Bold Fenian Men
Chapter Twenty-Four
The alleyway was silent, and the young IRA Volunteer crouched down in the shadows, his back against the fence, clutching his gun, his face pale, and his heart thumping madly.
Padraig Caraher had been in the same position for three hours now. He wanted to move, but he couldn't. He was surrounded, even though they had no clue that he was there.
He thought about Cearnaigh and Cillian. He'd heard no gunshots, so he hoped that they had gotten away. He also hoped that they weren't going to try and be heroes. He wanted to see this through alone, and chances were that he wasn't going to survive.
Padraig eventually began creeping down the alleyway. All around him were whispers and quiet footsteps. And a single gunshot would give him away.
He pulled his coat up over his nose and mouth and walked casually down the alleyway, walking straight past two men. They just thought that he was one of them.
"Pretending to be a Prod. Disgraceful." he muttered to himself, as he hurried past and up the alley behind his house. He jumped over the fence and crept up to the back door, his gun drawn and his finger ready.
His back door was open, and the house inside was trashed. Padraig knew that they must have torn the place apart when they couldn’t find him, looking for more information, more names, someone to shoot up instead of him. But they hadn’t found anything. Padraig wasn't that stupid.
Although everyone was allowed to make mistakes.
Padraig realised that he'd made the biggest mistake of his life as he stood in his living room.
"Put the gun down." Someone whispered in his ear, and he felt a gun in his back. Padraig didn’t move.
"Just shoot me now, if you're going to kill me anyway." he said coldly, still holding the gun tightly.
"Put it down, Caraher."
"No."
Whoever was behind Padraig suddenly span him round, and before Padraig could react with the use of his own gun, there was a gunshot and Padraig felt something slam into his right wrist. He cried out in pain and dropped the gun, clutching his bleeding wrist to him.
"What the fuck are ye doing?" he yelled.
"I told you to put the gun down, Caraher!" he hit Padraig round the head with the butt of his gun and Padraig fell to his knees, still in pain and shock from the gunshot wound. He didn’t have time to try and get his gun back; it didn’t even cross his mind. Right now he was too concerned about bleeding to death. Padraig stayed hunched on his knees, holding his injured arm to him and trying to stay calm.
There were footsteps from outside and then none other than William McAllister came into the house.
"What the fuck are you shooting at?"he demanded as he came into the room.
"I've got Caraher." came the triumphant reply. Padraig glared up at McAllister from his kneeling position on the floor. McAllister's face split into a wicked grin.
"So we do." he said quietly, more to himself than anything else. "And look, he's unarmed, too. I like to call this the jackpot."
Padraig Caraher had been in the same position for three hours now. He wanted to move, but he couldn't. He was surrounded, even though they had no clue that he was there.
He thought about Cearnaigh and Cillian. He'd heard no gunshots, so he hoped that they had gotten away. He also hoped that they weren't going to try and be heroes. He wanted to see this through alone, and chances were that he wasn't going to survive.
Padraig eventually began creeping down the alleyway. All around him were whispers and quiet footsteps. And a single gunshot would give him away.
He pulled his coat up over his nose and mouth and walked casually down the alleyway, walking straight past two men. They just thought that he was one of them.
"Pretending to be a Prod. Disgraceful." he muttered to himself, as he hurried past and up the alley behind his house. He jumped over the fence and crept up to the back door, his gun drawn and his finger ready.
His back door was open, and the house inside was trashed. Padraig knew that they must have torn the place apart when they couldn’t find him, looking for more information, more names, someone to shoot up instead of him. But they hadn’t found anything. Padraig wasn't that stupid.
Although everyone was allowed to make mistakes.
Padraig realised that he'd made the biggest mistake of his life as he stood in his living room.
"Put the gun down." Someone whispered in his ear, and he felt a gun in his back. Padraig didn’t move.
"Just shoot me now, if you're going to kill me anyway." he said coldly, still holding the gun tightly.
"Put it down, Caraher."
"No."
Whoever was behind Padraig suddenly span him round, and before Padraig could react with the use of his own gun, there was a gunshot and Padraig felt something slam into his right wrist. He cried out in pain and dropped the gun, clutching his bleeding wrist to him.
"What the fuck are ye doing?" he yelled.
"I told you to put the gun down, Caraher!" he hit Padraig round the head with the butt of his gun and Padraig fell to his knees, still in pain and shock from the gunshot wound. He didn’t have time to try and get his gun back; it didn’t even cross his mind. Right now he was too concerned about bleeding to death. Padraig stayed hunched on his knees, holding his injured arm to him and trying to stay calm.
There were footsteps from outside and then none other than William McAllister came into the house.
"What the fuck are you shooting at?"he demanded as he came into the room.
"I've got Caraher." came the triumphant reply. Padraig glared up at McAllister from his kneeling position on the floor. McAllister's face split into a wicked grin.
"So we do." he said quietly, more to himself than anything else. "And look, he's unarmed, too. I like to call this the jackpot."