Free Falling

by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

Sarah could see his problem. He desperately wanted his Dad back but the odds of losing his Mother too just went up significantly. And yet, to do nothing…

  “It would be better with him, of course,” Sarah said. “But being sneaky will make up for the lack of numbers, I think.”

  “You’re not taking this theory about being sneaky from some television show, are you?” He frowned at her. “‘Coz I’m almost positive the writers didn’t get their information from first-hand experience, you know?” John shook his head and looked at her. “I’m worried, Mom,” he said. “You don’t seem to have a plan and now with Mr. Donovan out of the picture...”

  “I have a plan,” Sarah said, tossing the dregs of her tea mug into the dirt behind her. “Who says I don’t have a plan?”

  “Really?” The relief in his face buoyed her even though she knew, intellectually, that it was relief based on a hope that had no basis in fact.

  She leaned over and hugged him.

  “It’s all going to work out, sweetheart,” she said. “It is.”

  It is because it has to.

  “Missus?”

  Sarah let John go and looked up at Gavin standing before her.

  “Me Da says he’d like to talk to you before we head out, if that’s okay.”

  “Is he in much pain?” Sarah got to her feet and, with a brief parting smile to John, followed Gavin into the barn.

  “I guess so,” he said. “Kinda hard to tell, him being so cheesed off the best of times.”

  Sarah let her eyes adjust to the darkened barn interior. Gavin took his fully tacked horse out of the one of the stalls and led it outside. Donovan was lying in one of the empty stalls, hay piled around him. Fiona walked out of the stall carrying two empty tea mugs. Sarah assumed they must have just finished a long chat.

  Fiona smiled at her as she passed.

  “He’s not happy, you’ll be knowing that straightaway, aye?”

  Sarah nodded and returned her smile. She entered the stall and saw Donovan propped up against the far corner. His arm was in a sling but whether anyone in the camp had known enough to set the bone, she didn’t know and decided against asking him. His eyes were closed. She came in quietly and knelt down in front of him.

  “Hey, Mike,” she said softly. “How you doing?”

  Stupid question of course.

  His eyes opened and the peace she thought she saw in his face when they were closed vanished. A grimace of pain shot across his features.

  “I assume you’re still going,” he said.

  “Nothing’s really changed,” she said. “Except, maybe, our odds.”

  Donovan looked at her fiercely and spoke in a low voice.

  “Put Gavin and Aidan in trees when you get to the camp, yeah?”

  “Trees. Right.”

  “They’re the best shots. And they’re the ones with the rifles. They can keep the camp pinned down or at least hiding in the house. Gypsies are famous cowards.”

  “Cowards. Got it.”

  “Don’t be thinking you can waltz into the camp and parlez or some such stupid thing, eh?” Donovan glowered at her. “This isn’t a movie. If you show yourself, you’ll be shot. If not by Finn then by one of his gobshites wanting to show off for him.”

  “Don’t show myself. Right.” Sarah nodded and watched him with concern. She knew he was in pain and they had nothing, not even an aspirin, for it. It made her think about what other kinds of first aid they might need by the end of the day.

  “So,” she said. “I got two of my guys in trees, that leaves me and…”

  “Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy.” She nodded. “I don’t show myself…so, how do I..?”

  “Once Gavin and Aidan are in place, they should be able to take out at least a dozen. All hell will break loose in the camp as the bastards try to find out where the shots are coming from and where to hide.”

  “Then I make my move,” she said.

  Donovan nodded tiredly.

  “I suggest you keep Jimmy back to help as he sees the need and where and, if things go bad, to come back and warn us.”

  “I see. Yes, that’s sensible. You haven’t come to my part, yet.”

  Donovan looked at her.

  “Does he know how much you love him?” he asked. “Would he do this for you, do you think?”

  Sarah sighed and picked up Donovan’s uninjured hand.

  “If there’s a future for me and David in this life,” she said, “I intend to make sure he knows how much he means to me. In my world back home, who he and I were as a couple kind of got lost, you know?” Donovan just listened, his eyes never leaving her face. “We started out as I guess most people madly in love do. We had dreams of the kind of life we would make for ourselves and any kids we had. And it seems impossible to believe right now, the way I feel and the way the world looks to me now, but somewhere along the way he and I lost touch. Somewhere between all the running around we did to keep John’s life on track, school and sports and such, and our own jobs which seemed so important back then, we started going through the motions with each other. It’s hard for me to believe that the thing I now see as the most important thing in my life was the thing that got pushed into the background noise of the life I was making.”

  Donovan just watched her, pain etched on every line on his face.

  “So,” Sarah said. “My part.”

  Donovan took a moment to speak. Finally, he said: “When the moment comes where all hell breaks loose, you get into the thick of things. Walk right into the midst of all of ‘em yelling and running and shooting, ya see?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Have your guns out—one in each hand. Be ready to use them. You hear me?”

  Sarah nodded again.

  “I mean it, Sarah. Be ready to shoot anybody who looks at you, let alone tries to stop you. Can you do that?”

  “I’m prepared to shoot every person in that camp if I have to,” she said.

  “There’ll be kids there,” he said in a warning tone. “So you know. Kids the age of young John there.”

  That information made her start. He noticed her eyes left his for a minute.

  “And every one of the little gobshites would kill you as soon as spit on ya. They’re not with Finn against their will, understand me?”

  “I do.” Sarah visibly shook herself and the image of shooting children from her head. “What is my purpose in coming into the camp? To find David?”

  “Wrong. To find Finn.”

  Sarah frowned. “But I…”

  “I know what you want, Sarah,” Donovan said tiredly. “God, I wish I were going with you. Can I not talk you into delaying this insane idea?”

  “I find Finn,” Sarah said, her stare as hard as diamonds.

  “And you kill ‘im,” Donovan said simply before sagging back against the wall, the energy of his statement sapping what strength he had left. “Don’t talk with him, don’t ask him questions, don’t tell him why, just shoot the bastard. You got that?”

  Sarah stood up. “Shoot the bastard. Got it.”

  “The rest of ‘em won’t fight on without the head of the snake. You may still need to shoot a few more, mind, if they don’t know Finn’s dead. But once they do, things should settle down pretty quickly. Gypsies aren’t really a warring—”

  “Okay, thanks, Mike,” Sarah said. “I’ve waited longer than I wanted to and need to get going. Thanks for helping ‘em to see we still need to do this.” She indicated the group of three men waiting outside the barn.

  He nodded at her.

  “Be careful, Sarah,” he said. “Come back safe to your lad.”

  Sarah nodded grimly.

  “Take care of yourself, Mike,” she said, then turned and left.

  Finn divided ten of his men to stand on either side of the main road. He had already sent another dozen down the road to meet the American and her party. While they only had hunting rifles and knives, it would be enough. The sun had been directly up in the sky for more t
han an hour and Finn was beginning to worry about why the ambush hadn’t taken place yet. He’d sent them out hours ago. His gaze sought out the young boy, Conor, who had brought him the information the night before. He watched him throw a stick to a camp dog then turn and urinate against one of the farmer’s dead rose bushes. He’d pranced around last night like some kind of hero, telling and retelling about his run from the American’s camp. If the American bitch didn’t come after all, he’d butcher the kid and throw his pox-infested body into the rose bushes. Wouldn’t hurt to remind the rest of ‘em who was in charge.

  Standing in the front yard of the little farmhouse, Finn would be able to see the first hint of anyone coming down the front drive from the main road. His men stood flanking the main road for nearly two hours now. Most of them were sitting, some of them were lying down asleep. Finn’s anxiety began to throb in his chest like a panicked bird.

  Maybe she knew Conor was listening? Maybe she was setting him up?

  Plus, the American bastard and Brendan were still not back. As soon as he formed the thought in his head he realized that this was, largely, the core of his agitation. He needed her husband for his plan for torturing the bitch to work.

  Where the shite was that bastard Brendan?

  Gavin insisted on being in the lead. Sarah guessed it might have something to do with an order given to him by his father so she tucked in behind him and kept Dan at a slow trot. The posting action of rising up and down actually helped dissipate the anxious energy that was coursing through her. Every time she rose out of the saddle, her stomach muscles clenched and then released and the action began to calm her, like being forced to take deep inhalations and exhale. Sarah imagined what men going to battle on horseback for hundreds of years must have felt like. They must have taken succor from the rhythm and familiarity of the horse beneath them, just like she was doing, even as it carried them closer and closer to horrors and to probable death.

  Aidan and Jimmy rode behind her. All of a sudden, it struck Sarah how foolish it was what they were doing. Unless they were going to talk with the gypsies—and they were not—they could not hope to penetrate their camp and kill their leader without being killed themselves.

  Is it true? Have I been watching too many Stephen Spielberg movies? Is there any way this can have a happy ending?

  Just at the moment where Sarah was a breath away from calling to Gavin to tell him she wanted to turn back, she saw him grab his midriff, grunt and slowly drop from the saddle, his hands clawing impotently at his horse as he fell.

  Somewhere in the lowered audio of her memory, she heard the accompanying gunshot.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  David ran in the direction that Brendan had indicated. Even though he was quickly winded after his illness, he felt he could run the entire six miles to Cairn Cottage. He jogged carefully through the underbrush in the light woods that surrounded the pastures. He knew a wrong step in a hidden pothole would be the end of him and his hopes of finding Sarah in time.

  When he heard the gunshot, he’d slowed and then stopped. Brendan had warned him not to but he stood, undecided, on the verge of the pasture which bordered the main road. He had seen no traffic of any kind on the road, not horses, not pedestrians.

  What could the gunshot mean?

  He looked back over his shoulder. It was totally quiet. Only the sound of his own labored breathing breaking the silence.

  He knew from the minute that Brendan found him that he hadn’t been serious about bringing him back to the camp. He was too slow, too interested in talking. It hadn’t taken much to make the promises that bought his freedom.

  “I’ll give you more money than you’ll see in a lifetime.”

  “Five thousand US,” Brendan said. He’d obviously given it some thought.

  David nearly laughed in his face. Why not make it a million?

  “Done,” he said.

  “Because I know the Yanks’ll come for your lot sooner or later,” Brendan said. “If any of you’re alive.”

  “Alive, we can make you a rich man, Brendan,” David had said, holding his bound hands out to the big gypsy. “Dead, we are just another blot in that big copybook in the sky.”

  It had been the exact right thing to say. The big Irishman was clearly not feeling too secure about where he stood with God these days. It made complete sense to him that God’s way would also make him rich.

  Brendan gave David the directions back to his cottage, but the cottage was not where David was going.

  He turned in the direction of where he had heard the gunshot and prayed like he had never prayed before.

  When Dan reared, Sarah didn’t have time to lean forward. She tumbled to the ground and immediately felt rough hands on her, pulling her away from the horse’s feet. Both knees of her jeans had ripped in the fall and she bloodied her elbow, too. As the man held her, Sarah found herself wondering why Dan—usually so steadfast and calm—would do that, when she saw the big gypsy grappling with the horse’s bridle. More men scrambled from out of the bushes at the side of the road, reaching for her, her horse, and yelling. She twisted in their grip and saw the still form of Gavin crumpled in the middle of the road. Her stomach lurched and she turned and was sick on the man who held her the tightest.

  “Blimey! The bitch puked on me!”

  “Shut your gob, you git! Just bring ‘er.”

  Sarah tried to wrench free from the two men who held her. They were no taller than her but wiry and muscled. Even terrified and sickened, Sarah found herself turning away from the sour breath of the one closest to her. He kept his face near hers as if, any moment, he would lean over and take a bite out of her.

  “The bastards are getting away!”

  Sarah heard more gunshots and she prayed Jimmy and Aidan had the sense to leave the main road as they retreated. Her eyes rested on Gavin.

  That’s my fault, she thought. I did that. That poor boy…

  “Forget it. They’re too far.”

  “Should we go after ‘em?”

  “Nah. Let’s get these two back to camp. He was expectin’ ‘em hours ago.”

  Sarah looked at the body in the road.

  They were bringing Gavin, too? Did that mean he was still alive?

  One of the two men holding her let go of her arm long enough to tie her hands together in front of her. They pushed her towards a smaller horse. They ignored Gavin.

  She heard one of the men behind her rasp out sharply:

  “Let’s go, boyo. Try to run and we shoot yer mum, yeah?”

  Sarah snapped her head around, nearly jerking herself out of the vice-grip of one of her captors.

  Twenty yards away, John sat on his pony, the reins looped in the hands of a tall skinny youth who was leading him down the road. He was looking down at his hands.

  Sarah gasped.

  “Finn’ll be pleased,” her captor said to one of the other men as he roughly turned her to face the horse and boosted her into the saddle. “We’re bringin’ him a little bonus.”

  The howls of laughter from the men echoed in Sarah’s ears as they moved down the road at a walk, each horse carefully stepping over or around poor Gavin.

  “What do you mean you couldn’t find him?”

  Brendan rubbed his hands along his jeans and refused to look at Finn. He had returned not ten minutes before, empty handed.

  Finn glanced around the nearly deserted camp, his frustration coming off him in waves. He looked back at the big gypsy before him.

  “You let the bastard go,” he said, biting off every word.

  Brendan looked up at his leader.

  “No,” he said.

  “You did.”

  “I tell ya, I couldn’t find ‘im.”

  “What did he promise you?” Finn stuck his face close to Brendan’s and the man recoiled. “Money? American dollars? An hour with his wife?”

  Brendan looked back at the ground and rubbed his perspiring hands against his pant leg.

  “I
didn’t find ‘im, Mack,” he mumbled. “I swear.”

  “I need that bastard back here!” Finn shrieked. “They’re bringing his wife down that road any minute.”

  Brendan looked up long enough to look toward the road that Finn indicated.

  “I…I could try again, yeah?” Brendan looked back at Finn. Perspiration from his scalp begin to trickle into his eyes. “I could go back out there. I’m sure I know the way he went.”

  Finn said nothing. He looked at Brendan with hooded eyes.

  Suddenly, he pulled out the pistol from the waistband at the small of his back.

  At the gesture, Brendan took two steps back and put his hands up.

  “Oh, Jesus, Mack, I can find him, I will find him. Oh, please don’t do this.” Brendan’s face twisted into a grimace of terror, his eyes darting from the gun and back to Finn’s face.

  “You’ve helped enough, boyo,” Finn said as he shot him twice in the chest.

  David knelt by Gavin’s still form and unbuckled the gun and its holster. The boy was still breathing but there was nothing David could do for him. He had at least another two miles on foot back to the gypsies’ camp.

  “I’m sorry, son,” he said to the unconscious boy. “I’ve got to leave you.” He touched the young man’s sleeve and, for a moment, got a flash image in his head of John laughing at one of the puppies’ antics. David stood up, quickly strapped on the holster, and checked that the gun was fully loaded before jogging down the main road in the direction of Finn’s camp.

  Sarah reeled from the hard-handed slap. She had been dragged from her mount the minute they entered camp. She recognized the gypsy she had shot back in October. He was standing over the body of a man lying in the middle of the grassy courtyard between the barn and the farmhouse. She heard John yell out in a terrible, broken voice: “Dad!” She caught her breath and for a moment she thought the poor man on the ground was David, too. For one sickening, endless moment, she was sure it was her husband.

  The gypsy leader turned on his heel and walked over to where she stood next to the horse, her hands bound in front of her, his eight men standing around her as if to present her to him. Without a word, he backhanded her, driving her backwards into the dirt.