Death in the Burren (12 page)

T
HE GREEN DIGITS
on his bedside clock showed 3 a.m. when McAllister woke.

At first he wasn’t sure if he was actually awake, or dreaming, as he had some hazy recollection of seeing those green numbers, showing that exact time, before. There was also the glow of light coming through the window, from his right.

Hadn’t he also seen this before?

Perhaps, but now it was somehow different. This time the light didn’t flash momentarily and then die. Now it flickered and danced and seemed to grow in intensity.

As he focused his attention on this state of affairs he began to realise that the light was coming from the direction of the restaurant building across the car park. Then there was a sudden thud and a brief shudder ran through his room.

Immediately this was followed by a sharp cracking sound, then a stronger reverberation accompanied by an intense burst of light, this time close by from his left. It was now that McAllister caught the acrid smell and realised what was happening.

“Good God,” he shouted in terror, “the place is on fire!”

His instincts were suddenly divided. Should he exit through the window as fast as possible or run down the corridor and warn the others of the danger?

“But where exactly are they?” he thought, “where is Ann?”

McAllister had gone to bed early and had no idea what room she was in, or what room Frank and Susan were in.

The heat in his room was rising fast and he decided to make for the corridor but when he opened the door he was flung back by a billow of hot smoke which immediately attacked his eyes and lungs.

There was no alternative. He staggered to the window and began to climb out.

At that point McAllister heard a scream from somewhere within the building and his panic intensified.

He wanted to go back but that was impossible. His choices were either to risk almost certain death in the cloud of poisonous smoke or to get through the window and see if he could run around the building to help from outside. By now he was engulfed in smoke as it invaded the room, and he escaped as best he could.

Once outside he could see that both buildings were well ablaze.

Seizing a chair from a set around a picnic table on the lawn McAllister began smashing the bedroom windows. Fortunately it was a low building with all the rooms on the ground floor and in his frenzy he was able to smash them easily with sharp blows of the chair.

Breaking the first window he released a wall of smoke and flame and had to retreat.

The fire hadn’t established a hold on the next room, but it had begun to fill with smoke.

Peering through the broken window when the first rush of smoke had dissipated McAllister could make out a figure lying on the bed just beside the window.

He was almost certain it was Ann.

He put his hand inside, released the catch and climbed in.

“Is that you, John? Oh, thank God.” Susan’s voice behind him was reassuring.

He called back without turning. “Yes it’s me alright and thank God you’re safe too. I’ve got Ann here but she seems to have been overcome. If I lift her to the window will you give me a hand taking her out?”

There was a rending crash and the bedroom door burst inwards sending another cloud of flame and smoke towards McAllister. He had barely time to lift Ann from the bed and pass her into Susan’s outstretched arms before toppling to the ground outside as the whole bedroom became an inferno of sparks, smoke and shooting flames.

They carried Ann hurriedly away from the building. McAllister’s panic and cold fear subsided when he noticed her eyes opening.

She had responded quickly to the effect of the fresh night air.

“Where’s Frank?” he asked anxiously, now that his immediate worry about Ann was over.

“He’s O.K. He seems to have twisted his ankle, though. I left him lying on the ground around the corner, and I’m sure he’s managed to crawl away.”

They carried Ann across the road, away from the guest house, and sat her gently on the narrow grass verge with her back propped up against the low stone wall.

The scene was nightmarish. Three figures clad only in night-clothes, huddled together, caught in the fierce glow of the inferno just yards away across the road -the whole ghostly tableau surrounded by the intense darkness of the remote countryside.

“Thanks for getting me out.” Ann spoke in a weak voice which disintegrated into a fit of coughing. “I thought I was finished.”

“Now, now, Ann,” McAllister soothed her, “don’t try to talk. Just breath easily.”

“John, would you please check if Frank is alright?” Susan asked anxiously. “I’ll stay here with Ann.”

McAllister made his way painfully and stiffly around the blazing guest house and was relieved to find Frank lying up a slope, well away from the heat of the fire.

Frank was obviously experiencing a lot of pain but had the presence of mind to warn McAllister about the danger to their cars, which were parked quite near to the accommodation building.

“If the flames spread outwards any more they may catch fire and explode.”

As he made his way back to the front of the guest house to investigate McAllister realised he had no car keys. However, spurred on by the extreme urgency of the problem he resorted to the use of his trusted weapon, the garden chair.

Again wielding it he succeeded in smashing a window on each car. He managed to open the drivers doors and then, in turn, manoeuvred them backwards down the gentle slope and across the road to comparative safety.

McAllister returned to Frank and helped him further away from the blaze and towards the spot where Ann and Susan were waiting.

They looked totally miserable as they huddled together in their scant night-clothes, but were extremely relieved to see the two figures approaching, one hopping and leaning heavily on the other.

“I think we should sit in one of the cars.” Susan suggested.

“Good idea.” agreed a tired McAllister.

The four sat gratefully into the Sierra, Frank and Ann with the assistance of Susan and McAllister. They sat in silence looking across at the slowly subsiding fires.

The effect was still ghostly as flames and sparks shot erratically into the night sky and it was clear that precious little of the buildings would survive the blaze.

“We’re very lucky to be sitting here,” said Ann dolefully.

There was no response - there was no need to respond. She had simply voiced the thoughts of all four.

After a while McAllister roused himself. “I think we should do something. We can’t sit here all night.”

“There seems to be another fire down there.” Susan was staring through the rear window.

They turned to look and, right enough, there was an enormous glow in the sky, in the direction of Poll na Doibe.

“Good Lord,” said Holland in disbelief, “that must be Balfe’s place. There’s nothing else down there. That fire is only a mile away.”

“That’s enough for me,” said McAllister grimly, “I’ll have to do something right now. I can’t sit here any longer.”

“But what can you do, John?” Ann pleaded.

“For a start we’ll call the Fire Brigade and the Gardaí.”

“But we’ve no telephones. They’ve all been swallowed up in the fire, remember?”

“Look, I’ve been thinking. I can get Frank’s car started, that’s if you don’t mind me meddling around with the wiring, Frank.”

“Go ahead. Do whatever you have to, John,” Holland felt helpless with his twisted ankle.

“I can drive up the road to Craggagh. There’s a Post Office and a pub there and hopefully I’ll raise somebody.”

“You’ll look a marvellous sight in your pyjamas knocking on doors in the middle of the night,” Ann reminded him.

“Oops, I’d forgotten that. Wait now,” he went on, “I’ve some gear in the boot.”

McAllister pulled the inside boot lid lever and went to the back of the car to investigate. He could see quite clearly by the light of the fire that he had left his trainers and track suit in the boot and he donned them quickly.

Susan appeared at his side. “Frank suggested if I come with you that a midnight knock will look less threatening. There are bits of clothes in his boot too and I can put some of those on.”

“O.K. let’s get moving so. You get yourself ready and I’ll give Ann and Frank these rugs. They’ll be alright for a while.”

McAllister then pulled some wires from Holland’s dashboard and after trying out various permutations the engine sprang to life.

He pushed open the passenger door and the unrecognisable figure of Susan in rubber boots and an oversize raincoat fell in beside him.

The journey to Craggagh was only half a mile and McAllister, at high speed, would have made it in less than a minute but for the car jutting out across the narrow road as he rounded the bend into the village.

He had to brake and swerve violently to avoid hitting the car, caught momentarily in his headlights, and the two figures near it. One sitting on the grass verge, the other waving furiously.

As they shuddered to a halt the signaller came towards them and looked through the broken driver’s window.

Susan screamed at the hooded face and the handgun pointed straight at McAllister’s head.

“Shoot your bloody mouth,” the voice hissed from behind the mask.

“Aye, wait a minute,” McAllister protested but the response was a sharp blow to the side of his head from the barrel of the gun.

McAllister slumped in the seat and then felt himself being pulled out of the car onto the road. He was too stunned to put up any resistance.

He could see the terrified face of Susan, and as she again went to scream the hooded figure put a hand roughly over her mouth and dragged her violently backwards over the seats onto the road beside McAllister.

She was pushed face downwards. The man knelt with one knee in the small of her back and, again, in that weird hissing voice warned her that if she made another sound he would have no hesitation in blowing her head off, and McAllister’s too, for good measure.

The second man, also hooded, had now approached. There was a quick whispered consultation between them and McAllister and Susan were bundled unceremoniously back into the car, this time into the rear.

McAllister could sense panic and fear in the men, but they were resolute and determined in their actions.

The man with the handgun sat into the front passenger seat and turned and pointed it at his captives. The other, whom McAllister now noticed was very tall, took over the driving.

Amazingly the engine was still running and they quickly sped through the tiny village of Craggagh.

Half a mile past the village the man in the passenger seat indicated to the driver with his handgun to pull into a narrow sideroad. The car stopped about a hundred yards down the road and he indicated to McAllister and Susan to get out and lie face down on the ground.

McAllister thought to himself, “This is it,” and wondered if he could bring off something heroic, but he was simply too exhausted to make the effort.

Susan began to cry and was roughly told, again in that sinister whisper, to stay quiet.

She resorted to a quiet uncontrolled whimpering and McAllister had never felt so frustrated.

While the gunman stood over them the other began feverishly searching the car and the boot. Having found what he wanted the man approached and McAllister was relieved to feel his hands being tied securely behind his back.

It was uncomfortable but he reassured himself that it was more sociable than a bullet in the back of the head.

Susan received the same treatment, and as they were both being gagged McAllister was certain he had seen this second man before. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something about him which jogged McAllister’s memory.

There was another whispered consultation, and then McAllister was lifted into the boot of Frank’s car. The lid was firmly closed, and he now found himself bound and gagged, and lying uncomfortably in complete darkness on an assortment of tools, probably part of a jack, and God knows what else Frank had dumped there over the years.

He listened very carefully and judged by the sounds and movements that Susan was being deposited in the car.

They began to move again. There was some backward and forward manoeuvring before the car gathered speed, and then, after a minute or so, they began to cruise.

If his interpretation of this sequence was correct McAllister reckoned they had turned around on the sideroad and retraced their journey back onto the main coast road. He guessed they were now driving north towards Black Head because the turn which had taken them to the spot where they had been tied and gagged was very acute, and there had been no feeling of taking a sharp bend.

McAllister began to take stock of the situation but his thoughts were obsessed by the tall man who was driving. Try as he might he could not think what there was about him which had caught his attention.

Giving up for the moment he began to concentrate on his own plight.

He was feeling absolutely wretched and there was no mystery why!

His battered body had taken more punishment in the last few days than ever before. He had been shot at, hospitalised in a coma, sent on a rest cure and then narrowly escaped death by fire. He had rescued Ann and now he had been beaten on the head with a handgun, tied, gagged, deposited in the boot of Frank’s car and was being driven to some unknown destination.

The car stopped. All McAllister’s senses went on the alert. He waited in fearful anticipation of what might happen next.

There was no sound, just the hum of the engine. He expected to hear the sound of feet approaching and the boot lid being opened, but he was denied the dubious pleasure.

They began to move again and seemed to take a definite turn to the right. Where could this be? McAllister reckoned they had only been driving for a few minutes, so they could not have reached Black Head. Anyway the turn around Black Head was more of a long graceful curve which would not have been so obvious.

So, where were they? McAllister recalled the geography of the coast road above Craggagh and the only right-hand turn of significance that he could remember was at Fanore. This would take them inland along the course of the Caher river and the road eventually led south along the inland slopes of Slieve Elva towards Toomaghera and Lisdoonvarna. There were a couple of alternative unsurfaced roads which led further inland but he would be very much aware of the jolting this type of journey would entail.