Bury the Living (Revolutionary #1) (23 page)

“I’ll do it,” Thomas said. “You hit the starter. It’s on the floor. On my signal.”

Nora climbed back into the cab and found a lever on the floor. She craned her neck out the window and watched him fiddle with the wires. When he gave her a thumbs-up, she pumped the lever and the engine came to life, uncomfortably loud. Thomas quickly closed the engine cover and let Bran into the back of the car before climbing into the passenger seat. Nora gripped the steering wheel.

Sweet Jesus. What would Eamon say if he knew she was stealing a vintage Model T?

“You do this often?” he asked as they turned down a laneway, away from the pub. “Break people out of prison? Steal automobiles?”

Nora huffed. “Only when necessary.”

She could feel his eyes on her.
The road. Look at the road.

“Who
are
you?” he asked.

“I told you. I’m no one. Just a messed-up kid from Belfast who got sent to 1923. Maybe I’m being punished.”

“For what?”

“Nothing. It was a joke.”

He directed her through a maze of side streets and laneways. The streets were empty, save for the odd dog or drunkard. The car was slow and jerky, and she could feel every pebble under the wheels. But the farther they drove, the more she relaxed. Thomas was free. Would they go looking for him? Was one lone Republican worth a manhunt?

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To Lynch, of course. I thought you knew where he was.”

“I know he’s somewhere in the Knockmealdown Mountains. But it’s a big place.”

“So we look until we find him.”

It didn’t take long to get out of the city. The headlights of the car were dim, and Nora could barely make out the road.

“We’re almost there,” Thomas said. “Take the next road to the right.”

Nora slowed. Then headlights blared in their eyes.

A large metal barrier and an army lorry loomed ahead of them. Nora killed the headlights and swore, then threw the car into reverse but didn’t step on the gas; she was frozen with indecision. Should they try to bluff their way through, or would it be safer to make a run for it?

“It’s too late, they’ll have seen us,” Thomas said. His eyes were wary. Bran growled in the backseat. Two soldiers walked toward them, weapons drawn.

“Thomas, we
cannot
get arrested. There isn’t time.”

She scanned the area around them, but it was too dark to see anything.
We’ll use that to our advantage.
She stepped on the pedal and backed away from the roadblock. The army lorry’s engine started. “Let’s run.” She slammed on the brakes and threw open the door. Thomas was already at her side. He grabbed her hand, and they plunged off the road, Bran racing after them. They were in a field of some kind, but it was too dark to see anything. Tall grass whipped at their hands. Shouts chased them, and the thunder of boots, but then they were in the trees, Thomas pulling her along, this way then that, lifting her over roots and stones as though it were broad daylight. The shouts faded. The soldiers were going the wrong way. She clung to Thomas’s hand, sure that if they lost each other they would not find their way back together again. They ran. And ran. And ran.

Finally, he slowed. A stitch in her side made her double over. Bran pushed her wet nose against Nora’s cheek.

“It’s safe. We can rest for a while,” Thomas said.

“How did you . . . ? It was like you could see,” she panted.

“I’ve spent a lot of time in these fields and woods. There’s a patch of dry moss over here. Let’s sit.”

They listened to each other breathe for a long while. Then Nora put her face in her hands. “Ballix!” Lynch would be killed the day after tomorrow, and here they were lost in the middle of nowhere, with no car and with Free State soldiers at their heels.

“We’ll find him, Nora. I want it as much as you do.”

Do you?
“Even if we find him—which would be a miracle at this point—and save this secret deal between him and Cosgrave, then according to you, the curse will be broken.”

“Aye.”

“Are you so anxious to die?”

His breath hitched. “I am.”

“I have a lot of questions for when this is over.”

“I imagine you do. I’ve my own questions as well. I’ve met a lot of strange and interesting people, but never someone from the future. But let me ask you just once, right now: Why is saving Lynch so important to you? Are you really such a patriot?”

A patriot. Was she? At one time in her life, she’d have answered yes without hesitation. She’d fought for her country. Bled for it.
But would I have done the same if Eamon hadn’t died?

“I love Ireland. I do. And she deserves to be free and whole.”

“But?”

How could she tell him the truth? He was practically a stranger. And yet he’d been inside her head for months, and besides Brigid and the Brigidine Sisters, he was the only person in 1923 who knew who she really was. She
wanted
to tell him—a realization that both confused and frightened her. How would he view her once he knew the truth?

She buried her hands in Bran’s brown fur. “I told you the war continues in the North. My father was a Volunteer. He was killed when I was very young. My brother Eamon, he only wanted peace. But I was stupid. Selfish. I got in trouble with the Provos—that’s what the IRA becomes. They wanted him to sign up. He did it, but only to protect me. He never wanted any of it. And then . . .” Thomas’s arm settled around her, and she stiffened. But he left it there, warm and accepting, inviting her confidence. She softened and rested her head against his shoulder.

“He died?” Thomas asked softly.

“Aye. Beaten to death by Protestant paramilitaries.” Even as she said it, the rage flickered inside her.

“And you want to avenge him.”

“I want to fix it. Make it so it never happens.”

“You’ve buried your dead, Nora. Don’t try to bury the living as well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It just means that I know a thing or two about regret. About moving on without the people you love. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re not the one who died.”

She shrugged off Thomas’s arm. “We should keep going. Maybe we can get back to the car.”

“They’re still out there, looking for us,” Thomas said. “We need to be careful.”

“If we’re careful, Lynch will die . . . and so will my brother.”

“Bran.” Thomas jerked his head, and Bran slunk into the woods.

“Where’s she going?”

“To find Lynch’s exact location for us. It’ll make our path easier in the morning. Save us some time.”

She shivered. Thomas wrapped his arm around her again. “We’ll make better time in the morning. We’re less than a mile away from the Gillies farm. I reckon it’s safe to go that far, so long as we’re careful.”

Her heart warmed at the thought of seeing Mrs. Gillies, and she had to admit Thomas was right. If they blundered their way back to the car now, they’d almost certainly get caught. She got to her feet and waited for him to point the way. He offered his arm, which she could barely see in the impenetrable darkness. She wrapped hers through it, and he led her like a blind person around rocks and hedgerows.

They smelled it before they could see it. The unmistakable scent of burning wood. She tensed as the first whiffs reached them. They picked up the pace.

“It’s just over the next rise,” Thomas said.

Maybe it was a bonfire. Maybe a farmer clearing his field. Maybe . . .

They crested the hill. The darkness was pierced with the red glow of coals. It was all that remained of the Gillies family home.

“No,” Nora breathed. She let go of Thomas’s arm and plunged down the hill, her eyes fixed on the embers.

“Wait!” Thomas whispered. But Nora ignored him, her heart pounding in her ears, driven forward by the fear of what she might find.

The home was a blackened shell. Most of the thatched roof was gone, and scorch marks lined the windows. Broken furniture and crockery spilled into the yard. Scraps of books, a shattered mirror, and a soot-covered teakettle. “Mrs. Gillies!” Nora called, wheeling around wildly. “Mr. Gillies! Stephen!” For the first time, she was glad Pidge was in jail. At least she was safe from whoever had done this.

Thomas arrived at her side, his face grim. There was movement in the doorway of the stone barn, which looked untouched. Thomas grabbed her arm. “Stop. Whoever did this might still be here.”

She wrenched her arm out of his grip. “Then they’ll have me to answer to, won’t they?” She drew her pistol from her beaded bag and stalked toward the barn. “Whoever is in there, come out slowly!”

A figure emerged. Mrs. Gillies stood trembling in the doorway. Her skin was blackened with soot, her hair wild and frizzy in the dim light of the embers of her home. Nora stashed the gun and rushed over to her. “Are you hurt?”

Mrs. Gillies shook her head. Her eyes were rimmed red and her lips cracked.

“I think she’s in shock. Thomas, your jacket.” Thomas had already shrugged off his jacket, and he gently settled it around Mrs. Gillies’s shoulders.

“She should sit down.” Thomas led them to a large stump in the front yard. Nora lowered Mrs. Gillies down and sat beside her, her arm around her shoulders.

“What happened?” she whispered. “Where are the men? Are they okay?”

Mrs. Gillies tried to speak, but nothing came out except for a dry rasp.

“Thomas, see if you can find an unbroken cup in there,” Nora said. “The water pump is behind the barn.”

Mrs. Gillies swallowed hard and tried again. “They took them.”

“The Free State?”

Mrs. Gillies nodded, her lips clamped shut.

“Oh no.” Nora felt a great wave of nausea. “I’m so sorry. I should have . . .” Her apology hung limply in the air between them, useless.

Mrs. Gillies didn’t meet her eyes. “They were hiding out on the Hill of Allen with some of the other lads. Staters picked them up earlier today, then came round and burned all the houses.”

Nora stayed silent. How could she and Pidge have been so reckless? Mr. Gillies and Stephen would be lucky to escape the firing squad. It wouldn’t matter to the Free State that the weapons they’d found here last week had been smuggled in by Pidge without her parents’ knowledge.

“Mrs. Gillies, I—” But what could be said?

Mrs. Gillies patted her knee, then moved her hand away rather quickly. “What’s done is done. I signed up for this life when I married Sean. How could our children be anything but revolutionaries? I just hope . . .” She stared at the blackened remains of her home. “I tried . . . I tried to put it out. But I couldn’t.”

Thomas returned with a chipped mug full of clear water. Mrs. Gillies sipped it. “Is this your young man? The one you were looking for?” she asked, cradling the mug in her lap.

“Aye.”

“I see. And Pidge? Do you have any word from her?”

Nora had to look away. “Not since they moved them. I went to North Dublin Union, but they wouldn’t let me in. I sent her a letter.”

Mrs. Gillies nodded. The water seemed to have revived her somewhat. “She wrote to me. Told me you’d signed the form.”

“I’m not a traitor. I have my reasons. There are things that only I can do . . . and not from inside a prison.”

Mrs. Gillies patted her knee. “I know there are things you can’t speak of, Nora. I won’t ask you. But Pidge is young. She doesn’t understand. She’s angry, and who can blame her?”

“I know.” Nora stared at the embers, the way she might have done around a dying campfire. But this was a family’s home. A family’s life.

“I don’t want her to know what happened here,” Mrs. Gillies said. “She might not be strong enough to take it.”

“I tried to talk her out of the hunger strike. I did everything I could, but she was set on it.”

Mrs. Gillies sniffed, and her mouth grew tight. “Pidge has a fire in her. I’m not sure it will be quenched until she’s given her life for the Republic.”

“It won’t come to that. They’ll release her.”

“They released Brenda Moynihan last month, after twenty-seven days on strike. She died this past week. Influenza. Too weak to fight it off.”

Nora struggled with what to say. How could she promise this woman that she wouldn’t lose her entire family? She couldn’t predict the outcome. “It will end soon. The war. I can’t say what will happen next, but this war—Irish against Irish—it’s going to be over soon.”

“I wish it were true, Nora.”

“It is. Trust me.”

Thomas knelt down beside them. “She should get some rest. Do you have somewhere you can go?” he asked Mrs. Gillies. “We can take you there.”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine in the barn for now. The McQuarrys will take me in in the morning, I reckon. At least until the men are back.”

“We’ll stay with you until morning,” Nora said, her voice tight. She wanted to find Lynch, she wanted to keep going, but she couldn’t leave Mrs. Gillies here all alone. Besides, it was well past midnight. She wouldn’t get far without some sleep.

Thomas wrapped a stick in some ruined curtains and made a torch. Inside the barn they found extra blankets for the horses. They made Mrs. Gillies as comfortable as possible on a bed of hay. Nora sat beside her.

“I’m sorry about your things, Nora,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s grand,” Nora said. None of that seemed to matter now.

“What was it all, if I may ask? Some of it seemed so strange. That pamphlet about Kilmainham . . .”

Nora adjusted the blanket around Mrs. Gillies’s shoulders. What would tomorrow bring for this brave soul?

“It was for a play. I was in a theater company in Belfast. We were . . . imagining the future. I guess I had some of the props in my bag when I left.”

“Ah. I see.”

Nora was glad she couldn’t see the older woman’s eyes.

She waited until Mrs. Gillies’s breath slowed to a steady, deep rhythm. Then she went back into the yard. Thomas had started a fire near the stump. She sat next to him and stared wordlessly into the flames.

“It was kind of you to offer to stay,” he said.

“When I first arrived here, from the future . . . she was the first person to show me kindness. I think she suspects—I think she’s always suspected—that there’s something not quite right about my story. But she’s given me her trust anyway. I couldn’t just leave her here.”