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The heavy footfall caused Patrick to swing around, but already he knew he’d reacted too late. The fist hit him square on the side of the jaw, sending him reeling backwards, head spinning, legs losing all feeling. Lights went off like flashbulbs before his eyes, blue lights, lots of them. Everything whirled. His attacker must be a boxer. No hope. Then a grip like a vice around his throat, lifting him off his feet. “If you’ve taken anything, I’ll break your flammin’ neck!”
Patrick forced a scream, a shrill cry that filled the farmyard, and probably everything far beyond. His attacker released him. Patrick crumpled, gasping, felt his attacker breathing hard. Then a sharp giggle. “Blimey, you’ve got a set of lungs on yer!”
Looking up, Patrick saw him. A huge brute of a man, eyes wild, oi
