Free Falling Read online

  When David and Sarah Woodson take a much-needed vacation with their ten-year old son, John, their intention is to find a relaxing, remote spot to take a break from the artificial stimulation of their busy world back in Jacksonville, Florida. What happens within hours of settling in to their rural, rustic little cottage in a far-flung spot on the coast of Ireland is an international incident that leaves the family stranded and dependent on themselves for their survival. Facing starvation, as well as looters and opportunists, they learn the hard way the important things in life.

  Can a family skilled only in modern day suburbia and corporate workplaces learn to survive when the world is flung back a hundred years? When there is no Internet, no telephones, no electricity and no cars? And when every person near them is desperate to survive at any cost?

  FREE FALLING

  BOOK ONE OF THE IRISH END GAME SERIES

  Free Falling

  Susan Kiernan-Lewis

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Acknowledgements

  Author

  Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit

  makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before

  —William Butler Yeats

  You can’t fall if you don’t climb.

  —Anonymous

  CHAPTER ONE

  The bad thing happened on the second day of their vacation.

  Although they would end up calling it many things in the coming years—the crisis, the blackout, the incident—the event would always be defined by one important feature: In a flash, it changed everyone’s lives forever.

  The trip itself began with anticipation and expectation like every other vacation they had ever taken as a family. The Boeing 757 touched down at Shannon Airport outside of Limerick in early September 2011. Sarah could feel her ten year-old son’s excitement in the seat next to hers even when she wasn’t looking at him.

  “And you’re positive I’ll be able to recharge my iPhone?” he said, as he stared out the airplane window.

  “Ireland is not a third world country,” his father said as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “In fact, they lead the world in computer technology or something, I read.” He stood to pull down the carry-on luggage from the overhead compartment, then handed Sarah’s battered Vuitton to her.

  “But consider giving the iPhone a break,” Sarah said. “We’re here to see Ireland. It’s a very rural country with—”

  “You told me, Mom,” her son interrupted. “I get it. Rural, beautiful, lots of history and stuff. I just don’t want to be bored out of my mind, okay? I mean, while you and Dad are drinking wine at cafés and stuff and visiting museums, I need my stuff, too.”

  Sarah frowned and caught her husband’s eye.

  He shook his head. Plenty of time to fight this old battle later, his expression said.

  “Let’s find some authentic Irish food,” he said with a smile. “And a lager.”

  “Cool. They have logging in Ireland? Like in Seattle, and stuff?”

  Sarah laughed. “Let’s go find those loggers,” she said.

  That first night they stayed in a traditional Irish hotel and ate a simple meat stew. They spent three hours in the corner pub singing with the locals and washing away their jet lag with the local brew. They tucked John into a cot in the small hotel room. They kissed briefly before falling into bed early themselves.

  The next morning it was raining.

  “It’s freezing outside,” John said as he entered the hotel dining room. “And it’s only September.”

  “Come get warm by the fire and eat something,” Sarah said. “Dad’s out renting the car for our drive to the village we’ll be staying in.”

  John settled into a chair next to his mother and examined his breakfast plate.

  “They cooked the tomatoes,” he said.

  “They do, over here.”

  “And I ordered bacon but they gave me ham.”

  “This is what their bacon looks like.”

  “It’s ham.”

  “Well, so is bacon, really.”

  “No, bacon and ham both come from a pig but bacon is not ham.”

  “Okay. But this is as close to bacon as you get for the next ten days, okay?”

  “The toast is weird.”

  “John, everything is weird when you’re in a foreign country, okay? It’s part of the reason one travels. To have things not the same as where you live.”

  John cut a piece of ham and ate it. “It’s not terrible,” he said.

  “Good boy.”

  The door swung open and an icy blast of air invaded the room. David strode in, gave her a quick kiss and sat down.

  “It’s really cold out there,” he said, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Oh, crap. Don’t they have coffee?”

  “It’s in the other carafe. How long do you think it’ll take us to get to Balinagh?”

  David tousled his son’s hair. “Eating an authentic Irish breakfast, are you?”

  “It sucks.”

  “John.” His mother frowned at him.

  “Just kidding,” he said, grinning sheepishly.

  “About half a day, I think,” David said, pouring his coffee. “You got all the directions to the rental cottage?”

  “There’ll be someone there to show us where everything is,” Sarah said. “And to change the linens every few days, but for the most part, we’ll be on our own.”

  “Mom? Did you ask someone about the iPhone charger?”

  As they drove through the countryside, David decided Ireland was green and largely wet in order to stay that way. The road divided undulating hocks and hills crisscrossed by ancient stone walls. With so few trees, the green horizon seemed to stretch on indefinitely, one verdant field after another.

  “Hey, there’s sheep up ahead.” John tossed aside his Game Boy and pointed over his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t run over ‘em, Dad.”

  “I won’t,” David said, slowing down. “But I have to admit to not knowing who has the right of way, here.”

  “Give it to the sheep, dear,” Sarah said.

  They braked to a halt.

  John rolled down his window and stuck his head out.

  “There’s, like, a real shepherd with them and everything,” he said. “And man, those sheep are dirty.”

  “Lots of mud in Ireland,” Sarah murmured. “Rain makes Ireland emerald. Rain makes Ireland muddy.”

  “Are you losing your grip, honey?” David grinned at her.

  She laughed. “Just trying to adjust to island time, you know.”

  “Maybe we should throw our watches away.”

  “Or at least pack them away until it’s time to go home.”

  They sat in silence as the sheep and their shepherd moved slowly across the road.

  As he watched the sheep, David realized that Sarah’s idea to visit a remote part of Ireland was a good one. They had all gotten stretched thin with their schedules back in Jacksonville. She was probably right, too, about John’s
obsession with his electronics, although David had been pretty addicted to television when he was his son’s age. Even so, just being some place so foreign—and rural—felt like it was already doing them a world of good. He glanced at his wife who was frowning at the way the shepherd was handling things—as if she could will him to move his flock faster.

  It was all very well for her to orchestrate this vacation in order to amend what she saw as a deficit or undesirable feature in the family (and the marriage?) but he would be interested to see how she managed the next ten days without her smartphone, iPad and movies-on-demand.

  The shepherd waved to them as he led his flock up the hill into a pasture enclosed by a dilapidated fieldstone wall.

  John pulled his head into the car. “I’m starving, Mom. What’s there to eat?”

  Sarah dug into her purse and handed her son a biscuit wrapped in a paper napkin.

  “Here, I saved it from your breakfast.”

  “Oh, great. Now we’re in an episode of Survivor Man.”

  “We’ll stop for lunch in a bit,” David said to his son. “Want your first beer?”

  “David,” Sarah said, admonishingly.

  John took the biscuit and bit into it. “I’m dying of thirst,” he said.

  By the time David stopped the car in front of the little cottage, Sarah was tired and her back ached. They had stocked up on groceries in Balinagh, the nearest town to the cottage. Because of the condition of the poor country roads, the drive had been longer than she expected.

  The cottage was more like a one-level carriage house. It had a steep roof of shingles and a chimney between two large windows in the front. Grass lined both sides of the long drive that led from the main road to the front yard of the house. Flowering vines crawled up the window framework and around the door which had a small porch with three flat wooden steps. A back door from the kitchen led to a courtyard of stone flanked on one side by the entrance to a small paddock with broken fence slats, a very old barn, and a vegetable garden that looked like it hadn’t been tended in years.

  It was clear that no one had lived in the place for a long time. The house was what the Irish called “self catering.” Sarah didn’t think it looked like it had been self-catered in a long time either.

  “Wow! There’s horses here. Mom, did you know there would be horses here?” John leaped out of the car and ran to the barn.

  David looked at the piece of paper Sarah held in her hand.

  “Are you positive this is it?” he asked.

  “David, yes.” She looked at him fiercely. “Can we, at least, look inside before you decide I’ve made a big mistake?”

  “Did it look like this on the Internet?” David asked, his eyes still taking in the small stone cottage.

  “No, this isn’t…” Sarah took a breath as she felt the anxiety climbing higher into her chest. “This isn’t the one I saw online, remember? I got the e-mail at the airport saying that one had burned down and that we were to go to this one, that it was comparable.”

  David stepped out of the rental car. “Did the other one have horses?”

  “Of course not,” she said, still seated. “There were no horses.”

  “Dad! Mom! You gotta see this!” John ran back to the car. “There are three horses in there!”

  “Are we supposed to take care of the horses?” David asked.

  “Can we, Dad?” John literally jumped in delight. “Can the small one be mine?”

  David looked at Sarah.

  “Let’s look in the house first, son,” he said.

  Please let it have indoor plumbing, Sarah thought as she climbed out of the car.

  John ran to the front door and pushed it open. “It’s not locked,” he said before darting inside.

  “I’m sorry, David,” she said. “The one I booked on the Internet was much bigger.”

  John met them on the porch. “It’s just got one room,” he said. “And only one bed. I don’t get my own bed?”

  Sarah and David went inside.

  “Well,” David said with a sigh. “To quote my son, this sucks.”

  A large king-sized bed was pushed up against the far wall. Next to it was a door, which Sarah hoped was to an indoor bathroom. A giant stone fireplace anchored the front wall of the house and faced the kitchen and dining area on the opposite wall. The floor was polished wood and several thick rugs covered most of it. Two easy chairs faced the fireplace.

  “It’s actually very cozy,” David said. “Very comfy—except for the one bed thing.”

  “Hey! There’s a TV!” John called out. “On the table next to the bed.” He began to fiddle with its dials.

  “I wonder if they get Conan here,” David said, sitting down on the bed. “It’s a nice bed.”

  “Look, David, I’m sorry, okay?” Sarah said. “I booked a two-bedroom cottage.”

  “Why don’t we unpack our groceries and get settled in a little?” David said, clapping his hands together.

  “Really?” Sarah looked at him. “You’re okay with this?”

  “Do we have an option?”

  “I don’t really know. I have a phone number.”

  He got up and took her in his arms. “Don’t bother,” he said. “I say we make the most of what we’ve got.”

  She put her head on his shoulder and felt some of the tension drain from her body.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  He kissed her then called to John: “Come on, John. Let’s unload the groceries and the bags and Mom and I can start getting supper on the table.”

  “You gonna come out and see the horses?”

  David turned to look at Sarah, who shrugged.

  “Right. The horses. Okay. Show me the horses,” he said. The two walked out the door and headed for the barn.

  Sarah buttoned her sweater and rubbed her hands together. It was cold in the little cottage. She began looking for the thermostat she would never find.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It happened sometime during their first night.

  They had built a fire in the fireplace and made a supper of canned stew with a fresh salad and a bottle of good South African red wine. John was able to get Sponge Bob Square Pants on the TV but was told he couldn’t watch his first night in Ireland. The three of them bundled up in jackets and a quilt and sat outside under the stars talking and identifying constellations. That night would be the last time that Sarah could look up to the heavens without praying fervently. It would be the last time any of them would choose to sit outside and waste the warmth of the fireplace.

  On that first night, the experiences and trials of their day of travel and discovery had left them ready for bed. However, the sounds of the Irish countryside, the creaking, cooing, cawing with the occasional horse whinny, made it difficult for both David and Sarah to fall asleep.

  In the cold and foggy morning to which they awoke, they found the world forever changed.

  “Mom, can we ride the horses today?”

  Sarah turned over in bed and put her hand out to touch her husband’s shoulder.

  “David,” she murmured. “He shouldn’t be in the barn. Too many things to fall on his head.”

  “John,” David moaned from his side of the big bed. “Stay inside until we’re all up.”

  “But Dad—”

  “Just hang tight, John,” Sarah said, groping for her iPhone on the side table. Eight o’clock. It had begun to rain in the night. “I’ll make breakfast.”

  “Can I watch TV?” John came over and sat on the side of the bed. “Pleeeeeease?” He leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek.

  “We need to have some rules about the TV,” she said.

  “Thanks, Mom.” He jumped up and snapped on the set.

  “I am so not going to exchange one country’s television laugh-track for another,” she said. “It’s the same droning idiocy as back home. Only the accents have been changed.”

  David yawned and sat up beside his wife.

  “Mornin
g,” he said, and kissed her.

  John turned up the TV. “Mom, I think something’s wrong.”

  “Don’t tell me it doesn’t work, sweetie. Because it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re here to—”

  David’s body tensed. He jumped out of bed. “Sarah, something’s happened.” He stood next to his son in front of the TV set. “There’s been a...an incident or something. John, go out and play.”

  “It’s raining outside, Dad.”

  “What is it?” Sarah pulled on a sweatshirt and joined David and John in front of the TV. “What’s happening?”

  The images on the television looked like amateur video. There were explosions, cars flipped over, crumpled buildings, and fires. The Irish announcer alternated from a reporting voice to a shrillness bordering on hysteria.

  “My God, what is—” Sarah covered her mouth with her hands. “It’s home,” she turned to look at David. “It’s America.”

  Stunned by the images and sirens and screams, David held up a hand for silence. He listened as the newscaster intoned in a strong Irish accent: “…reports of nuclear contamination in several major cities…”

  “What is?” John looked panicked. “What’s happening back home, Mom? Dad? Are we...are they attacking us? Are we being bombed?”

  “Shhhh.” Sarah wrapped her arms around her boy. “Just listen,” she whispered.

  “‘......too soon to attribute to any specific terrorist group but certainly an attack of this magnitude...”

  “My God,” Sarah said and tears filled her eyes.

  “Take him outside, Sarah,” David said. “For God’s sake, don’t let him see this.”

  John turned to his mother. “What’s happening, Mom? Is it going to be okay?”

  Sarah stood and ushered the boy outside. The two of them stood on the porch. The rain splattered droplets of mud onto the legs of their pajamas. She hugged him tightly.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said into his baby fine hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Are they attacking us?” he asked.