The Bunny Derby

Bunny Derby

The best thing about growing up in the country, is the imagination that went into making our own amusement. In the summertime, nearly every parish had a 'Field Day'. The whole community would gather for a day of exotic events, including, Welly Throwing, Hay Bale Tossing, Wife Carrying, and of course the Donkey Derby. In the spring, many communities ran 'Bring and Buy' or 'Cake Sales' in the parish hall. These events were primarily to raise funds for charities and social funds, but also provided an opportunity for everyone to get together and have a bit of fun.  Local people would donate produce, only to buy back those donated by others. When Father Tom came to our parish, the 'Bring and Buy' day was not exactly a thriving success. Father Tom suggested incorporating some of the more popular 'Field Day' games, into the event, in order to bolster the numbers.

"I can see ‘Set Dancing’ or the 'Clothes Peg Hanging' working, perhaps even the 'Ball in the Churn' but if you start flinging Wellington boots and bales of hay around the parish hall, not a window will be left," said Sergeant Kelly, during the first committee meeting. Not willing to be thwarted at the first hurdle, Father Tom asked "What about a Derby?"

"A dozen donkeys, shitting all over the place? You've got to be joking, Father!" cried Mary Byrne, who cleaned the hall each week.

"You're quite right, Mary. Donkeys would be far too big, let’s try something smaller, something that will get the kids involved. What about bunny rabbits?" suggested Father Tom? When Father Tom had a vision, not much was going to stand in his way. At last, he convinced the committee to give it a go by asking, "What's the worst that could happen?"

That was how the inaugural 'Bunny Derby' came to be run in our parish hall. The indoor games were a great success. Indeed, the ‘Bunny Derby’ was the highlight of the day. On that first year, the children supplied all the rabbits. By the second year, many adults were in on the game. The racetrack was made out of hay bales, about thirty feet long. The traps were upside down cardboard boxes. The Bunny Derby rules were super simple, the first bunny to hop into the end zone was the winner. Owners could encourage the rabbit, but no pushing or poking. The winner was awarded a plastic trophy to grace their mantelpiece. The 'Bunny Derby' was soon one of the most anticipated events of any year.

There was consternation a few of years ago when Podge Carroll entered a wild hare in the race. The hare took off like greased lightning, as soon as the trap was lifted. He cleared the length of the track in a split second, vaulting the bale wall at the end, like it wasn’t even there. It dashed among the crowd, drawing yelps from women wherever he went, and laughter from everyone else. In the end, the hare made a break for freedom through a closed window. Thankfully, it knocked itself senseless, rather than breaking the glass. When the terrified animal had been captured, and released, Father Tom announced that the hare was disqualified (as it was not a bunny), and banned Podge from entering the race ever again. That year saw Ian Barry's rabbit, Snowball, take the trophy home for the first time, and she had continued to dominate the event ever since.

Father Tom was amazed to see how many of the men came along for these races each year. They all seemed to get into the spirit of the thing, shouting on their favourites with great gusto. By the time the winner hopped its little fluffy tail over the finish line, there were shouts of triumph amid mutterings of disappointment. Father Tom suspected there may be betting going on, when he saw Pa O'Conner, the local publican, handing out cash to men gathered around the tea and bun table.

Last year, as the excitement began to build towards the race, it was clear the bunny to beat was Snowball. With a red hot favourite on the card, the betting book had seen little action. Ian Barry was in the pub, basking in the reflected glow of his rabbit’s skills, when things took an unexpected turn. Ian had been propping up the bar in O'Conner's for several hours, boasting to anyone that would listen.

"There is no rabbit to beat Snowball, this year," Ian slurred, for the umpteenth time. Pa O'Conner was wiping glasses behind the counter, and threw his eyes to heaven. "I'm telling you Pa, put your money on my Snowball. It will be doubled in no time." Barry managed to miss his mouth with his pint of Guinness, and spilled beer down his shirt.

"Would you ever shut up about that fucking rabbit? You’d swear it was Red Rum," snapped Terrance McCarthy, from the end of the bar. Terrance thought Ian was a blow-hole, with way too much to say for himself. A few years back, Ian had objected to an extension Terrance wanted to build. It was a slight that had never been forgotten.

"What would you know about it, McCarthy? You don't even own a rabbit."

"I know more about animals than you ever will, and that includes bloody rabbits," Terrance snarled into his pint.

"You're all talk," needled Ian.

It was one stinging comment too many for Terrance. "€100 that my rabbit beats yours."

"You don't have a rabbit!"

"I'll get a bloody rabbit, is it a bet or not?"

"Okay - but I want to see your rabbit before the race," said Ian. The size of the bet he’d just agreed to, must have begun to loom large through the haze of beer, if the worry in his eyes was anything to go by.

"Fair enough, this night next week," said Terrance, finishing his pint in one long swallow. He bounded from the high stool, in the direction of the door.

"Where you going, Terrance?" called Pa, from behind the bar.

"Rabbit shopping, on E-bay," Terrance's voice boomed, as the door swung closed in his wake.

***

In no time, the news of the bet spread far and wide. The parish practically hummed with excitement. When Friday evening arrived, Pa O'Conner's was packed from door to rafter. The bar was so busy, Pa had to send for his whole family to serve behind the counter. Nine o'clock came and went, there was still no sign of Terrance and the mystery rabbit. Ian had been keeping quiet all evening, but as the minutes ticked away, and it looked more like he wouldn’t have to honour the bet, his tongue got looser, helped along by the power of whiskey.

By the time half nine rolled by, Ian was boasting again. The man just couldn’t help himself.

"Terrance just didn't fancy losing a hundred Euro," said Ian, turning to face the crowd. He raised a glass, "To Snowball, the fastest rabbit this side of a Chinese take away."

"Don't go counting your chickens yet, Ian. Or should I say, rabbits," said a voice from the door. It was Terrance, beaming from ear to ear. Terrance made his way through the crowd with a large covered crate in his arms. A space was made for him at the counter, where he deposited his load.

 Terrance said, "Pint please, Pa."

"Show us your rabbit," said Ian.

"Hold you flipping horses, let a man take a drink," said Terrance. Ian Barry was shuffling from foot to foot with eagerness. A creamy pint of Guinness was dropped on the counter, alongside the mystery box. Terrance lifted the pint to his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbed once, twice, three times, as half the pint vanished down his gullet.

"Ah, come on," said someone from the back of the crowd.

Terrance smiled and put the glass on the counter. He lifted the crate and put it at his feet. Removing the cover, he dipped his hands into the dark interior of the box. When Terrance stood up, he held the most enormous black bunny rabbit anyone had ever seen.

"That's not a rabbit!" cried Ian.

"Yes it is," said Terrance, with a snigger. "It's a Flemish Giant, and his name is Rommel."

"That is not fair, he is as big as a sheepdog," said Ian, his eyes bulging.

"No one said what breed he had to be. Rommel is a rabbit, which is all that counts," said Terrance.

Pandemonium broke out in the bar, people crowded close to get a better look at the giant in their midst. Half the bar held it was unfair, poor Snowball was tiny, in comparison to this yoke. The other half just wanted to see Ian Barry get the smug look wiped off his face. Through all the hubbub, Rommel sat quietly in Terrance's arms, occasionally licking spilled beer off the counter. Just before eleven, a young guy wandered over from the pool table, and slipped in beside Terrance. It was Smokey-Joe, the town pothead.

"Nice rabbit, Terrance," said Joe, rubbing the Rommel's big floppy ears. Rommel didn't flinch, "He seems very chilled out."

"He is, a bit," agreed Terrance, sounding more worried than proud.

"Is he fast?" asked Joe.

Terrance looked around to make sure no one was listening. He leaned in close to Joe, and whispered, "I don't know, I haven’t gotten him running yet."

"Did you try shouting at him or poking him?" asked Joe.

"Sure I did, but he just ignores me," Terrance said, letting his worry show again. "I’d hoped that Ian would chicken out, when he saw the size of him. Looks like I might end up losing €100, as well as having this useless lump eating me out of house and home."

"Say nothing yet, I might be able to get you something to liven him up," said Smokey-Joe, with wink.

"Slip Rommel a Micky-Finn?"

"Just call it a pep pill," said Joe, with a smile, while tapping the side of his nose.

Terrance smiled. All might not be lost.

***

The day of the 'Bring and Buy' arrived, and the parish hall was filled to bursting. Father Tom was amazed as the people continued to turn up. Jane, his housekeeper, was helping out with the sweet stand, when Father Tom lumbered over, weighed down with even more boxes of buns.

"Have you ever seen anything like it, Jane? What a crowd," said Father Tom, accidentally knocking against the table, as he wiggled his way behind it. Jane was trying to control the avalanche of chocolate bars, which Father Tom had started, but as normal, failed to notice.

"Would you believe that such generosity still exists, given the hard time people are having?" said Father Tom, dumping the boxes behind the table.

"Pardon?" asked Jane not quiet getting his meaning.

"All these people, coming to support the missions to Africa," said Father Tom.

"I think it might have more to do with Terrance McCarthy's giant rabbit, than the Missions, Father," said Jane.

"What?"

"You must have heard about it, Father? Ian Barry and Terrance McCarthy have been betting on which of their rabbits will win the race, today," said Jane.

"Hum," said Father Tom. "Who’s favourite to win?"

"Snowball has home advantage, but Rommel is huge. You should see him, Father, he’s like a small sheep," said Jane.

"Rommel! It’s named after a German Tank Commander?" stuttered Father Tom.

"I don't know what it’s named after, but he’s one tank of a rabbit," Jane giggled. Just then, Father Tom spotted Terrance McCarthy at the back of the hall, talking to Smokey-Joe.

***

"Where the hell have you been? The race is starting in half an hour," said Terrance, as a wobbly Smokey-Joe came towards him.

"Sorry, man, it was a wild night," he said, rubbing the sleep out of his bloodshot eyes.

"Did you get the stuff?" snapped Terrance.

"Do you know how hard it is, to get performance enhancing drugs for a rabbit?" spat Smokey-Joe, clearly not the happiest, first thing in the morning, or in this case, the afternoon.

"Sorry, Joe, but did you?" asked Terrance, more pleasingly this time.

"This will do the job," said Joe, sliding a small packet of powder into Terrance's hand. "Just give the rabbit a little bit. Feck, put it away, here comes the priest."

"Afternoon, lads, can I have a word?"

"Sure, Father," said Terrance.

"I've been hearing that some bets have been placed on the outcome of the Derby, is that true?"

"I wouldn't call it betting exactly, Father, more like a friendly wager, between friends," said Terrance.

"You know, I have the odd flutter myself, but this is a church event, boys. Let’s keep it fun, okay?" said Father Tom. The “okay” at the end of that sentence was accompanied by a pat on the back, which left Smokey-Joe's eyes wobbling in his head. When Father Tom was making his way back toward the tea table, Smokey-Joe turned to Terrance, rubbing his shoulder, and said, "Father Tom would make a great bouncer, if he wasn't a priest."

Soon, it was time for the entrants to line up for the Derby. The extra-large box covering Rommel on the starting line, was drawing a lot of attention. There were about six kids lined up in the middle of the track, all hovering above their covered rabbits, waiting for the race to begin. Ian Barry, was at one end of the lineout, with Snowball in her pink coloured box, specially decorated for the occasion. Terrance was on the far end of the line, beside Sarah Harding. Sarah was a lovely five year old little girl, but not the brightest button in the world. She’d brought along her guinea pig, called Mr Snuffles. There had been valiant attempts by Father Tom to explain that, although Mr Snuffles was a lovely fella, he was not actually a rabbit and as such, could not enter the race. In the face of a crying five year old, Father Tom crumpled like a cheap suit, and Mr Snuffles was allowed to take part. While waiting for the whistle to blow, it became clear that something was wrong with Rommel.

Terrance was holding the box down with both hands, but still having great difficulty keeping the huge rabbit in check. The box was being beaten to and fro, by the rabbit trapped inside. A strange high pitch mewling came now and again, which was adding to the amazement of the crowd. On the far side of the starting line, Ian was actually looking pale with anxiety.

The compare took the stage.

"On your marks," he shouted. "Get ready, GO!"

All the boxes were raised, and the race began. Rommel shot into the air like a ballistic missile, completing a twist, before landing six feet in front of all the other rabbits. Most of them were still sitting exactly where their boxes had been.

"The gigantic Rommel takes an early lead, followed slowly by Snowball in second place, Fluffy and Thumper are neck and neck in third, with the rest of the field still in the starting blocks," said the compare. "Mr Snuffles seems to be making a nest for himself.  Come on folks, cheer on your favourite."

The crowd began to cheer, and this got most of the furry critters moving.  Even to the untrained eye, Rommel was not looking well. His ears were flattened all the way along his back, his eyes were huge and wild, and his sides were fluttering in and out rapidly, as the massive rabbit panted through exposed buck teeth. Most worrying of all, was the keening moan he was still making. Rommel took another huge leap into the air, then wildly ran in circles for a few seconds. He had nearly reached the winning line at the end of the track, when he decided to take a detour.

"It looks like it is all over, Folks. Snowball is trailing miles behind, this is Rommel's race to lose. Hold that thought - it looks like Rommel is going the wrong way. What is wrong with that rabbit?"

As Rommel barrelled back down the track, the rest of the rabbits scattered in terror. The fluffy white Snowball became the fixture of Rommel's attentions. The carnage that followed will go down in parish history, as a dark day, indeed. While the rest of the rabbits were scooped to safety by owners, Rommel and Snowball became an indistinguishable blur. Thankfully, Rommel turned out to be a lover, not a fighter.

"What’s the big rabbit doing, Mammy?" a little boy asked his red-faced mother.

"That big one is very tired, from all the hopping, so the white one is giving him a piggy back," came the cringing reply.

"The race seems to have taken a romantic twist folks," howled the compare over gales of laughter. "Many racers have been withdrawn for their own safety, but wait a minute. Here comes Mr Snuffles, making a break for the finish line. He is nearly there, Come on Mr Snuffles, COME ON!"

Mary Barry leapt into the track, to free Snowball from the loving embrace of Rommel.

"Get off her you brute!" she shouted, trying to dislodge him with the toe of her red stiletto. Rommel squealed at her, his eyes wild. He refused to be dislodged. When Snowball eventually made the break from Rommel's loving embrace, she was a changed rabbit, forever. Rommel was eventually restrained, and put back in his box. Mr Snuffles was announced the winner, the first ever guinea pig to receive the Bunny Derby Cup.

Smokey-Joe caught up with Terrance in the car park, "How much of that stuff did you give him?"

"Only a little bit, but it was having no effect, so I gave him a bit more," said Terrance.

"How much more?"

"All of it. What was it, anyway?" 

"I couldn't find anything for rabbits. Everyone just laughed at me when I asked, so I got a bit of coke," Smokey-Joe said.

"You gave a rabbit cocaine?"

"Shush, for God sake, you're the one that got him as high as a kite," said Smokey-Joe.

Neither Ian, nor Terrance, ever lived down their rabbit’s public display of affection. The following year saw the greatest number of entrants for the Bunny Derby, ever. Nearly all of them were black and white. Snowball and Rommel looked on from the side-lines with parental pride.

The End

Righteous Fever

The day Austin stood before Julie, and took his wedding vow was the happiest day of his life. He promised, "To take her, forsaking all others, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death they do part." It was a vow he was never going to break, not even in the face of The Fever.

It all began in the sweltering slums of San Paulo, Brazil. The first victim was a hunter, recently back from a trip through the heart of the rain forest. Within days of returning he broke out in a high fever. A few days after that he went to see a doctor and described a raging thirst, which never seemed to abate, a burning fever, and pains in every bone in his body. The doctor could do little more than take blood and send the man home.

The hunter arrived back to the doctor’s office far quicker than his test results. The man was carried into the surgery on a makeshift stretcher, convulsing. His temperature was sky high and his face was an explosion of oozing blisters. The puss was incredibly sticky and the sores continued to weep without clotting. The doctor transferred him to hospital on the spot. Unfortunately, the team treating him didn't realise what they were dealing with and failed to place him in quarantine.

The hunter's condition worsened, blisters spread into the mouth - covering the gums and the tongue. The doctors were excited, and frightened, because they were dealing with the unknown. They tried to control the hunter’s temperature and swab away the puss that was ever-coming. Try as they might, they couldn’t keep up with the worsening condition. It was incredibly aggressive. When the blisters appeared in the man's trachea, his lungs began to fill with puss, until his breaths became gurgles. Before dawn, the hunter drowned in his own body.

A week went by before the hunter's wife presented herself with the beginning of a fever. The rest of the family were rounded up and they too showed signs of the strange new illness. Over the next few days, every person who had come into contact with the hunter was either dying, or dead. The virus, now unofficially known as "BFV" or "Brazilian Fever Virus," seemed to jump from person to person on contact.

All quarantine measures recommended by the World Health Organisation were now being followed, but the virus found a way around them. The disease mutated, and became much more infectious. The epidemic was turning into a disaster. As the doctors discovered more about the virus, they found it was infectious for seven days before any symptoms appeared, and in the end, eighty percent of all infected patients died. Everyone agreed, BFV posed a real threat to the future of the human race.

***

The United Nations enacted, The Pandora Protocol. Every nation across the globe declared martial law. Containment rings were thrown around San Paulo. Nobody was allowed enter or leave. Across the globe, international travel was banned. Planes had to return to their place of origin without touching down which caused many to run out of fuel and crash. Ships returned to their last port of call, or made themselves islands without a home.

The focus of the world turned on a tiny hospital, in the poorest part of the world, and all held their breath.

Inside the infected zone; riots, looting, and civil unrest went unchecked. Air drops of food, water, and medication, were the only assistance given by the outside world. When the hundreds of thousands of healthy people within the containment ring realised they'd been given a death sentence, the trouble really started. Huge crowds tried to force their way out but they were gunned down at the barriers. Corpses were left where they fell to bloat and rot, becoming a feast for vermin. No matter how much the people cried out for help, nobody came to help.

The ripples of infection became waves and the death toll spiked. Despite the precautions in the hospital, the fever began to spread among staff, and patients. Bodies were being incinerated, until the numbers grew too large. Pits were dug, and mass burnings began. Bodies were transported by dumper truck, not hearse. Three weeks passed before the first case appeared on the far side of the containment wall. One case was all it took to bring the leaders of the world together in unity. One case threatened all of humanity.

By week eight of infection, the death toll stood at 9,756 with a further 25,000 believed to be sick or dying. World leaders commanded the entire of world to remain indoors. Containment had failed, all they could do now was wait for the infected to die before the fever spread. The world paused and commerce faltered as the days ticked by. Week nine brought what everyone feared most, the fever jumped an ocean. Two cases were confirmed in mainland Europe. The following day, a case appeared in Florida. It was the beginning of the end.

Governments publicly cried for calm, but the sick began to vanish under the shadow of darkness. Rumors of eradication were shared in frightened whispers. Whole families, whole communities, disappeared. In the face of all man's efforts, BFV advanced undaunted.

Week thirty-two of infection found every country on the face of the planet battling the fever. The fabric of modern society lay in tatters as six billion people took matters into their own hands. It was on week thirty-three that a group of twelve; men, women, and children, walked alive from the wasteland of San Paulo. They were immune and word began to spread. 

They had survived in a church during the worst of the violence. They insisted God saved them. Evangelists across the world declared it a miracle, claiming, "A righteous man will walk through the plague without fear, as long as his soul was pure, and repentant." An American preacher offered absolution's over the phone, a mere $12.99 per minute. Even in its darkest hour you can depend on humanity to sink even lower.

Around this time in Dublin, Austin and Julie were holed up in their apartment, watching the disaster unfold live on the internet. Their spare room looked like a supermarket; stacked with all the tinned food and water they could lay their hands on. Austin, originally from Kerry, wanted to move back there when the outbreak had started but Julie said it would blow over. Now he wished he'd acted earlier. He'd not really believed the fever would ever get to Ireland but it had. He'd believed the government would save them; a pipe dream if there ever was one. Austin knew if he and Julie were going to survive, they had to make it happen themselves. 

The only broadcast now running on TV demanded everyone stay indoors. 'Lock yourself in and wait for help to arrive'. Sod that for a game of solders, he thought, as he packed all he could into his Jeep. In the dead of night, with a shotgun laid across his lap, they put a burning Dublin city in their rear-view mirror.

***

The city was a howling nightmare of sirens, screams, gunshots, and explosions. A gang of rioters dived out of the way as Austin drove directly at them. Beside him, Julie screamed as one bounced off the side of the jeep.

"I want to go home, Austin," she sobbed, as he raced up through the gears.

"We can't, it’s too late," he said and reached across to stroke her hair. The shotgun bounced on his lap, the safety-catch off, as the car ploughed through the debris strewn streets.

"I don't care, I just want to go home. I want to go home NOW!" she yelled. She pulled her head away from him and began to open her door.

"Julie, this is for the best," he said, grabbing her arm and yanking her back in, all the while trying to keep the Jeep on the road.

"I want my Mom," she sobbed, her hand still gripping the door handle.

"We can't go north, you know that. The fever is in the north already, we got to get as far away from it as we can. You trust me, don't you?"

She sniffed, "I trust you," she said and took her hand off the door handle.

Austin watched from the corner of his eye as a group of people danced wildly around a blazing supermarket. The world was going mad. He pushed the accelerator a little harder, wanting, needing, to be out of this city. By the time dawn came, they were rolling across back roads bordered by high green hedgerows. On the radio, presenters continued to hold out the accepted line of, 'stay home, talk to no one'.

Julie tried to phone her parents, but couldn't get through. In the end, she tried Skyping them, and by some miracle, a fuzzy image of her mother appeared on screen. At the sight of her, Julie burst into tears.

"Mom, Mom, can you hear me?" she balled.

“I can, sweetheart. Are you all right?"

"We're fine, Mom. We're coming to get you, tomorrow or the day after." Julie said.

"Don't, Julie. The TV said we should stay home." On screen, Julies Mom worried at the corner of her cardigan before she said, "I think your father's sick. I haven't been able to wake him all day."

"Oh God!" said Julie, burying her head in her hands. Austin turned the laptop toward him and asked, "Mrs Ryan, how are you coping?"

"I'll be fine, Austin. I phoned the emergency number a while ago and they said help is on the way. You must promise to keep Julie away from here. Keep her safe."

"I will, Mrs Ryan, I'll take..." just then, the doorbell in Julie’s parents’ house rung.

"It must be the doctor," said Mrs Ryan, jumping to her feet leaving the Skype connection running.

Austin could hear voices in the corridor. Mrs Ryan was telling someone where her husband was, and about his symptoms. The other voice was muffled. The voices faded, as if they had gone up stairs. A couple of minutes later, there were three short blasts of automatic gunfire, then silence. Austin heard footsteps coming down the stairs. In the corner of the screen Austin spotted a figure in a chemical suit sloshing liquid around the house from a drum. Slung across his back was an evil looking gun, stubby but deadly. The back of another person appeared close to the computer. He was also throwing liquid on the furniture and the curtains. He pulled an oven lighter from a pouch in his suit. It was strange seeing a harmless kitchen implement in the man's hands. He ignited the curtains, then turned to leave but he noticed the computer open on the table. He calmly walked closer until his mask filled the picture. With dead eyes, the man closed the laptop cover and the picture went black. The car was filled with screaming as Julie clawed at her eyes. 

Austin crushed three sleeping tablets into a bottle of water and made Julie drink it. She was hysterical and he couldn't think of anything else to do for her. What good were words when you just heard your parents being murdered? It didn't take long for her cries of grief to subside, she slipped into a heavily drugged sleep. What else could he do but push south, toward safety?

***

"It's time to wake up baby," he said as he shook her. The Jeep was running but he had pulled it over to the side of the road. Austin was already dressed in a green coat. It once had a fur trim, but he'd cut it off to make it more military looking. He helped dress Julie in a matching outfit, before pulling a double layer of plastic gloves over her hands.

"What's going on?" she asked, groggily.

"There are people on the road ahead. I don't know who they are but it’s better if they think we're solders. They’ll be less likely to try and mess with us." Julie was limp from the effect of the sleeping tablet he'd made her take and put up no resistance as he slipped a gas-mask over her face. He settled back behind the wheel and checked the safety was still off the gun, then he moved the jeep forward. On the road ahead, a car was on its side, its front wheels deep in the ditch. There were two people on the ground beside it. Austin pulled the Jeep to a stop fifty yards short of them and got out. He put the shotgun to his shoulder and aimed it in their direction.

"Clear the road!" he yelled; his words sounded extra loud as they bounced back at him from the inside of his gas mask.

"Thank God you're here. We need help," said the man, and he struggled to lift the woman into his arms.

"Stay back," said Austin, changing his stance to absorb the recoil if he had to fire. The man paused, seeming to consider the situation he was in, but moved forward in spite of it.

"She needs to get to hospital," said the man, stepping forward. The woman in his arms was drenched in sweat and sores were visible around her eyes.

"We can’t help you! STAY BACK," cried Austin, slipping his finger inside the trigger guard.

"I don't care, you’re going to help us," said the man and he rushed forward. Austin didn't know he'd pulled the trigger until the man was thrown backward. The woman landed on top of him and Austin could see blood staining the man’s shoulder. He looked down at the smoking gun in his shaking hands and couldn't believe he’d just shot someone.

"I'm sorry," he called to the man and got back behind the wheel. There was just enough room to pass the crashed car now that the couple had moved away from it. He stole a glance at the bleeding man in the rear-view mirror and felt sick to his stomach. They were as good as dead and he knew it. He was a murder now. Nothing would ever be the same again.

***

"Did you kill him?" Julie asked, her voice still half-drunk with sleep.

“No, but if I let him stop us, we were going to die. She had the fever.”

"You're like them, the ones that killed my mother," she said, her voice slurred and distant.

"I'm not like them, and I didn't kill him, I just nicked him," he lied, not believing the words himself.

“Promise me that you won’t hurt anyone else,” she said.

“Ok, I promise. I won’t hurt anyone else,” he said, it was an easy promise to make. He didn’t want to hurt anyone either. Austin slowed the jeep, keeping a steady pace. They avoided checkpoints by sticking to the smallest country lanes. The miles continued to pass under the wheels, always south, toward safety. Night came in on them fast and the petrol needle was resting on empty. If they didn't find fuel soon they'd never reach Kerry.

“We need to get some petrol,” he said to her, as the warning light appeared on the dashboard.

“There hasn't been a petrol station for miles,” she said. Even if they did find one, there was no way he would just walk up and ask for a fill. It would be too dangerous. Everyone would be looking for fuel or protecting it savagely. But filling stations were not the only places to look. He could see a farmhouse over the hedge up ahead. Farmers always had fuel tanks for machines. He slowed down to take the turn into the gate.

“What are you doing?” she asked, and sat straighter in her seat. 

“What I have to,” he said and the Jeep slowly bumped up the rough lane. The farm stood at the base of a gentle hill. He beeped the horn a couple of times as he neared the building. Julie looked shocked, after all the effort they had made to stay hidden, he was making sure everyone for miles heard them.

"What are you doing?" she asked, bewildered and dismayed.

“It’s like this, in that house could be a farmer. Farmers have guns. If he thinks we are trying to sneak up on him, he's more likely to shoot,” he said, as he parked the Jeep in the middle of the farmyard.

“Wait here. Keep the door locked,” he said and slid the shotgun under the sleeping bag on the back seat. He was taking a huge risk but he knew it was one he had to take.

“Hello? Hello?” he called, as he walked towards the house with his hands held high. There was movement behind kitchen window. Austin decided he was going to have to take a chance. He took off his gas mask. He waved and smiled toward the window.

“Hello in there. We’re from the red-cross. We're delivering supplies to people in the area. Do you need anything? Tinned food, bottled water, medicine?” Austin continued to smile as he moved no closer to the house. A woman’s face appeared at the window. She was pale and frightened.

“Show me your identification,” she shouted. Austin flipped open his wallet which had his work ID in a clear pocket. He held it up, but stayed back so the woman wouldn't be able to read it properly.

“Look, if you’re ok for everything, we better get moving. It will be dark soon,” said Austin with a smile and he turned to go.

“Wait,” called the woman, she vanished from the window. The back door opened and she stepped outside. She was middle-aged and wore an apron with flour on it. In her hand she carried a nasty looking slash hook. It seemed foreign in her dough covered hands.

Austin raised his hands, his palms facing the woman. “Wait where you are please, Madam. There are some questions I'm supposed to ask, before we can give you assistance."

The woman thought for a second, then said, "Go on."

"Are you, or any of your family, sick?”

“No.”

“Has anyone been to the farm in the last two days?”

“No.”

“How many are in your family?”

“Four. Myself, my husband, and two boys.”

“Has everyone remained inside the building since the emergency began?”

“Yes...no,” said the woman. “My husband, and eldest son, went to get some help four days ago and have not come back, yet.” Austin noticed the woman lower the slash hook a little. She so wanted to believe that he was here to help. He had to reassure her.

“I'm sure they’re fine, Missus. Lots of people have been coming in from the country. Most are in shelters right now, we couldn’t let them go wandering around. They might get infected. What’s his name?” Austin asked taking out his mobile phone.

“Sean Kelly,” the woman said, as Austin dialed a number.

“And your son?”

“Paul Kelly,” He raised the phone to his ear and heard the beeping of an unconnected line. “This is unit 61, checking in. We’re in south Tipperary, outside Latan. We have two missing civilians, Sean Kelly, adult male and Paul Kelly, age…” Austin looked at the woman.

“He’s fourteen,” she said, the hope dripping from her words.

“Fourteen,” Austin said, then grew quiet. He nodded, said Hum a few times, and then pretended to wait. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and told the lady, “They're checking the computer.” Austin gave it a little over a minute before saying, “I’m still here.” He allowed more time to go by before saying, “That's great, we should be back at base in an hour. Ok, thanks.”

Austin closed the phone, cutting off the beeping. “Your husband and son are fine. They’re in the red-cross camp, in Tipperary town.”

The woman was delighted. She lowered the slash hook and said, “Thank the Lord.”

“We'll leave you an emergency hamper. It has some medication, and tinned provisions. It will get you through the next few days. It’s in the back,” he said, walking toward the back door of the Jeep. He motioned for Julie to open up and heard the locks click. The farmer’s wife laid the slash hook against the wall and followed Austin. He opened the back door, pulled out the shotgun. Turning quickly with the gun in his hands she stopped mid step.

“Do what I say and everything will be fine. I don’t want to hurt you, but believe me, I will. Back up to the house,” he said. The woman did, keeping her hands in the air, her face was even whiter than it had been. Austin heard the door of the Jeep open behind him and Julie came running.

“What are you doing? You promised not to hurt anyone else,” she accused him loudly. Austin could see the woman take in what Julie said. Those few words were worth all the threats he could make. The woman faltered slightly as she neared the slash hook.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

Inside the kitchen, a young boy stood near the kitchen window. He'd watched the whole episode unfold. He looked as frightened as his mother and ran to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Austin pointed to a chair with the gun, and said, “Sit.”

The old farm house was as solid as a fort, the walls must have been three feet thick. The kitchen was an arsenal of sharp knives and makeshift bludgeons. There was a small door under the stairs. Austin opened it and found it windowless, with nothing more dangerous than a tin of baked beans. This would have to do. He moved back and pointed inside with the barrel of the gun.

“Both of you in here, Please.” Just because you were holding someone at gunpoint was no reason to be rude. The woman hurried into the pantry, pushing the crying boy ahead of her.

“Hand over your phone,” Austin said, holding out his hand.

“I don’t have one,” said the woman a little too quickly. Austin had a feeling she was lying.

“Hand it over!” he yelled, and shouldered the gun. The woman yanked the phone out of her apron and threw it at him, trying to shield the boy. He was about to shut them in when he paused for a second, then asked, “Has he got a phone?” 

For an instant, the tables were turned, the woman looked furious as she barked, “No! Of course not.”

“Fair enough, sorry,” he apologised and closed the door. He wedged one of the kitchen chairs under the handle. Julie had watched the whole thing silently but now that they were alone, she gave him a filthy look.

“What?” he asked. “Did you think she was just going to let us help ourselves? Wake up for God sake, Julie. The world is different now. If we’re going to survive, we have to change with it.”

“You promised not to hurt anyone, only a few hours ago.”

“And I haven’t,” he said, storming past her to search the sheds for petrol.

***

The farm proved to be an Aladdin’s cave of useful stuff. He found gallons of liquid that smelled like petrol and the Jeep ran just fine on it. He also found some tools that would come in useful, plastic sheeting and a few large milking buckets. He loaded it all in the jeep. Then he found a whole shed full of vegetables.

“Jackpot,” he said. "That’s dinner sorted for a while.” He packed as may potatoes, turnips, onions and carrots, into the Jeep as he could. The night was pitch black by the time he was done. He hadn’t seen Julie since he stormed out of the kitchen. He hoped she hadn’t released the woman under the stairs.

He opened the kitchen door, cautiously. He half expected to have his own gun shoved into his face, but he didn’t. July was sitting at the table, glaring at him. The chair was still wedged against the door of the pantry, and the gun lay where he left it on the table.

“We better stay the night; our lights might attract attention. We'll get going at dawn," he said, stripping his plastic gloves off. He knew she was mad at him, and that he should apologise, but he was mad at her too. Couldn’t she realise that he was doing all this for her, to keep her safe? Why should he have to apologise for doing his best? As he washed his hands, she came up behind him and touched his shoulder. It was all she needed to do.

“Can we let them out?” she asked, keeping her voice low so the people in the cupboard wouldn’t hear. Austin nodded. He was going to do that, anyway. He put on some fresh gloves and put all the kitchen knives into a plastic bag and hid them in a shed outside. To make Julie happy, he’d taken the shells out of the gun, but insisted on keeping it with him.

When everything was ready, he pulled the chair away from the pantry door. Julie had a fire was burning in the hearth and it threw a warming glow into the dark little press.

“You can come out now,” he said, standing back. Julie was warming up spaghetti hoops in a pan over the fire.

“What do you want with us,” asked the woman, not coming out of the pantry.

“Nothing, and that is the truth,” he said. “We needed some petrol and didn't think you'd just give it to us. We took some potatoes as well, I hope you don’t mind.”

The woman didn't move. Julie came forward and said, “We’re not bad people. You must be hungry, how about some spaghetti hoops,” she said to the boy.

Over plates of food, Julie and Austin told the woman what they had seen on the streets, and what had happened to Julie’s parents. The woman didn't believe everything they said. She was convinced the government wouldn't do such things. The questions of what had happened to her husband, and son, soon bubbled up again. This time Austin could give her no answer. Silence descended on the group as the fire crackled gaily in the corner.

“My mother had a cure for fever. Do you want to know what it was?” the farmer’s wife asked.

“Sure,” said Julie, with a smile.

“Get an old pair of socks. Soak them in equal parts apple-cider-vinegar and ice cold spring water. Wring them out until they are damp, then put them on the person’s feet. You need to change them before they dry out. Keep doing this until they feel better.”

“That could come in handy. I'll remember that,” said Julie, with just the hint of a smile.

“It has to be well-water, not tap-water,” said the woman, letting the familiar sharing of knowledge ease this strange situation, but then she started to look embarrassed. “You never know, there might be something in it.” Austin was not so sure that damp socks would help, but he kept his mouth shut.

In the morning Austin returned the woman’s phone, and apologised again for scaring her, and her son.

“Where are you heading?” the woman asked.

“Kerry. Austin is from Ballinskelligs,” said Julie.

“Into the west,” said the woman, it was a line from a movie.

“As far west as we can get,” agreed Austin. He made Julie change their gloves before getting into the Jeep. The final leg of their journey had begun.

***

A few hours later, they caught their first glimpse of the wild Atlantic Ocean. They followed the coast south. Julie was taken by surprise when Austin turned off the road a few miles short of Ballinskelligs. He drove along a sand humped road which ended in a little car park. Off to the left was a shed, perched high above the beach.

“Why are we stopping here, I thought we were going to your father’s house?”

He stopped the engine. It was time to come clean about the final part of his plan.

“I've been thinking hard about this, Julie. Ireland could have survived if we kept the virus out. But we didn’t. Now the fever is here, it will rip through the place and nobody can stop it. Nowhere is safe anymore.”

“So, what was the point in coming all the way down here?” she asked.

He pointed out the windscreen at the jagged islands sitting off the coast, “There. It’s our only hope.”

“You've got to be joking,” she said.

“No. I'm serious,” he said. “Skellig Michael has only one landing point, It’s easily defended, there are old monks huts already built there, and it is surrounded by fish. Three months…six tops, then we can come back.”

“How the hell are we going to get all the way out there?”

“There’s a boat in that shed.  Everything is ready to go. Between the two of us we can manage it.”

“You must be mad,” she said, and after a minute she added, “I must be mad too.”

They pried open the boathouse and inside they found an inshore lifeboat, fuelled up and ready to go. The boat could take six men, so there was plenty of room for all their equipment. When Austin backed the boat into the water, Julie was sitting at the helm. The trailer vanished under the waves and the boat floated clear. Austin gave Julie the thumbs up and she pressed the starter button. The outboard motor roared to life. Austin pulled himself aboard and moved down to take over the steering. The boat bobbed, twisting in the wind. A breaking wave caught them side-on, nearly capsizing them. He engaged the engine and eased out the throttle. The boat leapt forward, easily cutting through the waves.

Julie glowed with nervous excitement as the boat bumped over the waves, sending curtains of spray into the air. The island grew in size, rising out of the depths like a huge, grey, shark tooth. In twenty minutes, they were under the towering cliffs. Austin found the pebble beach in the lee of the island and drove the boat on it at a good head of speed. They came to a juddering halt, but nothing seemed to shatter.

For the rest of the day, they climbed the steep steps, hauling supplies to the little stone huts, monks had used for shelter hundreds of years ago. Austin did most of the work, Julie tried, but it was hard going. She got more fatigued with each trip and in the end, he insisted she stay and set up camp. He made the last trips alone.

When the boat was empty, he removed the heavy engine and hid it in a crevice high above the wave-line. The boat, now empty, was easy to haul out of the water. He tied it off with rope, to make sure it wasn't washed away by the waves. He mounted the steps and began his last climb to the top of the island. He wondered to himself if he would ever make the trip back to the mainland, and if he did, what would he find when he got there?

That evening, Austin got a tent up in the lee of a rocky outcrop. They didn't have the energy to start a meal, so they ate a few bars of chocolate and fell into an exhausted sleep. Even though the weather was fair, the wind whipped the tent constantly, waking Austin several times during the night.

The next day, Austin made the big piece of plastic into a rain collector that would catch them enough fresh water to survive. The first few days passed quickly on the island, although far from comfortable, it provided them with their first feeling of security in a long time. Julie cooked meals on a small camp stove, but the gas soon ran out. As there was nothing to burn, most things were eaten raw. Austin managed to catch some fish, but not as many as he would have liked. Twice, boats came close to the island, but none tried to land.

The night the storm hit started like any other. The wind started to really pick up in the afternoon. By the time the light was fading, their tent was ripped beyond use, and fluttered away in the gale. They spent that night huddled in one of the monk’s huts. The next morning, Austin woke early and went to check the damage. When he got back to the hut, Julie was still sleeping.

"It's not that bad," he said, but she didn't stir.

“Julie,” he said, giving her a little shake. She turned toward him and her hair was wet with sweat and her face flushed bright red. She was hot to touch.

“Water,” she croaked. Austin's hands shook as he opened the water container and held it to her lips. She emptied the bottle without stopping to take a breath. It can’t be the fever he assured himself, he’d taken every possible precaution. No matter what he told himself, there was no denying what his eyes were seeing. He rested Julies head on his lap and stroked her hair. She soon fell into an abnormally deep sleep and heat radiated off her as if she were on fire. The only time he moved that whole day was to get more water for her, not that there was enough water on the island to quench her thirst.

First light the following day shone on the first of her blisters. Now, he knew, all hope was gone. She woke and looked in his eyes, tears began to mingle with sweat covering her skin.

"It hurts," she said, and began to cry. Austin held her close to him and cried along with her. He rocked her like a baby until she slept. How could he watch her go through all of this if there was no hope of surviving? How could he do it to her? He pushed himself upright and took the shotgun in his hand and squinted through the tears. He held the sight an inch from the love of his life but nothing could make him pull the trigger. When she needed him most, he failed her.

Another storm hit the island as Julie began to struggle to breath. The wind howled as she got worse, and finally, trashed in convulsion. Her body arched, then collapsed in on itself. The thing that made her Julie vanished. She was gone.

He shook her, screamed at her to wake one last time. Insane with despair he lifted her still warm body into his arms and ran into the maelstrom. He howled at the heavens but the wind whipped her name from his lips. Lightening cracked, stabbing the foaming waves, hundreds of feet below.

He stood on the edge of the cliff. He knew no tombstone could do Julie justice, no pitiful grave would embrace her delicate skin. Only the endless expanse of the Atlantic could ever contain the love he felt for her. Austin kissed her lips one last time, and said, “Time to go, my love.”

He stepped into the void. They plunged down, down, down. No matter what, they would be together - forever.

Mog & Mrs Pat

In the 1950's, life in rural Ireland was much different than today. The work was hard and neighbours looked out for each other. Horse-power on the roads could normally be measured in ones and ran on grass. The single greatest power in the land was not government, but the church.

The church and the priests were figures of near absolute power, only eclipsed by the saints which watched over the faithful from their marble plinths.

During this time, two elderly sisters called Mog and Mrs Pat, lived down the road from my Grandmother. Mog was short for Margaret -we think. Mrs Pat's husband was long dead but the sisters managed to keep a farm running between them. The land was coarse and massive lumps of limestone made any sort of tilling a fearsome task. In this time of hardship, migrant labourers followed the growing seasons and worked in exchange for a night's lodgings, a hot meal, and a few coins for their pockets. Francie was one such man and he called on the sisters one spring day. He just forgot to leave. Over the years that followed, the three became inseparable.

Nancy, my mom, was only a child herself at this time and was often sent to the sister’s farm on errands. Nancy hated going there, the place was always caked in dust and cobwebs. The kitchen floor was hard packed dirt, mixed with ash and whatever fell off Francie’s wellies. Nancy would often be sent with a bag of groceries from the village, or to get a pail of warm creamy milk. One afternoon, my Granny sent Nancy over to Mog, so she could help bring the shopping back up from the village. Nancy pushed open the door and went into the dingy kitchen. She found Mog scribbling on a sheet of writing paper.

"Come in, girl, and leave the cold outside," called Mog, not looking up from her task. Nancy took a stool by the fire and waited patiently.

"Can you spell, sincerely," Mog asked, and Nancy did her best, but got the word wrong.

"What in God’s name is that headmaster teaching you," snapped the old lady, as she tried to rub out the pencil marks she had made. Nancy wanted to remind her that she was only eight, and not in the headmasters class, but she held her tongue. Mog folded the paper and put it in a little white envelope, along with a coin from her purse. She wrote, St Anthony, across the front.

Mog threw on a thick black coat that swept down to her ankles and wrapped a scarf around her head. Nancy took the basket from behind the door and they struck out for the village. It was nearly all downhill to the village but you paid for it on the way back. When they got there, Mog turned for the church, which was unusual, as it was the middle of a working day.

Nancy watched as Mog went inside, she knelt before a statue of St Anthony. She heard the old lady begin to pray and when she was finished, Nancy saw Mog slip the envelope under statue.

Later, when the shopping was done, and the hill home climbed, the secret envelope still was on Nancy's mind. She longed to find out what Mog had scribbled on the piece of paper.

On Sunday, the Begley clan filled one pew, all wearing their best clothes. Nancy couldn't help glancing at the statue of St Anthony and she wondered if the envelope was still there. Once Mass was over, the church emptied quickly but Nancy made an excuse to slip back inside. She fished under the statue with her slim, little-girl fingers, and retrieved the envelope. She looked around to make sure she was alone before opening the envelope. A brand-new penny and a slip of paper, fell into her hand. She excitedly read Mog's shaky writing.

Dear St Anthony,

Could you see you’re way clear, to having a few days fine weather for Francie, towards the end of next week. He wants to plant the barley in the top field, it would be a great help. Mrs Pat also said that one of the hens is laying out in a ditch and she needs help finding the nest. We'll say a rosary each night this week. 

Yours sincerely

Mog, Mrs Pat and Francie

Nancy pocketed the letter, along with the penny, delighted with herself at having found out Mog's secret. She giggled at the silliness of the old woman. Later, Nancy got a huge slab of toffee in the shop with Mog's penny.

Every Sunday after that, Nancy would check under the statue for messages. Most of the time there was nothing, but every now and again, she found a letter with the all-important penny.

A few months later, Nancy was about to buy her slab of toffy with a penny from Mog, when Mr Power, the shopkeeper, told her the toffy had gone up to two pence.

Nancy looked at her penny in despair, "But why has it gone up, Mr Power. I only got one penny."

"That's inflation, Nancy. What can we do?" said Mr Power.

A few weeks after that, Mog got the fright of her life. She’d gone to pray to St Anthony and when she got there, she found a note with her name on it sticking out from under the base of the statue.

Dear Mog, Mrs Pat and Francie,

I hope you were happy with finding the eggs in the ditch, and all the fine weather I’ve been able to get. I want to say thanks for the pennies, but next time, can you leave two. The price of good weather is going up. It’s the inflation, what can I do.

Yours sincerly 

St Anthony.

As Mog told Granny Begley the story, she kept blessing herself and looking up to heaven. Nancy sat quietly in the corner, saying nothing, but when Granny pointed at the note and said, "Well, would you look at that! Didn't St Anthony spell, sincerely, wrong. And him an educated man!" Nancy slipped out as quietly as she could and vowed never to play tricks on Mog, or St Anthony, again.