Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  “Now we go,” Mike said, shouldering his rifle. The explosions continued one after another, lighting up the dark sky and deafening the world.

  “Anyone tries to stop you…” Mike said, gasping for breath as he jogged toward the front gate.

  “We know! We know!” Jaz said, racing ahead of him.

  More than a hundred escaping men were directly in front of them, pouring out of the broken gate, knocking guards down, using truncheons and heavy sticks, even rocks. Gunfire erupted and Mike grabbed Gavin’s arm. Jaz had already disappeared into the crowd ahead of them. Mike motioned to him that they should skirt around the crowd. He knew that once they were out, most of the escaped men would run toward Dublin using the main drag that they’d been brought here on. Mike’s plan—and the one he’d drilled into each of the compound men—was that they head for the woods. He was counting on the soldiers’ unfamiliarity with woodland tracking and the fact that the woods weren’t the most obvious route away from the camp.

  He saw Gavin hesitate. Some of the guards were shooting into the crowd.

  “We can’t save everyone,” Mike shouted to him over the continued explosions from the ammo damp, his fingers bit into Gavin’s arm. His son nodded and turned away from the sight. They ran through the crowd and out the camp entrance, and vanished into the nearby woods.

  Chapter 43

  It never occurred to Mac not to return and tell Sinead everything. Or at least almost everything. On the long drive back to the camp, he was still stunned by the unexpected turn of events. Chezzie sat silent beside him as they sped through the countryside.

  Had they really lost three men? Four, if you counted that idiot Bailey.

  Mac rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t want to remember killing Dickie. Or the look in the girl’s eye as she stared him down with her shotgun and a dead body between them. He didn’t want to think of the body of the young boy lying next to the old man.

  Jaysus. I can’t do this any more. I’m bolloxed, so I am.

  They’d just left the bastards lying in their own blood. One in the hallway with half his chest blown away. One on the porch and two at the foot of the porch stairs where they’d fallen.

  It looked like a fecking battlefield when we left.

  When they finally reached the baby camp, he left Chezzie asleep in the van while he went to his apartment and collapsed.

  It never occurred to him not to come back.

  The next morning, he showered and dressed. He knew Sinead must have seen the van parked out front and probably wondered why he hadn’t come in to report to her last night. He left his apartment and paused for a moment, staring out over the stretch of dirt and grass in front of the pregnant women’s tent that Sinead called the courtyard. Sometimes the children were outside playing. Often the pregnant women sat out and took the sun if there was any. It was empty this morning.

  He could hear the food wagon coming and quickened his steps. It must be later than he realized if breakfast was being handed out. That meant Sinead had already had her coffee and was at her desk working.

  And waiting for him.

  He walked the three minutes to the outside building door that led to her rooms. She worked in the same room that she slept and ate in. That was so like Sinead. Nothing compartmentalized. Everything all at once, order and rules be damned.

  He raised his hand to knock but the door swung open before he could touch it.

  “Wondered when you’d slither in,” Sinead said, deliberately taking in the look of him from his shoes to his hair. Her lips twisted into a grimace of disgust. She was dressed in jodhpurs and riding boots again. She used to talk about wanting to find a horse to ride around the countryside on. It was a part of her that always intrigued Mac. That she could want to embrace nature or the countryside or animals—any of it—seemed so out of character. It had been awhile since she talked about finding horses to ride.

  “We were not successful,” Mac said stiffly as he entered, “as I suppose you’ve gathered.”

  She walked to her desk and stood behind it, her hands on her hips. It was an unusual stance for her, almost like she wanted to physically separate from him.

  “Care to elaborate? You were gone all day and most of the night.”

  “We stopped at a village about fifty kilometers from here and that wanker Dickie strangled a girl in the village.”

  “I see.”

  “Did you hear me, Sinead? That’s the kind of maniac we brought back with us from Dublin. He fecking killed her with his bare hands.”

  “Are you telling me you found the convent empty, Mac?”

  Mac hesitated. “We never made it to the convent.”

  “Oh? And why is that?”

  Something was wrong. She was way too cool, too prepared for him. It was like she knew the answers to all the questions she was asking. A light film of sweat appeared under his collar. Is that possible? Had she already talked to Chezzie?

  “We met a bloke—in the same village where Dickie killed the lass—who led us to a place that had a pregnant woman in it.”

  “Your orders were to go to the convent.”

  “Aye, but Sinead—it seemed too good to pass up. She was already pregnant. You’d have me pass it up?”

  “Only the one?”

  Somehow she knew. He could see it in her eyes. She knew everything.

  “Sinead, it all went to shite, that’s all I can tell you. It just blew up in our faces. It was a fecking nightmare.”

  “All of your faces?” Sinead said. “Did it blow up in all of your faces, Mac, or just the men you personally shot in the face?”

  Damn that bastard Chezzie!

  “I need to keep respect and order among the men who—”

  “Do not talk to me about respect!” Sinead shrieked. “If you have to kill people to get them to mind ye, it bloody defeats the purpose!”

  “I told you he was rotten,” Mac said, feeling his temper rise. “I told you he was trouble.”

  She raked the tabletop contents of her desk onto the floor then grabbed up a heavy paperweight and threw it at him. He was so surprised that it hit him solidly on the shoulder. He staggered backward.

  “You didn’t go to the convent like I told you! You walked away from three women, ye lying bastard! One of ‘em pregnant! Ye got two of our men killed and then killed the third yourself! I knew you were soft, ye lying sack of shite. I knew you were weak. I didn’t think you were fecking insane.”

  Mac rubbed his shoulder and held himself in check. That she felt she could attack him physically and expect no consequences was testimony to how far he’d let her control him. She was no better than Dickie. She saw him as a coward and someone to use or abuse.

  “You weren’t there,” he said.

  “Shut your gob!” She moved away from the desk and stood in front of him, her chest heaving, her cheeks flushed red. “So now I have a dead baby, a dead childbearing woman, and a fecking idiot in charge of procurement! We are out of business, Mac! Is that what you wanted? Was that your purpose all along? Are ye trying to feck me, Mac? Because I swear to Christ I’ll murder ye where ye stand!”

  “I’m sorry, Sinead.”

  “Get out! Get out before I take a gun and shoot ye between your fecking eyes! Get out!” she screamed.

  Mac turned and left. He stood outside for a moment to get control of himself. His breathing was ragged and fast. She’d never spoken to him like that before.

  Was she right? Was he deliberately trying to feck things up? His eyes scanned the courtyard and caught a movement at the door of the pregnancy tent. A shadow in the door looked like someone was standing there, watching him. In a flash, he saw the image of the old man on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. The old man who was trying to protect his family—protect the woman inside giving birth.

  Mac looked down at his hands and realized with horror that they were trembling.

  **********

  Fiona stood in the shadow of the tent door watching Mac ou
tside Sinead’s office door. At first she thought he was being sick. He stood, hunched over as if not sure where he was. Eventually he seemed to pull himself together. She watched him disappear around the corner of the building.

  She knew he’d been gone for at least a day. He normally visited the pregnancy tent once a day even if he wasn’t there to examine anyone. The addition of the new men and Mac’s absence gave Fiona a feeling of foreboding.

  That and the fact that nobody had heard anything about Julie. The cook, Eloise, was particularly closed-mouthed about her, which just led the ladies in the pregnancy tent to speculate the worst had happened. Fiona had been chosen to question the woman a little more directly today when lunch was delivered.

  Although, what was the point? If she tells us Julie was murdered, are there any of us who’d be surprised?

  Fiona placed a hand on her belly. She’d felt the baby move recently and with it gained new hope for the future. Mike and Sarah—if they were alive—had to return someday. Surely Declan was looking for them…She sighed heavily. Her frequent attempts at hope and optimism were proving less and less easy.

  Today was one of those days. Even with the baby moving again.

  She caught a glimpse of Eloise and her lunch wagon coming through the gated opening in the new fence that divided the camp. She stepped back into the tent.

  “She’s coming,” she called out. The women gathered around the opening.

  “Don’t scare her,” Fiona said. “Pretend everything’s normal.”

  The women moved back to their stations to affect indifference at the arrival of the lunch wagon, which Fiona realized would probably alert Eloise instantly that something was up. The coming of the food wagon was a big moment in their day.

  She opened the tent door and stepped out into the sunshine.

  “Good morning, Eloise,” she said, smiling. “We’re very hungry to see you.”

  “Sure you’re a wit, Fiona,” Eloise said good-naturedly. The cook picked up a large cauldron of chicken with stewed vegetables and carried it into the tent. Fiona came in behind her and pulled the canvas flap down across the door.

  Nuala took the cauldron of hot stew from Eloise. “Lovely tucker,” Nuala said in a loud cheerful voice. “Thank ye, Eloise.”

  Eloise frowned as soon as she realized that the women had formed a tight circle around her. “What the hell—?” she said.

  “Not to worry, Eloise,” Fiona said, putting a hard hand on the cook’s upper arm. “Just a question or two about that lovely breakfast ye just served us.”

  “Breakfast?” Eloise said.

  “That’s right. We wondered if our Julie enjoyed the coddled eggs you served because we know she loves them so.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Nuala held up a tortoise shell comb in front of Eloise’s face. It had been broken down the back to create a handle for a series of jagged tines.

  “We’re a little bored today,” Nuala said with a smile. “So we’ve a mind to ram this up your arse as entertainment.”

  Fiona clutched the woman’s arm as Eloise tried to jerk away.

  “I don’t know anything about your Julie!” Eloise said.

  Fiona felt the first surge of power since entering this nether world of anguish. Eloise had to know that hurting any of the pregnant women was a crime that wouldn’t be forgivable by Sinead. Loss of her job would be the least of the cook’s worries.

  “I’d tell ye if I knew!”

  “So you’re telling us she’s not with the other women?” Nuala said.

  Eloise licked her lips. “Mrs. Branigan will have me guts for garters if I was to tell ye—”

  “Sure you’ll be needing to hold her down while we do this, Fi,” Nuala said cheerfully. “Mind nothing happens to that little one under your apron.” She turned to Eloise. “Our Fiona spotted earlier and Mrs. Branigan will be looking to blame someone were she to lose the bairn.”

  “Your friend is not with the others!” Eloise blurted out.

  Two of the other pregnant women came over. “What happened to her?”

  “That I do not know.” She looked fearfully at Nuala. “I don’t! I swear!”

  “Why should we believe you?” Fiona said. “Give us one reason why we should trust a thing you say…a lying whore who holds her tongue to the rest of the world about what’s happening in here, who protects those monsters as they rape us and steal our children?”

  “I…I can tell ye something of value,” Eloise said.

  “We’ll be the judge of that,” Nuala said. “Tell us.”

  “There was another death.”

  A gasp erupted from the group of women surrounding the cook.

  “A death?” Fiona asked, shaking the woman’s arm. “Who?”

  “A suicide.” Eloise looked at Fiona. “One of your lot.”

  One of the compound women. Fiona released the woman. Only Jill and Bridget were still on the other side of the fence. Fiona lifted her hand to stop the cook from speaking. She needed a moment, just a moment, before she heard who.

  Jill was married and all the women in the pregnancy tent were taking care of her little lad Darby for her. The thought of it being Jill…but Bridget was little Maeve’s mother. Either way, a child had lost its mother. Fiona’s stomach contracted painfully.

  Nuala grabbed Eloise by both shoulders. “Who was it?” she demanded.

  “Bridget,” Eloise said.

  Fiona put a hand out to grab one of the tent posts for support. No, no, no.

  “It can’t be,” she said, shaking her head. “Bridget wouldn’t kill herself. She has Maeve. She’d never intentionally leave her baby. You’re lying.” But Fiona no longer cared about Eloise, none of the women did. Fiona looked up to see that Nuala had already gone to Bridget’s toddler to pick her up and hold her.

  It’s a lie, Fiona thought, her vision blurred with tears. She wouldn’t do that.

  She eased herself onto a bench near the front door of the tent, her stomach clenching and contracting in agonizing waves. Eloise left the tent and brought in another tray of food, which she hurriedly deposited. The women ignored her, sitting or standing in stunned silence. When Eloise delivered the last set of trays, she spoke to Fiona.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “Truly, I am.”

  Fiona didn’t look at her. She was trying to grasp how bad it had to be over there for Bridget, who was unmarried, to even think about leaving her baby an orphan in the world.

  “And you’re right,” Eloise said in a low voice.

  Fiona glanced up and saw that Eloise had looked over at Nuala before turning away.

  “Ye can tell her little one someday that her mother didn’t willingly leave her.”

  Fiona grabbed the tent post and hauled herself to a standing position. She looked deep into Eloise’s eyes.

  “Tell me what happened,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  “I mean, you’ll hear the truth from the others when you’re in that tent yourself.”

  “What happened?” Nuala had handed Maeve off to another woman and stood with Fiona.

  Eloise swallowed. “Bridget fought back. He…the man was drunk. He beat her.”

  “To death,” Fiona said.

  “Aye.”

  “Abby,” Nuala said to Eloise. “My sister Abby didn’t kill herself either.”

  “I’ve said too much,” Eloise said and bolted out the door.

  Fiona stood by Nuala and watched her friend make all the calculations in her head, her eyes filling with tears at the thought of her precious sister and how she must have died after all.

  “Abby was slow-witted,” Nuala said. “The hag wouldn’t want whatever baby she produced. Abby was murdered, so she was.”

  All the women in the tent nodded solemnly. Julie gone, likely murdered as well as Bridget and poor Abby.

  “Shite! Fiona!”

  Fiona turned her head sluggishly as if the world had slowed to half-speed. She saw the o
thers staring at her, their mouths open in horror. And then she felt the wetness across her lap. Looking down she could see only the round mound of her pregnancy. She reached down between her legs and brought back fingers coated in blood.

  Chapter 44

  By the time Mike and Gavin caught up with their group in the woods outside the work camp, Jaz was still wrapped around Tommy’s neck, smothering him with kisses.

  “Right,” Mike said. “Mind, we’re not done yet.” He could see two men were on the ground and not moving. Other men seemed to morph out of the shadows of the camp and through the latticework of branches and thick bushes, the fire at the ammo dump in the camp raged vividly against the sky. Most of the men from their barracks had run for the main road to Dublin.

  “It won’t last long,” Tommy said, one arm around Jaz, the other using a tree to keep himself upright. “We only have minutes before it’s full on daylight again.”

  “They can’t track us, can they, Da?” Gavin asked.

  “Not in the woods,” Mike said. “Not unless they have dogs.”

  Terry approached from where two men lay on the ground, their faces white. “Davey can’t walk anymore,” he said. “He’s done.”

  “I’ll carry him,” Mike said. He could see the sky was lightning up, bit by bit. “We have to go now.”

  “Why can’t we put him in the Jeep?” Jaz said.

  All heads turned to look at her.

  “What are you talking about?” Mike asked, praying he wasn’t hallucinating all of this.

  “Well, we’ve got the Jeep, don’t we?” she said with a shrug. “I hid it when you were taken.”

  “It’s out of petrol.”

  “So it’s a good thing I stole some, isn’t it?” She grinned as Tommy gave her a smacking kiss.

  An hour later, they had the sickest of the men piled in the Jeep. Jaz had also managed to collect a few guns and some food.

  Mike had known for days that none of the men were in any condition to help them find Fiona. Besides that, he needed to see Sarah and see for himself that she and the baby were fine. He needed to see her like he needed his next breath.