65
I’m jolted back to reality by the convulsions of my body and the cracking of two of my ribs, my lungs burning as though they’ve been filled with acid. I cough; a deep, throaty cough which rattles and lingers as I spit blackened saliva onto the ground beside me.
I try to focus my eyes, but they sting as I fight to stop blinking, my eyes reacting to having been severely irritated by the smoke. As I roll my head from side to side, through the milky film I can see the vague outline of a big man with a big moustache.
‘Claude,’ I rasp, my throat immediately feeling as though it’s lined with rusty nails.
‘You are okay,’ he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘The ambulance is on its way.’
‘But Jess,’ I say, forcing the sounds out through the pain.
‘It is okay. Do not speak,’ Claude repl
