NineHe was dreaming. Jude knew it, but couldn't stop it. On a moving pathway towards the inevitable with no way off.
The dream ran on in colour, so it had to be real. Images segued, blurred, fused. Spinster lay on the makeshift operating table, blouse pulled open to expose her breasts. Her breathing was shallow, erratic, painful sounding. Jude stood over her. He'd seen her many times, of course. Spoke to her, hanging on every word she said. For him, she was the most wonderful person alive. Her voice like a warm embrace, comforting in times of fear and need.
Right now, she looked far from comforting. body convulsing, racked in pain. They'd shot her, the militia, and the bullet was lodged deep inside. By some miracle, she'd managed to stagger into the hideout before collapsing, hitting the
