There was an echo of something that Grace recognised but could not quite place. If she hadn’t known better, she should have said it church bells, but the ringing came from within, not without. The auditory echo was more sensation than memory and was accompanied by something altogether more tangible, colder. Someone, or something, applied an iced pressure to her forehead, a chilling resurrection from whatever bizarre state she laboured in.
Grace opened eyes that had refused to do so to a somewhat relieved visage.
“There, there, Grace, do not move, not yet.” Headlock removed his hand from Grace’s forehead and returned his attention to crewman Johnson. The young man lay there with a look of peace upon his bloodied face. A brief shake of his head and Headlock closed the young man’s staring e
