“Yeah, that’s good,” John said. “And the one you wounded will probably die anyway so he’s a good second choice.”
“It’s a minor wound,” the man blurted, his eyes darting back and forth from Sarah to John.
“So are you saying she should kill me then, Mack?” The unharmed man snarled.
“Well, it’s me that’s led the band up to now,” the other man reasoned in a high-pitched voice.
“And got us in this mess, too, I’ll be thinking,” the other man said. Suddenly, without warning, he wheeled on John who had walked too close to him and snatched him up. John never let go of the shovel and swung it in a wide arc, banging it into the head of the man with the wounded shoulder who screamed.
Sarah watched it as if she were watching a movie with the sound turned off. She saw the shovel smash into the man’s head and then drop uselessly from John’s grip. She saw the wounded man’s mouth open in a large cavernous but mute oval. She watched the man who held her son hesitate for a split second to react to his leader’s screams of pain and in doing so dropped John to waist level. That was her moment. She squeezed the trigger and shot the man, straight and true, through the head. She never even felt the recoil.
Afterward, she would remember John lurching away from the falling corpse, blood sprayed across the back of his jacket. He retrieved the shovel and stood, panting with excitement, next to Sarah.
She licked her lips, ignoring the body on the ground. “I have two bullets left,” she said, pointing the gun at the man with the bloody arm wound. “You and your buddy leave now before I change my mind.”
David threw a tarp over the body and returned to the kitchen. He had ridden home, determined not to be separated another night from his family. On the road, he had seen two men stumbling in the dark. There was something about them that worried him and he reached down to touch the small hatchet he carried in his saddlebag. They passed him without a word but he cantered Rocky the rest of the way home.
“I didn’t take time to think,” she said to David as he ate a late supper of cold chicken and John slept in the next room with a puppy on either side of him. “I just knew that at that range I couldn’t miss.”
David shook his head. “You didn’t worry about hitting John?” he asked.
“I didn’t have time to worry about that,” she said. “I just knew I had to stop it now.”
David looked over his shoulder to the other room.
“Do you think he’s okay?”
“I don’t know. We were joking about shooting them to try to scare them. And then all of a sudden it just happened. So I don’t know.”
“You were joking about killing them?”
“I didn’t decide to execute that man out there, David,” she said in a loud whisper. “He grabbed our son. He… he—” All of a sudden, Sarah got an image of the chicken in the burlap bag. She thought of how easy it had been to break its neck, all things considered. “He could’ve killed him with his bare hands in just a moment,” she said quietly. “He had John. No, I… I didn’t think twice.”
Finn’s pain mirrored his anger, climbing in arcs of intensity higher and higher, until he felt nearly incapable of speech. As he lay thrashing in his cot, his arm blazing in agony although the women had successfully staunched the blood, he thought for a moment he might literally lose his mind.
By the time he and Georgie had limped back to camp, he was delirious with pain and thoughts of revenge. That bitch! He would kill her and the lad before breakfast and torch their miserable hut with their bodies inside!
After three months of steady, unfailing obedience from his followers, the disaster at the American’s farm had shocked and destabilized him. He was so beside himself when he entered camp that one of the stupid bitches who rushed forward to attend him actually tried to wipe his face before looking at his arm. He had been literally frothing in a wild fury and she hadn’t noticed the red, sodden flag heralding his gunshot wound.
That shite, Brandon, had the effrontery to lay his hands on him as if to help him up the steps into the caravan!
Their first raid and he had made a bollocks of it. Or rather, Ardan had, and gotten himself killed in the process, the ejeet.
“What happened?” the girl Jules had asked as she bound up his arm. If he hadn’t been so weak from the loss of blood, he would have backhanded her for suggesting the raid had been a cock-up. That moron Georgie babbled out a version of the story to probably the first attentive audience of his young, retarded life.
“It went bad,” Georgie kept saying afterward to anyone who would listen. “It just went bad. And now they got Ardie, and him all dead and everything.”
Jules had cried as secretly as she could manage when she heard about Ardan. Finn knew they were sweet on each other. It turned his stomach that his younger brother could make the girl smile—and more—and hadn’t he been so nice to her ever since he got back from the clink? It annoyed him to lose Ardan, he needed all the men he could gather for his plan of owning the surrounding countryside. Ardan was a pain in the arse, but he took orders well enough.
When Finn took a break from his own misery to notice Jules, he found himself somewhat comforted by the fact that there was a clear road to her now.
As if he wouldn’t have gotten around to taking her from his brother eventually.
He put his hand out to her from where he lay on the cot. She was pretty, he thought, as if seeing her for the first time, even with reddened eyes and that scared-rabbit look in her eyes.
“Hush, girl,” he said. He noticed she clamped her eyes shut as if to will the tears to stop, perhaps worried that they were offensive to him.
“Come to me, girl,” he said, taking a withering breath full of pain and weariness as he spoke.
She moved to where he lay and sat next to him.
“I know you loved my brother,” he said, forcing his voice to sound calm. “I loved him, too.”
Her eyes popped open at that one but he could see he had her. She slid her small, sticky hand into his proffered one and he squeezed it.
“And we’ll get the bitch did this to me… and him,” he said. “I promise you that.” The girl nodded and seemed to try to smile.
“In the name of all that is holy,” Finn whispered, his gaze moving away from the girl to stare sightlessly into middle space. “We’ll make her pay in the blood of every living thing she loves.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
They needed more bullets.
And they desperately needed news.
Since the crisis, Dierdre and Seamus had been getting all their information about the outside world from an old duffer who lived on the edge of Balinagh and who stopped in once a week for a meal. For years he had driven to their place in his second hand Renault. When the crisis happened, he came in his trap, pulled by an ancient polo pony that hadn’t been ridden in a decade. Devon was an elderly widower who knew Seamus from their school days together in the Balinagh boys’ school. His wife had been Dierdre’s sister. Unlike childless Dierdre and Seamus, Devon and his wife had five children, all of them grown and gone and out of the country.
Devon hadn’t visited in nearly three weeks.
“So they assume something’s happened to him,” Sarah said as she fixed breakfast the next morning.
David nodded. “And they’re worried but it’s hard for them to get out. Seamus seems to be getting even foggier and Dierdre knows it just takes one broken cart axel ten miles from home to… you know.”