Never Never (6 page)

“I admit it!” Mike said angrily. “I was wrong to let him go off on his own. I made a mistake. I won't make it again.”

“You won't get the chance again. He'll be lucky to pass gas on his own now, let alone take a walk in the woods.”

“You've made your point, Sarah. I accept the blame for what happened.”

“And you'll go ahead and do what you want anyway.”

“As long as I believe it's the right thing for those who follow me, aye.”

“Maybe that's the key phrase.”

“Be mindful of what you say, Sarah.”

“Why? Because words have power? How about actions, Mike?” She turned and stomped away from the warmth of the campfire, her mind buzzing with disbelief. They weren't going back.
Unbelievable
.

Sarah felt her fury drumming in her chest as she walked away from the wagons where the road stretched back toward the nunnery.

She couldn't leave. Not yet anyway. Not without Siobhan. She just needed to walk and wear down the anger and the hurt.

The sounds of camp receded and Sarah felt a drape of calmness descend on her the further she got from the noise. She stopped, closed her eyes and took a long cleansing breath.

When she opened her eyes, she felt a little better. She looked longingly down the dark road as it bent around a far corner on its way back to the convent and imagined walking down that road in the sunshine with Siobhan in her arms.

She promised herself she would. Soon. If Mike couldn't see the dangers ahead it was up to her to save Siobhan. And John. Just thinking it made her feel calmer.

Suddenly the noise from camp amplified. She turned to look back. When she did, the noise softened. Confused, she turned again the road to the convent and instantly saw the true source of the sound.

People morphed out of the darkness. Heading toward her.

T
hings were shaping
up nicely and it had only taken the wholesale slaughter of a little less than one hundred men to affect it.

Hurley strode to the first tier of the Dublin opera house. It smelled like a dung heap and no surprise. While the lions lived comfortably on the stage and orchestra pit in the ancient indoor amphitheater, cleaning up after them was out of the question.

One of the younger Centurions had the idea that mercy might be shown to any sacrifice who was able to clean a section of the lions' den and stay alive for five minutes. Unfortunately, after the first week once all the politicians and officers were tossed to the lions, the beasts were always fairly hungry.

Hurley had known terror was the fastest way to wake up his lackluster troops and that had been absolutely proven in the past three weeks. While it was true he was only one man and could easily be overpowered, none of his men appeared to think in those terms. It confirmed what he'd always known.

They wanted to be led.

The sloppiness of the work of the Garda in the last five years was gone. It was gone as fast as it took for the mortal screams of Hurley's commanding officer to fade and everyone else who held a rank above corporal.

Hurley had quickly organized the men into three legions and renamed the Garda the Imperial Irish Army, noting of course that there was no emperor or nonmilitary leader of any kind in Ireland. It didn't matter. If the outside world ever came calling again—whether to offer aid or ask for it—they could deal with Padraig Hurley, Centurion Commander.

He surveyed the malodorous amphitheater. His men had created barriers from the stage to prevent the animals—or their victims—from escaping. The lions paced the filthy stage now, their paws clogged with feces and blood.

They would need to find more lion food soon.

The Centurion, James Brady, appeared by his side. Hurley estimated that the young man was still in his teens but he was keen and had difficulty seeing gray areas.

The perfect soldier.

“Why don't I have tigers, Brady?” Hurley asked without turning his gaze from the lion pit.

“I'm told the lions stayed together so they were easily caught but the tigers are loners and so they escaped.”

Hurley glanced at the boy. “Who told you this?”

Brady didn't even blink. “Centurion Murphy, Commander.”

“And was Murphy one of the ones who went out to capture them?”

“Yes, Commander.”

Hurley nodded. “Gather the men. They'll want to see what happens when a centurion doesn't properly obey orders.”

“Yes, Commander.”

A
fter stomping
around for a few minutes and trying not to put his fist through a tree, Mike was astonished to see Sarah come running back to the campfire with a grin on her face.

He thought for a moment he was bloody hallucinating.

Behind Sarah was a crowd of people led by a dilapidated pony cart painted with big yellow flowers and driven by none other than Jaz and Regan.

Mike had to admit, their timing was spot on.

The pair parked the cart in the middle of the road and descended on everyone with laughter and squeals of delight. Mike even saw Jaz give her ex-love Tommy a fairly X-rated kiss on the mouth before running over to the women who were next in line to be returned to their homes.

They could not have shown up at a better time.

Even Fiona was smiling from where she sat with Declan. The two girls brought a rush of enthusiasm and sunshine with them that they all badly needed. They also brought a small group of gypsies they'd met on the road.

Sarah quickly organized food for everyone and Mike broke out the whiskey. It wasn't often they got newcomers and it was always a big deal.

Newcomers meant news.

“Cor, I'm that sorry about poor Declan,” Regan said as she tore into leftovers of roasted rabbit. “Mind you, it's dangerous out there, so it is.” She and Jaz exchanged a look that made Mike frown. Obviously the two had had a close call somewhere along the line. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the details.

“Did Meggie's mum cry when she saw her?” One of the women asked.

“Did she ever,” Jaz said with a laugh. “I felt like Lazarus, so I did.”

“Nay,” Regan said. “Lazarus is the one who got raised from the dead. Ye felt like Christ, in fact. He did the raising.”

“Isn't that blasphemy?” Sophia said.

“Not when these two do it,” Mike said with a grin. He turned to the three gypsy men. They were not long out of their teens and their memory of life before the first EMP would be hazy at best. “What news?” he asked.

The skinny young man known as Digger took a long draught of Mike's whiskey and wiped his mouth with the back of a dirty hand.

“Talk is it weren't an EMP,” he said.

Mike was stunned.
Was that possible?

“What else could it be?”

“Nobody knows for sure but they're saying maybe a massive solar flare. If it was an EMP nobody knows who or why since we're all off the grid now.”

“Even the UK?” Sarah asked, her face stitched with anxiety.

“Oh, aye. The continent too. Me and Gareth heard stories of cars trapped in the Chunnel.”

“That's terrible,” Sophia said, biting her lip and looking at Gavin with worry. The baby whimpered in her arms.

“They heard that London and Paris are in total chaos,” Regan said gleefully. “There's full-on riots in the streets. Digger met a bloke straight from Cardiff who said London is tearing itself apart.”

Mike glanced at Sarah. She looked stricken. Of course she would be thinking of young John.

God, what a mess.

“Well, solar flare or not,” Mike said, “we're all in the same boat now.”

“Aye, that's the truth,” Digger said, reaching for the whiskey again.

“Will you be coming on with us?” Mike asked. With two-thirds of his party women and children, he could use a little more manpower.

“Nay, thank ye kindly,” Gareth said. “A berth for the night under one of your wagons and we'll be off in the morning.”

Mike wasn't really surprised. Not for nothing were the gypsies called Irish Travelers.

“And you two?” he said to Regan and Jaz.

“We'll take Jenny and Moira in the morning,” Regan said. “Their families are only about forty kilometers apart. And Jenny has the bairn.”

“Can that old pony trap of yours handle four people?” Mike asked as he squinted at the little wagon with yellow flowers painted on the side of it.

“It's grand,” Jaz said. “It's all we need, me and Regan.”

These two really are two peas
, Mike thought wryly. Outcasts and misfits, but good girls through and through. He was glad there was a job for them that fit them so well. He couldn't remember a time when Regan looked this happy.

“Well, it's a grand thing you're doing,” Mike said. “So it is.” His eyes strayed to Sarah. Although her face was impassive, he chose to believe she felt as he did—sorry for the fight and for the distance between them. He smiled and she nodded.

S
arah was exhausted
by the time they got everyone bedded down. Even the babies—as soon as most of them were asleep, one would start to cry and get the others going again. It was going to be a long nine more days to get to wherever it is they were going.

She was sure that once they arrived, Mike would see the folly of it all. Sarah hated to have to go through the lengthy trek just to turn around and go back—especially at the cost of Declan's life—but if that's what it took, it would be on Mike's head.

“Sarah?”

She turned to see Regan wrapped in a blanket and sitting by the fire. Jaz had disappeared into the woods with Tommy and the rest of their party was already asleep. Mike was making one of his endless circuits around the wagon train. Even if Mike did lay down before dawn, he'd be up a few hundred times in the meantime making sure everything was secure. Gavin and two of the other men were taking turns keeping watch throughout the night.

Sarah sat down next to Regan, the heat from the fire comforting on her legs. It wasn't until she sat that she felt the exhaustion she'd kept at bay all day finally tug at her.

“Hey, sweetie,” Sarah said. “I'm so glad you caught up with us. I couldn't believe it when I saw you coming down the road.”

“I know. You should have seen the look on your face,” Regan said, grinning.

“Is everything okay?”

Regan laughed. “You always know, don't you? Must be a mum thing. It's like you can read minds.”

“Some minds,” Sarah said with a smile. “Was everything okay when you found Meggie's home for her?”

“Oh, aye, it was grand. But it got me to worrying, you know?”

“About what?”

“Well, Meggie didn't have a rape baby to parade around at her mum's so she could play it however she wanted.”

“What did she tell her mother about where she was for the past two years?”

“Oh, she told her the truth right enough. And it was fine.” Regan's eyes shone with emotion. “It was wonderful to see them, Sarah. Reminded me so much of Mum. I really miss her.”

“I know. Me, too.”

“And it made me feel good that I could help Meggie find her mum. I can't remember ever feeling that good.”

“I can imagine.”

“But what about next time? Or the time after that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what if one of ‘em won't want them home after what's happened to them?”

“You mean like how Liddy's husband couldn't bear her after she had little Roisin?”

“Aye. What do we do?”

“You'll talk it over with the girls. Ask them what they want to do if their families won't have them back. They know they're always welcome with us, right?”

“Aye.”

“Well, that's all you can do, Regan. You can't make people not suck.”

Regan laughed.

“You and Jaz get along well,” Sarah said.

“Oh, cracking, aye. She's grand.” Regan's eyes closed sleepily and Sarah leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“Good night, sweetie. Your mother and father would be so proud.”

T
he next morning
, Jaz and Regan and their group were in the wagon or walking beside it, ready to leave. Sarah made sure they all had lunches for the day and the girls were convinced they'd be at their first village before dinnertime.

Declan had worsened in the night and Mike decided they'd stay another night.

For all the good it would do,
Sarah thought.
Declan needs a doctor.

As she and the rest of their group waved off Jaz and Regan in their gaily painted little wagon, the pony tossing its head impatiently, Sarah reminded herself that the girls had a gun and neither was afraid to use it.

She said a quick prayer for their safety.

When they had gone, Sarah caught a glimpse of Siobhan in one of the other wagons and a stab of guilt pierced her. It wasn't that she'd forgotten about the child in the last few hours—she knew where she was and that she was well taken care of—it was that she hadn't felt, not once, the urge to go and be with her.

What is wrong with me? Is this some kind of postpartum crap?
Or is this just that I have a job to do and there are others—a village come to that—to mind Siobhan while she's small?

No sooner was the thought in her head when she remembered Mike on his horse earlier that morning with Siobhan in his arms. He had been busy checking on everyone. And he definitely had time for his little lass.

No, there's no excuse for it
, Sarah thought as she remembered the vision of Mike and Siobhan moving down the line of wagons. She'd heard Mike call out to one of the men and his wife had responded in a high-pitched sing-songy voice to Siobhan.

How normal. How very normal.

Sarah's guts churned at the thought of even approaching Siobhan. Her anxiety ratcheted up in direct portion to her proximity to the child. And somehow, when Siobhan was out of sight—while she was never out of mind—the terror and the panic lessened.

Sarah had fallen asleep next to Mike last night but had no memory of him lying next to her. It was possible he'd never come to bed. They hadn't spoken since their fight. Maybe that was best. Maybe talking would just make it worse.

After all, neither of them had changed how they felt about things.

Sarah walked to her wagon to see if Fiona needed to be spelled with Declan and she thought of the anti-anxiety medications she'd been on back in Jacksonville.

God, if I thought I had things to fret about back then, I wasn't even on the same planet when it comes to worry compared to now.
What she wouldn't give for
one
of those little yellow tablets this morning. Just something to take the edge off the constant fear.

The fact was she had so much to lose now. She had John and Siobhan and Mike. And the world steadily tried to kill each of them in a different way nearly every day.

Nuala stood by the campfire with her baby in her arms. Fiona's little girls were playing in the dirt at her feet and her two boys were by her side. She was scolding the older boy who was looking at his feet shamefaced.

“Hey, Nuala,” Sarah said. She looked at the boy. “Hi, Dennis. Or is it Damian?”

The boy looked up at her through his fringe of hair, his blue eyes bright and clear.

“Dennis,” he said.

“Off you go now,” Nuala said, shifting her baby to her other hip. “You too, Damian.”

Both boys scampered off. Dennis immediately shoved his younger brother as they went.

“Mind yourselves, you lot,” Nuala called after them in a warning voice.

“Everything okay?” Sarah asked.

Nuala grimaced. “Just lads being lads,” she said. “Denny tried to roast Damian's shoes in the fire.”

Sarah's eyes followed the boys until they disappeared into the woods. The very woods where Declan was knifed yesterday.

“Should they be in the woods?”

“Oh, sure you'll not keep lads out of mischief, Sarah. And you with a lad of your own all the way in the UK.”

“Don't remind me.”

“They're a handful and no mistake,” Nuala said good-naturedly.

Sarah couldn't believe Nuala let them take off like that—boys or not. Nuala had three children—five counting the care of Fiona's two—with no husband to help and yet she looked as calm and happy as if she had a nanny helping her with all the nappy folding.