He could see sweat beading on Gallagher’s forehead. Could sense a similar sweat on his own scalp. Feel his breath coming fast and his heart racing. Fear and shock trying to overwhelm him. This whole situation had started out crazy and it was getting crazier by the minute. If he didn’t get a grip on things and, most importantly himself, it would quickly spiral out of control. The way the world was turning, he had a sneaky suspicion that it would be quite easy to end up dead. Brown bread, as the cockney folk said. You’re history, in the immortal words of the bard’s sister. Joan or Anne or Margaret, he’d could never figure out who was in the band. Pearcey wasn’t about to let that happen if he could avoid it. As they reached the door to the stairs, he stopped and laid a hand on Gallagher’s shoulder.
What do You think about Ferine Apocalypse (Novella): 4 Hours?
