Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
CLOVER
I still wasn’t convinced that he was real, and honestly, I didn’t even care anymore. Because when I woke up, cradled in his arms, our bodies painted pink by the sunrise over the sea, it was the first time I’d felt safe since I had been seven years old.
I lay with him for as long as I could, listening to him breathe, feeling the reassuring warmth of his skin and thump of his heart under my cheek, memorizing every line and swoop of the intricate Celtic knot he’d etched into a sheet of metal the night before, but when my bladder refused to be ignored any longer, I quietly slipped out of his embrace.
As I stood and stretched, I glanced at the man over my shoulder—both to make sure I hadn’t woken him up and simply because I could. I was no longer afraid of what I might find staring back. But perhaps I should have been. Because the moment I took in his handsome face, my hopeful heart plummeted into my empty stomach. His skin was ashen, lips dry and cracked, and the shorts tied around his waist were dotted with fresh blood.
Shite.
I flashed back to the night before—him trying to walk, him holding me up while I fell apart, him pulling my body onto his lap—and shame flooded my cheeks. He’d needed my help, but I was so fucking broken that I ended up using him to meet my own emotional needs instead. I’d managed to hurt him worse than he would have hurt himself if I’d just left him alone.
I had to make it right.
Hunger and guilt gnawed at the lining of my stomach as I tried to figure out what to do. I had no more clean clothes to dress his wounds. I was almost out of whiskey. And despite what I’d told him the day before, there weren’t enough lobsters in that inlet to feed us both for very long. The bombings and plane crashes and shipwreck must have scared them away.
It was settled then. I would go look for food and medical supplies and, God willing, a house to squat in, and once he was better …
I smiled to myself before quickly shutting down that line of thought.
One thing at a time.
I’d found him.
Now, I had to keep him alive.
I hardly felt the chill of the water or the sting of the salt as it lapped at my battered feet in the tunnel. The sun was warm on my legs. The gulls squawked as they fought over shiny objects in the water. And the ship was a meter or two away from becoming just another bad memory.
I gazed at the Eye as I relieved myself outside the cave entrance, and in another remarkable first, I realized that I hadn’t been scanning the beaches for seals.
I’d simply been taking in the view.
But as soon as I climbed on top of the tunnel, my early morning reverie was punched in the gut by the harsh truth of my new reality.
Every bag of water had been completely pummeled by the storm. The rocks inside kept them from blowing away, but the sides had collapsed, and the contents had almost completely spilled out. All that was left were a few sips caught in the corners.
As I glanced up at the sky, my mood only soured. It was blue as far as the eye could see. Buckets of water had fallen over the past three days, and all I had to show for it was a dozen wet plastic bags.
Any second thoughts I’d had about risking another trip up the cliff suddenly became irrelevant. My life expectancy in the cave—our life expectancies—had just dropped from a few weeks to a few bleeding days. Drones or no drones, I was going up.
I didn’t have a choice.
Pouring what little water remained into one bag, I took a careful sip before sealing it to carry with me. Then, I pocketed the empties and set off up the trail.
I climbed slowly, careful not to make any loud noises. Both times that I’d encountered a drone, it was after I’d screamed or cried out. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Most of the trail was untouched by the fire. Every rock and root and wisp of heather looked exactly the way I remembered. It felt as if I’d gone back in time—back to when I was carrying a wet net full of lobster rather than a plastic bag full of rainwater. It was comforting—the familiarity—but frightening too. That climb had always been an anxious one. I’d never known what kind of fresh hell would be waiting for me when I got home.
I still didn’t.
When the bushes turned to charred black stumps, I knew I was close to the top. I slowed down and listened this time before I crept onto the main path. I stayed low. Scanned the skies. When the coast was clear, I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what I would see when I stood up.
I was ready for it this time. The scorched earth. The green and yellow and purple hills, now drained of all life and color.
I didn’t dwell on it, and I didn’t turn right. Home was to the right, so I forged straight ahead, across the main path and up the steep rise to Howth Head Peak, the barren pinnacle of rock that overlooked the rest of the peninsula. Not even the tourists climbed to the top very often, so the path was narrow and overgrown with gorse bushes and thorny vines. They tore at my bare, already-battered legs, which shook from exertion by the time I got to the top. There was nothing in my stomach to fuel a climb from sea level to Howth Head Peak in one go, but when I finally dragged myself onto the bald stone crest, all of my physical pain disappeared, severed from my awareness by the swift stab of shock.
I stared through the numbness at a place I didn’t recognize. The valley below used to be filled with life—lush green meadows covered in cows and sheep, clusters of trees filled with birds, tightly packed houses and townhouses beyond the farmland, carved into the steep hills at odd angles, all vying for a glimpse of the sea. Now, my entire town, my entire life , lay smoking before me like a bed of hot ashes that had been left out in the rain.
I wondered how many of those piles of rubble were splattered with blood and hair and teeth, like the one I used to call home.
No. I shook my head, blinking away the images from that night. Everyone else evacuated. It’s fine. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s fine.
I continued this internal pep talk as I walked down the hill into the valley, scanning the sea of devastation for any homes that might be inhabitable as I tried to ignore the way the brittle, burned grass turned to dust beneath my feet. Other than the distant rumble of explosions, the town was as still and silent as a cemetery.
See? There’s nobody here. Not even the Russians. They’ve pushed through to Dublin. You’re totally safe.
As I got closer to the valley floor, I noticed a few sheep grazing in Mr. Kearney’s field. My heart leaped at the sight of something so normal, so … alive. Until I realized that they weren’t. Their lifeless bodies were scattered across the muddy field like soggy cotton balls, blasted as far and wide as the debris from their barn.
Jesus Christ.
Tears begin to well in my eyes, but I forced them back down and kept walking. I had the rest of my life to cry about this nightmare, but if I didn’t find food and water soon, that life was going to be very, very short.
Once I made it to the bottom of the hill, I decided to cut across the farmland as quickly as possible and head for the townhouses on the other side. Or what was left of them. Not only did I want to spend as little time as possible out in the open, but at the townhouses, I could search more homes at once and hopefully find more supplies in the process.
I kept my eyes on the ground as I squished through the grass, careful not to step on a nail or a sheep or shard of barnwood. I made it about halfway across Mr. Kearney’s field when I first heard the voices.
My heart stopped as I froze and listened. The voices were muffled and distant, but after my last two trips outside of the cave, I wasn’t going to take any chances.
There was a small patch of trees on the edge of Mr. Kearney’s farm, next to the low stone wall separating his land from Mr. McCormick’s, so I sprinted over to it and crouched down beside the wall, hidden behind the cluster of trunks.
I scarcely breathed as I listened for the sound again. I didn’t hear footsteps approaching or drone blades whirring overhead, so that calmed my nerves a bit, and when I finally heard the voices again, they weren’t shouting like angry foreign soldiers. They were laughing.
Lifting my head, I peered over the wall and found that most of Mr. McCormick’s house was still intact. The right side of it was blown off, but the rest remained standing, and there were lights on inside.
Laughter rang out from the direction of the house, and I smiled as if I were in on the joke. I’d always liked the McCormicks. Mr. McCormick was the nicest, funniest man in the town, and his wife had been my music teacher in primary school. They’d never had any children of their own, and I’d often fantasized about running away and living with them whenever things got especially bad with Da.
A figure passed by the kitchen window, and I pictured Mr. McCormick shuffling into the sitting room with a cup of tea, cheerfully defying evacuation orders, as his wife followed on his heels, nagging him about fixing all the broken windows.
Climbing over the wall, I practically sprinted across the mushy meadow, and my heart skipped right along with me. The McCormicks would help us. I knew it. I could hardly wait to get back to the cave and tell … I paused mid-step, realizing that I didn’t even know the man’s name. I put that on my mental to-do list for the day.
Find food, water, shelter, and medical supplies.
Bathe. With soap.
Don’t get killed by a drone.
Find out beautiful Irishman’s name.
Maybe kiss him again without crying or having a panic attack.
My lips tingled as I remembered the way he’d thrown me against the cave wall the night before. I could still feel the scrape of his stubble along my jaw, his teeth on my throat.
The echo of his voice vibrated through me, dampening my knickers as I relived the feeling of him grinding against that very spot. The intensity. The connection. I’d never felt that way in my entire life. My cheeks heated as I imagined what would have come next, but then they flushed even harder, with mortification, when I remembered how it had actually ended.
And how fucked up I actually was.
Straightening my filthy jumper and tossing my matted hair over my shoulders, I lifted my chin, took a deep breath, and knocked. But when the door swung open, it wasn’t a friendly smile or a warm hug that greeted me. It was a nameless, faceless man in a camouflage shirt, his hairy knuckles shooting out and grabbing me before I had the chance to scream.
I reacted immediately, slamming one hand against the doorframe to keep from being pulled inside the house and swinging the only weapon I had—a bag of water—with the other. The flimsy bag connected with the side of the man’s wiry black beard and exploded on contact, surprising him just enough to loosen his grip. And when he did, I was gone.
I’d never run so fast in my life. A pair of deep Russian voices and their heavy, wet footfalls crashed through the silence behind me as my eyes darted left and right, desperately searching for a place to hide. But there was nothing. Other than that single clump of trees, the valley was a flat, grassy quilt, crudely divided into rectangular patches by low, crumbling stone walls. One of which I was rapidly approaching.
I’d gotten a head start, but if I tried to scale the wall, I’d have to slow down, and they’d catch me. If I tried to jump it like a hurdle, I’d fall, and they’d catch me. The only option that left me with was diving over it headfirst. Whether I would tuck and roll when I landed on the other side or slide on my belly, I wasn’t sure, and I never got the chance to find out. Because as soon as I pushed off the ground and sailed halfway over the wall, two rough hands clamped around my ankle, halting my jump in midair. My body slammed down onto the stones like an egg being cracked in half, forcing the air from my lungs as a sharp, crunching pain exploded through my rib cage. Then, I was yanked backward.
I scrambled to grab hold of the wall as it slid out from under me, but the man was too strong. Too fast. Within a second, my body was falling again, this time face-first onto the wet earth.
And then they were on me.
The one who’d caught me by the ankle tried to pin my legs to the ground as I rolled onto my back and kicked at his sneering, bearded face. His friend grasped my thrashing arms, bloodshot blue eyes flaring with excitement just before he flipped me back onto my stomach and pressed his shin across my shoulder blades.
I continued to thrash, but when the other man wrenched my legs apart and knelt between them to keep them open, a bolt of panic sliced through my mind. It threatened to sever me from my thoughts, reduce me to an animal caught in a trap, but I fought against that too. I’d been living in a state of fear my entire life. I knew how to push it down, how to keep my wits about me in the presence of a violent man.
But not two.
Turning my face to the side, I scanned the field for anything I could use as a weapon. I scanned the hills for any sign of him . But I knew he wasn’t coming. Even if he had the strength to climb the cliff, he’d never find me in time. I was on my own.
As usual.
The bearded bastard knelt on the backs of my legs, holding them open, as he unfastened his belt and trousers. A wave of nausea purged my stomach of the only thing I’d put in it that day—a single sip of water—mixed with stomach acid. It burned my throat like liquid fire, reminding me that it was still raw from the guttural scream I’d let out that night after finding Sheila.
That scream.
My eyes widened.
I knew how to get a gun.
Thick fingers, cruel and rough, fisted the material between my legs, pulling the crotch of my shorts and knickers to one side, and I let out a scream so loud and so long that it echoed off the hills and shredded what was left of my vocal chords.
I screamed until the man holding my wrists eventually released one of them, but only so that he could punch me in the back of the head to make it stop.
And it did.
For one serene moment, the world was quiet again. Blissfully dark. Mercifully still. There were no hands on my body. No weight shackling me to the earth. Just a murky, watery oblivion. I didn’t know how long I stayed suspended in that nothingness, but I knew if I could just find my way to the surface, I would see him there, arms outstretched, gray eyes glinting like moonlit steel as he commanded me to jump.
But there was no surface, and the next voice I heard wasn’t his.
It wasn’t even human.
“This is a message from President Abramov.”
Scrambling sounds brought me back into my body. A hasty zip, a jingling buckle.
I then heard the voices of my attackers, barking angry orders at each other or possibly at the drone, but it wasn’t listening to them. It was there for me . And if they didn’t get off me in the next ten seconds, I was going to let it pump all three of us full of bullets.
The pig who’d just refastened his trousers pulled a gun identical to the one I’d stolen out of his own holster and pointed it over his shoulder at the drone.
“ Nyet! Nyet! Nyet! ” His comrade released my wrists, allowing me to turn just enough to see him holding his hands up in a panic as the drone’s machine-gun barrel swiveled from the back of my head to the bearded face of the man holding the gun.
“Nine,” the robotic recording continued.
The gunman lowered his pistol, but continued to yell at the drone, as if he were talking to a real person on the other side of that camera lens.
The drone ignored him, retraining its aim on me, and I sucked in a relieved breath as both men begrudgingly removed their knees from my thighs and shoulder blades.
“Seven.”
Then, I coughed it back out as a boot careened into my side.
Gasping for air, I pushed up onto my hands and knees and felt another kick, this time to my stomach. My body collapsed and curled into the fetal position, my arms flying up to cover my head as more kicks landed, maybe three, maybe ten, before the bang of a gun brought everything to a standstill.
“Five.”
Cracking one eyelid open, I peeked through the crook of my elbow and saw that both men were now facing the drone with their hands up. It must have fired a warning shot to get them to stop attacking me.
“Four.”
But my relief immediately morphed into dread when the machine’s attention fell on me again, blinding my open eye with its all-seeing spotlight. My heart seized, my body aching in a dozen different places, as I squeezed my eyes closed again, desperately searching for that blissful nothingness. But the beam penetrated through my closed lids, plunging me into an endless expanse of white. It was so tempting, that tunnel of light, the promise of a swift end to all this pain. All I had to do was stay still for three more seconds, and it would be over. I could see my family again, escape this nightmare once and for all, but I couldn’t do it. Because deep down, I didn’t want to go to heaven. I wanted to stay there, in hell, with him .
Delusion or not, I’d found something worth living for, and when I pulled myself into a sitting position and raised my shaky hands above my head, I prayed that he really was just a delusion.
If he was a figment of my imagination, then I could take him with me.
If he wasn’t …
“You have surrendered to the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation. Follow this drone to the nearest encampment, where you will be detained as a prisoner of war. Failure to cooperate will result in your immediate termination.”
If he wasn’t, then we were both fucked.