Susan Kiernan-Lewis - Free Falling

David laughed.

“We were so lucky,” Sarah said. “None of us got killed and it could so easily have gone the other way.”

David leaned over and took her hand. “But it didn’t,” he said.

Sarah looked at him and smiled.

Mike cleared his throat. “I’ve got news,” he said.

“I hate it when you say that,” Sarah said, gathering dishes to take to the kitchen. “Your news always sucks.”

“News?” David had been leaning back in his chair but sat up abruptly. “News about the crisis?”

Mike nodded solemnly. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver cylindrical object and placed it on the dining room table among the serving bowls, ashtrays and whiskey glasses.

“Jesus,” David said. “Is that what I think it is?”

John jumped up and ran to the table. “What is it? What is it?” he said. He leaned over and snatched it up. “A cell phone!”

“Aye,” Mike said. “That it is.”

“Doesn’t work,” Gavin called from the hearth. He was leaning back against an armchair, the bulky bandage across his chest making him look portly and uncomfortable.

“Well, it would work,” Mike said. “But its charge has run down.”

Sarah returned to the table. “This isn’t the news,” she said, looking at Mike.

“No, it isn’t,” Mike agreed.

“God, you two developed a secret language since I was gone,” David said. “Should I be jealous?”

“So what is the news?” Sarah asked, ignoring David.

Mike took a long sip from his glass of whiskey.

“Come on, Da,” Gavin said. “Or I’ll tell ‘em and I’m not as good a teller as you.”

Mike placed his whiskey glass on the table. “One of Gavin’s mates had gone off, same as poor Craig Cahill did, and he’s only just returned. He brought a couple of these back and when they were charged up, they worked fine.”

“The grid’s back on?” David asked, leaning eagerly over the table toward Mike. “The towers are back up?”

“Nothing near us right now,” Mike said, “but there’s hope it’s starting to come back. This tosser mate of Gavin’s—”

“Aw, Kev’s okay, Da. You’re too hard on him.”

“This mate of Gavin’s says there’s rumors that communication in London is restored and there are a few vehicles moving about there now too.”

Sarah covered her mouth. Was it over? Was the nightmare really about to be over?

“They got cars working again?” David asked.

“They shipped some in from Germany and Italy,” Mike said. “This bloke said Dublin’s got power on and off and he heard there was activity in Limerick, too.” He looked at Sarah. “United States military looks like.”

John put the cell phone back onto the table. “So,” he said, “we’re going home.”

Sarah looked at him with surprise as his flat tone. He met her eyes over the table and walked back over to where Gavin was sitting.

“I’m thinking the lad’s got the right of it,” Mike said, looking at Sarah. “You’ll likely be leaving soon. Probably don’t even need to bother planting. You won’t be here for the harvest.”

“Wow.” David sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. He looked at Sarah and smiled. “That is news,” he said.

“So I was thinking,” Mike said, speaking to David now. “It might make sense for the three of you to come into the community. No sense in making a go of it here. And you’ll be safer with us among a group.”

Sarah knew David had no intention of moving them into the community—temporarily or not. They’d had a few words about it but, in the end, the agreement had been to let David have his way. Her eyes flickered to Mike as he sat easily in the armchair drinking his whiskey.

In more ways than one, it might be safer for them to stay where they were.

“No, thanks, Mike,” David said, moving over to Sarah and draping an arm around her shoulders. “We’re just fine here until the US gets off its ass and comes to rescue us.”

Sarah watched something pass across Mike’s face but it was too fleeting to identify. He leaned over to refill all their glasses although Sarah hadn’t taken the first sip from hers.

“So, we’ll drink to it, eh?” He held up his glass: “To rescue and getting things back to normal. And to the Woodsons getting back home.”

“Here, here,” David said, drinking.

“Cheers,” Sarah said in a whisper, but didn’t touch her glass.

Well, Mom, I haven’t written in so long but since you haven’t been receiving any of these letters anyway I didn’t think you’d mind. LOL. It’s been two months since we fought the gypsies and won and five months since what people around here refer to as “the Crisis.” The rest of our story isn’t brief and, except for the occasional terror with chasing down an errant chicken, life is actually a little boring here in a pleasant non scared-for-your-life sort of way. Ha ha.

When we found out last month that rescue might be imminent, it’s hard to explain but life actually got harder! Up until then, we relished every little pleasure or luxury we could get—whether it was a hot bath or a real chicken dinner instead of beans but as soon as we heard that this period of our lives really was temporary, it seems all we could do was focus on the things we were missing and were waiting for us back home. It’s hard to explain.

We’ve been happy here. I know that sounds bizarre and as I look back over it, I’m kind of surprised, myself. But we have. And honestly, except for missing you and Dad, our lives here have been much richer than anything we had back home. Crazy, huh? No electricity, no cars, no shopping! Doesn’t make sense to me, either.

Anyway, I’m beyond hopeful and anxious to see you and Dad again after all this time.

Three months after writing that letter, Sarah found herself standing by the fence behind Deidre and Seamus’s cottage and watching John trot his pony in the direction of Donovan’s community.

While the community was an easy two-mile ride on horseback across the pastures, the way John went, it was nearer to five by the road—a road already grown over with weeds and bushes after seven months of non-use by automobiles. Sarah always thought the Irish roads better suited to horses anyway. They wound and twisted in illogical gyrations that seemed to fit a horse’s meandering style of travel.

It had been four months since they found out that rescue was coming. Four months of letter writing and hoping and waiting.

But no one came.

It had been a hard winter—one in which, because they hadn’t planted anything—they had needed to rely on food and fellowship from Mike’s growing community. And while it kept them alive, the dependency did little to assuage David’s growing resentment and frustration as the months ticked by and no word of rescue came.

As Sarah watched John disappear from sight, knowing he would be safe once he got to Mike’s place, knowing he would be surrounded by his friends and watched over by Mike and Fiona, she wondered for the thousandth time why she and David needed to live so far outside the circle.

But, of course, she knew why.

“Anything in the traps?”

Sarah turned to watch her husband trudge up the hill toward her, his face slack and guarded against hope. It was only September, but already the traps were usually empty, the rabbits having tucked themselves up in their burrows until the Irish weather proved more accommodating.

She pointed to the trap at her feet, the body of the little rabbit ensnared in it.

“Thank God,” David said, bending down to pry open the steel jaws.

She looked over his shoulder at the expanse of pasture behind him. As far as she could see it was green, studded by one or two grazing animals.