Somehow, he lurched to his feet, and charged forward.

Jerrold fired again. This time the bullet slammed into the point of Mason’s chin, just to the left, shattering it. Blood spattered all over his torso, chunks of white bone and teeth stuck out of his face. Part of his left ear had been blown out where the bullet had exited.

Impossibly, like an incarnate nightmare, he lurched forward again.

Hit something vital, something told him. Jerrold pointed at the centre of Mason’s chest and fired off every round. Like a disjointed puppet, Mason backed up, his arms jerking as though they had no volition of their own, until he was leaning against the side of his own truck. He slumped to the ground, slowly, leaving a smear of blood on the side of the truck.

He fixed Jerrold with a look that was almost pitying, tried to say something, and collapsed to one side, eyes fixed on eternity, blood coursing from his mouth.

There was something about his look that was so disturbing that Jerrold felt he had to figure it out. But Josie came running out of the bush and grabbed him by the arm.

“Jerrold! Come on! We’ve got to get out of here!”




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