Never Never Read Free

Mike’s shoulder.
    The sky was dark with fluttering debris as pieces of the airliner’s cabin rained down on them.
    â€œShould we…do something…?” Gavin asked.
    â€œNay,” Mike rasped, leaning against the car. “There’ll be no survivors.”
    â€œI didn’t hear an explosion. Did you?”
    Mike turned and felt the solid comfort of the Jeep against his back as he leaned into it, his legs shaking from his swim.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThe engines were going one minute and the next…” Gavin shook his head. “It just fell out of the sky.”
    â€œAre ye all right, lad? Can you drive? ”
    Gavin nodded but he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of the detritus of everyday life onboard a transatlantic airline now scattered to the winds.
    â€œShould we…see if there’s anything to salvage?” Gavin asked tentatively.
    â€œNay, lad.” Mike watched the dark form of a body bobbing alongside the visible part of the wing of the airliner. They would do better to get back to the nunnery as soon as possible. “Let’s go. We can’t do anything here.”
    As Gavin turned from the terrible sight, Mike put a hand on his shoulder. With so much death suddenly surrounding them—of people who were drinking cocktails and watching movies just minutes ago—it felt vital to feel the solid flesh and bone of his lad.
    Gavin looked at him. “You okay, Da?”
    â€œAye,” Mike said gruffly, turning away before Gavin could see the emotion in his eyes. He jerked open the passenger’s side door and fell into the seat. The sun from the September day had ebbed away leaving only the chill of the coming autumn.
    Gavin got in the driver’s seat and inserted the key in the ignition.
    â€œWe lost our tackle,” he said. “And all our catch.”
    Mike closed his eyes. “We’ll find more.”
    The sound of the ignition clicking filled the Jeep’s interior.
    â€œIt won’t start,” Gavin said. He turned the key again. Nothing. Mike looked again in the direction of where the airliner went down.
    Oh, shit.

3
    M aster Sergeant Padraig Hurley stood on the parade grounds on the army base outside of Dublin city limits and watched the troops file past him. A line of three vehicles moved to where the truck depot was located behind the first barracks. It was eighteen hundred hours with most of his men expecting to be dismissed to the mess hall. He watched them go through their drill with heavy limbs and sluggish paces.
    As his men passed, he even noticed scowls and disgruntled glances in his direction.
    It hadn’t been this way five years ago. Then, before the EMP, Hurley had the power to make their lives a living hell on this earth. That power had commanded respect and immediate obedience.
    Now, over the years a full third of his troops had slunk off into the night with Hurley’s superiors telling him there was nothing they could do about it—not until Ireland could rebuild, not until Ireland’s allies could give them a hand, not until Ireland was on its feet again.
    And in the meantime, Master Sergeant Hurley was practically leading a volunteer army.
    Frustrated, he blew his whistle and watched the men come to a gradual stop. Nothing crisp about it. A few even stood with their weight shifted to one leg, their shoulders sagging, their heads twisting around to grin at a friend.
    â€œDismissed!” he barked, feeling an irrational urge to lift his weapon and mow down the first line of men in front of him.
    Think that would get their attention? Think they might be able to hold ranks for longer than fifteen minutes then?
    He watched them wander toward the barracks and the mess tent. He felt the sharpness in the air of the coming autumn and his eye again caught the line of Jeeps past the parade ground.
    Only for some reason they weren’t moving anymore.
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    F rom where she stood