3
Master Sergeant Padraig Hurley stood on the parade grounds on the army base outside of Dublin city limits and watched the troops file past him. A line of three vehicles moved to where the truck depot was located behind the first barracks. It was eighteen hundred hours with most of his men expecting to be dismissed to the mess hall. He watched them go through their drill with heavy limbs and sluggish paces.
As his men passed, he even noticed scowls and disgruntled glances in his direction.
It hadn’t been this way five years ago. Then, before the EMP, Hurley had the power to make their lives a living hell on this earth. That power had commanded respect and immediate obedience.
Now, over the years a full third of his troops had slunk off into the night with Hurley’s superiors telling him there was nothing they could do about it—not until Ireland could rebuild, not until Ireland’s allies could give them a hand, not until Ireland was on its feet again.
And in the meantime, Master Sergeant Hurley was practically leading a volunteer army.
Frustrated, he blew his whistle and watched the men come to a gradual stop. Nothing crisp about it. A few even stood with their weight shifted to one leg, their shoulders sagging, their heads twisting around to grin at a friend.
“Dismissed!” he barked, feeling an irrational urge to lift his weapon and mow down the first line of men in front of him.
Think that would get their attention? Think they might be able to hold ranks for longer than fifteen minutes then?
He watched them wander toward the barracks and the mess tent. He felt the sharpness in the air of the coming autumn and his eye again caught the line of Jeeps past the parade ground.
Only for some reason they weren’t moving anymore.
From where she stood waiting on the front steps of the convent Sarah finally saw the two men emerge from the shadows.
“Mike!”
“Aye, it’s us,” he called, his voice thick with exhaustion.
She ran down the steps and into the darkness. They met in the middle of the garden path. Her arms went around his waist. His clothes were wet. She pulled back as Gavin edged past them heading for the front door.
“What happened? Why are you so late? Why are you wet?”
“Sure, I’ll tell you everything, Sarah,” Mike said, “only I’m starving and frozen to the bone.”
“Did you fall in? Why are you wet?”
Mother Angelina met them at the door and lifted a lantern to peer into Mike’s face.
“You’ve returned,” she said. “Sister Monica is preparing a late meal. You’ll need a bandage.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Mike said. In the lantern light, Sarah could see that his face was ashen and his shoulders sagged with weariness. In a flash, she realized they must have walked from Rosslare.
“Mike, the Jeep….”
“You’re not going to let me even sit down first?”
Noises came from down the long stone hall. Sophia, disheveled and groggy, was pulling on a robe and following Gavin to the dining room. As they entered, one of the nuns was building up the fire in the fireplace. Both Mike and Gavin went to stand near it and held out their hands.
Another nun appeared with a stack of blankets and laid them in front of the fire.
“You’ll be needing to take off those wet things,” she said brusquely. They didn’t hesitate although Sophia turned her back as her husband and father-in-law stripped in front of the fire before they were wrapped in blankets. Chairs were pushed to the fireplace where the two now sat. Sarah knelt near Mike’s chair and took his hand. It was like ice.
Sister Monica handed both men steaming mugs of tea and returned to the kitchen. Fiona and Declan appeared in the doorway.
Sarah waited while Mike and Gavin warmed themselves and ate. Sister Monica stitched and bandaged a cut over Mike’s eye.
“You have our curiosity,” Mother Angelina said with a smile. “If you are ready to tell your tale?”
“How did you fall in the water?” Sarah asked. “Both of you?”
“We didn’t fall in,” Gavin said. He sat with one arm draped around Sophia’s shoulders. He looked tired, his eyes were glassy and vacant.
“We jumped,” Mike said as Sister Monica added a long draught of whiskey to his third cup of hot tea. “Did you happen to see the airliner that flew over this afternoon?”
Sarah frowned. “I heard it. Why? Did it drop something?”
“You could say that.”
“It fell out of the sky, so it did,” Gavin said to his wife. “The engines went silent and it just…fell.”
“Almost on top of us,” Mike added.
Sarah felt her heart beginning to pound in her throat.
“We jumped in the water to avoid getting hit.”
“How can a plane just fall?” Fiona asked. “I’ve never heard of that.”
“Mother of God pray for us,” Mother Angelina murmured. Sarah looked at her and then back at Mike.
There’s nothing to worry about. It’s all over and they’re alive.
“There were many bodies?” Angelina asked quietly.
“Aye, Mother. Many.”
The room was silent except for the hushed prayers of the Sisters and the crackle of the wood in the fireplace. Sarah noticed that Mac had entered the room and now stood by the door listening.
“You walked back, didn’t you?” Sarah asked, feeling a ball of hard panic sitting in her throat.
“The Jeep’s kaput,” Mike said wearily.
“Why? How?” Declan asked. His words were slightly slurred.
“We tried to start it,” Gavin said. “It wouldn’t turn over.”
“The battery?” Sarah asked. Mike looked at her but didn’t answer.
“Jaysus, Joseph and Mary!” Fiona gasped. “You think it’s another EMP, don’t you?”
“I fear it might be,” Mike said.
As soon as his words left his mouth Sarah felt the floor drop away and her vision waver. She stood up, her hands on the arm of his chair for support.
“Sarah, lass…”
“Oh my God,” she said, her eyes on the fire. The room and the people in it dropped away.
John.