Susan Kiernan-Lewis - Free Falling

“Sure, it’s slow you’ll be taking things, all right,” the woman said. She reached over and tousled John’s hair. “But I’m sorry for your troubles. Sure, the Americans are a hard lot to take for the most part but we love ‘em, God knows we do. My own boy, Michael, lives in New Jersey.”

Sarah tried not to break down crying right in the store.

“Have you heard from him?” David asked. “Or any news at all?”

The woman shook her head.

“Sure, no,” she said. “Just something terrible bad, that’s for sure. The telly went out about two hours ago with the rest of the power.” She indicated the dark overhead light fixtures. “My Michael is hard to locate at the best of times. If I don’t hear from him in another few weeks, I’ll start to worry.” She nodded to the shelves in her store. “People have already come to stock up and I don’t expect much in the way of deliveries, now do I? What took you so long to come to town?”

“We woulda driven,” John said. “But our car won’t start.”

“No, nor anybody else’s,” Siobhann said. “Although Jimmy Hennessey did say he got his tractor to working.”

“You’ve got nothing at all?” David asked, looking about the store. “No milk, no cans of stuff?”

“Sorry, no,” she shook her head. “I’m dead cleaned out. But you’re staying at the McKinney place, aren’t you?”

“McGutherie,” Sarah said.

“McGutherie’s burned down last year,” Siobhan said.

Last year ?

“I’m sure it’s the McKinney place you’re at now,” Siobhan said. “Friends of the McGutherie’s. More of a weekend cabin, not really a tourist rental?”

“That explains a lot.”

“But you’ve got the goat, don’t you?”

“There’s a goat?” John said.

“Sure, there’s a goat and sheep and didn’t Mary McKinney keep a stocked root cellar? Have you looked?”

David gave his wife’s shoulders a squeeze. “We’ll look,” he said. “Where are the McGuthries now?”

“They’ll be living in London, won’t they?”

“But the emails I got from her said there were caretakers. We don’t know how to take care of horses, or where to wash our clothes—” Sarah felt the panic blossom in her chest.

“Well, sure you’ll be needing to take care of the horses. Don’t tell me the poor things haven’t eaten since you’ve arrived?”

“They’ve eaten some grass,” John offered.

“I suppose there’s horse feed in this root cellar, too?” David said.

“There is.”

“And the caretakers?” Sarah persisted, refusing to be shamed by the woman.

“I’ll not be knowing anything about any caretakers,” she said. “Unless it’s yourselves.”

“We’re the caretakers. Great.”

“Who’s been taking care of the horses until now?” David asked.

“Likely that would be the Kennedys. They live about five miles the other side. Now they know you’re there, they’ll leave it to you, I imagine.”

“How much for this lantern?” David pointed to a kerosene lantern sitting high up on a corner shelf.

“Sure, there’s bound to be ten of ‘em at Cairn Cottage,” the woman said.

“That’s the name of our place?” Sarah asked.

“I’d like it all the same,” David said, reaching for his wallet. “And I see you still have matches and a jug of kerosene.”

As David and the shopkeeper busied themselves filling a small but essential shopping bag, Sarah stepped outside and looked down the deserted village street. John followed her.

“Will we get rickets?” he asked her.

“What, sweetie?”

“Rickets. We read about it in school. When you don’t get fresh fruit and stuff your bones start to go bad.”

“No. We’ll find fresh fruit and vegetables.”

“How about a hamburger?”

“That may be a bit trickier.”

A few moments later, David joined them.

“She said she’ll hold our lantern and fuel ‘til we’re ready to leave. There’s a little restaurant down the way,” he nodded down the street. “Siobhan thinks they’re still serving. Guess the locals don’t eat out much.”

“Siobhan?”

“Yeah, she’s not really awful. In fact, I think she means to be helpful. Just Irish-y.”

“Let’s eat, guys,” John said, pulling his parents down the street.

Sarah walked ahead of David. Maybe because she didn’t look like she was walking with anyone, a man coming toward them in the opposite direction got eye contact. Her first impulse was to smile, as she might at the drive-through cashiers of a fast food restaurant, so it startled her when the man leered back. He was thin and young and dirty. Sarah noted his filthy beard and scruffy clothes which looked like he’d slept in them. She smelled him as he walked past. Stung by his visual assault, she turned to get David’s attention as the man passed.

“Did you see that?” she said. But David was looking at the shuttered and dark village windows. He met her eyes with a distracted, vacant look that told her he wasn’t listening or even seeing her.

Peeved and tired by the already long day, Sarah shook off her annoyance and focused on keeping up with her son.

“Wait for us, John,” she called, hurrying to catch up with him and leaving David to his private reflections.

Later that afternoon, stuffed with mutton and potatoes, they collected their purchases from Siobhan’s store and made the long walk home. John was tired and so fretful. Sarah began limping before they had turned the first corner out of town. And David’s shoulders were aching from carrying the heavy bag by the time, four and a half hours later, they finally walked into the frontcourt of Cairn Cottage at twilight.

David opened the door to the dark interior of the cottage. He went in first and set the bag down. “Power is definitely out,” he called to them. “Give me a sec to get the lantern lit.”

“I’m tired, Mom.” John sighed heavily.

Sarah wrapped her arms around him, grateful they were so far away from the destruction and confusion of what was happening at home, and then feeling instantly anxious about her parents and what they might be experiencing at that very moment. It seemed like such a basic, little thing, she thought, to have a warm, well-lit place in which to curl up tonight. “I know, angel,” she said. “Just a few more seconds and you’ll be in bed.”

A few moments later, the one room of the cottage glowed warmly from the kerosene lantern.

“We’re good, family,” David said.

Later that night, as John slept soundly in the big bed, Sarah and David sat on the porch with the lantern between them and finished off a bottle of Pinot Noir.

“I can’t imagine what’s happening at home,” Sarah said, shivering in her heavy sweater.

“I know.”

“And you don’t have any theories about what happened? That’s so unlike you.”

David sighed. “From what I saw,” he said, speaking deliberately as if carefully choosing every word, “and from what Siobhan heard from other people in the area, I think what happened is that a nuclear bomb exploded over London or maybe the Irish Sea.”

“Oh, my dear God.”

“And the reason that’s my best guess,” he said, putting his arm around Sarah and giving her a reassuring squeeze, “is because of the big flash we saw earlier and because none of our electronics work any more.”

“Nuclear radiation did this?”

“No, it’s called electromagnetic pulse. It’s hard to explain but the results of it are what we’re experiencing now.”

“If it is this electromagnetic thing, how long until things get back to normal?”

“Everything has to be rebuilt,” he said. “All the cellphone towers are fried, all the cars, the power grid. It’s a total destruction of the infrastructure.”