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Back Time for the Dead Save as PDF
Chapters (94)
  1. Cover
  2. Time for the Dead
  3. Dedication page
  4. Map
  5. Epigraph page
  6. Prologue
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. Epilogue
  92. Acknowledgements
  93. About the Author
  94. By Lin Anderson

All these thoughts go through my head as I kneel beside her, the other women crouching round us, their eyes wide with fear. Maybe they think that I might bring evil to her. And yet.

Her eyes, wide, liquid brown and heavily lashed, stare up at me, pleading and helpless. I think of the boy, not much younger than her, who had hidden the means of death from me. Who’d smiled shyly as I’d washed the blood from his face. Who’d planned the murder of my comrades and wished for me the horror I live in now.

But how many children and women have we killed with our drone hits?

I have no conception of what they truly think of us, the invading army, until, despite all our attempts at saving their injured as well as our own, they turn against us.

So why trust me to help now?

Even as I feel the baby move beneath my fingers, I know the reason why it cannot escape. Instinctively, I begin to massage the bulging stomach, urging the small body inside to turn. If it does, could it even then pass through the gates of its prison?

The alternative is to spare her the agony of breeching such a narrow canal. I could cut her and lift the infant out. That might be the only way to save the baby, who is alive and growing more desperate by the minute, and the child that is its mother.

I look up at the circle of desperate female faces and frantically search for a way to make them understand what has to be done here.

51

McNab had hoped she would be asleep, so he wouldn’t have to explain. Tonight at least. He made a big effort with the lock and slipped his shoes off once inside. It reminded him of creeping in late at night as a teenager, smelling of drink and worse, keen not to be confronted by his mother.

A side light was still on in the sitting room and he hesitated for a moment, imagining a shadow might be Ellie, sitting in a dark corner, nursing her wrath to keep it warm. Then he spotted the laid table, the open wine, one glass used, and the partially eaten meal.

McNab hated himself in that moment.

He had messaged her, told her he had to work late, promised he would be home as soon as he could. As soon as he could face her.

He’d never considered himself a coward, not when he was confronted with evil, but when he was confronted by good, and had to somehow live up to it, that was the problem.