The Gathering

By Kieran McCarthy

It has come. With Arznel free and vast animal migrations sweeping across the globe, the war to save Mother Earth from the throes of man is underway.

In the midst of the chaos, where animals have become united and humans divided, Dreamer the fox and his motley companions are on their way to South America aboard their makeshift vessel, The Evergreen, pursued all the way by the forces of Richard Bromwell and facing storms, sharks, seasickness, and harrowing moral questions.

Meanwhile, the once-pampered house petsPatch, Hero, Chief, and Majorhave joined the struggle, leaving behind the lives they once knew and fomenting the worlds farm animals into action.

How will the friends fare in environments theyve never knownat sea, in battle? And how will mankind react to a crisis it caused but never saw coming?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jun 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514499634

Kieran McCarthy

Kieran McCarthy writes a weekly local heritage column for the Cork Independent, is the author of over 20 local history titles on Cork, and runs a heritage consultancy and walking tour company. He was awarded the Mary Mulvihill Publication/ Media Award, Industrial Heritage Association of Ireland, 2019 for his last THP book, The Little Book of Cork Harbour, and for championing cultural heritage. He has been an independent member of Cork County Council and is a member of the EU Committee of the Regions.

Book preview

THE GATHERING

Kieran McCarthy

Copyright © 2016 by Kieran McCarthy.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016909635

ISBN:   Hardcover   978-1-5144-9965-8

Softcover   978-1-5144-9964-1   

eBook   978-1-5144-9963-4

Even If

Words & Music by Andrea Corr, Caroline Corr, Sharon Corr & James Corr

© Copyright 2004 Songs of Polygram International Inc.

Universal Music Publishing Limited.

All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured.

Used by Permission of Music Sales Limited.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/21/2016

Xlibris

800-056-3182

www.Xlibrispublishing.co.uk

737010

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

1.   The First Signs

2.   Far from Home

3.   Tagging Along

4.   Where the Birds Come In

5.   A Shock in the Night

6.   Bruce

7.   Dark Proposals

8.   Sharks!

9.   The Storm

10.   The March

11.   The Raid

12.   ‘What If We’re Wrong?’

13.   Castaway

14.   Watchers in the Trees

15.   The Bromwellian Brotherhood

16.   ‘Sea Dogs’

17.   Not Over Yet

18.   A Pleasant Surprise

19.   Catch the Wave!

20.   ‘Depart From Me, You Who Are Cursed’

21.   On Gentle Waters

22.   Help From Below

23.   The Light

24.   Among the Bad Ones

25.   Land Ho!

WARNING: CONTAINS MATURE THEMES AND SCENES

OF VIOLENCE

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I was rarely alone writing this book! Unlike my previous two books, this one required a punishing amount of research and outside help, so a massive thank you to all my friends and family for their unwavering support and interest. Thank you to Leo O’ Driscoll, Donal O’ Driscoll, and all the staff at Skibbereen Credit Union, simply for taking a chance on me and getting this project off the ground. I would like to thank Mr. John Hunt of Baltimore for taking me aboard his ferry and showing me how to operate the controls. Likewise, a big thank you to Mr. Anthony Sheehy for taking time out of his day to show me around his fabulous fishing trawler, The Lovönt. Merci beaucoup to my friend Karine for helping me with the pieces of the book written in French; I never realised how bad my language skills are! A special thank you to my brother Patrick for his excellent Photoshop work on this, and the previous book, and for his in-depth knowledge of all things military! Köszönöm szépen to my special friend Julia Lorincz for setting aside time from her hectic college/work/babysitting schedule to do an illustration for me (check out the ‘snake tattoo’!) and for helping me with the scenes set in Budapest. Szeretlek, drágám! To David Grant, Jennifer Fedyizyn, Helen MacFarlane, and all at the Hal Leonard Corporation, thank you so much for granting me permission to feature song lyrics from one of my favourite bands, The Corrs (when I’m not listening to unhealthy amounts of death metal!). If ever Looking for Lough Ine and her offshoots are to become a film franchise, it would be their music I’d love to have as the soundtrack! Fingers crossed, eh! And of course, to all the people at Xlibris—Brian Mendez, Cynthia Mathews, Monica Williams, Fresno Logan, Jason Tyler, AJ Barco, Amy Mallory, Richelle Meyer, Martin Kintanar, John Briones, Sheila Collins, Lee Summers, Maria Lopez, Ann Minoza, and others too numerous to mention—cheers for an amazing job!

For Aingeal

THE FIRST SIGNS

Quincy, Boston

Jineen pedalled faster up the cold, empty street, puffing and panting, trying to beat the storm clouds before they broke. After a day spent down at the lake with her friends, she had taken her BMX to the local shop to pick up some pop tarts and milk for the house, which never took more than a few minutes. However, as she stepped outside the automatic door of EJ’s, she was struck by the thick, brooding mass of rain clouds above, billowing over the leaden autumn sky. Foolishly dressed in only a pair of denim shorts and a lily-pink top, Jineen quickly hopped onto her bike and sped off, not wishing to be caught in the downpour.

She was halfway home, between two rows of white, detached timber houses, when suddenly there was a crunching sound beneath her and the front tyre skidded. Quick as a flash, Jineen’s left leg shot out and broke her fall, as the bike jack-knifed to a halt. The chain had fallen off. Again. Cursing silently, Jineen stooped to inspect it. I’m definitely gonna get caught in the rain now, she thought.

But as she glanced up at the sky, and glanced again to be sure, she realised to her utter amazement, that the storm clouds were not storm clouds at all! Moving together, millions of them flying shoulder to shoulder, was the biggest flock of birds Jineen had ever seen. They were too far up for her to identify individually, but she guessed there were birds of just about every kind—sweeping majestically across the pale grey firmament in tight formation, heading in the same direction—south.

Jineen was wonderstruck, if a little nervous. What were they doing? Where were they going? What was about to happen? She immediately began to fear an earthquake or a hurricane. After all, animals were always the first to know. She had already noticed the strange absence of squirrels and raccoons that used to regularly patrol the oak trees lining the streets of her neighbourhood.

Not only that, she thought suddenly, looking around—where are all the people?

Worry began to spike in the pit of Jineen’s stomach. She dumped her bicycle behind a maple tree and ran the rest of the way home. There, the surprises continued to mount.

Cars, about a dozen of them, some she recognised, others she didn’t, were parked erratically in and around her driveway, some blocking others; skid marks embedded in the lawn from those that had been hastily pulled up.

Jineen pushed her way through the screen door to find her house crowded with people—neighbours, friends, family, strangers—all jostling for position in the living room. Children sat on the backs of their parents; parents stood on the toes of each other, all trying desperately to see the T.V. Jineen’s mother, Candice, noticed her daughter trying to squeeze between the doorframe and a rather obese Uncle Rodney.

‘Jineen, where were ya, baby?’ Candice exclaimed, shouldering her way towards her youngest. ‘I rang your cell, like, a million times but it kept going to voicemail.’

‘It must be on silent,’ said Jineen over the babble of voices. ‘. . .Mom, what’s going on?’

‘The power is out all over town,’ said Candice. ‘We’re one of the few homes left that still has some.’

‘Did you invite all these people?’ asked Jineen.

‘Some,’ said Candice. ‘But they invited others.’

‘What are they doing here?’ asked Jineen.

‘They wanna watch the news, honey,’ said Candice. ‘Something’s going down.’

‘What’s going down?’ cried Jineen.

Before Candice could answer, a man shouted:

‘It’s on!’

A hush of silence fell over the room. A flustered looking news anchor appeared onscreen. He was pale and sweating, his collar loose around his neck from pulling at it so fearfully.

‘Good evening and welcome,’ he began. ‘In a day of mayhem, power supplies right across the globe were cut at various times, causing riots to break out in cities such as New York, LA, London, Paris, New Delhi, and countless smaller towns, and leaving millions of people stranded on roads and in subways. Offices, schools, and shops have had to shut their doors after the police and the army were deployed to deal with the mass looting and hysteria. Evacuations are already being considered.’

Everybody in the room gasped, putting hands to their mouths and clutching each other’s arms.

‘Experts have already ruled out terrorism as the cause of the blackouts, and went on to say that solar flares are also not to blame.’

‘How can they be so sure?’ cried Jerome, who was immediately shushed by everyone in the room.

As if in response, the newsreader continued:

‘Today’s events coincide with the strange animal behaviour we’ve been seeing since early last month. Animals from around the world continue to gather en mass, hording across the continents in what scientists are calling the largest and strangest animal migration in all of history. Many now believe that it is these animals who are responsible for the global blackouts. . .

With the help of several helicopter and satellite teams, it has been established that the animals are all heading in the same direction, which appears to be the north coast of South America. Our CBS correspondent Tony Belluci reports from Ireland, where the migrations are believed to have begun. Tony.’

‘Hi Scott,’ said a man in a hat and raincoat, standing on a beach and bracing himself against the downpour. ‘Well, what is most remarkable about these migrations is that not only are natural enemies travelling together, but also it appears they are working together. As you can see from here, where I’m pointing, the animals have both stolen and constructed boats to take them across the sea. It is a truly astonishing sight—predator and prey standing shoulder to shoulder aboard their makeshift vessels, many drowning and starving along the way.

Still, no one knows what is causing the strange disturbance, but the most common theory is of a virus, whether natural or manmade, being introduced into the food chain. All that can be said for sure is that it is no longer safe to step outdoors, and that pet owners are advised to sedate their pets until a conclusion has been drawn. Back to you, Scott.’

‘Thank you, Tony … Now, we’ve just received these videos in the last minute or so, taken from amateur cameras, which may confirm the connection between the worldwide power cuts and the animals. Viewer discretion is advised.’

Grainy, shaky footage was played out on the screen of a rhinoceros, which must have escaped from the zoo, ploughing into a telephone pole with its head, splintering it, before taking off up the road to knock another pole. More footage revealed what looked like rats chewing on wires and birds smashing into fuse boxes. Even a stampede of cattle and sheep ran berserk, laying waste to entire power stations.

‘The farm animals are in on it, too?’ cried Jerome, who was shushed into silence again.

The last video faltered and flickered and then went out of focus.

The newsreader shook his head and shuffled the papers on his desk nervously.

‘Shocking,’ he murmured. ‘Truly shocking. And we’ll keep you up to date with more reports and more videos in the next hour. . .

Sticking with the main story, President Richard Bromwell had this to say—’

The screen went blank.

FAR FROM HOME

Crashing through the woods, dodging between larch and spruce trees, leaping over holes and rivulets; branches slapping him in the face and getting snagged in his fur, Dreamer the fox galloped onwards, in pursuit of his mate.

‘Oh, Fuchsia?’ he called, half laughing, half panting. ‘Come on, you can’t hide forever!’

He skidded to a halt in the middle of a clearing and turned his nose upwards, to scent the air. She was getting good at this game.

‘Covered her tracks,’ he mumbled.

Just as he was about to traipse off into the woods, a blur of red and white flashed from the ivy bushes that fringed the clearing, and hit Dreamer in the side like a ram. He and Fuchsia tumbled along the forest floor, collecting old leaves and dirt in their coats, until they rolled too far and splashed into the little holy well.

It was another place in Lough Ine humans often visited, bringing offerings of coloured cloth, jewellery, pictures, painted stones, toys, and ornaments, all hanging from the branches of the beech tree that sheltered it. But now, irreverent to the ‘sacredness’ of the place, the two foxes now splashed and floundered about, throwing water in each other’s faces.

‘That’s against the rules!’ Dreamer scolded playfully. ‘You’re supposed to stay hiding until I find you!’

‘You would never have found me,’ Fuchsia laughed. ‘My hiding place was top-notch.’

‘Where was it?’ Dreamer asked, spitting out water.

Fuchsia smiled seductively and leaned forward to whisper in his ear: ‘Right behind you,’ she said. ‘Stalking your every move!’

Dreamer gasped:

‘That’s against the rules, too! What game do you think we’re playing?!’

Fuchsia put a paw on the back of Dreamer’s neck and dunked his head underwater. He came back up gasping and spluttering.

‘Since when did you care about the rules?’ she smirked.

Fuchsia turned and pulled herself from the water, clambering up onto the stone step where she tried to wring herself dry. The water plastered her fur to her skin, and it was while he sat staring at her from the well, that Dreamer noticed her figure. She had grown larger. A number of bumps and bulges poked from beneath her belly.

How could he have forgotten?

‘Sweetie,’ he said. ‘I think we should take it easy, for the sake of our cubs.’

Fuchsia smiled sadly.

‘Don’t worry, honey,’ she said. ‘Nothing can hurt our cubs in a dream.’

‘A dream?’ Dreamer gasped. He launched himself from the water and briskly shook himself dry. ‘Don’t say that; this isn’t a dream. This is real.’

Fuchsia drew back slightly.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she said soothingly. ‘But don’t fear. What I feel for you, what you feel for me, right now, in this moment, is real. I promise you.’

‘Fuchsia, please!’ Dreamer cried.

But that was it.

Everything faded to black.

Without even opening his eyes, Dreamer knew where he was. He could feel the rise and fall of the water beneath him; could smell the salty tang of the ocean air, and could hear the endless roaring and hissing of waves all around him. Breathing a sigh, he lifted his head from the straw floor and pried his sticky eyes open. After a few blinks, everything came into focus.

‘Ah, welcome back,’ said Rush.

The hare was busily rowing with a long sturdy oar of ash, a job which had given him some very impressive muscular arms. Across from him, Victor, the badger, manned the second oar, both friends rowing near constantly south-west, across the formidable Atlantic Ocean. Keeneye, the kingfisher, circled above, to stretch her wings and make herself tired enough to sleep later (aboard their makeshift vessel, The Evergreen, a stolen wooden trailer set on top of a flotsam of stolen tyres, with a stolen wheelie bin to pose as a cabin—there wasn’t a whole lot for the tiny Keeneye to do!) Aidey the frog (supposedly the fifth and final member of their crew) lounged about in a bucket of fresh water, the only fresh water for miles around.

‘Have a nice dream?’ Victor asked.

Dreamer nodded and tried to steady his legs. He could still smell the earth and leaves from around the holy well, not to mention the ever-lingering scent of Fuchsia herself. How he missed her, and his unborn cubs.

‘It must have involved a lot of running, this dream,’ said Rush. ‘You nearly kicked me overboard. I was half tempted to get out and walk!’

‘Sorry,’ Dreamer rasped.

The fox stretched his back and each of his limbs in turn, cracking his joints, which were constantly stiff from lack of use aboard their cramped little boat. The only real exercise he and his companions got was going for a swim whenever the sea was calm.

He rose and made his way to the edge, hoping the cold ocean breeze would wake him up. One breath, drawn deep into his lungs, and he became immediately alive. So now, he stood gazing out at the broad featureless nowhere that never seemed to change no matter how far they travelled. Here he was, far from home, in a place nothing like home.

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The day was bright and unseasonably warm, the sky an immense dome of blue spreading out and touching the horizon in a thin, blurred line. The ocean was like a vast plain of shattered pearls, scintillating in the glaring sun. Breezes stirred the surface, cutting into the water and releasing milky sprays that pockmarked the ocean’s face. Nowhere in any direction was there a hint of land, not as much as a black rock jutting from beneath the deeps.

Dreamer licked the corners of his mouth, where fragments of sick still clung. The thrill of the voyage hadn’t lasted long, most of the friends suffering from acute seasickness once they’d lost sight of land. Dreamer constantly felt rundown and tired now. Not for the first time, as he gazed out at the horizon, did he realise just how little he knew about the ocean. Nothing, in fact. It wasn’t until shortly before setting sail that Skip, the otter, one of Dreamer’s good friends from Lough Ine, gave the fox and his companions a quick lowdown on the lore of the ocean.

Apparently, below the flat, uninteresting surface, the ocean was a whole new world, rich and diverse with its own hills and mountain ranges, deserts and forests, of trees you’d never find on land, but unique and colourful corals, home to more species than one mind could ever imagine. It was said that all life had begun in the ocean. Long ago, all the world was a barren place, no trees or animals in the land, just rocks and volcanoes. Even the ocean was murky and smelly, inhospitable to life. Until the great god Zhylgia sent forth a thunderbolt that stimulated the molecules in the water, kick-starting evolution. With the breath of so much algae and so many sea plants, oxygen was born, and it was safe for life to come ashore and begin anew.

Dreamer sighed.

The ocean was one thing. Boating was quite another. He knew even less about that. Why, he couldn’t tell the difference between port or starboard, bow or stern. Worst of all, he knew nothing about ‘maintenance’. Peering over the starboard side, he noticed clusters of limpets and barnacles clinging to the hull.

‘Looks like they’re finding their own way,’ Dreamer muttered.

Indeed, this was a voyage for all animals, of every form and size.

For anyone unfamiliar with Dreamer and his friends, theirs was a most important mission. The five animals had met some time ago, in the heart of the beautiful Irish countryside, united by the deaths of their families and a love for being different. They had been told a story about a great tiger named Arznel, who once led an uprising against the humans, for it was known by all that the race of humans had been causing great destruction and suffering to the Earth and her creatures. However, during the uprising, Arznel was captured and never seen again, his memory passing into legend, and the world he’d sought to save falling deeper into peril.

But thanks to Dreamer and his friends, who were among the few animals who believed in the legend, Arznel was now free and was once again leading the world’s animals in the greatest war of all time. To deliver the world from the hands of evil—to break the power of Arznel’s nemesis, Richard Bromwell and undo his influence over all the good people of the Earth—this was the sacred objective.

However, the chosen place for the final battle lay faraway, over the sea, in the heart of the Amazon rainforest—Arznel’s stronghold. Animals from all over the world were now sharing the same journey as Dreamer and his friends, while others were being made stay behind to play a different part in the same mission. . .

Dreamer sniffed the air once more before turning to Victor and Rush.

‘The wind has changed again,’ he said. ‘It’s blowing south-west. You can take a break now and let the waves carry us for a while.’

‘No, it’s okay,’ said Rush brightly. ‘I’m liking what all this rowing is doing for my arms. Check it—’ and he began flexing.

‘What Dreamer is trying to say,’ Victor grumbled, ‘is that we need to save our strength so we can row later. Don’t wear yourself out.’

‘Wear myself out?’ Rush laughed. ‘Speak for yourself. If you want to take a nap, go right ahead. I’ll row by myself for a while.’

Victor sighed.

‘Do you remember what happened last time you rowed by yourself?’

‘I know, I know,’ Rush griped. ‘A whole hour of spinning in circles, making everyone feel poorly. At least those dolphins came along to steer us in the right direction.’

‘Well we can’t always depend on the dolphins,’