Fiona ignored him. “Has Mike told you the news yet?”
Sarah snapped her head to look at Donovan. “What news?”
“Can you not let the woman have two mouthfuls before agitating her?” Donovan said to his sister.
“There’s news?” Sarah repeated.
Donovan took in a big sigh. “Now’s as good a time to give it, I guess,” he said. He jerked his head at Fiona. “Gather the others. I don’t want to say this twice.”
Fiona picked up Sarah’s bowl from the ground where she’d laid it, winked at Sarah and left.
“Is it good news?”
“Were you expecting good news?”
“I…I guess…I’m always hopeful that…” Sarah was at a loss for words.
“That maybe help was coming?” Donovan said gently. “That any day now the Irish government would roll up with an aid truck busting full of food and jam, or that they’d get busy replacing the power lines?”
“Yes, actually.”
Donovan shook his head.
“Look,” he said, “before the others get here I need to know what you want to do about the problems you’ve had here.” He glanced in the direction of the burnt house, now just a black shadow towering eerily in the background.
“What I intend to do?” she echoed.
“I mean, I assume you will be coming with us? There’s no real need to stay now, is there? Your animals are gone, your house is gone.”
Your husband is gone.
Sarah stared at him for a minute with her mouth open.
“You should come with us,” he continued. “We’re building a community. We’ll watch each other’s backs and plant food and rebuild our little patch of the country. It will be safer for you with us. There’s a place for you and the boy if you want to come.”
“I can’t leave,” Sarah said.
“For the love of God, why not?” Donovan sputtered in frustration. “You have nothing left here. Will you be living out of the barn? Why would you stay?”
“Because,” Sarah said, coolly, her voice as steely and flat as the heart that beat in her breast, “the bastards will be back.” She looked at Donovan. “And this time I’ll be ready for them.”
Now it was Donovan’s turn to stare.
“You want them to come?” he said, his face twisted in confusion.
“I don’t understand you,” Sarah said, standing up and brushing the dirt from her jeans. “They have destroyed my home, threatened my child, possibly murdered my husband and definitely murdered my friends and I’m supposed to walk away? I don’t know how you do things in Ireland, but we are not finished here. Not by a long shot.”
After a pause, Donovan broke into a wild laugh that had the approaching group of men and women walk even faster toward them.
“You’re crazy,” he said. “But thank you, Jesus, you have fulfilled every myth and fantasy I have ever had about how you Americans think. It really isn’t just the movies, is it? This is how you Yanks really are.”
“So you’ll help me?”
“God help me, I guess I will,” he said, turning to the crowd who gathered around him.
“Alright, listen up,” Donovan said to them, “I’ve got news and it’s not pretty.”
Sarah looked at the motley group of men and women standing in the forecourt of her holiday cottage. They were ragged and thin and not terribly clean but their eyes were bright and intent.
They’re survivors, she thought. Good people to have with you in a fight.
One of the women held a baby in her arms and Sarah was amazed to realize that the baby must have been born after the incident. Without electricity or doctors or formula or baby monitors. She smiled at the young mother.
John wriggled out of the crowd and came to stand next to her. Sarah was astonished and delighted to feel his hand slip into hers. For him to do it in front of everyone, she realized, meant he must be feeling insecure about what Donovan was about to reveal. She squeezed his hand and brought her full attention back to Mike.
“We now know what happened,” he said tiredly. “And knowing it helps us to know how long we’ll likely need to live like this.”
There were several gasps from the group and one “Sweet Jaysus!” Mike held up his hands for quiet and spoke solemnly.
“Like I said, it’s not good news, but knowledge is power and we’ll do well to remember that.” He took a deep breath, glanced once at Sarah, and began.
“David Cahill’s boy, Craig, made it to Limerick and back and he’s brought us news about what happened. Now, Craig’s not here to tell you himself because he sustained some injuries on the road and he…well, he’s passed as a result. So we’ll be thankful to young Craig and the good Lord above for letting him get back home before He claimed him.”
The group murmured impatiently and it was all Sarah could do not to scream: What did he tell you?
“Basically, what happened was this,” Donovan said. “There was a nuclear bomb dropped by some still unidentified terrorist group over London four months back. I don’t know all the gigawatts and gaggo-rays of what happened or why they didn’t just drop the bomb right on London and be done with it but it seems exploding it up in the air was even worse. And since we’ve all been affected by it, that would seem to be right.” Donovan took a deep breath as if he were still processing the information for himself.
“The nuclear explosion basically took out everything in the UK that was electronic. And since all our cars, our phones, our computers, and our power grid uses electronics to run, the bastards basically bombed us back to the Stone Age and that’s the simple truth of it.”
One of the men stepped forward.
“Is it true the cities are radioactive like they said at first?”
Donovan shook his head. “A rumor,” he said. “Not true.”
We could have left, Sarah thought. It would’ve been safe to leave after all.
“When are they going to fix it, then?”
“Well,” Donovan said, “Craig said the Poms have their hands full with their own country and then they’ll think about helping us.”
“Typical.”
“Plus,” and here he turned to look at Sarah, “A nonnuclear missile destroyed a good part of Boston.” He turned to Sarah. “That’ll be what most of us saw on the TV last September. Where did you say your folks lived?”
John spoke up, his voice shaking. “Florida.”
Donovan nodded. “If what Craig said is correct, the American south is fine.”
“Thank God,” Sarah whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “Washington?” she said.
“It appears it was targeted but the bomb went off course and detonated over the Atlantic.”
“Incompetent idiots,” someone shouted.
Donovan addressed the man who spoke. “Maybe. But from where I’m standing, competent enough.”
“How long to rebuild?” Someone asked.
“They’re working on that now,” Mike replied.
“Our country will help you,” John said.
Donovan turned to him and the effort it took to smile seemed to weigh him down.
“Your country is helping its friend England first,” he said.
He listened to the general agreement from the crowd before speaking again.
“The point of how this new information affects all of us here is this,” he said. He paused for a moment to make sure he had their attention. “Now we know for sure that there is no one coming,” he said grimly. “We are on our own and likely to be for years to come.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Dad was right.”