Going Gone, Book 2 of the Irish End Games (30 page)

“Please, sit,” Sarah said again. “We usually ask visitors if they have any news to share.” She was hoping to make him feel less like a beggar by suggesting he had something to offer to the camp. The effect of her words on him was immediate.

“Can I ask you, missus,” he said, “if the way you speak is because you're American? I've got nothing against Yanks, mind,” he said hurriedly. Not everyone in Ireland shared his tolerant attitude, Sarah knew.

“Yes, that's right,” she said. “I'm from Florida. I was on vacation in Ireland when The Crisis happened.”

The man seemed to relax a little. He knelt in the dirt and shrugged off his pack and then slowly sat down, crossing his knees Indian-style on the ground. “Well, it's mebbe that I do have news for you, in that case.”

Mike, who had been watching the newcomer closely, turned his head to look at Sarah. Had she gasped? News about America —other than groundless rumor—was rare these days.

“Yes?” she said. “You've news about the US?”

“It happens, I do, missus. I'm coming from Rathcoole. Been on the road, I guess, three weeks since but I reckon the news is still fresh.”

Jimmy appeared with a ham sandwich. He had a few deviled eggs wrapped in paper, too. “Sorry about no juice,” he said. “But we've been dry for months now.” He handed the newcomer a flask of water.

The traveler shook his head and took a large bite. He looked at this audience apologetically as he chewed. “Forgive me. Fresh bread…I've died and gone to heaven.”

He's starving,
Sarah thought. It was sometimes easy to forget that outside the walls of Donovan's Lot there were many who struggled daily just to survive.

“I'm Mike Donovan. You're welcome to stay the night. Jimmy'll find a place for you to throw down a bedroll.”

“Ta very much. The name's Randy Paxton.”

“English?” Sarah asked.

“No, missus. I'm from up north.”

“You've come a long way.”

“This news,” Mike said, eyeing the man suspiciously. “Where did you come by it?”

“News? He's got news?” Jimmy looked at Mike. “Should I rouse the camp?”

Mike waved him back down into his seat. “Unless the news is that the bloody British are invading, we'll have time enough tomorrow.”

Paxton finished off his sandwich and drained the water flask. “Thank you kindly for the food,” he said. “I came by my news in Dublin.”

“How is Dublin?” Mike asked.

“It's…I don't rightly know how to say it. I was there just shy of three months. It was the three longest months of my life.”

“Crime?”

“Aye, and sickness.”

Sarah felt her pulse quicken. “Disease?”

Paxton nodded grimly. “Garbage in the streets. And worse.”

Mike grunted. “It's not surprising. The wonder is people hadn't started getting sick before now.”

“You said you had news of the Americans,” Sarah said, tapping her nails against the seat of the bench.

“Aye, missus. In Dublin it was just a rumor, but when I came through Limerick I saw it for myself.”

“Saw what? What did you see, man?” Mike asked.

“The Air Lift, they call it. The Yanks have their military in Limerick and they're coming and going back and forth to the US like nothing ever happened. I saw the transport helicopters and also the big planes. Looked like whole families were leaving.”

Sarah gasped and stood up, knocking the two teacups she'd shared with Mike to the ground. She was vaguely aware of his hand on her arm.

Limerick was only a day's ride away.

She turned to look out beyond the boundaries of the camp, her eyes glittering with awe and wonder. “We can go home,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Thank you, God, it's finally happened. We can go home.”

T
o see
what happens next to Sarah, John and Mike, check out
Heading Home,
Book 3 of the Irish End Games.

S
usan Kiernan-Lewis
lives in Ponte Vedra, Florida, and writes mysteries, dystopian thrillers, and romantic suspense. Like many authors, Susan depends on the reviews and word of mouth referrals of her readers. If you enjoyed
Going Gone
, please consider leaving a review saying so on your purchase site.

Check out Susan's blog at
susankiernanlewis.com
and feel free to contact her at
[email protected]
. If you'd like to be notified when new books in this series come out, sign up for
Susan's newsletter here
.

Author's Note
: For anyone who's Welsh or looks at a map, you may notice in
Going Gone
that I moved
Merlins Bridge
from south of
Haverfordwest
to north of it, around where
Spittal
is located. Sorry for any confusion, but I couldn't give up the wonderful name of
Merlins Bridge
and it was a necessary plot point that Sarah travel to a ferry crossing by way of it.