Darkness Falling: A novel of the Great Famine by Patrick MacDonald

Author:Patrick MacDonald [MacDonald, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Patrick MacDonald
Published: 2019-07-27T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Reverend Lloyd was starting to think they had overstayed their welcome with the Fitzpatricks. It had started to snow again, and it was uncomfortably cold. Although it was only four in the afternoon, it was already dark. He glanced back through the glass window of the carriage at his son Percy. He had taken care to lay a blanket over him before they left, and he was already asleep. At that moment, two men appeared from the field to his left, one of them grabbing the bridle of one of the horses to bring it to a halt whilst the other stood pointing a pistol straight at him. Both their faces were concealed by scarves so only their eyes were visible.

Lloyd felt his heart pounding in his chest, almost as though it were trying to physically break through his skin. Despite the cold, he was also sweating, perspiration streaming down his back. He tried to speak but nothing came out; he felt as though he were choking. The man with the pistol fired. His aim was wild, but the bullet struck Lloyd in his shoulder. He clutched at it, but the gunman was already firing again and this time he struck him in the belly. Lloyd fell backwards and toppled from the carriage into the road. The gunman coolly dispatched him with another shot to his head. He flung open the carriage door and stared in at the terrified boy.

“Out!” he shouted. “Get out of there!”

He levelled his pistol at the boy to show he meant business. Trembling, the boy stepped down from the carriage. He was too frightened to speak. The man gestured with the pistol to the driver’s seat. Percy scrambled up and the other man, who was still holding the bridle, caught hold of the reins and passed them up to the boy.

“Drive,” he said.

“What?” said Percy nervously.

“I said drive – go on, get out of here.”

Gripping the reins, Percy motioned the horse to move. At fourteen, his father had let him take the reins on a number of occasions so, despite his shaking hands, he was confident enough to put the horse into a smooth trot. Not once had he glanced down at his father’s body and nor did he look back now. In minutes, he was out of sight of the gunmen and had been swallowed up by the darkness.

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