Mega busy on a novel and haven’t had much time to post. I’m wrapping up the final strands in the story, bringing the drama to a close. I’m far more confident about this novel, a psychological thriller.
I wake up not in the hospital, but in a shelter somewhere deep in abandoned wasteland, groggy and disorientated with a strange taste in my mouth, body sore from the fall downstairs. I’m lying on the floor in recovery position, wondering how I got there. Outside, the weather continues to rage, the winds howling and rattling the roof; inside, three men with torches sit around a candlelit table, playing cards and singing The Grand Old Duke Of York. They bang on the table and stamp their feet and roar with laughter.