A loud knock at the door made Angie jump.
“Whoa, Ange,” Jeff said, putting a heavy hand on her neck. “You gotta learn to relax.”
Angie shrugged off his hand and got up to answer the door. One of the other men, Danny, stood on the other side of it, scratching his crotch. “Aidan’s slag is here,” he said.
“Send her in, and bring more wood to burn in the hearth. It’s freezing in there.” She returned to the room. “Your girlfriend’s on her way, Aidan. I need you to take her off straightaway to find and dismantle those snares around the camp.”
“Well, maybe not straightaway.” Aidan sniggered and high-fived Jeff.
The door opened behind her and the young woman entered. She wore a ridiculously short skirt and a low-cut blouse. She went straight to Aidan, who pulled her onto his lap. “Hey, baby, I missed you,” he murmured into her neck.
Angie saw that Denny seemed to be looking at the two as if not totally sure what he was seeing. She wondered how much he’d already had to drink. She cleared her throat. “Oy, Aidan, take Barbie and go check out the snares. Now.” The girl giggled and grabbed for Aidan’s belt buckle.
Angie raised her voice. “Aidan? Did you hear me?”
Aidan stood up with the girl in his arms, flashing the table with the fact that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. She squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Oh! Before we go, Aidan,” she said, “I probably should mention the thing I discovered before coming here.”
Angie spoke sharply. “You have news about the camp?”
“You could say that.”
Angie couldn’t believe how patient Denny was being with this little bitch. It was like he was hypnotized by the cow. She sighed in frustration but tried to temper her words when she spoke. “Yes? And that would be?”
Caitlin looked up into Aidan’s face. “I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible.” She turned to look at Denny, her eyes flashing with malice. “She’s back.”
32
“I’ll take you to Limerick first thing in the morning. That’s where Fi said the pilot was headed. If it’s some kind of American military landing stage, we’ll get you on the next plane to the States. That can’t have been the only one. I promise you, Sarah, we’ll get you back to your boy.”
Sarah nodded. It had just been a shock. It wasn’t forever. She would see John again. She knew that. She believed that.
He wasn’t dead.
She rode next to Mike on her horse, Dan. It had been so long since she’d been on his back that it surprised her to feel so immediately comfortable once she was seated on him again. It’s true, she thought patting Dan’s neck, there’s something so good for the inside of a person to be on the outside of a horse. That and a good plan was all anyone needed in this world.
A plan to reunite with loved ones.
In the quiet moments of the night when Mike and Fiona—so worried about her, so attentive!—thought she was asleep, it occurred to her that what life was really all about was getting back home again. In fact, life was just an endless series of leaving and finding your way home. Nothing else really mattered. She glanced at Mike as they rode the dusty lane down what used to be the main drag in this part of Ireland, but was now just a very serviceable bridle path.
He felt yesterday’s tragedy so keenly, it was almost as if he’d lost his own son. That’s because he loves me.
The thought didn’t shock her when it came, but the ease with which she accepted it, so soon after losing David, made her stomach clench.
She had insisted they go back to her cottage the very next morning after arriving back in camp. She knew Mike didn’t think it was a good idea, but he also didn’t feel he could deny her much after what she’d lost.
Don’t say it like that. Not even in your head. You haven’t lost him. You’ll get him back.
“Look, about the people who kidnapped me…”
“There’s plenty of time to talk about that, Sarah.”
“I know, and I think this is one of those times. They are coming after me, Mike. They were waiting for me at the channel crossing and, trust me, they haven’t given up. It wouldn’t take much for them to find out I was heading back to Donovan’s Lot.”
“We’ll deal with them if they come.”
“They’re ruthless killers, Mike. Worse than Finn’s gang.” Soon after The Crisis happened, she and Mike and David had fought a gypsy sociopath bent on destroying or ruling the Irish countryside.
“That’s hard to believe.”
“Well, maybe just as bad then.”
“Why in the world would they follow you all the way back to Ireland?”
“I…it’s a long story.”
“We have time right now, as you’ve just pointed out.”
“Okay, fine. I…I escaped with my life from these bastards, and in the process…I killed a man.”
“Jesus, Joseph and Mary!” Mike pulled up his horse and stared at her. “How in the name of God did you do that?”
“Really, Mike?” Sarah looked at him, her eyes flashing. “Are you surprised that I was driven to that? Okay, let’s see. Well, first I temporarily disabled him with a knee to the groin, then I grabbed the knife I found in his boot and I slit his throat with it.” She realized she was crying and that Mike was looking at her with horror, but she found she couldn’t stop talking. “Oh, did I mention I was naked at the time? Because that’s a really important part of the story…”
“Sarah, shirrup, stop! Stop!”
Sarah dropped her reins and covered her face with her hands. Within seconds she felt herself being pulled out of the saddle and crushed into Mike’s arms.
“Stop, stop,” he murmured into her hair as she wept. “My poor girl, my poor, brave girl. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”
Sarah knew he felt helpless to comfort her, but the strength of his arms supported her and soothed her. She felt a tiny part of the revulsion of the experience begin to wane and the comfort of being loved and protected once more began to grow inside her, blotting out the rest. She pulled away from him. “I’m sorry, Mike.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’ve every right to have a good cry. In fact, to be half mad considering what you’ve endured.” He shook his head and began to pull her even closer but she stopped him.
“I’m okay. Or at least I will be. It didn’t kill me. I’m still standing.”
“You’re a tough one, Sarah Woodson,” Mike said, touching her hair.
She pulled away and smiled to soften the rejection. “I’m okay, Mike. I’m ready to go on.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I just want you to realize that they’re evil, evil people and I’m afraid I’ve probably led them straight to Donovan’s Lot.”
“Pshht! We’re ready for them,” Mike said, as she turned to face her horse. She bent her knee and he boosted her easily onto Dan’s back. “As you know, we run drills constantly on clearing the camp and we’re not without offensive resources. We won’t be taken by surprise. You’re not to worry, Sarah. Not anymore.”
She gathered up her reins and smiled down on him. “That’s like saying I should hold off breathing for a while.”
“Well, at least let me do the worrying for a little bit, eh?” He mounted his horse, but when she moved forward she noticed he stood unmoving in the middle of the road.
“Why are you stopped?” she asked.
He looked like he wasn’t sure of how to phrase his words, and his hesitancy was starting to annoy her.
“Stop treating me like I’m going to break in two, Mike Donovan,” she said, hoping her voice had some of her old spirit back and that he could hear it.
“It’s a hard thing you’re doing today, Sarah. I don’t want to make it harder.”
“Just tell me.”
“We buried him in the east pasture,” Mike said, pointing off the road. “There’s a gate yonder a bit where we can access it.”
Sarah’s eyes follow
ed where he pointed. “Why not near the cottage?” she asked quietly.
He cleared his throat, clearly still pained to talk about it. “It was John’s preference. He said his da loved to watch the sun pop up behind the cairns of a morning.”
Sarah nodded and forced herself to swallow past the large lump that was forming in her throat. John had made the decision. He’d had to deal with so much all alone. “Take me there, then,” she said, hearing the anguish in her voice.
* * *
Angie spotted the first sentry perched high in a tree about a half-kilometer from the compound. She was tempted to point him out to Denny for whatever brownie points that might earn her, but she knew he’d just open fire on the kid and they needed him to alert the others. Besides, there’d be plenty of time to shine her star with him.
After they got Sarah.
When the kid began to noisily descend the tree, Angie was amazed that nobody else in her group could hear him. She had stationed Jimmy, Aidan and Damian at the escape exits to usher the fleeing masses back into camp. By the time tree-boy got back to raise the alarm, all he would effectively have done was round everyone up for Denny in one neat, terrified little parcel.
Angie nudged her horse to ride up to Denny. “This is the entrance.”
“Doesn’t look like much.”
“Jeff’s tied strips of white sheets to mark where the traps and pits are.”
“I see that. How many men did Aidan say there were?”
“About twenty. Five more that us.”
“Except we have automatic rifles.”
“And they’ll have to deal with their women and children,” Angie reminded him. “When they’re not allowed to run to safety, the men will lay down pretty quick.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” Denny said.
Angie twisted around in her saddle to face the men behind her. “Anybody in camp tries to use their gun, kill ‘em. Anybody tries to run, kill ‘em. Keep yer eyes out for the Yank. Any questions?”
A few laughs and a rude comment or two filtered back to her.
Denny nodded. “Let’s do this,” he said, urging his horse forward.
The camp sentry had done his job, Angie saw when they entered the camp. The campfire was untended, the center of the camp and all the huts and cottages ringing it were empty. She posted six men to stand equal distance from each other around the camp’s perimeter and then dismounted, handing the reins of her horse to one of the new men. He was young and she hadn’t learned his name yet. She gave orders for him to collect everyone’s mounts and have them ready but off to the side.
Denny stood in the middle of the camp and looked around. “What a dump.” He looked at Angie. “Where is everyone?”
How many times had they discussed this? It was all she could do not to roll her eyes…something that would definitely get her killed.
“Just wait,” she said.
The minutes crept by and Angie was starting to envision how she would murder that idiot whore, Caitlin—and Aidan, too for good measure—if the information they’d been given was bad, when she heard them coming. They came from two different sides of the camp, women, children, and men.
When Angie saw them, she could see that some of the Irishmen were bleeding, obviously the result of unwise resistance against a stronger force. Some of the children were crying, but for the most part the group was surprisingly silent.
As the community stumbled back into camp, Denny ran up to them, hungrily scanning faces in the crowd.
Looking for her.
Angie’s gut pinched again when she saw the children. They were afraid but not terrified. They trusted that the adults would not let real harm happen to them, she thought. How could they have lived this long in the new world since and still believe that?
She watched Denny walk up to a young girl—no older than Dana—and put a gun to her head. Her mother shrieked and grabbed the girl’s arm to pull her away. The bodyguard, Eli, lunged at the mother, and a man from the crowd charged him. Angie saw Denny point his gun skyward and pull the trigger. Everyone froze, then a woman came from the middle of the crowd to stand in front of Denny. She put her hands on the sobbing girl and, looking into Denny’s crazed eyes, said, “I’ll be taking the bairn’s place if you’ll allow it.”
Angie watched Denny hesitate. He didn’t like ideas that weren’t his own, she knew, but the girl was attractive in a strongly Irish kind of way, curly hair, green eyes and freckles. And she had a good body. That counted for a lot in Denny’s mind. And if he had a brain cell in his skull he could see that attacking the child was going to get them mobbed, automatic weapons or no.
He released the girl and she ran screeching to her mother. Eli relinquished his grip on the woman.
Denny put his gun away in a show of accommodation and reasonableness that Angie knew was the lead-up to something much worse.
With a broad smile etching slowly across his face, he pulled out a short-handled dagger and pointed it at the young woman.
“Thank you for your suggestion, luv,” he said. “Now, I’ll be needing you to tell me where the Yank bitch is since I’m not able to see her and I know she’s back. You have until the count of three, after which I’ll slit yer feckin throat and start on the kiddies as originally planned.”
33
Sarah knelt in the grass by David’s grave. It was a simple mound with a cross. The words, David Woodson, Loving Husband and Father, were carved on the wooden cross.
“John wanted to put the dates on himself,” Mike said softly from where he stood behind her.
She touched the grass that edged the grave. The last time she had seen David was in this pasture. It was nearly impossible to believe that he now lay under this sod, the very sod where they’d grazed their goats and horses all summer long.
She wasn’t sure what she thought she’d feel when she saw David’s grave. Closure of some kind, she supposed. Instead, she felt nothing. It just didn’t feel real to her that her animated, handsome husband was here. Not when the sky was so blue, the birds still sang and the trout still jumped in the pond. David was here, but she’d never touch him again. She’d never hear his voice again. She stood up abruptly and dusted the dirt from her jeans.
A wave of irrational anger pierced her. She felt like she wanted to punch something. Hard.
“You all right, Sarah?”
“As good as I can be,” she said, staring at the simple cross.
“I’ll get the dates on it straightaway.”
She shook her head. Poor Mike. So helpless in the face of her agony. Flailing around desperately to come up with something that would somehow make a difference or make it all better. She looked at the grave and all she could think was, David gone, Evvie gone, Papin gone, John gone.
Why am I still here? What possible reason or purpose could that be?
“You all right, Sarah?”
She turned to him and nodded. “Let’s go on back. I don’t know what I was expecting to see.”
“Would you feel better if he were in the kirkyard? We could do that.”
“No. John’s right. This is as good a place as any for his earthly body to rest.”
“I’m just so sorry, Sarah.”
“I know. Thanks.”
A shout off in the distance made Mike turn in that direction. Sarah could see a figure running toward them across the pasture. It was the most direct route from Donovan’s Lot but was rarely used because there was no road.
“It’s Gavin,” Mike said. He was moving toward the boy before Sarah even registered his words. She grabbed the reins of both horses and led them after Mike. When she reached the two, Gavin was gasping for breath. There was a gash on his forehead and his eyes looked wild. Frightened.
“Slow down, son. What’s happened?”
“Da, they took the camp! They came from all sides and when we…it was all I could do…I hated to run but…Da, we have to hurry!”
“Gavin, lad, take a breath. Who’s come? What’
s happened?”
Sarah stood, holding both horses, trying to fight down the panic that was rising up in her throat.
“It’s them, Mike,” she said. “It’s Denny’s gang. They’ve come for me.”
“Are the women and children safely out at least?”
“They tried but was herded back into the center of camp. The blighters knew about the escape routes. Someone told ‘em where they were.”
Mike cursed. “How many of them are there?”
Gavin shook his head and looked back over his shoulder. “I guess, ten? Maybe more. They were on horseback. And they’re armed, Da. They had automatic weapons.”
Mike strode to his bay and pulled out his rifle. He checked the cartridges and handed it to Gavin. “Go to the tree overlooking the wash pond and climb to the top like we practiced.”
Gavin took the gun, but before he could move away Mike grabbed him by the shoulder. “Wait for my signal. Don’t just start shooting or they’ll pick you off like a sitting duck.”
“Right.”
“Take Mrs. Woodson’s horse. We’ll double up. Now hurry!”
Sarah handed her reins to Gavin and watched him vault onto Dan’s back and swivel him into a gallop back toward the community. She turned to Mike. “What are we going to do?”
“Do you remember exactly where David put the landmines by the goat pond?”
“I think so.”
“Take me to them.” He mounted his big bay and held out his hand to pull her up behind him on the saddle.
They cantered across the pasture with Sarah holding to Mike’s waist. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the white cross that marked David’s grave. The same people who put him there were back to kill more people she cared about. Somewhere deep inside her, a low, slow fury began to build.
She pointed to the southeast corner of the pond and Mike rode to it. She slid to the ground and ran to the spot where she had last seen the ordinances. She splashed into the soggy lip of the pond and pulled back the rushes. Mike jumped down to search too. She felt every precious second tick by, knowing those monsters were terrorizing the people at the community, the children, Fiona…
Going Gone, Book 2 of the Irish End Games Page 24
