Chapter 3

Meanwhile Jack could feel the blood trickling down his back and pooling at the base of his spine. He was beginning to feel dizzy and light headed from the blood loss, and as the heat began to swell in his cheeks the cool evening air did little to cool the blazing temperature of his pain induced fever.

His head was spinning. His stomach muscles tightened – cramping painfully as he felt warm and bitter bile rise in his throat, and he swallowed hard – mercifully managing to prevent himself from vomiting. His back throbbed and his ribs burned. There was a searing stabbing sensation radiating from the base of his shoulders all the way up to his shoulders and down through both of his legs every time he tried to move.

The fall had killed him, and he'd revived from that death… this wasn't supposed to be happening to him!

He closed his eyes, balling his sweaty hands into tight fists and gritting his teeth against the pain – grinding them together in anger as it began to dawn on him that John Hart had tried to kill him!

He craned his neck slightly, ignoring the renewed surge of pain this caused him, as he tried to gage how far he'd fallen. His vision swam again and the pain in his back became unbearable.

Jack let out an involuntary whimper of pain! It felt like somebody had taken a branding iron to his entire lower back – hot enough to strip his flesh from bone. His whole body was on fire, and he ached from the waist down, along his ribcage, and deep into his spine. His skin was pulsating.

He hoped that he'd managed to escape any serious internal injury beyond the evidently broken spine, but the severity of his distress told him otherwise…

All he could do was to ride the wave of pain and wait for Owen and the rest of his team to arrive. He made a conscious effort to try and move as little as possible, as this would only aggravate his agony. The pressure of the ground against the swollen tissue in his back was pressing small stones and grains of gravel into the open, and seeping wounds.

With a groan, his face contorted and eyes screwed tightly shut, Jack tried to fight the tears which threatened to fall. He rested his weary head up against the leg of the bench now supporting him, and prayed for sleep, or death – whichever came first – as he waited for his team to arrive.