Along the back of his neck and into his shoulders, a burning had set in deep, and the throbbing from his temple played an accompaniment to those hurts that made him want to vanish into the void again. There were hands under his armpits. His legs were dragging across the ground, slush soaking into his pants. The wind chilling his face and hands confirmed that he was outside. Gemmell remembered the last moments before losing consciousness, of his body slamming forward in the seat, and the crystal clear thought that if he and Summer blacked out then there would be nothing to stop the dead from ripping the car to pieces around them. Jerking free of whoever was dragging him along, crying out at the flare of pain from the whiplash in his neck, he opened his eyes, arms flailing. The world span briefly as the hands vanished, and he flopped to the ground. “Sir! It's me! Sir, it's all right!” Detective Sergeant Jackie Summer. Not a dead man at all. Rolling onto his back, seeing the gravestones around him, he took a breath and let the snow and fire flecks land on his face.
