Bold Fenian Men

Seconds later, Padraig was proved right. Several other men burst in, heavily armed, and opened fire. Padraig dived to the floor, sheltering under a table, and he distinctly heard McAllister laughing.

"Come on out, Padraig! Come on out to play!"

Padraig took the small, metal cylinder out of his pocket. Small though it was, it was a new piece of IRA technology that hadn't been tried out yet. Padraig didn’t know what was going to happen, but as the bullets bounced all around him, Padraig knew that now was as good a time as ever to try it out.

Padraig pulled down a small switch, and heard a click against his ear. He quickly clicked the switch twice more. The bomb was primed. He had five seconds to throw it.

Padraig counted in his head, his palm sweaty. Four. He threw it.

Suddenly there was a massive explosion, and Padraig shielded his face as a huge ball of fire erupted from the small cylinder. He heard Roisin scream, and he prayed she was all right.

The heat hit Padraig like a sledgehammer, and he screamed in agony as he felt his arms and face get burned. He fell back against the floor in pain, and he listened to the roar of the flames settle. He opened his eyes and felt his heart almost stop.

All he could see was fire. A great wall of fire in front of him, and all around him. Padraig couldn’t breathe. He'd feared fire ever since he was a child, made no better by the incident in the car. He could feel himself beginning to panic. He couldn’t move.

And then suddenly the table was thrown off him and he saw out of he corner of his eye William McAllister go for the gun. He scrambled out of the way, grabbed it, and stood up. The heat was unbearable and fire was everywhere, but all he could see now was McAllister. Badly burned, but alive.

"You bastard!" he screamed. "I should have known you'd do something like that, shouldn't I? Well you're not fucking getting away with it!" Padraig dodged out of the way again as McAllister went for him with what looked like the knife used to cut food at the bar.

Padraig ducked and ran past him, hitting him over the head with the gun and sending the already weakened McAllister sprawling to the floor.

"It ends here, McAllister!" he screamed at him. "No more! I can’t be bothered dealing with you anymore! I'm an IRA man! I'm supposed to be fighting for Ireland, not running around trying to escape you!"

McAllister rolled over, and Padraig knew by his eyes that he'd given up.

"Go on, then! Kill an injured man!" Padraig cocked the gun and aimed it at McAllister's head.

"I didn’t want it to end like this!" he yelled. "You could have just left the country! But I've got to end it, and if I don’t end it now, then it'll never end!"

"You wouldn’t do it!" But McAllister was scared. He knew just how ruthless Padraig could be. "You'd never do it!"

"Say your prayers, McAllister!" McAllister didn’t want to die. Not now.

"Come on, Padraig," he said, as softly as the roaring flames would allow. "Cut me a deal. You let me live and I'll leave you alone. I'll leave the country if you want."

"Fuck off." was all Padraig said, and made sure he had a decent aim and he pulled the trigger. McAllister screamed in pain, but in a haunting resemblance of Gearoid's murder, the split-second scream was cut short by the bullet penetrating his brain, killing him instantly. McAllister slumped back onto the floor, blood running down his face, a gaping hole in his forehead.

"PADRAIG!" Roisin's terrified voice snapped Padraig out of his trance and he turned towards where he'd heard her.

"ROISIN?" he yelled back. "Rois, where are you?'"

"I'm still behind the bar!" she yelled back. "Padraig, help! I can’t get out! I'm trapped!" Padraig could hear tears in Roisin's voice, and suddenly he didn’t care about being stuck in a room full of fire, living his worst nightmare. He took a deep breath to steady himself and ran straight through the flames, coming out coughing, spluttering, and burnt, but alive.

He jumped over the bar and grabbed Roisin, taking her to the door, which lead back into the kitchen.

"It's locked!" Roisin said, beginning to sob, clutching her stomach protectively.

"I don’t care," Padraig said, throwing his full weight against the door. It cracked, but didn’t open. In desperation, Padraig fired several bullets at the door handle. The wood splintered and Padraig put his fist through the hole, cutting his hand but managing to get the door open.

"Go!" he yelled to Roisin, shoving her first through the door and pushing it closed, keeping out some of the flames and smoke. Roisin was already brandishing a pan, smashing a hole in the window. Padraig joined in, and the next minute they were scrambling away from the burning building, coughing, Roisin sobbing, but otherwise OK.

"Oh, Padraig," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him, and for a while they stayed together, holding each other tightly, until Cillian's voice broke the silence.

"Padraig! Roisin! Thank God! Come on, we have to go. The police are coming." Padraig gently took Roisin's hand and helped her away. She was trembling, but calming down.

"It's all right," he said to Cillian, who was looking worriedly at them.

"Did you get him?" Cillian asked quietly, not wanting to remind Roisin of what had happened. Padraig nodded, and through the blood and the burns on his face, he smiled.

"I got him. It's over."