Going Gone, Book 2 of the Irish End Games (15 page)

M
ike had been gone just
shy of a month—one wasted month—and now it was done. The rescue mission was over. And wherever Sarah was, she was on her own, as in so many ways she'd always been. The weight of abandoning the search, even temporarily, was wedged tight into the base of Mike's throat, where he knew it would always be.

Was God punishing him for loving her when she belonged to another? He never thought the Almighty operated along those lines, but this failure felt very like a lesson being crammed down his gob.

It helped watching Aideen and Taffy step aboard the ferry, their bags packed, Aideen smiling more broadly than he could ever remember her doing. He watched the sharp and bracing salt air rake the two travelers. Aideen turned her face into it, as if she welcomed the assault, the clean slate, the new life that awaited her.

Donovan's Sacrifice
, he thought bitterly as he sat on Petey at the top of the pasture and looked down onto the harbor, the ferry gone hours earlier. His failure spelled a new life for Aideen, but it was at the cost of being able to help the one woman who mattered most to him.

He turned his horse's head west toward home and Donovan's Lot. Whatever waited for him back home would be there still when he arrived. Whatever bollocks Gavin had made of things would be sorted out in time. He likely couldn't have destroyed a whole community in a month's time.

No, there was only one piece of wreckage that wouldn't soon be recovered from or easily survived by his failure.

John.

What the hell was he going to say to John?

T
he lad seemed a little better
, a little stronger. Whether it was the endless cups of tea, the lack of chores, Fi's constant attention, or just the resilience of a young body overcoming the mysterious ailment Fiona would never know, but he was slowly coming back to them.

There was a day or two when she wasn't sure he would.

Fiona hefted the plastic laundry basket full of wet clothing onto her hip and squinted at the sky. There wouldn't be loads of sun, but neither did it look like it was about to rain any time soon. She smiled to herself as she stepped off her porch. She was fairly sure that her real job at Donovan's Lot was as Chief Worrier. She knew her brother felt
he
held that title, but he wasn't a woman. He wasn't even close. Nor until he grew ovaries could he ever be.

She lugged the basket to Mike's hut and set it down heavily on the first step of his decking.
Typical Mike
, she thought. He's worked to make everybody else's cottage as tight and windproof as they could be and left his own place to grow moss and catch leaks. Not for the first time, she caught herself, thinking,
If only Ellen had lived…

A high-pitched squeal of a laugh caught on the breeze shuffled through camp and snagged Fiona's attention.
Speaking of Ellen
…She caught a glimpse of the dead woman's younger sister as Caitlin ran behind the tents that lined the main campfire.

What was the girl up to now?

True, the lass had come to her offering to sit with young John while he was the sickest, but then had been conveniently unavailable when Fiona suggested any real work for her to do. And as for sitting with the lad—Fiona pulled out a pair of cotton pants from the pile of wet laundry and draped it over Mike's porch railing—that had lasted all of one day after Fi caught Caitlin feeding the boy poteen. Remembering the incident, Fi colored with annoyance all over again.

“Are you trying to kill the lad?” She had grabbed the bottle from Caitlin's hands. “He's
twelve
, you eejit!”

Fi had seen an unpleasant side of Caitlin during that exchange, which ended with Caitlin flouncing out of the cottage and slamming the door behind her.

When Fi saw that John was fine—if a little woozy for the experience—she regretted her harsh words.
Still, it's hard enough to live during these times without having to live through someone else's foolishness on top of it.

As she flapped out a wet t-shirt and positioned it next to the pants on the railing, she craned her neck to see what Caitlin was up to that involved scampering and squealing. She was
supposed
to be gathering kindling for the widow McGinty's cook stove. When no other sounds came from behind the tents, Fi shrugged and went back to her own chores.

After the poteen incident, Caitlin had opted to keep her distance from Fiona—and so, John—and Fiona had to admit she found it better for everyone all around. The following day when Fiona had gone to pour the poteen into a smaller bottle so that she could use the bigger one to store cooking oil, nearly a half a dozen undissolved aspirin tablets were glommed at the bottom of the bottle.

An innocent mistake, surely, on Caitlin's part, obviously trying to make the boy more comfortable.

But one that could easily have been fatal for him.

T
he village
of Bancyfelin was only five miles due west from Carmarthen, but it took Sarah all night to reach it. She hated to walk so close to the A40—surely the main conduit for Angie and her group—but she was afraid of getting lost. Besides, she had told Papin she would meet her in Merlins Bridge outside of Haverfordwest in two days' time. They had met again a few minutes before Sarah slipped away into the night—her promise of work to Alice unfulfilled and so her dependence on Papin all the greater.

It was Papin who told her Merlins Bridge would be a good halfway point at which to meet. Unfortunately, it was a direct route from Carmarthen on the worst possible road for hiding. Sarah cursed herself for not confirming with the girl that they were headed toward the point on the coast
that had ferry crossings
. In the end, she knew it didn't matter. If she had to backtrack, she would.

After the fifth group of noisy travelers forced her into the trees for another wasted hour of waiting and watching, Sarah finally decided to leave the highway for the pastures and woodland boundaries. Papin said that Merlins Bridge was only two days distance by foot, and what that translated into miles Sarah had no idea. Once again she realized she had placed her life in the hands of someone she had no reason to trust.

With the morning bearing down on her and what cover she had had up to then about to vanish, Sarah took off at a slow jog across the field. She knew she was off course. She knew she would probably not make the rendezvous at this rate. She also knew that traveling so close to the A40 was a death sentence. If she lost Papin, well, then she did. Mid-morning, grateful for not having seen another living soul, Sarah dropped over a broken fieldstone wall and rested, her back up against the wall. Evvie had insisted Sarah take the half-pie and she dug it out of her pack now and devoured it in two bites.

Her heart ached to think of Evvie, her eyes big and trusting but scared, too, beseeching Sarah to return for her. It had been a painful parting.

And then there was Papin. What was her story? If she needed to leave town, why did she need Sarah for that? And why volunteer to babysit Evvie in the meantime?

None of it made sense. Sarah closed her eyes and enjoyed the brief showing of the autumn sun on her face as it peeked through the clouds. If the girl showed up at Merlins Bridge then Sarah would honor her promise to bring her along. But if she wasn't there, Sarah wouldn't wait. Watching the sun retreat back into the clouds and the resulting icy gust of wind ruffling her hair, Sarah picked up her knapsack. Setting up sticks to ascertain her position wasn't helpful at this point. She needed to get away from the main road more than she needed to be heading due west.

She got to her feet and began walking.

In a way, the next two days were almost peaceful. With nobody's safety but her own to worry about, Sarah simply walked and slept, her mind locked in neutral. She killed a small rabbit in the afternoon of her second day, made a fire and cooked it before nightfall, then packed up her food and kept moving until late that night when she climbed a crabapple tree.

Walking across fields and pastures made her feel vulnerable, and although the area looked as desolate as farmland that's been abandoned could look, Sarah couldn't take any chances. Twice she had had to throw rocks at wild and ravenously hungry dogs—probably tame and beloved family pets up until last year—in order to continue, and with the smell of cooked meat on her, she couldn't risk sleeping on the ground, especially without a fire. Moving again made her feel like every step was taking her closer to John and not the fatigue nor the hunger could diminish the spring in her step that that thought brought.

While she felt relatively safe, she had to admit she had no idea where she was in relation to Merlins Bridge or the coast. She awoke in her tree on the morning of her third day since she left Carmarthen. It was thirty-one days since the attack. And it was raining. She pulled her wet blanket around her shoulders and squinted up at the billowing gray clouds overhead. Today was the day she was to meet Papin at Merlins Bridge. At least she wasn't hungry. She'd eaten the whole rabbit last night before falling asleep in the branches of her tree.

Without the sun, however, how was she going to be able to tell which direction she was walking? The last time she checked was yesterday morning, but she'd logged in many miles since then and with the meandering nature of her path—over stonewalls and around woods or any sign of human habitation of which there had been few but enough—she was sure she was no longer going due west. Sitting in the tree, she tried to decide if she should continue in the same direction she had been going before she stopped. Ultimately, she didn't see another option. The sun didn't appear to be coming out any time soon and she had a strong urge to be moving.

She dropped to the ground, checked her provisions, ensured that her gun and knife were secure in her pack—she had stopped carrying the gun in her pocket, as it had begun to chafe badly on the top of her thigh—and headed out. She walked in the rain until she saw the skies clearing ahead, which prompted her to move quicker. The sooner she got out of the weather, the sooner she could determine how badly off track she was and correct it.

As she moved toward the blue skies ahead, she noted that at some point in the trip she had mentally let go of the necessity of meeting up with Papin and was now focused strictly on just finding the coast. That thought surprised her and triggered her to say a prayer for Evvie's safety. Would Papin betray Evvie for whatever money Angie's thugs might give her? A chill ran down Sarah's spine as she remembered Jeff when he jumped into the ditch with her just a few days earlier.

If he only knew how close he had been to touching her warm, still living flesh under the two corpses lying with her in the ditch. She shivered, not in memory of her grisly ditch companions, but at the thought of what would have happened to her if the real monster in that ditch had discovered her alive.

Suddenly, she saw a man and a woman walking toward her across the pasture. Because she had just been thinking of Angie and Jeff, she instantly dropped to her stomach in a panic and watched the two approach. As soon as she hit the ground, she could see it wasn't them, but still she didn't move. She watched them stumble along in the uneven footing of the pasture. Twice, the man reached out to grab the woman's elbow to steady her. Sarah turned on her back and pulled out the Glock. The rain, lighter now, still splashed into her face and she wiped it with the back of her sleeve, knowing she was about to give the two travelers a terrible fright. But there was nothing for it.

She stood up. She held the gun once more in her front pocket and she kept her hand in that pocket.

“Hello,” she said in her best English accent. “Hello, there.”

The couple stopped, the woman clapping a terrified hand to her mouth to stifle the shriek that Sarah nonetheless clearly heard.

“Don't be frightened. I want nothing from you except directions.”

The man's hand went to his woman's arm and Sarah hated that she was causing them such discomfort. Lord knows she was well acquainted with what it was like to live with fear hunched around every dark corner.

“We have nothing to give you,” the man said. He was about forty, Sarah guessed, and thin, although whether that was by nature or the last terrible year was unknowable. The fact that he refused to hear Sarah say she wanted nothing from them made her realize they had likely been badly treated.

“Where are we?” she asked, using her other hand to indicate the pasture. “I'm lost.” Hoping that describing herself in a vulnerable position might make them relax, Sarah smiled. On the other hand, she reminded herself, she
did
have her hand on a gun and it probably looked very odd to the couple that she kept one hand in her pocket.

“You're in Wales,” the man said.

Sarah nodded and tried to keep smiling.
This was obviously going to take awhile
, she thought with impatience. “How close are we to the coast?”

The man glanced at his companion and Sarah was gratified to realize it was the kind of look husbands give when they're about to provide directions but expect to be second-guessed by their wives.

“Thirty kilometers?”

His wife nodded.

Sarah's shoulders sagged dejectedly under her wet blanket. Thirty kilometers was around twenty miles. It was not welcome news. “Am I going the right way toward the coast?”

This seemed to surprise the man but he nodded. “Perhaps a little bit more that way,” he said, indicating a slight course correction to the left.

“Thank you.” Sarah smiled to indicate that the two could continue on their way when, on impulse, she asked, “Am I anywhere near Merlins Bridge, do you know?”

The woman spoke for the first time. “You've past it by about two miles,” she said, not smiling. “Back the way you come and off that aways is Clarbeston Road.”

“What
used
to be Clarbeston Road,” her husband said.

“There's no markings on it,” she said, “but you can't miss it.”

“We're going that way,” the man said and Sarah saw the woman snap her head to look at him. She was either surprised he'd suggest they travel together…or he was lying.

“Thank you,” Sarah said. “I'll be along directly.”

The man nodded and the couple continued walking. Sarah watched them go. It went against everything in her to retrace her steps when there was so much distance still between her and the coast. Backtracking two miles across the fields to meet up with Papin would cost her the rest of the morning. And how likely was it she was even there? Could she travel any faster than Sarah had? Then when Sarah confirmed that the girl
wasn't
there, she would have to spend another couple of hours to return to where she was right now. And why? So she could assuage her guilt about not keeping her word to the little gypsy? Who would know? Sarah shifted her pack and turned in the direction that the couple had gone.

She
would know.

She walked steadily until her longer stride couldn't help but catch up with the couple and then she walked with them, none of them speaking, which suited Sarah since her fake English accent was poor. When they reached the place that Sarah spent the night, the couple turned northwest and motioned for Sarah to follow them. She could tell when they shifted direction that the land was becoming more cultivated and that they were leaving the desolate fields behind. Tightening her hands into fists, Sarah took a long breath to calm herself.

She tried to remind herself that Angie would stick to the A40 as much as she could and that only people on foot or horseback would be able to comfortably travel these back roads. While Angie's lot was on horseback, there would be nothing in the way of alcohol or food or women to amuse them here. As she and the couple walked past crofts and what looked like abandoned holiday cottages, she prayed she was right and that Angie's men would stick to the larger towns.

“That there's Clarbeston Road,” the man said to Sarah, pointing at a two-lane road that twisted and wound below them. Sarah would have to slide down a steep embankment to walk along the road.

“Which way is Merlins Bridge?” she asked.

The man pointed in the direction. “Though there's nothing much there now,” he said, looking at Sarah closely.

Afraid she had forgotten to use her English accent, Sarah just nodded her thanks and turned from them to negotiate the drop down to the road. She forced herself not to look back up at them. She knew they were watching her. She wondered where they were headed.

Once on the road and feeling remarkably relieved to feel solid asphalt under her feet for a change, Sarah began to jog in the direction that the man had pointed to. The sooner she touched base at Merlins Bridge the sooner she could either retrace her steps—and that meant somehow getting back up that steep hill to the fields. The sun had come out now, which further buoyed Sarah's mood. With a re-emergent sun, she would be able to determine her direction again. Maybe she wouldn't have to backtrack at all to resume her trek to the coast.

She heard them before she saw them. Unfortunately, this time there was no handy ditch lining the road for her to hide herself. Sarah looked in panic at the tall hill to her left—the one she'd just descended—but realized that even if she could scale it in time it would only serve to make her more visible to whomever was approaching from around the corner on the road. From the sounds of it, she could tell there were at least two, and possibly more, coming her way on horseback. She slipped her hand into her pocket to touch the reassuringly cold hard shape of the Glock and turned the corner to face what was coming.