CHAPTER TEN

Mike guessed it would take them three days of steady walking to get back to the Jeep. It was the middle of December, cold and wet. Sarah wasn’t complaining, but he knew she was physically miserable. Hell, they both were.

Mentally was a whole other animal entirely.

No matter how many times he told her this wasn’t the end, he could see she wasn’t buying it. In her mind, John was a mere hundred kilometers to the east and a little thing like a country’s militia and ice-cold north Atlantic waters weren’t gong to keep her from her lad.

Except they were.

Thank God, those pikers O’Reilly and Sullivan hadn’t taken Mike’s few gold coins. They had enough to stock up on food—a cooked guinea fowl and two loaves of bread—to get them as far as Arklow. Mike had sprung for a bottle of brandy too. It was dear but it’d help keep them warm and maybe buy them a moment or two of forgetfulness. That was well worth the price.

At first, they kept near the coastline. It was colder to be sure but Mike knew Sarah took comfort seeing it, knowing her boy was just across the way. They walked beside the coastal road the first day, confident they wouldn’t run into anyone. And they didn’t. Toward the end of the first day, they grew tired, and the dregs of their mutual despair began to bubble up to the surface.

They found an abandoned house overlooking the water whose front steps opened onto a walkway leading up to the road. It was a dreary structure, with only one small window among three sides of bleak grey stone. Mike found it difficult to believe anyone had chosen to live here. But the Crisis had changed things for everyone and it might easily be inhabited—as forlorn and unwelcoming as it appeared to them.

He positioned Sarah on the road overlooking the house.

“Stay here until I get back, aye?” he said. He noticed she’d spent much of the day with her own thoughts and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

She nodded but didn’t answer. Nor did she look at the house with any curiosity. She just stood, waiting. He hated leaving her up here, exposed and without a weapon, but he hated worse the idea of ushering her into a house without checking it out first. He slid the fifty feet down the steep walkway to a gap in the broken stonewall encircling the house. The trees and bushes within the wall were overgrown and hedged the house in tightly.

When he got closer he could see it wasn’t falling down. In fact the house looked as if its exterior had been recently repaired in spots. But there was a chimney and no trail of smoke coming from it. On a cold day like today—with the rain spitting every few minutes—there should have been a fire. He peeked over the wall to see if there was anything alive within—a goat or a dog—but there was no sign of life. When he got to the front steps, he glanced up at the road to see that Sarah was watching him. She might well be on the verge of total despondency but she wasn’t totally oblivious—at least not where Mike was concerned. He waved to her and then turned to the house and rapped on the front door.

The sound of movement inside made him jump to the side of the door in case it swung open followed by a shotgun blast.

“Who is it?” a woman’s voice called out. “Phelan? Is that you?”

“Sorry, Missus,” Mike said. “It’s just a traveler with his exhausted and pregnant wife hoping to find shelter for the night.”

He wasn’t out of the woods yet. A woman—especially a panicked, frightened one—was just as able to shoot a hole in him as a man was. Mike felt very vulnerable with only his boot knife sheath—and that empty.

The door creaked open and the long barrel of a rifle emerged.

“Show yourself,” the woman said, her voice hard but shaky.

Mike put his hands up but before he revealed himself to the woman and her gun, he heard Sarah coming around the house.

“Mike? Did you find someone?”

Mike’s feelings were at war with one another. On the one hand, Sarah’s presence was likely to put the gun woman at her ease. On the other hand, he’d have felt better if she’d stayed on the road and out of range. The woman stepped out of the house and pointed the rifle at Mike’s chest but her head turned to watch Sarah as she appeared in front of the house.

“Oh!” Sarah said, affecting to be out of breath from the jaunt down from the road, her eyes on the woman’s gun. “We come in peace, I swear.”

The woman immediately dropped the nose of the gun.

“You’re American?” she asked, frowning.

“Canadian,” Sarah said.

“I’m Kate Donovan.”

“Sarah Donovan. And this is my husband, Mike.”

“Donovan, you say? Are ye from Roscommon by any chance?”

Mike shook his head. “Closer to Tipperary.”

“Well, then. There’s a few of us then, aren’t there? Come in. Me husband will be back soon. There’s a fireplace in this dump but no firewood. D’ye have food by chance?”

“A roast chicken and some bread,” Sarah said. She stepped into the dark house, whose small window provided little light through its dirty panes. “We’re happy to share for a place to stay.”

 

An hour later, Phelan Donovan showed up with an armful of wood and he and Mike soon had a fire going in the hearth. Sarah feared they would all be spending the night in the forecourt of the place when the chimney started smoking but it was just age and a few old birds nests and it soon righted itself. Mike and Sarah shared their food and the brandy. There was no furniture in the place but Sarah didn’t care. She snuggled up next to Mike, feeling stronger after eating. The fire warmed her face as she fought to stay awake against the exertions of the long day.

“I was an IT specialist with Accenture,” Phelan said, hugging his knees as he stared into the fire. He was middle-aged but in good shape, lean and hard. “Sometimes I can’t believe the life we used to have.” He looked at his wife, Katie who nodded in agreement.

“We lived in Dublin,” she said. “I was taking some classes but basically we were just enjoying being childless in Dublin. We went clubbing every weekend. Life was so good. No offense, Sarah. Kids are great. Just not for me and Phelan. Especially now.” She looked at her husband. “Can you imagine?”

Sarah felt her heart tighten. Yeah, trust me, do not have kids so you can be worried sick about them twenty-four seven.

“You’re smart,” she said to Katie.

“Sarah, darlin,” Mike admonished. “You don’t mean that.”

Sarah turned to the couple. “We’ve both lost our sons and are on the road looking for them.”

“Lost them? Blimey,” Phelan said. “How?”

“How indeed,” Sarah said miserably. “It doesn’t matter.”

“And now you’re pregnant again?” Katie asked timidly, glancing at Sarah’s stomach.

“It was an accident,” Sarah said, almost bitterly. She didn’t look at Mike. She knew her words were hurtful but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Another child to worry myself sick over. And look at these two! Happy as larks with just themselves to fret over. Tears burned her eyes.

“It’s been a long day,” Mike said.

Sarah turned to lean into him, her sadness a living breathing thing that sat on her chest and sucked all the breath and the life out of her.

Just like the day that’s coming, she thought. And the one after that and the one after that.

 

*****

 

As they prepared to part ways with Phelan and Katie the next morning Mike split the rest of their bread with them. It seemed that after four years of living in Dublin in their old apartment, a band of toughs had pushed them out and they’d fled the city. That was barely a month ago and the pair had lived hand to mouth ever since.

“You’re welcome to travel with us,” Mike said. “We have a Jeep hidden in the woods near Rosslare. We can drive you as far as Kilkenny. From there we need to split up but you can walk the rest of the way to Ameriland. There’ll be a place there if you want.” He grinned at Katie. “There’s no nightclubbing but we do have electricity.”

“Saints be praised,” Katie said. “Electricity? Christmas came early.”

They walked together the rest of that day. Mike was able to trap a rabbit which they cooked over a small fire on the beach at midday. They stopped early for the day when they found another vacant shelter to spent the night.

“Do people have jobs in your Ameriland?” Phelan asked after they’d had dinner in the small stone house. “Because I’m handy.”

“We used to have electronics and video surveillance,” Mike said. “But we had a bit of insanity recently and most of it got rubbished.”

“Electronics?” Phelan looked at his wife and then back at Mike. “I bet I can fix it.”

“Well, it would be worth a lot to us if you could. That’s grand.”

“What about me?” Katie said. “I was an executive secretary in my life before the Crisis.”

“Not much paperwork at the compound,” Sarah said with a sad smile. She wanted to involve herself in the conversation but the pain in her chest was like a hard knot that got in the way of eating and drinking and thinking and talking.

“But if you’re good at organizing,” Mike said, “there’s lots of ways you can contribute.”

“Failing that,” Katie said, I have my two hands. “I can knit, I can milk goats, I can garden.” She turned to Sarah. “And I can help with the babies.”

“We weren’t entirely honest with you earlier,” Phelan said in a low voice as he took the brandy bottle from Mike and stared into the flames in the fireplace.

“Oh, aye?” Mike said in a tense voice.

“About being childless,” Katie said hurriedly.

“So you do have children?” Sarah asked.

“No, we were dishonest about us being happy and childless,” Katie said. “We were undergoing infertility treatments when the bomb went off. The truth is we were trying like mad to get pregnant.” Her eyes went to the soft swelling under Sarah’s jacket.

“Oh.”

“No big deal,” Katie said, tossing a small stick into the fire. “Just…I think I’d like to mind the kiddies if people need that.”

“They do,” Sarah said, with a sigh. “Kiddies always need minding.”

 

The weather turned nasty in the night and Sarah heard the pounding of the rain against the hard slate roof—and the sounds of Katie getting sick over and over again. The smell of the vomit and Phelan’s concerned murmuring combined with the terrible storm to ensure that nobody slept. Mike held Sarah as if by doing so he could somehow change whatever was happening to the couple on the far side of the abandoned cottage.

Once, he put his hand on her stomach and she patted his hand reassuringly.

“I’m fine. We’re fine. Do you think she has the illness?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought it hadn’t come to Ireland. What’s the whole point of shooting boats out of the water if it’s here?”

“But she looked fine yesterday.” She shivered and Mike rubbed his hands up and down her arms to warm them.

“I can start another fire,” he said.

“Is it light enough to leave? I’d rather just get going.”

Mike took an intake of breath as if he would speak but didn’t.

“She’s not going to be able to go, is she?” Sarah asked quietly.

“I doubt it.”

“Make the fire.”

Mike disentangled himself from Sarah and began to build up the wood in the cold hearth. At one point, he stopped and handed Phelan a water bottle for Katie and then went back and lighted the kindling. Sarah watched the fire catch and bring the room to life with a warm glow. An hour later, Mike spoke to Phelan and came back to Sarah. She saw he had the rifle in his hands.

“Where are you going?” She dreaded him telling her they wouldn’t be leaving today. Even though it was hopeless and there was no way to go where John had gone, it still felt less monstrously awful to be moving. If there was an answer out there to finding John or Gavin, one thing Sarah knew was that it wasn’t going to be found on the inside of an abandoned cottage twenty miles from Rosslare.

“I’m going out to bag a rabbit or two,” he said. “We’ll roast them and then leave them here. He says she’s done this before and she’ll be right as rain by nightfall. Or tomorrow latest.”

“So we can go ahead and leave?” The relief was paramount. She knew it didn’t matter and they should probably just stay put and wait but right now the only thing that was keeping her sane was movement. She was pretty sure Mike felt the same way too.

“As soon as I get back and dress the meat. They’ll follow when they can. I’ve given him directions to Ameriland.”

“Is she contagious?” Sarah said, sitting up and brushing off her hands.

“Phelan says no. And she’s asleep for now so just sit tight ’til I get back.” He gave her a quick kiss, then stood and said a few words to Phelan before slipping out the door. Sarah could see when he opened the door that it was still dark out. Phelan stepped outside too, probably to relieve himself.

She moved to the fire and held her hands out to feel the warmth. She tried to imagine that John was just a few miles from where she was sitting right his minute. In her mind, she imagined a kind woman was feeding him soup and being charmed by his cheerful affect and his southern manners. He really was the best of both her and David. Her heart pinched painfully at the thought of David and the memory of how quickly life could turn to terror.

The door suddenly flew open with a loud bang. Sarah gasped and turned on her knees to face it. Three men filed in. They looked to the fireplace where Sarah knelt and then to the pallet in the corner of the room where Katie lay. The man in front held a gun in front of him and pointed it at Sarah. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, obliterating all sound in the room.

The two men behind the gunman turned as if startled by something and Sarah saw Phelan’s white shocked face appear in the doorway. The sound of the gunshot reverberated wildly off the stone walls of the cottage. Phelan sank to his knees.