life was normal—or at least normal somewhere in the world. It was somehow calming to see the beautiful clothes and laughing movie stars and realize that life went on, even if the magazines were over two years old.
Nuala had only recently started to join back in discussions with the other pregnant women in the tent. Fiona had been right about that. Tending to the boys forced her out of herself. She didn’t have the luxury to fully grieve because they needed her for constant, mundane tasks. Today she was sitting with the other women and mending one of the boy’s pants. Her face was impassive, and blotchy from crying but she nodded from time to time as she listened to the others. Fiona couldn’t help but remember the Nuala who tried to escape—the Nuala who talked back to Sinead. That Nuala was such a spitfire. To see her now, drained and depressed, was as bad as anything that had happened to Fiona since they came to the camp.
Fiona took Ciara by the hand and led her to Julie who was sitting on the bed applying moisturizing lotion to her belly. Fiona began to brush Ciara’s hair and Julie looked up in surprise.
“Sure, this is new,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Fiona.
Fiona smiled as she brushed, but kept her voice low. “I saw Sinead leaving just now with Megan’s baby.”
Julie nodded and ruched up her shirt to slather the salve higher across her waist.
“She doesn’t wait long for her money,” Julie said tightly.
“It’s just…I don’t ever remember them both leaving before,” Fiona said.
“They both left?” Julie stopped applying the moisturizer.
“Aye.”
Julie glanced at the tent entrance and bit her lip.
“That’s not all,” Fiona said. “Two of the…men were looking this way.”
Julie pulled her shirt down and sat fully up. “While you were outside a bit ago?”
Fiona nodded. “Why would Sinead and Dr. Mac both go? What in the world would make them think we’re safe?”
Julie grunted. “Why do you think they give a shite if we’re safe?”
Fiona gave Ciara’s shoulders a squeeze. “Off you go now, darlin’,” she said. “Go find Maeve.” She watched Ciara wander away to join Maeve on their pallet. She turned to Julie.
“I think they give a shite because they don’t want our unborn babies harmed.”
“She probably needed the midwife to stay here,” Julie said, still watching the tent flap. “And she needed someone to drive her.”
“She wasn’t holding the baby.”
“Figures. In any case, unless she put the tyke in a box in the trunk, she needed someone to help her take it to Dublin.”
“I’m worried.”
“You’re only now worried?” Nuala appeared from over Julie’s shoulder. Fiona wasn’t sure how much of the conversation she’d heard.
“What’s happened?” Nuala asked.
Fiona didn’t answer. Nuala had so much on her plate right now, the last thing Fiona wanted to do was heap on more. “Nothing really,” she answered, forcing a smile.
Nuala pushed closer to where Fiona was sitting. “Tell me,” she said, her eyes glinting with fear.
“It’s really nothing,” Fiona said, trying not to look at Julie who was still staring worriedly at the tent door.
“Is there any reason why you’re keeping information from the rest of us, Fiona Cooper?” Nuala said in a loud voice. “Or did someone vote you our leader only I didn’t get a vote?”
“I’m not the leader,” Fiona said, stung by Nuala’s tone. The rest of the pregnant women began to draw near them. All except Hannah who sat with an unlit lantern by the front entrance.
“Bloody right you’re not,” Nuala said. “I’m sick of you acting like you are, having your private conversations and deciding what we should or shouldn’t know. We’re all sick of it!” Nuala looked around at the other women.
“Well, that’s a surprise to me, Nuala O’Connell,” Fiona said hotly, “since I usually have my private conversations with you.”
“Who ever you do it with,” Liddy said, standing next to Nuala and rubbing her belly, “is not the point. You’re always swanning around like ye have all the answers!”
“If that’s what you think then maybe the rest of you should stop coming to me for answers!” Fiona shouted. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in the same fix you are! In fact, it’s worse for me, because my baby is me own husband’s—who’s likely dead—not some rapist’s.”
As soon as the words were tumbling out of her mouth, Fiona tried to stop them. All the women looked at her in shock.
“I didn’t mean that,” Fiona said quickly.
Within moments all the women except Julie launched themselves at Fiona, screaming and pummeling her with their fists. A lamp turned over and Fiona felt herself knocked off the couch, her ears ringing from the blow.
“Stop it!” she heard Julie yell. “Leave her be!”
“She thinks she’s better than us!” someone screamed.
“She’s always been that way, snotty bitch! Rip her hair out!” yelled another.
Someone behind Fiona grabbed her hair and yanked, toppling Fiona to the floor. All she could see were boots and feet kicking at her hips and butt.
“Leave her!” Nuala shouted. Fiona saw Nuala shove one of the pregnant women away and stood between Fiona and the rest of the women. “She’s sorry she said it so leave her be!”
“Not as sorry as she’s going to be!” Catriona snarled as she pulled back her leg to kick Fiona. Nuala pushed her into the two women behind her. Catriona’s large belly provided the ballast that sent her to the floor on her backside.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Hannah screamed, the words laced with horror and urgency. There was something different in her voice and they all heard it. Hannah stood at the tent entrance, one hand on her belly, her eyes large and frightened.
“They’re coming,” she said. “The men.”
Chapter 26
Fiona barely had time to scramble to her feet when the tent flap opened. Three men stood in the doorway. She recognized the two she’d spotted earlier. They pushed into the tent and all the women scurried backward as one.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Nuala said in a strong voice, but her hands were trembling.
“Oy, Benjy,” the fat one said pointing at Nuala. “Remember this one? She was my favorite. In fact, I think it was me what put that bun in her oven, so I do!”
He took a step toward Nuala. All three men were armed. Lately Sinead had been having the rapists double as security in the camp.
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