Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6
Page 79
“I can nearly guarantee you she’ll have feck-all in five years, lights or no lights. Have you looked around, Sarah?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Well, then she can divorce him proper and legal.”
“What if she’s remarried in the meantime?”
“We’ll all dance to a second celebration of her marriage.”
“Got an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“Bloody hell, woman, what I don’t have an answer for is how we’ll survive from month to month or feed our growing ranks or keep half our population from trying to kill each other but whether or not there’s a law that recognizes divorce in post-apocalyptic Ireland? That I feel pretty comfortable not having an answer for.”
“You mean because it’s not important.”
“Aye, Sarah. That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Hmph. You yourself said we have to have laws, Mike. Our community will grow and when it does, we need to know how to handle these sorts of things. That is if we’re determined to stay civilized.”
“How about you be in charge of marriage and divorce?”
“You are trying to placate me.”
He pulled her into his arms, the baby between them, and tilted her head back, his lips near her face. “Am I king here, then?” he asked as he kissed her mouth. “Is it my word that matters? Because nobody would be more astonished to learn that than myself.”
“Even despots need control checks.”
“And that would be you, me darlin’.”
She grinned and kissed him back. “I’m going to make up rules for how to get divorced and what you have to do to marry.”
“That’s grand. Because you don’t have enough to do.”
“I’m going to base the new rules on an online test I read in Cosmopolitan years ago. I think a woman coming up with rules about marriage and divorce is exactly what this world’s been needing for a long time.”
“Sure now didn’t I think a woman already came up with rules about marriage and divorce?”
She kissed him and jostled the baby on her hip.
“Have fun fishing but don’t lose track of time. Be back before dark.”
“I won’t,” he said as he kissed her and then the baby. “And I will.”
**********
Two hours later, near the coastline off Rosslare, Mike and Gavin hid the Jeep in the woods and pulled out the dingy they’d found earlier in the summer. With a community of mostly women, Mike had enjoyed the occasional hours of quiet just sitting in a boat with a line in the water. He’d been a fisherman before the bomb and enjoyed bringing home fresh perch and trout to the convent.
He’d also taken responsibility for those women without husbands who had recently delivered. He made sure they were secure and had enough warm clothes and food. Fiona and Declan had adopted Maeve and Mike felt he could do no less for the children brought into the world fatherless.
“Jaz says she and Regan are leaving with some of the women,” Gavin said after they’d paddled thirty yards out into the sea. To nobody’s surprise, Jaz and Tommy had split up soon after everyone had settled in at the convent. Tommy was a grand lad but hardly a match for the impetuous Jaz.
“I heard,” Mike said. The sun peeked out from one of the heavy clouds that coated the little boat in shadow. He enjoyed seeing the sparkles of reflecting light on the water.
He actually thought it was a good idea for Jaz and Regan to try to help the women find their families. Those two were not cut out for marrying and having bairns—at least not yet. And the adventures of last spring, while tragic in many ways, had also shown both lasses what they were made of. They wouldn’t be content for long knitting socks by the hearth.
“Is it with your blessings that they go then?” Gavin said.
“Aye, it is,” Mike said. “I’ll worry, make no mistake. And if they don’t turn up in a month or so, we’ll go after them. But helping the women find the families they were stolen from…aye, it’s a fine thing they’re doing.”
The slow and distant rumble overhead of a large airliner coming their way made both Mike and Gavin look up, squinting into the sky. A trio of black cormorants flew by. The first time they saw a passenger jet fly over—many months ago—they’d raced back to the convent with excitement about the possibility of the world righting itself. But after the months passed with no changes, it became clear that the airplanes were American or British—flying over poor damaged Ireland—on their way to those parts of the continent and the rest of the world unaffected by the EMP. Or as Mike had put it: “Just because it’s business as usual for the rest of the world doesn’t mean shite for us here in Ireland.”
“Right on schedule,” Gavin said. “Wonder where it’s heading to.”
“Paris, maybe,” Mike said, casting his fishing line out.
“D’ye think they ever look down?”
“And see a couple of sods fishing? Probably think how quaint we look.”
As the jet drew nearer and the roar of its engines louder, both of them tried to locate it above the heavy cloud layer.
“There it is,” Gavin yelled over the rumble of the plane’s engines, pointing at the glint of sun against metal through the clouds.
Suddenly, the world slammed into silence. The engines stopped. The roar cut short.
“What?” Gavin looked at Mike. “Did you—”
The dark shadow of the plane appeared from the clouds directly over them. It seemed to hover and then grew closer and closer.
“Shite!” Mike yelled. “It’s falling!” He watched in blind terror as the shadow of the huge aircraft blotted out the sky, growing larger and larger in its plummet to earth.
“Da!” Gavin shouted. “Do we…what do we—?”
“Jump!” Mike screamed seconds before the huge jet hit the water.
<<<<>>>>
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The Irish post-apocalyptic adventure continues in
Book 7, Never Never.
Because you are not going to BELIEVE where our group goes from here…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Kiernan-Lewis lives in North Florida and writes mysteries and romantic suspense. Like many authors, Susan depends on the reviews and word of mouth referrals of her readers. If you enjoyed the Irish End Game, please consider leaving a review saying so on Amazon.com, Barnesandnoble.com or Goodreads.com.
Check out Susan’s blog at susankiernanlewis.com and feel free to contact her at sanmarcopress@me.com.