CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hearts pounded in constricted chests.
The horror of gunfights. The promise of almost certain death.
It twists minds, seizes muscle, makes life appear momentary, fleeting. No time to wonder what might have been, all those lost dreams, missed opportunities. No time for anything else except thinking about survival.
In any way possible.
Channi tried.
He turned, hoping to wrong-foot the man in front of him. If he could gain some distance, he might be able to reload his g*n, shoot, escape.
But his mind was clouded. The instinct to live.
He spun on his heels, and the other one, the one with the scattergun, dealt him a horrific blow across the side of the head with the stock, pitching him to the ground, all senses gone.
He wasn’t quite unconscious. Voices came to him,
