“Nay, Bert,” Benjy said, grinning and showing several missing teeth. “I was the one did that to ‘er. Wasn’t I, sweetheart?” he said as he leered at Nuala. Hannah edged away from the tent door but her movement caused all three to turn in her direction. She held her pregnant belly. Her eyes were wide with terror.
“You’re not supposed to touch us!” Julie said, pushing in front of Nuala.
“Says who?” Bert said, advancing on Hannah. She whimpered as he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to one of the dining tables.
“We’ll tell!” Fiona said shrilly, her eyes on poor Hannah as the man pulled her around until she was facing away from him. “Dr. Mac said you’ll be killed if you touch us!”
“Dr. Mac,” Benjy said and then spat on the vinyl floor of the tent. “Reckon it’s our word against yours.”
The third man was younger with hair to his shoulders. Fiona had never seen him before but she could tell by the dead look in his eyes that there was something mentally wrong with him. He pulled his gun and aimed it at Julie but his attention was on Hannah and the fat man. Hannah was weeping and half bent over the table, but her dress was still down over her hips.
“Pretty hard to say you didn’t touch us if one of us is dead,” Nuala said, pointing to the gun.
“Don’t give us cause to shoot ye then,” Benjy said with a grin.
“They won’t dare shoot us!” Fiona yelled to the other women. She walked up to the younger man with the gun and slapped him hard across the face. His eyes flew open wide in shock and then a demonic fury spread across his features. He twisted the gun around and raised it to Fiona’s face.
“Don’t leave a mark on her!” Benjy barked. “Just roger her! What the feck are ye doing over there, Bert?” he called to the fat man with Hannah.
“I can’t bend her proper,” Bert said in frustration. “Her gut’s too big!”
Fiona tried to run to Hannah and felt her arm jerked nearly out of its socket by the younger man. He grabbed her face with his meaty hand and pushed her backwards until she fell against the couch.
Stopping only long enough to hand his gun to Benjy, he began pawing at Fiona’s long skirt. Suddenly, everyone was screaming. The children ran to the men and began beating at them with their fists. One of Nuala’s boys was backhanded across the room. Julie grabbed the younger man on top of Fiona by his hair. A gun went off ratcheting up the terror and the noise.
Seconds later a long piercing scream brought the men to their feet, panting and red-faced. Fiona’s assailant had a long scratch from his eyebrow to his jaw. Fiona got to her feet and turned to see the source of the scream.
Julie stood alone in a small puddle of water, clutching her belly.
“You bastards!” Nuala said. “She’s in labor!”
The men began backing out the door.
“We didn’t do that!” Benjy yelled, waving his gun at the women. “It’s our word against yours!” The three slipped out the tent. The women ran to where Julie stood. Nuala reached her first. She grabbed Julie by the arm and helped her sit.
“Go see to your lad,” Julie said, panting. Nuala looked over her shoulder but she could see both boys were unharmed.
“I’m here to see to you,” Nuala said firmly. She looked at Fiona. “We all are.”
Fiona smiled bleakly and turned to find Hannah. The girl was leaning against the table, her face white.
“You okay then, Hannah?” Fiona called to her.
The girl looked at her with surprise and nodded. One of the other women gave Hannah’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Nuala directed two of the women to keep the children distracted. She had Catriona fetch a bowl of clean water. Fiona sat next to Julie and held her hand.
“Good timing,” Fiona said with a straight face. “I appreciate you choosing now to go into labor.”
“Glad I could accommodate,” Julie said, wincing. “Feck, it hurts like a bastard. Do ye ken what you’re doing then, Fiona?”
“If you’re asking if I’ve ever delivered a baby,” Fiona said, patting her hand. “The answer is yes. Just don’t do anything off the charts and we’ll be fine.”
“Aye,” Julie said, putting her head back and closing her eyes for a moment before the next contraction. “That’s what they all say just before everything goes to shite.”
“Hello!” a female voice called from outside the tent. “It’s Mrs. Reidy the midwife, if ye please.”
Hannah whirled around to face the women. “I didn’t call her! I swear!”
“The men notified me,” Mrs. Reidy said pushing into the tent. She had a doctor’s bag. Two of the compound women blocked her entrance.
“You’re not needed here,” Liddy said threateningly.
“I just want to help.”
“Ye can help by pissing off,” Nuala called to her.
The midwife glowered at the two women barring her entrance. “I believe I can help better by giving your friend the benefit of my midwifery skills. Please.”
“You want to help?” Nuala yelled. “Why don’t you tell someone we’re here!”
“Who would you have me tell? Who would care?” Mrs. Reidy said in frustration.
A moment of silence passed as each woman in the tent seemed to digest the midwife’s words.
“Let her in,” Fiona said tiredly. “She can help.” And she’s right, there’s no one to care.
The midwife went to Julie. She immediately pulled on latex gloves and took Julie’s pulse. Fiona looked at Nuala over Mrs. Reidy’s head. Something intrinsically sad passed between them.
Fiona turned her attention back to Julie. “We’re here, Jules. We’re all here to help you get this little one born.”
Julie squeezed her eyes tightly shut. A single tear escaping as she gripped Fiona’s hand for all she was worth.
Chapter 27
The minute the work camp foreman walked down the center road where the men were lined up, Mike knew he was coming for him. He’d known it since last night when their unfinished business spoke louder than anything McKenna had actually said to him. And he knew whatever the bastard had to say to him was about to be delivered in a brutal and likely inhuman way.
And Mike knew he needed to take it. At least for now.
After breakfast was delivered, the door had swung over and everyone inside had been routed out into the long dusty passageway in front of the hut. Six soldiers with rifles prodded the men into two facing lines. It was the first time Mike had seen Tommy on his feet. He swayed uncertainly between Gavin and another man. There was no way the lad would be able to work in a mine today. No way he’d stay on his feet for long, let alone swing a pickaxe.
In the daylight each of the men looked ravaged and malnourished. The young men were hunched over from the work and abuse, the middle aged men looked like old men. Their clothes were filthy and stank even in the fresh air. Liam Carey stayed well away from both Mike and Gavin. He had to know even shackled they could easily break his neck.
Mike had spoken very little to Gavin but now he prayed the lad knew to keep his mouth shut—regardless of what happened. Megalomaniacs like McKenna typically needed little to be provoked into doing the unthinkable. And from the stories Mike had heard last night from Terry and the other men, damn little provoking was needed.
The sun was weak this morning but at least it didn’t look like rain. Whatever was coming had to be something important for McKenna to lose even a morning at the mines. The foreman strode down the middle of the two lines of men and stood in front of Mike although he didn’t look at him. Food stains were visible on the man’s shirt from a hasty but recent breakfast. His soldiers stood watching the assembled men warily for any sign of insurrection. The very thought was absurd. Most of them didn’t look like they had the strength to remain standing for long.
McKenna scanned the two lines of men. His eyes rested briefly on Father Ryan who stood with his head down and then went to an older man who stood at the end of the line, with one hand on a man next to
him as if for support. A reptilian smile slithered across McKenna’s face as he nodded at the man. Two soldiers instantly went to the older man and dragged him to where McKenna stood. The old fellow—probably no more than fifty but looking much older—stumbled once before he stood before the foreman.
McKenna raised his hands to the assembled group.
“We have three new workers,” he said. “You’ll have met them by now. Said they’re here because they were curious. Can you believe that?” He laughed. “Yeah, me neither. They don’t know about me magic tricks. Unless you’ve told them?” He grinned at Terry. “Did you tell them? Did you tell them about me magic tricks?”
Terry shook his head, and then looked down at the ground in front of him.
“That’s grand,” McKenna said. “I like surprises.” He looked Mike in the eye for the first time. “How would ye like to see me put you on yer knees without even laying a finger on ye?” He addressed the assembled men. “You all know I can do it, don’t you? Without even touching him.”
McKenna suddenly buried his fist in the stomach of the gray-haired man standing behind him. The man began to sag to his knees and a soldier grabbed him to keep him from falling. McKenna smashed the old man in the face with a meaty fist, a spray of teeth and blood splattered in an arc.
“Stop it, ye bastard,” Mike said, cursing himself before the words were out of his mouth.
“Just what I thought,” McKenna said, smiling. “A hero. Didn’t I call it?” He turned to his soldiers who stared solemnly back at him without responding.
“I said you’d be the problem,” McKenna said as he walked over and stood in front of Mike. “Ye think you’ve given every man here hope that there’s an end to this nightmare. And that’s true. Just not in the way ye think.” He turned to the older man standing bent over where he’d left him, his face bleeding, his eyes squeezed shut. “Hold him tight,” he said to the soldier holding him.
The solider planted his feet behind the man and cinched his hold, but his face was a mask of misery and stoicism. He was not restraining the old man so much as attempting to keep him upright. A tic in the soldier’s left eye announced what was coming. McKenna faced the old man and smiling congenially. He placed his hands around the man’s neck and began squeezing. The man gasped, his face jerking up to stare into McKenna’s eyes, to try to escape the tightening hands.
“What they all know before you got here,” McKenna said over the loud gasps of the man struggling to breathe, “is that the only end to this nightmare comes when I say it does.”
Mike dropped to his knees and held up his hands.
“Please! I’m begging you,” Mike said. “Look, I’m on me knees! For the love of God!”
The old fellow’s feet were slowly lifting off the ground as McKenna, his arms trembling with the effort, lifted him by his neck and squeezed harder. The man’s face went purple. His mouth was open wide as he fought for breath. His tongue lolled desperately, his hands clawed the air. The soldier holding him stepped back, sweat pouring from his face as the old man went suddenly limp. McKenna swung around to face Mike. He held the man by his neck and shook him at Mike.
“If you…ever…speak to me again,” McKenna said with effort, his face contorted in rage while the man’s neck wobbled limply in his hands, “I will…kill every fecking bastard in your hut.” He dropped the body to the ground and put his heavy boot on it. The old man’s trousers were dark with urine. “Starting with your own lad.”
He brushed his hands off and stepped over the man to bring his face close to Mike’s.
“You shovel rock every day without being a pain in my arse, and every day I let someone live. You resist me at-tall and someone dies. Stand up.”
Mike stood and instantly felt his arms being pinned behind him as two soldiers held him.
“Welcome to Hell, arsehole,” McKenna said as he slammed his first punch hard into Mike’s midriff.
Chapter 28
Mike blew out a breath and regretted it immediately as a jolt of pain shot through his shoulder and up into his skull. The beating had been methodical but more for show than to inflict real damage, and for that Mike was grateful. Must be quite a skill—gauging how hard to beat someone so they’re still able to put in a full day’s work.
He sat on the hard bench inside the truck as it rolled through the gates. Gavin sat opposite him, his face a mask of misery and worry.
“I’m fine,” he said to the lad through swollen lips. While his face felt battered, McKenna had stayed away from Mike’s ribs. There was nothing that would stop Mike from swinging a pick or stacking rocks.
“Tell me you have a plan,” Gavin said hoarsely. They were both still cuffed. Mike noticed that not every man from their hut was on the truck. Both Tommy and Terry were left behind to clean the latrines which at least beat hard labor. Mike hoped it was because he and Gavin had taken their places. The other men on the truck were strangers to him. Father Ryan had disappeared soon after the morning line up and Mike hadn’t seen him again. The rest of the men on the truck didn’t look at him, but stared at the floor as if they were being driven to their executions. Mike glanced at the others and then back at Gavin to indicate he didn’t like talking in front of them. Gavin nodded. Carey was seated at the back of the truck.
If there was ever anything like karma, it had to be that little shite getting caught in his own filthy trap.
Mike wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. Possibly for the moment they took his handcuffs off, or for the moment when he saw some kind of breech in the security forces in the camp. He didn’t know what he was looking for; he just knew he hadn’t seen it so far. For now, they would go along, keep their heads down and wait. He prayed it wouldn’t be long. It didn’t look like his men could wait too long.
Thirty minutes later, the truck stopped and two soldiers with guns ordered them out. Mike jumped to the ground, forcing himself not to groan—at least for Gavin’s sake. The mining field that spread before him was desolate, looking more like a moonscape than any part of Ireland that Mike had ever seen. Pits of various sizes and piles of dusty stones were haphazardly scattered across the landscape in every direction. He could smell the sea and guessed they must be close.
One of the soldiers unlocked his cuffs and then freed Gavin. It was ludicrous to think of attempting escape from here. At least twenty soldiers surrounded them and herded them toward a small shack.
A collection of tools was propped up against the shed. The prisoners formed a line as each was given a wedge or sledgehammer, a pick axe or shovel and went to a staging area to wait. When Gavin walked forward, he was stopped by a tall, well-fed man who appeared to be directing the men. The man wore a scarf around his mouth and nose. He grabbed a pick axe and handed it to Gavin, then handed Mike a pair of heavy work gloves.
Dark clouds held the threat of rain and a stiff breeze needled through the group of men. It was cold and none of them were dressed for bad weather. Mike assumed they’d all be plenty warm real soon. When every man had their tool, they were led across the gravel drive to a large depression in the ground covered by piles of white silt and rocks. Another man awaited them there. He, too, had his mouth covered by a protective shield.
He pointed to Mike. “Oy! You.”
Mike pulled on the gloves and walked over to the man where he was standing in the middle of a rock pile.
“Take the largest rocks and position ‘em wide side up, like so,” he said, squatting and showing Mike how to twist the rock around. “Then back off and go on to the next one.” The man pointed to Gavin. “You, split the rock down the middle, like so.” He drew a gloved finger down the center of the rock where he wanted Gavin to hit it. “Got it?”
Gavin nodded, raised his pick axe and slammed it into the rock. The rock fell into pieces.
“Aye,” the man said. “Pick up the pieces and put ‘em here.” He pointed to a large metal receptacle already loaded with large chunks of stone. “Think you can handle that?” He walked away
, but the soldier nearby stayed and kept his rifle aimed at Mike.
Mike squatted and grabbed a large rock, wrestling it around until the widest part of it was facing up. He stepped back and waited for Gavin to split it before he bent over and lifted the pieces in his hands and carried them to the cage.
The hours dragged by each minute becoming slower and more painful until the sun dropped behind the hut and the sounds of iron clanging against rocks and grunts became less and less frequent. Twice Mike fell to his knees and both times the soldier with the gun shouted at him to get back up. He tried to imagine the compound men doing this sort of brutal labor for hours on hours every day for the five months they’d been here. It was no wonder they were sickly and weak. When they were working in the dark, finally the soldiers called for them to return their tools to the shed. Once more they made the tool exchange with the tall man with the scarf over his face.
Gavin had to help Mike into the truck. His arms were shaking and he couldn’t make them stop it. He tried to imagine how Gavin must feel after swinging the pick over and over again for at least seven hours with only a few stops for water and those no more than ten minutes. The lad looked exhausted, but his eyes continued to dart around the truck as if trying to find a way out.
Mike sank back against the side of the truck with a groan as they slammed shut the back cargo door. Now he knew why the men he’d seen two days ago hadn’t bothered looking up when they drove by him. They were too tired to do anything but sit upright. Right now, Mike wasn’t entirely sure he could even do that for the whole trip back to the camp.
With no breakfast or lunch, he felt lightheaded and assumed Gavin—who normally ate enough for two men—was as weakened as Mike felt. Could they hope for a meal when they got back? Was he going to have to kill someone in the hut to get a share for himself and Gavin? Mike honestly thought he might be able to. He allowed his thoughts to settle on memories of Sarah. Sometimes the thought of her weakened him but now, for some reason, seeing her face again, remembering her laugh, helped to give him strength. It wasn’t possible to believe he wouldn’t see her again. He had to believe he would. And the little one.
Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6 Page 64