Chapter 1

It was all over before he knew it. One moment he was running for his life along the narrow earthen path, the next he was scrabbling for a handhold as the ground fell away beneath him, sending him plummeting down a near vertical drop.

Then, miraculously, three fingers on his right hand tangle themselves in a root.

He groaned in agony as the brunt of his body’s full weight came to bear on his right arm, momentarily separating his shoulder joint. A cloud of angry dust reared up and filled his mouth with sour grit and he heard the ominous ‘clack, clack, clack;’ of his gun tripping its way down the rocky wall.

Gasping and coughing, he felt the root tendrils bite through his flesh. He desperately cycled his legs to regain stability as his body swung pendulously from its precarious anchor but the added angular momentum only succeeded in precessing him slowly until he found himself facing outwards from the cliff where he caught a glimpse of the far distant ground below. His stomach lurched.

Panic stricken, he focussed on the opposing tree-studded hillside while reaching behind with his free hand to claw at the ragged wall face. Great chunks of clay material traitorously crumbled at his touch, while thin knife-edged shale sliced his skin. Once he had managed to writhe his way to face the wall again, the fingers on his left hand frantically drilled into the rocky surface before him searching for any nook capable of supporting weight.

On the other hillside, he could hear voices yelling in malicious excitement accompanied by the snap of distant gunfire. He ducked his head uselessly as sharp chinks of dark slate sprayed his body.

The cries of his pursuers grew angry and frustrated. The bullets ceased and he heard feet pounding towards him as they homed in for the kill. Bloodlust tainted the air.

The fingers of his left hand mined the rocky wall again and found a ledge. Hardly daring to breath, he curled his exploratory fingers around the top edge and carefully transferred his weight from his throbbing right fingers. He stretched the tortured fingers on his right hand experimentally to regain some semblance of circulation before slowly wriggled them into a more stable position in the life saving roots. The sense of relief was almost overwhelming until, suddenly, the ledge gave way, snapping cleaning at its base forcing his weight back to his right hand with a mighty jerk.

“Hanging around?” The humourless jibe was a deathly precursor.