School kids tour the Hall of Heroes. Little faces light up at the big paintings of Theobald Wolfe Tone, Michael Collins, and Patrick Pearse. A whole parade of Irishmartyrs.
I crouch to stay under the cloud of smoke, remembering when my dad brought Trace and me here. Patrick Quinlan was proud as hell and said we should know all sides of history. Not just who built the ground we stand on, but the ones who fought to keep it free.
I laugh despite my current predicament, because I didn’t give a shite then. I was happy to play hooky from primary school. I remember the spots I used to slip into and hide from Dad when I was a young brat. Dark alcoves were perfect for a kid wanting to disappear.
“Oliver!” I yell for the missing lad.
Pushing deeper into the hall, I hear rubble crunching under my boots. The smoke thickens and makes my retinas feel like they are on fucking fire.
Shot up fire hoses have busted and soaked the place, water pooling above the tiles, and heat warping the supports. The ceiling groans like it might come down on my head any second.
Christ.
“Oliver!” I yell again. “Your dad sent me to find you, lad. Whistle or snap your fingers so I can find you.”
In case he thinks he’s got to keep hiding.
My hands are shaking now, not with rage, but with something I don’t recognize.
Desperation. Clawing anxiety.Fear.
All for a boy I don’t even know.
Ollie, his dad called him Ollie. Horrible name for a kid, but…
“Ollie!” I bark. “I’m trying to find you, lad. Got to get you out of here.”
Spinning around, I worry I’m looking in the wrong damn place.
A thin sound of a child crying catches my hearing. I follow the faint whimpering into a breakroom,now a mess of overturned tables and vending machines used for cover.
Candy.
Through the smoke, I catch movement under a slab of laminated wood.
I drop to my knees, shoving debris aside until I find a small boy rocking and eating from a bag of Milky Mints. His round face is streaked with soot, eyes wide and unfocused as he eats.
He doesn’t speak, just stares right through me.
“Ollie, come on, lad. We have to get out of here.” I reach for him.
He flinches, tucking tighter into the shadows.
Frustration bites down on me. I don’t have time for this. The ceiling in this entire corridor could come down any second.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter. “Your dad’s waiting for you, squirt. Do you want him thinking you’re dead?”
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to threaten a kid with.
I lower myself, chest to the ground, bringing my face level with his.
“Listen, squirt. You’re safe with me.” My voice softens, something I didn’t know I was capable of. “I used to wear one of those uniforms you saw on mates behind the glass. You can trust me, aye?”
He stops eating and stares at me. After a swallow, his lips part and he whispers, “You’re a soldier?”
I fucking freeze because the kid I’m looking for is supposed to be non-verbal. But maybe that’s just with his parents.
“Aye. I’m here to rescue you, Ollie. How about I give you a ride on my back? Run through the smoke. Let me save you, lad. I’ll look good for my boss.”
