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.