Ireland pulled the ratty hood of her black jacket over her head as she walked off to the back gates of the orphanage. The guard was a lean man with a pointed noise the made it look like he some kind of snob. And maybe he was, considering he was looking at Ireland like she wasn’t fit to breathe. He would still take her ration stamps, though.
The year was twenty one hundred and everything basically sucked. If the population wasn’t so out of control, the birth rates were down to the point there was barely a birth a year. Resources were somehow scarce either way. Plague and famine and war were everywhere anyway. In some places the government and society had completely collapsed, in others government regulated everything with an iron grip. Everything seemed to be in the worst extreme possible. Anyone who had every known any different was either in their 100s or dead.
The only hope it seemed was the Godly Place, a legended safe haven with real food, grass, space to run, and everyone was relatively free to do as they pleased. No one knew exactly why it was called the Godly Place; some say it called that because it was like Heaven, others, because only the pure of faith could find it, others still the opposite, that you would only find it when your faith was about to break.
And Ireland’s stepsister had gone looking for it two months ago.
#
She didn’t know where Justine had got the piece of paper.
It was roughly made, thing with torn edges, the ink used to write the letter looked like it had been made from roughly ground up nut shells. Ireland stood in the dim morning light of the two room shack they had been all hold up in, not fully processing the words as she read them over, and over again.
Ireland,
I’ve gone to look for the Godly Place. Yes, I know, I’m an being an idiot. But I can’t raise my kids in this world. Please, take care of them until I get back. Please. I promise I’ll be back for all of you.
Justine.
Still in a state of shock when she got the words through her brain, Ireland’s first response was to let the letter fall to the ground as she ran out the screen door, letting it slam.
“Justine!” Ireland shouted into vast, yellow-brown plane running across it as if she could somehow catch up with Justine and drag her back. How had she left without Ireland hearing?
“Justine!” Ireland called it out into the wind and just stood just stood there, screaming out for her stepsister, her sister, the closest thing she had to a family.
How could Justine do this to her? How could she do this to her children?!
Ireland just stood there, desperately calling out Justine’s name until her throat felt like it was bleeding, then finally turned back to look at the shack. There were three little ones back there who needed to know that their mother had gone away.
Ireland was all they had now.
#
She had honored Justine’s last request until she got stopped at the Northeastern Alliance border with bootleg ammo. It took half her black-market connections to her out of that cell. It took the other half to find the orphanage they dumped the kids at and get access.
“Girls five to seven are on the first floor,” The guard informed her, gesturing to one of the windows, ” If you get in there it’s the first room on the right.”
“Thanks,” Ireland replied tersely, handing him a thick packet of stamps, “You’ll get the rest of the payment when I get out with the kids.”
She ran over the grass as silently as she could up to the large dull gray brick building. To her utter disgust she found that some idiot had left the window open for her. “It’s like the want the kids to get snatched.” The sooner she got the kids out of there, the better.
Ireland hoisted herself over the window seal, looking around to make sure no one else was there, then jumped over it, her feet landing on a sterile white tile floor. She looked around again then slucked in the direction the guard had said, coming a doorless hole revealing two rows lined with Spartan cots. She walked between the rows until she found a familiar circular face framed by reddish brown hair.
Ireland leaned down and started shaking the little girl saying, “Ash? Ash, come on, baby.”
Ash opened her eyes and her face contorted into one of fear at the shadowed figure standing over her.
“Relax baby,” Ireland said quickly, pulling back her hood to reveal he roughly cropped onyx-colored hair, “It’s only me.”
Then the little girls’ face lit up. “Aunt Ire-“
“Sssh.” Ireland hissed, “We can’t wake anyone up, okay? Or they won’t let you come with me.”
Ash nodded.
“Good,” Ireland said, removing her hand from the little girl’s mouth, “Now, where are the twins?”
With the little girl on her shoulders, Ireland crept up the stairs to rooms housing the older children, starting in the closest one, the boys room. Simon wasn’t hard to spot as he was familiar to her. Both he and Ash had their father’s delicate, aquiline nose, and subtle chin, thought he had his mother’s hair. All Justine’s children her hair.
It had always been Justine’s crowning glory, dark brown reflecting shades of red. She would hide it under a hat or kerchief when they were on the road, but whenever they got a chance to properly wash their hand and she would comb it out, it was something to behold. When they were kids, Ireland used to be jealous of it, whenever her mother and stepfather would talk about how beautiful it was, even if they gave Ireland platitudes about how driven she was after, whatever that met. But as they got older, they both learned this wasn’t a world where you wanted to stand out.
Ireland quickly roused the boy who immediately recognized her, looking at her with confusion a few moments before he broke into an impish, hopefully grin, realizing what was going on.
“Come on,” She whispered to him, “We still need to get your sister.”
Sonya was by far the easiest to wake. The first thing she did was hug her step aunt then her little sister, then her twin.
“Okay, enough of that,” Ireland, said, “We need to get out of here, before-” As if on cue she heard feet coming up the stairs. “Okay, new plan.” She said running over to the nearest window and pried it open, “Okay, I’m gonna jump out, then Si, you jump out and I’ll catch you, Sonya you keep hold of Ash and follow your brother, okay?”
Sonya nodded, holding the small girl tightly.
Ireland steadied herself on top of the railing before taking the leap. She grabbed onto a three branch from the tree by the window, then let go, landing on her feet. She stretched her arms out as she called, “Simon! “
The boy leapt from the window and Ireland just barely caught him, internally panicking before she got a hold of him and sat him safely on the ground. She readied herself again and called out, “Sonya, come on!”
Sonya appeared in the window clutching Ash for dear life, her eyes wide and terrified.
“Sonya it’s okay, honey, I’ll catch you!” Ireland said urgently.
The girl just stood there for a minute then she heard the footsteps coming closer and jumped. Ireland caught her and sitting down on the ground, kissing both girls on the forehead, relived it had worked. “Alright, let’s go.”
The group bounded across the yard Ireland holding the hands of the twins, Sonya holding Ash. The rushed out of the gate and Ireland let go of Simon’s hand to get the stamps out of her pocket. “Good luck,” The guard said.
“Yeah, yeah.” Ireland said, running towards the van.
#
“He could have killed us, you realize that?” Justine, age thirteen, informed Ireland as the pair walked down the crowded city street, wrapping her arms around her upper body, hugging herself.
“Yeah, well, then he would have had two dead bodies on his hands, no cigarettes and an angry boss.” Ireland reasoned tensely, “Those boxes go for two luxury stamps and that’s not even including tax. The both of them were trying to rob us because they thought we were just two dumb orphans.”
After a beat, Justine said flatly, “We are dumb orphans.”
They were living in New Canada, and between them had three packs of ration stamps, minus a few they just used for food, four dead parents and one rugger. Which Ireland had just pulled on the security guard of a shopkeeper buying bootleg cigarettes from her.
“That still doesn’t give the guard a right to touch you like that.” Ireland continued, breaking off into a rant, “What was he thinking?! Feeling up a little girl?!”
“You do know we’re the same age, right?” Justine pointed out, narrowing amber-toned eyes and darting them towards Ireland.
Ireland was so done with this conversation. Done with this day. “Just come on,” She ordered, taking the other girl’s wrist and picking up the pace.
Back at the dingy one- room apartment they had found, Justine sat in the living space, tearing opening a sliver bag open with her teeth. “Ireland, what are you doing in there?!”
“Hold on,” Ireland called out, carrying in small, long handled steer, containing a steaming orange liquid, filling the room the scene of orange and cinnamon.
“Tea?” Justine’s face lit up, “Ireland, how did you—”
“Let’s just say we don’t have anymore luxury stamps.” Ireland explained, “Happy birthday.”
With that they sat down to the meal, Ireland taking the first bite of strongly flavored apple-cinnamon nutrient wafer while Justine blew on the tea and the pot before taking a sip. “You know, I hear there were jobs going in Pacific.”
Ireland groaned. “Please don’t do this. Not today. I just want to give you a nice birthday.”
Justine was always trying to talk Ireland into heading out again whenever she heard a rumor of jobs or of things improving in a different country. It didn’t matter where it was, so long as it wasn’t there. Justine was desperate for something better, while Ireland didn’t want to give up the best situation they had, had in a while, and whenever Justine brought the topic off, it ended in a fight without fail.
“Come on, Ireland, just hear me out.” Justine pleaded, “You know the cost where California use to be? Well, while we were in the market the clerk was telling me about these new fishing boats—”
“Do you think they’re looking for a couple of scrawny teenage girls?” Ireland cut her. After a beat, her face softened. “Look, Justine, I know you mean well, but we’d have to somehow get halfway across North America, past at least two borders, and even when we get there—no trawlers are going to be looking for kids like us. Except for—well, you know.”
That was when the door burst in a with a loud crunch, sending large fragments of wood into the air and on the ground, revealing the muscular security guard from the shop, this time flanked by four other ridiculously ripped men, two taller than the rest, all glaring at the girls with dead eyes or malicious glee.
Ireland reached for the gun, but the man on the guard’s right was faster, grabbing her by one wrist, throwing her to the floor and wrenching her wrists behind her back with such force it felt like her arms were being pulled from his sockets, causing her to cry out in pain.
“Ireland!” Justine screamed, trying to run to her only to be scooped up by the guard who grabbed her, holding her in a way that pinned her arms to her sided.
“You know, Kev, this one’s not bad looking either.” The goon noted, caressing the side of Ireland’s face in a way that made her want to throw up. “What do you say we take her with us, too? We could all have a little fun with her, or she might make a pretty penny.”
“Pervert.” Ireland seethed, struggling under the goon’s hold.
The guard chuckled. “Sure, why not?”
One of the goons handed the one restraining Ireland a roll of sliver-colored tape.
“No.” Justine moaned.
Both knew better than to call for help. No one would come. No one ever came.
Suddenly the goon handing the other goon the tape, fell over, revealing a frighteningly skinny boy who couldn’t have been much over than there, rough light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, holding a two-by-four in his hands, staring down at the goon like he couldn’t believe he just did that.
No one else in the room could believe he just did that either. The shock gave enough time for Ireland to give a good swift kick to her attacker’s nether region, causing him to let go of her with a cry. Raising herself from the ground in an instant, she grabbed the rugger and aimed it at the guard. “Let her go or I’ll shoot.”
“You really gonna risk hitting her?” The guard challenged with a mocking grin.
“Better than what you’ll do to her.” Ireland countered, stone-faced, her heart pounding. Could she do it? Could she actually kill someone, risk killing Justine?
Taking an opportunity, Justine bit down on the hand straining her, hard. The guard howled out a curse and grabbed his other hand, dropping Justine to ground.
“Run!” Ireland shouted and all three of them legged it.
“I want those other two dead, but that little bitch is mine!” The guard shouted, and they could hear the other two goons coming after them.
Ireland fired back at them, hitting one in the knee. “Come on!” There rescuer shouted out, “This way.”
Ireland didn’t know if who this boy was, why he had helped them or if they could trust him, but he was also their best hope of getting out of this alive.
The pair let the boy lead the way, coming to a red painted emery door. He pushed it opened, causing alarms to blare out, gesturing for them to follow him into the black alley. Waiting in the alley was black panel van twinged red with rust. Opening the door, he gestured for them to get inside.
The boy quickly pulled the panel opening, gesturing with a hand. “Get in.”
The girls didn’t have to be told twice, jumping in the van and pulling the door as the boy hit the gas from the front seat.
Speeding out of the alleyway, the boy made one jerky turn then another, going as fast as the van could go.
“Okay, I think we lost him.” The boy declared from the front seat.
Now that they were more less out of danger from the guard and his pack, things just weren’t smelling right to Ireland. “Why did you have this revved up to go back there?”
“Because I was planning to run for week.” The boy explained. He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I live—well, I lived— in a foster home upstairs, but one of the house fathers, he makes the boys…do things. I-I had to get away.”
Both girls looked at the front and then looked at each other, a sober, sinking pall coming over them, realizing the implication.
“When I saw you, I knew what they were going to do, I—I couldn’t let that happen to somebody else.” The boy concluded, a hitch in his voice at the end.
“Well, thank you,” Justine spoke up softly, crawling into the front of the van, “I’m Justine and that’s my sister, Ireland. What’s your name?”
“Ash.” The boy answered breathlessly, “Everyone calls me Ash.”
Ireland began to make her way towards them. “Well, Ash, did you have a plan from here?” It looked like they might be going to Pacific after all.
#
Ireland sat on the floor of another one room apartment with Justine and Ash’s children, munching on cherry-flavor nutrient wafers when Ash the second, named for her father, looked at Ireland and asked the question the young woman had been dreading, “Aunt Ireland, when is Mommy coming back?”
Ireland froze, the wafer halfway up to her mouth. She knew that odds were, Justine was never coming back. People disappeared all the time, especially those who were looking for the Godly Place. Sometimes people would come back, having given up the search, others were never seen or heard from again. Sometimes a body would show up, either of natural causes or foul play, but how do you explain that to a five-year-old? “I don’t know baby.” She finally.
“She’ll be back when she finds the Godly Place,” Simon said matter-of-factly before taking a bite of his wafer.
“What’s the Godly Place?” Ash asked.
Ireland paused again. How could she explain something she wasn’t sure even existed?
“It’s the perfect place,” Simon spoke up, “There’s no more fighting, no more hunger, no more anything bad.”
“I like the sound of that place,” Ash replied, grinning from ear to ear.
Ireland put down the wafer, having lost all appetite. “If Justine ever does come back, I’m gonna kill her.”
#
The trio did find work after all on a fishing trawler and there they stayed for three years. Long enough for Ash and Justine to get married by their captain and Ireland to strengthen her black-market network. It was no business for pregnant woman, so when the twins were connived the little family headed out east again. The couple worked whatever jobs they could get and Ireland moved contraband across the continent, mainly salt and sugar which were hard to come by, sometimes things a little riskier.
Ash had been smelting metal at repurposing plant when a loose, jabbed piece of a wheelbarrow flew off a conveyor belt, hitting him between the ribs.
“Eh,” He hissed as Justine applied a homespun ointment to the roughly done stitches.
“Sorry,” Justine grimaced, “I just want to keep this from getting infected especially with that thread.”
A couple of workers on the line who knew first aid managed to patch him up—thankfully the jagged metal hadn’t hit any organs—but they didn’t have surgical thread, instead using a dark brown sewing thread they had on hand.
That was when Ireland walked back in the room from where she had been keeping the twins occupied. “How’s the patient?
“Could be better.” Justine admitted, before looking up at her stepsister, “Ireland, do think there’s anyway you can get us some antibiotics? “
“Those are hard to come by, even for me.” Ireland confused, “But I’ll see what I can do. Indy’s asking for you. Wants to show you her new crown.”
“Okay,” Justine agreed.
Justine knew what Ireland wanted, and Ireland knew she knew. Which is why she appreciated her leaving even more. Once she was gone, Ireland crouched down in front of the cot. “Look, if you go back there, you’re going to die. All that company cares about is government substitutes. Please, please, just come work with me. If not for your own sake, for your family.”
Ash sighed, looking to the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but alright. I’ll do.”
Ireland beathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’ll make the arrangements.”
It wasn’t even two days that the symptoms started to show.
The skin around the wound had become tight and red, but everywhere else was deathly pale, he was burning up with fever, and he couldn’t keep anything on his stomach.
“Anyone word of those anti-biotics?” Justine questioned, patting down Ash’s skin with a ratty cloth dipped in the coldest water they could get.
“I’ve gone to everyone I know, no one’s selling anti-biotics right now?” Ireland, groaned, falling against the wall, her hand covering her mouth. She had never felt more powerless, more useless in her life. Not when she lost her biological father to the same thing that now had Ash. Not when any of their parents had died.
Ash moaned in pain, causing Justine to pat even more. “It’s okay, babe. You’re going to be okay.”
“Justine…the twins…” Ash’s eyes looked down at Justine’s slightly swollen stomach, “The baby.”
“You’ll meet them baby.” Justine insisted desperately, dipping the cloth in water.
After a few days of bargaining with black marketers and with God, Ireland awoke to the sound of soft weeping. Knowing what it meant, she slowly opened them, not wanting to see the truth.
Justine was curled in a ball, sobbing, next to Ash’s lifeless body.
He was gone.
#
Three months.
Three months of questions Ireland couldn’t answer. Three months of Ash looking to the door expecting her mother could come back. Three months dragging the kids on the road because there was no one else she trusted with them.
Three months of three kids fighting.
Case in point, Ireland driving with the kids in the back of the van, an old sheet separating them from the large amounts of salt and sugar also in the back, the three of them fighting over the little plush pink and white dog Ireland found to replace the stuffed cow the orphanage had confiscated from Ash.
“No!” The little girl in question protested, trying to keep a hold of the toy as Simon tried to pull it away, “Aunt Ireland gave it to me!“
“I just wanna look at it!” Simon replied, pulling on its leg.
“Si, stop it,” Sonya scolded, “You’re being mean.”
“Hey!” Ireland shouted causing all of them to suddenly quiet down, “Cut it out, all of you!”
Just then another car appeared on the road, the wrong way on the street, about to crash right into Ireland’s van. She turned the steering wheel and got out of the way just in time, but the move sent them careening off the road. The kids were screaming and the car’s speed was increasing fast, and everything was blur of white and brown until they hit a tree with a crash, and everything suddenly got quiet. Ireland just sat there in shock for a few moments then she realized the kids had stopped screaming and she looked over to them and found them all staring wide-eyed but seemingly unharmed. “Anybody hurt?” She asked just to be sure.
There was a chorus of “No,” I’m fine, and, “No.”
“Good,” She said, unbuckling, “Just stay there until I can get you.” She walked around to the passenger side, helped the twins out, and then picked up Ash. “Sonya, take your brother’s hand,” Ireland ordered,” then take mine.”
Sonya did as she was told.
“Good girl,” Ireland said, “Now, let’s get out of here.”
“Where are we going Aunt Ireland?” Ash asked.
“The first sign of civilization we can find.” Ireland answered.
An hour of walking in the snow, and they were no closer to any town than way they began, and it was getting colder, cutting through their thin coats. Ireland pulled Ash’s hood over her head.
“Aunt Ireland,” The girl spoke up, “I’m cold.”
“I know, baby, I know,” Ireland replied, “So am I. It’s going to be okay; I promise.”
But as the day went on, and the sun set, it looked less and less like it would be okay. As they tugged through the group, and it got even colder hope seemed to zap from everyone.
“I’m sleepy,” Ash wined.
“I know, we all are,” Ireland said, “But I need you to stay with for little bit longer, okay?” She was afraid that if everyone fell asleep now, they might freeze to death. As Ash dug into her chest Ireland felt as if she had failed her stepsister. Failed her stepbrother-in-law. Failed her nieces and nephew. “I’m sorry.” She said, tears starting to fall down her face, “I’m so sorry.” She just stood there holding onto them and crying until she felt Sonya’s hand break away from her and both she and Simon call out, “Mom!”
Ireland wiped her eyes and saw the kids hugging a young woman who had suddenly appeared in the road. She was dressed in the nicest clothes Ireland had ever seen, a sky-blue dress covered by a snowy white sweater, her long reddish-brown hair in a braid.
“Justine?” Ireland asked, not believing what she was seeing.
Justine let go of her older children and walked over to Ireland and Ash who was reaching for her mother. “Hey, there baby,” Justine said, taking the child, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Mommy.” Ash replied, nuzzling into her mother’s chest.
“H-How are you here?” Ireland said, starting to wonder if she was hallucinating.
“I told you,” Justine said, looking up, “I’d be back where I found it.”
“But…” Ireland’s voice trailed, not knowing what to say.
Justine scoffed good naturedly. “Come on.” She said, taking Ireland by the hand, “I’ll show you.”
#
Ireland wasn’t sure how they left the road but suddenly they were standing in suddenly they were standing in a field of green grass and everything is much warmer. So much warmer that Ireland took her jacket off and the kids started to take off their coats.
“Welcome to the Godly place,” Justine said, “Come on, let me show you around.”
After a half-hour of being poke and prodded by a tall blonde woman in a lab coat and made to take a series of foul-tasting medicines, Ireland was lead to room containing an ultra-marine claw foot tub, and a table with a porcelain basin and toiletries laid out on it. The tub was already filled so after getting undressed and grabbing a large pink oval of soap stepped into letting the heat seep into her body and chase the cold away. She scrubbed her body cleaner than she thought it’d ever been before and then soaked until the water had turned cold, then she got out, drying off with the fluffiest towel she’d ever known, and putting on the pair of new jeans and red tank someone had left for her at some point, thought she didn’t remember anyone coming into the room.
When Ireland finally walked out, Justine and kids were waiting for her, the kids freshly clean and in new clothes as well. “Look, Aunt Ireland!” As beamed, holding up a familiar small stuffed cow, “Mommy got Mr. Cow back!”
“Are we dead?” Ireland asked later at Justine’s cottage, sitting across from her at the kitchen table while the pair were drinking cups of honest-to-goodness coffee, “Did we freeze to death out there, and this is Heaven?”
“Why would you think that?” Justine asked.
“Because you just appeared in the middle of the road,” Ireland replied, “Because I don’t even know how we got here, because they somehow had Opal’s firkin’ cow the orphanage probably threw away. I’m half excepting Ash and all our parents to show up at any minute.”
“If we were all dead, don’t you think I would tell you?” Justine reasoned.
Ireland paused moment thinking, “Yeah, you probably would.” She admitted, “I’m just-I’m having a little trouble believing all this is really happening.”
“Look,” Justine tried again, “Isn’t what really matter here is that we’re all safe and together?”
Ireland looked over to the kids, who were all curled up together in blankets of the floor, sleeping peacefully. “Yeah,” She said, “I suppose you’re right.”