It wasn’t like this before. It didn’t have to be like this. One year ago this was unseen. Me and my brother Seamus, not overly nationalistic but we took pride in our roots and our heritage. We grew up in Phibsborough in a small bungalow.

When the virus emerged around the globe, there was a frantic search for a cure. It was found that in Irish children there was a genetic difference in their DNA that was immune to the disease. In order to extract this, they had to take brain samples of tens of thousands of children, which was a humanitarian crime.

There was another solution, but the other solution needed time to ferment in labs. Some people evidently did not want to wait.

Some doctors and scientists came to the country with groups of people who were on the verge of losing loved ones. I could understand their frustration but it would be inhumane to do this. A band of rebels was formed, much like the IRA to protect these children, and while we didn’t have many weapons, we had patriotism.

Some countries disobeyed the United Nations and even left the organisation and came to Ireland. The small army of Ireland was trampled in weeks, and the government collapsed. Ecuador, Libya, Japan and Mexico have all landed on Irish soil and are now pushing up from the ports of Waterford up to South Dublin. Most of the children were taken up in Swords but there was a thin line of us rebels stretching across the divide.  Our soldiers were outnumbered seven to one, as my brother and I joined the ranks.

Our kit was very basic. Everyone received a rifle, each different to another as they didn’t have the supplies for a standard issue rifle. We were also given a device of our choice. Seamus picked a flare, while I picked up the last of the C4.

We were then split up into groups of thirty across the city. Seamus was stationed in Terenure, and I was stuck in the city centre. My first fight was horrific. Even though our guerilla tactics surprised the enemy they had been properly trained.  A fellow comrade had been hit with a flash grenade and as I rushed over I had been clipped in the calf.

I stumbled my way to him but were now both in quite a bad spot. The bullets were whizzing above us and we could hear the faint shouts from the enemy side. As I looked up in despair I saw a bomber lining up to bomb us. I gave my last sigh and prepared for the worst.

I then heard screams from the other side of the barricade, which was then followed by crashing buildings and large tremors in the ground.


The South show pictures of heads on spikes. I barely recognised my brother but he was there. I wanted revenge so much that I got my gun and attacked the Rathfarnham barracks solo. It was a horrible decision but I was so enraged it didn’t matter. I had gotten to the second line of defence when I had been shot in the foot. This time I was in excruciating pain and I had no use of my leg.

The guards released me as I was no longer a threat. I was cared for by some nuns in a local parish. I was confined to a wheelchair and my superiors had not been informed. I met up with a group from Lucan at Clondalkin with my ten men. I had to have someone wheel me around as I was giving orders. I was still renowned with my skill for direction and travel.

When we made it to the centre there was a standoff between the sides. We had inflicted more damage than they had but they had at least 200 men.

I was around the corner when I saw the last of my men die. I had one more ace up my sleeve. As the 50 or so men came around the corner, I raised a white flag up as I was slumped in my chair. They had big electronic assault rifles compared to our mix-and-match variety of weapons. I raised both hands with a detonator in one hand. The last thing I heard was the deafening sound of C4. I awoke from the coma 8 months later, to having one arm and no legs which were otherwise useless. It was a turning point in the war which we won.

I was brought outside to the Hell Fire club for a ceremony, in which I received a medal of honour. But most importantly, I saw my brother’s beautiful headstone.