And Blue Skies From Pain Read Online Free PDF Page A

Liam decided against the attempt when he remembered the rest of the priest’s plan and how it was likely to end. Best to die now and get it over with, then.
    “This will do.”
    They’d dragged him to a secluded area shielded by a rock wall and the thick hedge. It was far enough from the house that the others couldn’t see what was happening and close enough that reinforcements were at hand if called. He was dropped, and the older man left. Liam couldn’t help remembering the last time he’d been in a similar situation—only he’d been the one holding the gun and his best mate, Oran, had been facing the bullet. Liam rolled onto his back. A piercing headache punched its way through the numbness. His palms were stinging. The side of his face felt cool and sticky. Blood. He blinked, gazing up into the night sky. In the northeast, the light from Belfast overwhelmed the stars. There were no clouds, the rain having stopped earlier in the day.
    Clear night in spite of the cold. No moon, he thought. He discovered that he felt nothing—no fear, no anger—at the prospect of dying, which seemed a wee bit unusual upon closer inspection.
    The spotty boy with the Kalashnikov kicked him. “Up on your knees, taig.”
    At that moment Liam’s temper flared up, and he clamped down on an urge to fall upon his captor and rip the boy’s throat out. The anger transformed from red hot lava to polar ice in a second. “This is fucking pointless. I said I’ll not tell anyone what you are doing here.”
    “Shut up! Get on your knees!”
    “That’s a bleeding automatic rifle, mate. You hit me with that thing it’ll make a real mess.”
    “Why do you think we dragged you out here? Get on your knees, or I’ll plug you now.”
    Fucker. Liam gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Fine. I merely wanted to point out that a man with a coat as nice as that might not want to muck it up.” He didn’t understand why he was taking the piss. The boy wouldn’t react well, but Liam couldn’t stop himself. He staggered to his feet and considered his options, but it was difficult to think past the ache in his head and the frozen rage.
    The boy paused and frowned. “Turn around. Then get on your knees. Now. I’ll not tell you again.” The rifle was shoved into Liam’s chest for emphasis.
    The damp cold seeped through Liam’s jeans as the wet grass soaked his knees. The icy rifle barrel was balanced against the back of his neck. Without thinking, he jerked away and was rewarded with a sharp blow to the back of the head. Pain exploded behind his eyes.
    “Don’t move.”
    The gun barrel was replaced, and Liam attempted not to shiver lest sudden movement cause the gun to go off. He sensed what was most certainly the boy removing his precious leather coat one-handed. If Liam was to do something to save himself, now was the time, but with the rifle barrel where it was, all the kid needed to do was twitch and Liam would be decapitated in a stream of bullets. Shite. He’d been counting on the wee fuck bollocksing up. Calm yourself. You’re alive yet. There’s still time. Think. His skull remained empty of all but the feel of the gun barrel, the doubled pain and the drumming of his heart.
    A gust of wind jostled the hedge. Liam heard something else too—stealthy movement in the dark. A chill went through him, and his stomach did a lazy flip. They’ve sent someone to check up on the wee shite. Fuck. Well, that’s that. Taking a slow careful breath, cold, sharp air filled his lungs as he attempted to remember a final prayer. It’s what one did, right? Pray? He almost didn’t see the point. Filled with cold, his chest hurt. Our Father, who art in heaven—
    The ache in his head thudded with the beat of his heart, and his senses grew impossibly sharp. He again looked up into the sky. Faded as they were, the stars were beautiful, and as he watched, a lone rebel unbolted itself from its place in the firmament and streaked across the blackness in a