Torn in Two: A breathtaking psychological thriller full of suspense and twists. (The Frankie Black Files Book 1) by J.D. Weston

Author:J.D. Weston [Weston, J.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Weston Media Ltd
Published: 2019-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty

Three noises roused Emma from unconsciousness.

The first was the incessant buzzing of a fly swooping past her head only to return seconds later to land on her face before it flew off to seek another part of her bloodied skin.

The second was the chattering of a bird, warning off lesser birds between tentative pecks at the open wounds on Emma’s knees. The sharp stabs of its beak brought no further pain. Her broken body was numbed to any sensation while in its comatose state.

The third sound accompanied no physical being other than her own damaged mind. A monotonous whine lingered in her subconscious, growing in volume and intensity with every rising degree of the morning sun that peeked over the hill and warmed her tattered skin.

Only one eye opened. The right side remained closed, held fast by the same run of dried blood that stiffened her face. Drowsy and stiff, Emma tried to reach up to clear her eye. But a sharp sting of pain in her arm brought on a cry of agony and set in motion a panic that caused her to roll onto her side, where gravity once more toyed with her like a rag doll.

There was no sharp drop like the one she remembered from the previous night, but the rocky incline proved too steep for her to halt her slide with her one good arm and tattered legs. Within moments, she was tumbling down the rocky escarpment, sliding on her bare skin.

She scrambled for purchase as she collided with larger rocks, but her efforts freed the loose scree causing a cascade of stone to fall in her wake. Tiny clouds of sharp dust gritted her eye and pebbles found every inch of skin. A stone, larger than the first, bounced high above her, only to meet her six feet further down the hill and find the open wound on the back of her head.

Rolling to escape the stony path, she reached for the roots of small bushes only to wound herself further within the sharp, gnarly branches and their protective thorns. Her damaged arm screamed as her body crushed it beneath her weight, but still, she reached for whatever rock, bush, or branch that happened to pass by within grasp.

After a full minute of rasping skin, broken bones, and sharp, agonising bushes tearing at her skin, Emma landed in a heap at the foot of a hill in a cloud of dust and a shower of stones that, one by one, found their mark on her broken body.

Dust filled her mouth. Her dry tongue did little to moisten her cracked and bleeding lips. While she waited for the dust to settle, curled in a ball with her broken and useless arm laying limp by her side, three sounds confirmed she was still alive. Three sounds kept her from slipping into unconsciousness. Three sounds reminded her she was a survivor.

Harsh light found her crusted eyes and she peered through her matted and tangled hair at her position, brushing away the fly that teased her with its persistence.

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