R.Whitlow, Bristol, UK
Copyright: © 2012 Roy Whitlow, Bistol, UK
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, manual, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, brands, media, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Some places referred to may exist, but any incidents related to them are fictitious.
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[Cover image by Richard Caton Woodville]
He ran blindly: stumbling and staggering, trying to dodge the bramble and gorse bushes. His leg and both arms hurt where the blows from the clubs had caught him; his left arm was broken he was sure, somewhere above the elbow; he held it bent to his chest with the other. He saw the fallen log, but too late and he fell sprawling over it face down into soft turf beyond. He lay, gasping for breath, as sheets of pain raced through him. He spat out grass and soil. Pushing himself up on his unbroken arm; he swivelled on his knees and winced with pain. Garbee looked back.