Mermaid in a Bowl of Tears (Exit Unicorns Series) (86 page)

“Thank the Lord for small mercies,” he muttered grimly through gritted teeth, aware that the bus was not going as fast as one might expect it to, when one’s foot was firmly gunning it to the floor. He allowed himself only a flickering glance up into the rearview mirror; there were no headlights behind him. So far, so good.

A hundred yards down the road, he brought the bus to a lurching halt, hoping to God his bearings were right and he was roughly in the vicinity of where he’d left the others.

A desperate glance where the headlights shone showed him nothing but rhododendron leaves canting left, and showing their undersides to the wind that was increasing with every minute. Should he chance going further up the road, or had he already gone past them? Did he dare get out and look for them? He was exhausted and freezing and did not, in the least, relish the idea of a crawl through the thick and unforgiving branches of the rhododendron. But he had little choice; he couldn’t risk leaving them behind.

Just then the bushes parted and a blackened face, topped with fair, thinning hair popped out, gave the bus a narrow eye and popped back in.

“Matty, it’s me,” Casey yelled hoarsely, hoping the wind would carry his words rather then rob them straight out of the air. The head popped out again followed by a bare shoulder and thin body, one arm gesturing madly behind to those still huddling in the vicious sanctuary of the bushes.

They scuttled up out of the ditch, a motley looking crew in the dim light, greased and blacked in their undershorts, twigs and leaves stuck all over them and falling from their heads. Christ have mercy, but it’d be a miracle if they weren’t all caught.

Declan ran aboard followed closely by Shane, then Roland, with a green-streaked Matty bringing up the rear.

“Have ye stolen the bloody thing?” Matty gasped as he flung himself down into the nearest seat, helped along by gravity as the bus, door still closing, resumed its precipitous flight down the road.

“Aye, I have,” Casey responded shortly, senses acutely strained as if he could urge the bus to go faster by willing it so.

“Did I not tell ye,” Roland said piously, “that the Lord provides in times of need?”

“The Lord,” Declan gasped, pulling rhododendron twigs out of his undershorts, “by way of my hand, is goin’ to provide ye with a swift cuff upside the head, if ye don’t shut yer gob.”

“He prayed for Declan’s eternal soul the entire time in the bushes,” Matty said, hunching over the back of Casey’s seat. “Can ye not make the blasted thing go any faster?”

“No, I’ve about got my damn foot through the floorboards as it is,” Casey responded in frustration. Feeling was beginning to return to his numbed extremities and his right leg, already bruised and cut, was now aching from the force he was applying, apparently in vain, to the gas pedal. “The needle’s stuck at forty an’ not budgin’.”

“Will I drive the bus then, or pray over the needle?” Roland asked, with all the pleasant calm of a man out for a Sunday drive in the countryside.

“Will ye what?” Matty asked incredulously, turning back to look at Roland who sat bolt upright against the precarious swaying of the bus, rosary bouncing merrily against his thin chest.

“I drove bus for a living,” Roland replied, “and on Saturdays I raced cars. Sundays of course I went to Church.”

Everyone grabbed for seats and poles as Casey brought the bus to a sharp stop and jumped out of the driver’s seat. He pointed a finger at Roland. “You drive, I’ll pray,” he said shortly.

Roland took the driver’s seat, adjusting his stork-thin frame as if he’d all the time in the world. Then proceeded to bow his head and cross himself, “Lord bless us in our endeavors—” he began in an earnest tone.

“Jaysus, Mary an’ Joseph, Roland, we’ve not the time for this,” Declan said, face turning red under its mask of shoe polish and bruises.

“Ye’ll not,” Roland lobbed a dark look over his shoulder, “blaspheme while I’m behind the wheel.”

“Roland,” Casey said in as pleasant a tone as could be managed under the circumstances, “move the bus or I’ll throttle ye here an’ now.”

“Right then, let’s be off,” Roland said and thrust the bus into gear, hands aligned at ten and two on the steering wheel. “Does anyone mind telling me where we’re headed?”

Behind Roland, the four looked at each other nonplussed, the plan not having extended much beyond escape and providing no contingencies for stolen busses. “Gentlemen, we need a decision, as we’ve got someone on our tail.”

The four turned their heads as one to see the beam of headlights in the distance, rapidly gaining ground on them.

“Roland,” Casey said, taking command without hesitation, “keep on this way to the Queen’s Bridge, then down Oxford an’ we’ll make a run for the Markets.”

“Are ye mad? Ye propose to go through the heart of Belfast in this wheezin’ clunker? We’ll never make it,” Declan exclaimed.

“It’s the only chance we’ve got, that’s an Army vehicle behind us. The one shot is to get into a Republican stronghold, they’ll not dare follow us there, it’d be a suicide mission,” Casey replied. “Roland, can ye do this?”

Roland coolly checked his rear and side mirrors, jacked the bus up into the next gear, and put his foot down on the gas pedal as far as it would go. “Hang on lads, it’s goin’ to be a bumpy ride,” he said, something very much like sheer joy lighting the narrow, dour face. “The rest of youse better get yer heads down, in case they decide to shoot it out.”

“Lord have mercy,” Declan mumbled, “the fool thinks we’re in the Wild West.”

“He’s a point,” Casey said tersely, shimmying his large frame down between the seats and sticking his head out into the aisle to keep a clear view of the swiftly advancing jeep. His mind raced, the map of Republican Belfast laid out in his head.

Thought became impractical seconds later when the back window of the bus was blown out, most of it shattering onto the roadway behind them but a few rogue shards scattering in.

Casey muttered a terse prayer that consisted mostly of the words ‘please’ and ‘one piece’. A moment later, it seemed God had heard him, and forgiven him the rather curt method of address. The bus, from somewhere in its beastly old guts, pulled up a last burst of speed. The jeep behind them started to lose ground and the few more shots that were loosed fell wide of their mark. The lights of the bridge illuminated the interior of the bus. Five mostly naked men—scratched, soaked, bleeding and on the run of their lives. If it hadn’t been so deadly serious he might have laughed at the farce of it all.

He risked a peek out at the swiftly passing scenery. The Markets was within their reach. He took a breath. They were going to make it. It would buy them a few precious minutes, but not much more.

Despite the army’s disinclination to enter hardcore Republican areas, he knew they’d call in the cavalry and have the area cordoned off in no time at all. Trying to hide in the Markets area would bring down the full wrath of the British Army on the heads of the locals. They’d have to move quickly.

Republican Belfast was a tightly woven web of interconnected lives, and word of their escape had spread quickly along the sticky lines of communication. When the bus finally came to a coughing, belching stop a crowd of people awaited them with cheers for their bold escape.

Casey was the last to stumble off the bus, still clad in the bus driver’s coat, barefoot, unshaven, looking thoroughly disreputable but feeling lightheaded with relief. For a minute he could enjoy it, just a minute because he had to figure out how to get this ragtag lot of his across the border and safely down to Dublin, but for now he took the cup of hot tea someone shoved in his hands and the change of dry clothing. The five of them changed in the street, too tired to care for modesty. From somewhere in the cramped laneways a getaway car had been provided.

The five of them piled in the minute they were dressed, amidst admonitions of which streets to avoid and wishes for a speedy flight.

Roland took the wheel, carefully buckling himself in before looking questioningly at Casey.

“We’d best not tackle the border until dark,” Casey said. “Question is where do we hole up ‘til then?”

“My brother-in-law has a pub,” Shane offered, “he’ll shut it down if we want him to; no one but Republicans ever drinks there anyway. We’d be safe as houses until we’re ready to cross the border.”

Casey nodded. “Alright lad, lead the way.”

One hour later found them safely hidden in a dark pub, miles from where the Army still hunted in vain for them.

Matty, Declan and Shane sat round a table that was crowded with empty pint glasses. Roland was, from Casey’s current vantage point, nowhere to be seen. Casey listened with growing frustration as the telephone in a house far from him, rang on without answer. It was likely to be his last chance to make contact.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, “someone answer.”

There was a shout of laughter from the far side of the dim room. Casey turned. All the men were looking up at the fuzzy, wee screen of the television.

“They’ve caught us then, or are imminently about to do so,” Declan said, grinning through the traces of boot polish that still smudged his thin face.

Casey shook his head in astonishment. The five of them had been in the Markets for all of about ten minutes and now the bastards had it surrounded, and were declaring that they had the situation entirely under their control.

He let the telephone ring twice more, then gently replaced it on the hook.

“Where’s Roland?”

“Here man,” came the answer as Roland rose up off his knees, a look of beatific calm lighting his deep-set eyes.

“Are we ready, then?” Casey asked, pulling the too tight coat across his shoulders.

“Ready, boss,” Declan said taking one last long swallow that emptied his pint glass. He placed it by its fellows. Casey only hoped the men could hold their alcohol as well as they had their fear.

He looked regretfully at the telephone one last time.

“Let’s go lads,” he said.

Five minutes later they were on the road to Dublin.

CASEY WAITED DAWN OUT PATIENTLY. The light, bottle green and heavy, pulled itself wearily over the horizon like a rheumatic old man rising on aching bones. In the gloom he checked the crumpled map, the one that had been palmed into his hand by the reporter, and hoped to God he hadn’t fallen face first into a trap.

He sat, exhausted, stubbled and with the faint reek of rancid butter still clinging to him, back huddled against the knotted trunk of a black oak. It was cold this morning, the air thick and heavy with mist, a warning of rain in its purling drops. He shivered and fought to keep his eyes open and his senses alert to his environment. Above his head he heard the rustle of birds beginning to wake, the ruffle of sleepy wings, the first irritable cheeps of morning. He ached with cold and lack of sleep; the night had been a long one. He’d alternatively walked and hid through all of it, not daring to travel on the roads.

He’d found the grove of trees just before dawn, the black oak unmistakable. There weren’t so many of the ancient trees left in Ireland, the armies of Elizabeth I had seen to that. The map in his hand was finely drawn, the instructions just explicit enough for him to understand, but not so clear that someone else could have followed it. It was this that made him think he knew where the map originated and that he was quite safe in following its directions.

He burrowed deeper into his heavy corduroy coat, its soft collar damp against his face and tried to not think of how badly he wanted a cigarette, a hot cup of tea and to see his wife’s face. He’d an unhappy feeling that she was as angry with him as she was worried about him.

Like a genie sent direct from a golden bottle in answer to his unspoken wishes, Jamie emerged at his right arm in silence, one finger to his lips as Casey jumped slightly.

“I wasn’t followed,” Jamie said in a whisper, “but we’d best keep it as quiet as possible in case you were.”

Casey choked back an indignant comment as Jamie placed a lumpy bag on the ground, opening its neck and handing Casey a thermos of scalding hot tea before he said a word. Then seeing how badly Casey’s hands shook, he took the thermos back and poured the tea into a plastic mug, and wrapped Casey’s stiff fingers firmly around it.

“Drink up, you need the warmth badly.”

Casey did as he was bid, gasping when the tea, heavily laced with sugar and brandy, burned down his throat. Jamie watched until he drank the whole thing, then refilled the cup and ordered him to drain it again. Casey did so and felt with relief the warmth spread out from his belly into his numb extremities.

Jamie continued to rummage in the bag, coming out with a heavy sweater, thick corduroy pants, dry socks, thermal underwear, and a sturdy pair of boots.

“Get changed,” he said shortly, exchanging Casey’s empty cup for the pile of clothing, “you’re still blue about the gills.”

Casey stripped down quickly; having been incarcerated so often in his life, he’d long ago lost any false sense of modesty.

“How is she?” Casey asked as soon as he could control the chattering of his teeth.

Jamie’s eyes, dark green in the murky light, narrowed slightly. “As well as can be expected under the circumstances, which is to say frantic with worry, furious as ten demons and only slightly less dangerous than a lorry-load of Paras. Here,” he put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes, “for the journey.”

“Am I going somewhere?” Casey asked, feeling his spirit revive slightly under the influence of warm clothes and brandy.

“There’s a car up on the road. In the bag you’ll find food, money and a map. Take the back roads as much as possible. When you get to Doolin, you’ll find a man there named Tommy who’ll be dressed identically to you, he’ll take the car on and you’ll proceed on foot until you come to the place indicated on the map. There another gentleman will pick you up and take you out to a fishing boat, where it’s anchored is also shown on the map. The fishing boat will take you to your destination where,” Jamie gave him a hard green look, “you’ll stay until further notice.”