Weep (Book 1): The Irish Epidemic Read online

  Weep

  The Irish Epidemic

  Eoin Brady

  Contents

  Become A Survivor

  1. So Long Solene

  2. Cheeky Pints

  3. After Party

  4. Bad News

  5. Last Minute Shoppers

  6. Hold Your Breath

  7. Zombies?

  8. Unexpected Guests

  9. Late Friends

  10. Silent Prayer

  11. Suicide Suppository

  12. SOS

  13. Forgive Me

  14. Never Will I Ever

  15. The Fall

  16. Mortgage Free

  17. Hot Water Bottles Are Life Savers

  18. Last Will & Testament

  19. The Butcher Van

  20. Cruel to be Kind

  21. Mercy

  22. Tourist

  23. Tickets Please

  24. Not Lost

  25. Alive

  26. Islands

  27. The First Death

  28. Hope Dies with Thoughts and Prayers

  29. Pilgrimage

  30. The Death Zone

  31. No Sleep for the Living

  32. Long out of Luck

  33. Smile

  34. Swan Song

  35. Express Route to Hell

  36. Safehouse

  37. Fog

  38. Sleep Softly and Dream of Nothing

  39. Weep

  The Survivors Club

  Please Leave A Review!

  Also by Eoin Brady

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Become A Survivor

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  1

  So Long Solene

  “Storm Peggy will make landfall later this week. A red weather warning is in place along the west coast counties of Ireland. Expect power outages and interruptions to flights. People are advised to avoid unnecessary journeys and to stay indoors.”

  Fin could barely hear the news over the bitter wind whistling like static between his ears and headphones. He struggled up a long, steep hill. It felt like for every foot he managed to pedal, his bike was blown back two. Eyes stinging, tears streaming down his face. His knuckles were white with the effort of keeping the bike steady on the road. Leaning lower over the handlebars did nothing to reduce drag. He could see the humour in it; his headstone would read ‘Killed by Peggy’. New Year’s resolution: get fit. Old faithful, it had been the chosen resolution for the past five years.

  He considered turning around and heading back, putting the wind behind him and letting it blow him down the hill to the Quay Hotel. Only a few rooms were occupied this close to Christmas. Given the circumstances, the management would not begrudge him staying. Explaining why I need a suite might be difficult, but not as hard as telling Solene I won’t be home for the last few hours we have this year. He pushed on.

  Winter-bald trees swayed, creaked and threatened to break over the wall surrounding Westport House. Storm-shed branches and a large broken bough obstructed the road into town. Household bins skittered between parked cars in front of dormant homes. A few windshields were cracked. Alarms rang out, shrieking to be heard above Peggy. His only solace in the storm was knowing that tomorrow would be a quiet day at work. Who smiles on a rainy day? Somebody in the hotel trade.

  Reaching the peak of the hill, his legs were given a brief reprieve as he coasted down the other side. Ambulance and garda lights lit up the Castlebar road in the distance. A sudden downpour of rain trapped him in a sheltered cobblestone alleyway near his apartment. With no sign of it passing, he relented and hurried through the last stretch. Drenched to the skin he made a mental note to add ‘get a car’ to his list of resolutions. He punched the code in to get through to the gated courtyard above the town centre car park. Nothing happened: the door remained locked. If the power went out, I’ll have to go the whole way back to work. It took two further attempts before the door stubbornly opened. It always faulted during rain. He carried the bike up the stairs. Small streams gushed out of the moss-muffled gutters.

  His efforts to enter the house quietly were ruined when the wind caught the door and blew it out of his grip, knocking it against the wall. It left a deep dent in the plaster. Well that’s the house deposit gone. On the table, a solitary candle sputtering above a shrinking puddle of wax went out. Water pooled around his feet in the time it took him to lock the door. In a few squeaky strides he was in the bathroom. He threw his jacket and uniform into the tub. Soggy socks and dripping shoes went in too for good measure.

  Solene sat up in bed. When she was sure it was Fin and not a murderer, her head fell back onto her pillow. “Hi,” she stifled a yawn. “It sounds horrible out there.”

  “There’s a bit of a breeze alright.” The air in the room was so warm it nearly shimmered. He knocked the heater off and undressed before chasing three cats off of his side of the bed, hissing to hurry them. He smiled when Solene glared to let her know it was meant in jest, but there was only so many times he could come home to a cat’s ass on his pillow without hissing and meaning it. They plopped down off the bed and curled up in their baskets.

  Solene moved across the bed. “I warmed it up for you.”

  He crawled in beside her. She gasped and wedged a pillow between their bodies. “If you even think of putting your hands on me, you’ll be in the spare room.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He drew his cold hands back to his side of the pillow.

  Curled up behind her he quickly thawed as his eyes grew heavy. The red light of the electrical alarm clock showed a quarter to five in the morning. He turned the face away, disgusted at himself for adding up how few hours he had before it would ring.

  “How was work, baby?” Solene asked.

  “It was dead. The storm isn't due to hit fully until this evening, but it already feels like the end of the world out there, and we’re only getting the hem of Peggy's skirt.”

  Solene scoffed. “I don’t know how they decide to name these storms. I mean if they called it Storm Death Wish, you’d have fewer gobshites cycling home in it.”

  “I couldn’t get through to any taxis. I’d say my tires only touched the ground twice on my way home,” Fin said.

  “I doubt that,” she squeezed the flab of his stomach playfully.

  “Warn me before you do that so I can suck my gut in. Wouldn’t have been able to drive that road, there’s enough downed branches out there to feed a fire for a month.”

  “We don’t have a fireplace, babe.”

  “If you left that radiator on any longer we would have.”

  “Shh. Try to sleep, I have to be up soon.”

  “There’s not a hope that you’ll be flying if that weather keeps up.” Fin broke the blanket border, and nestled up against her, one arm draped around her body to hold her hand. No storm would ever keep him from falling asleep next to her. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, us spending the holidays together for once.”

  Solene turned to kiss him. “You’re the one that wanted to work over Christmas, and I’m not spending it in an empty hotel. My grandparents don’t have many Christmases left you know, I would still like them to meet their great grandchildren.”

  Fin started snoring loudly.

  “Love you,” she said. “Now go to sleep.”

  One of the cats started meowing until one of Fin’s p
illows startled it at high speed. Fin closed his eyes and listened to the storm, while the slowing rhythm of Solene’s deep breathing lulled him.

  He only noticed the quiet, encroaching footsteps when it was too late. Wide-eyed, he woke with a jolt. He tried to sit up, but a weight above the blanket pinned him down. There was a head next to his, breathing deeply against his neck. Lips dragged across his skin before teeth bit down hard, a tongue wetting the flesh. Fin went cross-eyed, an itch forming in the back of his throat.

  “Get off me.” He tried to push Solene off, but the futile and insincere effort only made her laugh.

  The noise of the storm was a constant comfort. Warmth wrapped him completely. He laughed until he felt the fur on the hood of her winter jacket, reminding him that this was a goodbye kiss. He made to rise.

  “Shh, stay.” She kissed him. “Stay.” She rolled off him and lay on the bed for a while. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’m going to enjoy having a reasonable electricity bill this month.”

  “You’ll be living in the hotel, there’s no way of telling which one of us is the cause. Anyway, stop giving out when I’m halfway out the door,” she said.

  “Our relationship is based around arguing, love. What would we talk about if I couldn’t give out about the cats?”

  “Exactly the reason why I’m keeping them. I’ve left your Christmas presents upstairs. Let me know what you think when you open them.”

  “You’re not getting yours until we do our own Christmas after you get back.” He was failing to keep his eyes open.

  “I still think you forgot to get me anything. Let me see even the edge of wrapping paper and I’ll believe you.”

  “And spoil the mystery?” Fin said.

  “Hardly.”

  “I meant the mystery of whether I remembered or not. It’s still dark out, what time is it?”

  “Just gone past half seven.”

  Fin groaned.

  “So you won’t be walking me to the bus then?” She let him suffer in silence for a few seconds before smiling, releasing him from having to get out of bed for a few more hours.

  Heavy raindrops pelted against the window. Sluggish beads of water trickled down the glass. “Great, my hair’s going to frizz.”

  Fin wrapped his arms around her, dragging her into the blanket. “You could stay you know. Tell your family you missed your flight. Or you went to the wrong airport. They mixed up the aviation fuel line with the lavatory pipe and they don’t want to risk flying. Any of those excuses would do. Your granny would believe all of those.”

  “I miss them, Fin. Don’t try to put this on me, you’re the one turning down the invitation to spend the holidays with us.”

  “What if the flights are cancelled? It would take a fairly ballsy pilot, or one with a bad gambling streak, to fly in that weather.”

  “We’ll stay with mam’s friends in Dublin and then leave on the next available flight.”

  Her smell made her coming absence more painful. “I don’t speak French and I’d feel too much like I was intruding. How would you like to spend your holiday as an unpaid translator?”

  “Another unpaid position to add to my resumé when you’re involved. Along with unpaid house cleaner and unpaid chef.”

  “I’ll make dinner if you stay.”

  She laughed. “That’s a point towards me leaving, not staying. I have to go, I’ll miss my bus.”

  He held on tighter to her for a few seconds longer. She did not argue over it. “Have a lovely Christmas. I can’t wait to see you when you’re home.”

  “This is the last one we spend apart,” she said.

  He wrapped his pinky finger around hers. “Promise.”

  She lay beside him, curling back into the shape of his body and rubbed his head. He fell asleep.

  When he woke it was still raining and she was gone. It was just after three in the afternoon. She should be landing soon. He was less enthusiastic about returning to work and wondered if he could chance calling in sick. On the verge of falling back to sleep, a gentle weight on the bottom of the bed startled him. As soon as he heard purring, he kicked out and listened to the patter of little paws retreating up the stairs. There would be no bare asses on his pillow, at least for as long as he was in charge of the house. He threw the blanket off and got up.

  Solene took most of the shower products with her. I don’t know how I’m going to survive without the coconut-scented body wash. He had only vague memories of her leaving, tip-toeing around the room, putting her makeup in her suitcase. Packing quietly so as not to wake him. Her use of the hair dryer ruining all her effort. Shushing the cats whenever one of them mewled, causing them to meow back in some weird conversation. Inevitably, one of them always clawed at his toes if a foot ever slipped out beneath the covers, which often happened. He was thinking about using the argument that either they go, or he would, but there were three of them, four if you counted Solene, against him. He would lose the vote.

  Coming back from his shower, the cats had taken up their usual place on his pillow. He took the towel off and chased them without fear of reprisal from Solene. He only stopped when he caught sight of his neighbours in the apartment across the street watching him. There was no need to dry off, the heat of his embarrassment boiled the excess water away.

  Solene had left the upstairs heater on, out of forgetfulness rather than a thoughtful gesture. Drawing the venetian blinds he saw a line of red tail lights creeping up the Castlebar road, leaving Westport. Last minute shoppers and people heading home to their families. Suddenly, the extra money for holiday work was poor recompense for missing out on spending time with his own family and Solene.

  The countertops and kitchen table were full of wrapped packages and little letters in Solene’s neat handwriting. No wonder she was up so early. The amount of effort she put into presents far surpassed his.

  The first letter he picked up read: ‘I hate the thought of you being alone for Christmas, so I’ve tried to make the house as cozy as possible. From what I could tell this is nice coffee. If you don’t have an anxiety disorder before drinking it, then you probably will after you’ve had a few cups. I hope you enjoy it. There are plenty of things to pair it with; there’s a new game for you by the PlayStation, or a new snowy peak to add to your mountainous pile of unread books.

  ‘I miss you. Please don’t just eat sweets while I’m away. I did a healthy shop. The fridge is packed with good food. If I come back and find you’ve put on an extra roll of pudge, then our New Year's resolutions will be much tougher. Picture us getting up early to go to the gym together tougher.’

  Big words from a woman that hasn’t seen a sunrise since I’ve known her. He could smell the coffee through the wrapping. He put the kettle on and sent her a text while it boiled. ‘Got your gifts. Thank you, I love them. The coffee looks thick as tar and smells delicious. The books and games will help kill time until I get to see you again. It’s not Christmas without you. I’m feeling it now. Miss you.’

  She posted a short video clip on Facebook of her wheeling a suitcase through Dublin over three hours ago. ‘Are the planes still going so? I don’t envy you that flight if they are,’ he commented.

  The smell of brewing coffee wafted through the apartment. Two large mugs went a long way to waking him up. He ignored her comments about getting fatter while rifling through a selection box for breakfast, there were more empty wrappers than full ones. Already it was starting to get dark outside. He set an alarm on his phone in case he fell asleep.

  The afternoon news reports showed the damage caused by the weather and the eye of the storm was still over the Atlantic. He unwrapped the new game Solene bought him and stuck it on. He had a few more hours to himself before work.

  2

  Cheeky Pints

  If only time went as fast at work as it does in front of the television. Just as he was really getting into the game, he had to leave. He dressed in a creased shirt, the only one that did not smell
of half a week’s use. Already running late, he did not stop to find a tie in the wash basket.

  The cats mewled until they were fed and purred into their bowls. Fin left his bike, the wind outside was treacherous; he had planned on walking in, but found one taxi, idling in town. “I didn’t think anybody would be running tonight.” His jacket was still damp from the morning.

  “I was about to call it a day before you showed up. Half my house are sick, so I’m trying to avoid them as much as possible. All I seem to be doing today is ferrying people back and forth from the hospital, so if I didn’t catch what my kids have, I’ve definitely gotten something. Where are we heading?”

  “The Quay Hotel, please.”

  Fin felt the force of the wind when it pushed the car. The driver peered over the steering wheel up at the dangerously swaying branches hanging over the road. They did not come across another car the entire trip. On the radio, the presenter dedicated a song to a caller who complained about being bedridden.

  “Terrible time to get sick,” Fin said, to fill the silence between them.

  “Happens every year, doesn't it? I reckon if I even hear the word ‘holiday’, my body temperature starts rising. Seems to be a bad flu going around though. Hospital seemed fairly busy.”