Chapter 18“Wiltshire,” croaked Ackhart. Another wave of nauseating pain erupted from his punctured stomach and broke over his body, leaving a sheen of sweat on his brow.
Sam turned to him, his face deeply lined with confusion. “I'm sorry?” he asked, taking his attention from the ominous darkness of the English Channel, which lay six thousand feet below. Off to his left he'd noticed a single ship, its light acting like a beacon, a single star in an otherwise black abyss.
“Wh— When I was examining your phone,” there was no hiding the pain in Ackhart's voice, it spewed forth with every word, “there was a single unread message. I do not remember who sent it, but it just said 'Wiltshire'. I…” he paused as another wave of pain-filled nausea hammered his body. “I don't know – if – it helps.” He
