Diamond Hunter by Paul Fraser Collard

Author:Paul Fraser Collard [Collard, Paul Fraser]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2022-10-13T07:00:00+00:00

Jack lay face down in the filth. He could feel the damp of the ground on his skin and he could sense the rain drumming on his back, the hundreds of tiny impacts blurring into one. Yet none of it registered in a mind filled with pain. There was neither room for sensation nor space to comprehend the gunshot he had heard. All that mattered was that the kicking had stopped.

‘Get up!’

The words were muffled, as if spoken far, far away. They were followed by the roar of thunder and the crack of lightning, the twin sounds blending into one cataclysmic racket. He sensed hands pulling at him, but he was a dead weight, a corpse still with breath, and he did little but loll back and forth like a beached whale, his muscles unable to control his battered flesh. The voice itself barely registered, the words shrouded in fog.

‘Get up, for God’s sake. Please. She needs you.’

More muted words came at him. Begging. Urging. Pleading. With them came someone’s hands, pulling, pushing, grasping, yet still he did not understand why he was being summoned. Nothing made sense. He just wanted to lie there letting the rain soak into his body. He had room for nothing save the pain that tormented him and robbed him of his sense of self. He could not see anything beyond the muddy slush in front of his eyes or fully comprehend the words directed at him. His body was beginning to shake uncontrollably and he could not summon the strength to do anything but lie there helpless.

‘Jesus Christ, help me! Do you bloody well hear me, Lark? You’ve got to help Anna. She needs you, goddammit.’

The words were the first to pierce the fog that filled his soul.

They registered, sparking a flame. Reigniting life.

The world came rushing back to him, overwhelming senses that had been battered into a grey netherworld. Cold rain. The smell of mud. The taste of blood on broken lips. The feeling of bruised and battered flesh.

And fear. Soul-chilling fear.

A single thought came alive in the centre of his mind. Screaming out. Demanding he move.

Somehow he knew that Anna had been shot. It made sense. The sudden gunshot. The end of the kicking. Something had happened to stop it, and all he could picture was the moment when a heavy bullet struck her down. A perfect image flashed unbidden before his mind’s eye with all the clarity of a photograph. Her broken body lying in the dirt. Blood puddling around her. Her eyes glazing over. He had seen that moment of death in a dozen stares. The instant when life fled. The second when he was cast adrift.

Fate was stealing her from him, just as she had stolen away all the others.

Anna was gone.

Anna was dead.

He opened his eyes, focusing his vision on the person trying to heave him to his feet. It was Goodfellow, his face flushed with effort.

‘Get up, Jack, I beg you! Quickly now.’ The plea was followed

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