JACOB FLYNNPart ii
‘Bewsey?’
Flynn stared in disbelief at the figure standing swaying in front of him. It was Bewsey all right, but how the hell could it be? Two days ago he’d watched the man die. It was impossible. I’m going f*****g crazy, he thought to himself, that didn’t take long. Over the last forty-eight hours Flynn had been forced to consider so many horrific prospects that one more didn’t make any difference. He decided he was most probably hallucinating and buried his face in his grey, prison-issue pillow. He hadn’t had anything to eat for more than two days, the rest of the world had dropped dead, and he’d been trapped in a ten by seven foot cell with only the corpses of his cell-mates for company. A hallucination seemed likely. What was left of his mind was playing tricks on
