The Blind Smith E-Book

Gaynor Russell G.

• Herausgeber: Spines
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

We Begin with THE FORGE.
But before we procure the necessary materials to craft the weapon, we must first see to the craftsman. In this case, he is a Journeyman who used to call himself The Visionary. But this was before John James Moore lost his sight and nearly lost his life.
He was saved, but you cannot call the man who delivered J.J. from certain death a hero. That man’s too busy being a Master Assassin… and, ultimately, the one who teaches J.J. how to function and fight without his eyes.
It is the Blind Smith who seeks his revenge on the enemy and who nearly destroyed him, stepping into a world where the status life and death is decided upon which killer possesses the greater skill.
Introducing a new action-filled series from the USA Today and Wall Street Journal best-selling author, G. Russell Gaynor.

Leseprobe

G. Russell Gaynor

The Blind Smith

Book One of The Forge Trilogy

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2024

by G. Russell Gaynor

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Published by Spines

Isbn: 979-8-89383-123-8

~The Blind Smith~

Book One of The Forge Trilogy

Shadow Guardians Series

G. Russell Gaynor

To my Brother Bache...

without whom this would have never 

risen to even the level of a notion...

Contents

~ Prologue ~

~ Chapter 1 ~

~ Chapter 2 ~

~ Chapter 3 ~

~ Chapter 4 ~

~ Chapter 5 ~

~ Chapter 6 ~

~ Chapter 7 ~

~ Chapter 8 ~

~ Chapter 9 ~

~ Chapter 10 ~

~ Chapter 11 ~

~ Chapter 12 ~

~ Chapter 13 ~

~ Chapter 14 ~

~ Chapter 15 ~

~ Chapter 16 ~

~ Chapter 17 ~

~ Chapter 18 ~

~ Chapter 19 ~

~ Chapter 20 ~

~ Chapter 21 ~

~ Chapter 22 ~

~ Epilogue ~

About the Author

~ Prologue ~

July 18th, 2003

The black sedan came to a hasty stop, kicking up dust that quickly covered the vehicle. The rear passenger-side door opened, and the man exited out onto the rocky terrain. In form, he looked like many other men, belonging to the category of those who followed a severe exercise regimen. But he only resembled those people. When he was born, he was given the name Craig Langston Goskin, though he preferred to be called Viper. He was an assassin and horrifyingly good at it. Today was like many others: someone was going to die.

Craig never stood straight up, leaning into a run before the car door could close behind him. Though they moved in different directions, it was clear to see he moved faster than the car… at least until the car reached its second gear.

“Range to target?” he whispered. He knew the throat microphone picked up his voice well enough.

“Satellite imagery puts them a little under one third into the 9.7-mile trail,” Brackerton advised. Craig scoffed at the older man’s insistence on carrying himself like he was in his own private Situation Room, watching his operatives eliminate a high-profile target.

“Of course, elimination is the name of the game today,” the man thought, making his way deeper into the hills just south of San Francisco Bay. He ran into the wind, and his body shivered involuntarily from the stiff cold breeze coming off the bay. Craig snorted a laugh and started running harder. “I could stand to eliminate something m’ damn-self! Ol’Sammie wasn’t messing around when he talked about the coldest winter he ever knew.”

“Be advised, Viper, your rate of travel is a little faster than what was discussed.”

“So he dies a little sooner,” Craig returned. “So what? You trying to tell me I’m going to get docked for that?”

“You have to excuse Colonel Sanders, Viper,” a female voice came over the line. It was soft, warm, and just scratchy enough to be sexy. “He gets a little bit beside himself at the Zero Hour. So long as the contract is serviced, you’ll get your fee.”

“You better watch yourself, little girl,” Craig thought, appreciating the voice of Elizabeth Murray, the woman who was effectively the person calling the shots. She was the target’s partner and had grown tired of his idealism. Open source was for poor, broke losers and there was a great deal of money to be made. “You’re old enough for me to legally pin your sexy ass. I’ll be smiling, but you may never be the same after that.

“Well, tell Grandpa to relax and enjoy the show,” he said as his body settled into the sprint he had established.

“I’ll do what I can,” she replied.

“And speaking of shows…” Craig reached down and activated his tracker. “Are you reading this?”

“Copy that,” Brackerton informed. “Drone One is en route to rendezvous with you… in thirty-six seconds.”

“And four minutes after that, I should have a visual on the target.”

“And don’t forget… your target will not be alone!” Brackerton stressed. “We’re expecting him to have his normal security detail with him this morning.”

“It won’t be enough!”

* * *

“It’s still July, right?” John James Moore asked as another wind came sweeping over the hilltops. The teenage boy wrapped his arms around himself and frowned as he shivered. “July is still in the summer, right?”

“Well, Jack, you know what Mark Twain once said,” Claire smiled, lowering her camera from in front of her face. “The coldest winter was the summer he spent in San Francisco!”

“No,” John huffed, finding it hard to stay angry, looking into the blue eyes of the fair-haired female who had served him up to the freezing winds of the Bay Area. “I didn’t know he said that. Might have something to do with the fact that I prefer writings from the twentieth century!”

“Look, if I can survive elevenses, you can hike the Black Mountain Trail,” she giggled. “And you know, Tolkien was born in the nineteenth century.”

“By like six minutes, and at least elevenses are real!” John argued, sweeping his long gray hair out of his face.

“Right… real… and very British!” she pointed out.

“Meaning?” John asked angrily.

“It’s a bit presumptive, don’t you think, to say that Hobbits adhered to English customs? What, the Brit is a descendant of the people of Middle Earth; their feet got smaller as their bodies got taller?!

“And I’m pretty sure the settings for Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Fin are real, too,” Claire added. “And I know this mountain is. Come on, it’s just a little bit further and we’ll come to the overlook. Then we can eat elevenses.”

John stood there watching Claire walk away with a victorious smile on her face.

“I wouldn’t fight it, boss,” Kyle chuckled as he stepped past the teenager. “Guy as smart as you… falling in love with her mind. You gotta know what you’re getting into, boss.”

“And what am I getting into, Kyle?” John inquired as he stared after his security guard.

“In over your head, sir,” the man laughed. “Just don’t be too proud to admit to yourself that you’re loving it.”

A slight smirk formed at the right corner of John’s face, slowly becoming a smile as he hiked. “No promises,” he muttered, drawing a short burst of laughter from his friend and employee.

Their small group continued down the path for another hundred meters before Claire turned off the trail up a fairly steep incline. She noted what would serve as good handholds and footing choices along this stretch of their hike before leading everyone to a large overhang that offered a breathtaking view of the valley and the bay. Though there was some argument regarding what actually left some of them breathless.

With nearly uncontrollable giggling and the brightest of smiles, Claire started preparing the celebratory meal. She thanked two of Kyle’s men for toting the picnic on their back and insisted that they share in the food and drink she had put together. Only at Kyle’s insistence did they acquiesce to her request.

A veteran of three unofficial wars and countless offensives, Kyle Whyte had long gotten over the desire to be anything other than a soldier. The only evolution he had championed was the need to wear a particular uniform; a suit worked just as well as fatigues if you were on the right mission. He was a soldier every single hour of every single day, and he loved being reliable, professional, and the standard by which the word ‘exemplary’ was defined.

Working for J.J. Moore was what Kyle considered an easy tour. The teenage millionaire listened before barking orders, and he knew that when his Chief of Security spoke, it wasn’t a very wise reaction to question whatever came out of Kyle’s mouth. The pop of the champagne bottle reached his ears, but it hadn’t come alone. He had picked up another sound, and it removed the smile on his face.

“Contact, south!” he barked, falling to the ground and rolling. “Jack, scramble east!

“Dammit, I heard that shot,” Kyle thought, his body reaching the wild grass. “Which means he either missed… or I wasn’t his target. But I didn’t hear his approach, and I didn’t smell him. This hunter knows how to hunt!”

Kyle came out of his roll, gun drawn and held with both hands. He was ready to shoot, but he couldn’t see a target.

“Shit!” he hissed, watching both of his operatives fall, each with a gunshot wound to the head.

And then his back straightened, involuntarily. It was the sort of thing that happened whenever a sharp object was pressed against the spine.

“I didn’t come from the south side, boss,” Craig whispered, thrusting the large knife into Kyle’s back. “But you made a damn fine call. You got your boy trained up right. He looked like a damn Doberman! Made me miss my kill shot and everything. Now I gotta chase him down.

“Professional courtesy: the truth. I’m all kinds of curious to see which one of you dies first!” Craig said softly, twisting the blade before slashing it out of Kyle’s right side.

“Son of a bitch!” Kyle groaned, hearing the buzz of a small vehicle’s engine. It was probably a drone of some sort… not that it mattered. Kyle knew it wasn’t one of his remotes. He had three different means of calling for help on his person, and each of them worked out here on the trail. But that didn’t matter either. The man had robbed the professional soldier of the ability to move. Kyle heard the man… the better man… running off after his client and friend. John didn’t stand a chance!

~ Chapter 1 ~

August 24th, 2003

“Claire!” John called out as his head came up from the pillow. His body shivered, covered in perspiration and restrained to the hospital bed. He jumped at the sensation of an easy touch; a hardened hand made a soft grasp at John’s wrist.

“She was murdered, J.J.,” a voice softly spoke out, cutting through the darkness. It was a soft, scratchy voice, sounding aged and potent at the same time. “You were attacked… your security compliment was neutralized; the assassin chased you down. When you heard him getting closer, you separated from Claire. That was remarkably unselfish of you, presuming, quite correctly, that you were the target.”

“Who are you?” John asked, trying to remove himself from the feelings burning in his heart. It was easier to focus on himself… far less costly than allowing his mind to access recent memory. “Where am I? What is this place?!”

“Who I am is not as important as what I am, kid,” the mysterious man answered. There was a soothing quality to his voice, but John chose not to be comforted.

“As for the other inquiries, you’re still in California, Mr. Moore,” he added. “… in a very particular type of medical facility. Do not call it a hospital; those are open to the public. This is an exceedingly private institution… the sort that will willingly lose a patient in order to maintain its anonymity. Please tell me you understand what I am trying to impress upon you. I possess standing enough to have you admitted and treated here, but their tolerance for troublesome patients is nonexistent.”

Pausing a moment before responding, John slowly took a deep breath and nodded his head to the affirmative. “I understand what you’re saying.”

“Good. That is very good.

“You are not American,” the man said, sounding as if he was standing up from his chair. “You’re Canadian… one who often mentions the differences between the countries and their respective countrymen. There is a slight measure of hope that you will comport yourself in an acceptable manner and live through your visitation to this place. One thing which might help is a simpler response to your first question.

“I am a killer, Mr. Moore,” the man declared, leaning on the side of the bed. “… a most professional artisan of the craft. You should know that I am not here to kill you. I came to this country to destroy the assassin who visited his skills upon your security detail and your lady. I arrived too late to save any of them. I was almost too late to be of any service to you… but this is what I am.

“And what we are, Mr. Moore, are two people who find themselves in the same death-orbit around the same man.”

“Death-orbit,” John repeated. “Interesting terminology.”

“The first of many such phrases, Mr. Moore. But let’s not get distracted with the peripherals. There’s a man to kill. I need to know if we both want him dead, or am I alone in this matter?”

“You can’t be serious,” John returned.

“I don’t know you, boy!” the man stressed, his voice growing softer yet also more intense at the same time. “And assumptions are the sort of things that get you killed in this world. That’s why I don’t make them. We speak plainly here, Mr. Moore, in case you haven’t noticed.

“Now, do you want the man who did this dead or not?!”

“No, I don’t!” John replied. “That’s not the word you used,” he stressed, his left hand gripping the fine linen. “You said you came to destroy him. That’s what I want!”

The man stood, removing his weight from the bed, and sighed. “I can work with that, Mr. Moore. I can definitely work with that.

“I can’t kill him,” the man announced.

“Wha– what do you mean you can’t? Why not?! Is he better than you?”

“Not even God is better at killing than me!” the man replied. “But I have a code. One of the tenets of that code doesn’t allow me to go back on my word.”

John stammered in a mixture of anger and confusion, quickly getting excited and anxious at what he had been told.

“Like I said, too late to save any of your people.”

“And nearly too late to help me,” John snapped. “But that doesn’t–”

“‘Stop beating him and you don’t have to worry about me coming after you in any shape, form, or fashion’. That’s what I said to the man we both want destroyed. Given what he had already done to you… and your falls… he took the easy gamble that you’d die before I could get you to a doctor. He was nearly right.

“Everything he knows about the craft, I taught him,” the man admitted. “But he doesn’t know half of what I have to teach. He damn sure doesn’t know how to prevent death. That too worked to our advantage. It can be a most unpleasant thing: coming to realize the things you don’t know.

“Like the way you didn’t know that Claire was an operative working for your father.”

With so much of his face and body bandaged, John felt like hammered and shredded meat stuffed into a too tightly wrapped burrito. But the mysterious voice had said her name, triggering his mind. John returned to the moment, hearing the sharp popping noise of the suppressed pistol.

John had heard Kyle’s command and he responded immediately, starting to the east and then bolting westward with Claire in tow. He heard two more immediate shots and then nothing… nothing outside of his own panting breath and the footfalls he and Claire made.

The chosen site for the picnic made things difficult. Neither east nor west were practical directions for their escape, as they lead to the edge of the north-facing overhang.

“Bad fall beats a bullet,” John whispered, remembering one of Kyle’s lessons. He pulled hard on the hand he held, expecting Claire to hesitate.

But she didn’t. She didn’t slow down, and she didn’t scream.

Their bodies went over the side, plummeting from the overhang.

John had cheated a little. The last few steps he had deliberately taken a slightly southern path, and his feet dropped to the side of the hill. He had hoped he could slide down the face of the mountainous rock. The early morning was quickly becoming a string of bitter disappointments.

John lost his footing and Claire’s hand, falling hard against the unyielding rock face. His momentum threw him into a furious roll, and with each hop his body made against the hillside, John was hammered and forced further down the hill.

“Leg’s broken,” he thought, his body at last sliding to a stop. “And not just the leg!”

“Jack!” Claire called out, scrambling to him, her left arm tucked against the side of her body. “Jack, baby! Are you okay?!”

John made the effort to respond, but his mouth wouldn’t move. “Did she really just ask me that?!”

“Okay,” she whispered, touching her trembling hand against the side of his face. “Yeah, that was a stupid question.

“Look, I hit my panic button,” she shared.

“Panic button?” he thought, confused by what he was hearing. “Did Kyle give her a panic button?”

“The team can’t be more than five minutes out and–” Claire moved from John’s side, getting up and spinning with startling speed. Her hook connected with the side of Craig’s face at the same time her left arm received the knife thrust meant for her back.

Claire screamed out, pivoting as she brought her right arm down to collide with Craig’s. The blade twisted in her forearm, but it had been removed from Craig’s grasp. With her eyes closed, she brought her right hand up, the back of her fist struck the other side of Crag’s face.

And that was it; she had taken the only time she would be given to compartmentalize the pain. Her eyes opened as she blew out sharply between her lips. The backhand had landed solid, her shoulders were moving, and time was in short supply.

Her turning back kick landed hard against the man’s ribs, and a smirk started to form on her face. But the following inside crescent kick missed over the man’s ducking head, and everything was revealed in an instant. Yes, she had managed to hit the man… but with insufficient power… or with a lesser degree of power than the straight punch he put into her face.

Claire’s head was rocked back, and her body was no longer a willing participant of her thoughts and ambitions. She stood there, trying to get it back together. She needed to save John; she had to save the young man she had fallen in love with.

She wasn’t interested in his money. She hadn’t taken the job because she was being well-paid. She took it because she believed John James Moore was going to do something important... something that would change the world. John’s father had believed that too.

“Just don’t fall in love with him,” Sargent had told her.

“Sweet moves,” Craig said, delivering a quick strike to the woman’s throat. The man was done with being surprised on this job. It was time to let all players know that the curtain call had been given. “Just not sweet enough!”

Between his punch and throat strike, Craig was afforded the time to move slowly and set his arm bar, taking hold of the woman’s blonde hair with his free hand.

And then he saw it.

“Hey… kid… did you know you was kicking it with a pro?” Craig asked, settling back into his normal operating procedure. “And I’ll be damned if she didn’t fuck up and fall in love. You do realize that’s still statutory rape… even in freakin’ California! Tsk, tsk, tsk… how the mighty have fallen.

“So tell me, sweet thing… am I killing two here, or three?”

Claire cried out, trying to free herself. She couldn’t hear any engines; helicopter or ground vehicle. This man was a specialist. If he felt comfortable enough to chat, Kyle and his operatives were dead or dying. The only thing that could save her was sheer blind luck. But Claire didn’t cry for herself. He looked down at John and hated things were ending like this.

“He’s a fear-feeder, Jack,” she declared. “Don’t–” her neck was snapped, and Claire was dead before she hit the ground.

“It’s pretty clear you don’t know me… or should I say didn’t know me,” Craig snorted. “Because if you had known, you wouldn’t have run. All you did was die tired and broken.

“And now it’s your turn, kiddo,” he said, turning to face John. “You all set to try and do what your girlfriend wanted to tell you? Because she was right, I am looking to feed. It’s what gets me to it and through it. It’s the only thing left for me to discover.

“Now, in case you didn’t know, you broke your nose and jaw on the way down,” Craig noted, lifting John from the ground. “Your man taught you how to run, but it looks like he never got around to teaching you how to fall. And your woman tried to teach you how not to fear. Let’s see how good of a teacher she was.”

Craig’s foot came down on John’s broken ankle. He screamed… and was very, very afraid.

There wasn’t much to remember, at least not clearly, and John returned to the hospital room, shaking until he felt a hand on his shoulder. The restraints were removed as the man started speaking again.

“A most unpleasant thing: realization. You’d be helping yourself out by coming to terms with the fact that knowing the full truth about Claire wouldn’t have changed the way you felt… and feel about her.”

“My father?!” John barked a laugh in disbelief. “Since when does a farmer know anything about hiring bodyguards?”

“Given how things turned out, I’d say not too much,” the man answered what John had intended to be a rhetorical question. “It’d be best to leave both of your parents out of this. Push them out as far as you can in this matter… and leave them out.”

“It’ll be easier with my Dad than with my Mom,” John admitted.

“Because she’s got your books,” the man stated.

“Well, someone’s been digging around in my li–”

“I don’t need to dig,” the man asserted. “You’re telling me everything I need to know right now. Your parents aren’t together anymore. You send your father some money, but it’s your mother who handles your finances. She sucks at it, but you can’t bring yourself to retire her.

“Let me know when I get one wrong.”

John took a moment. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be more surprised or angered at what he was hearing. The suggestion of coming to terms with things, however, appealed to him more than anything else the man had said. That was what he set out to do. “When you do… I’ll let you know.”

“You’re about to lose your business,” the man declared. “I can make it to where you have enough to get by if I need to.”

“That contingency is already in place.”

“Not bad for a teenager,” the man said with a smile in his voice. “We’re going to need a solid year. After that, I can assess your progress and tell you how long it’s going to take for you to do what we both want.”

“You’re going to teach me?!”

“We’ll see.” John could hear the man turn away from the bed. “You need to mend. You definitely need to cry. Tell that woman you love her one more time and remember how much she loved you. I’ll be back… in three days.”

“O-o-okay then. Thank you!” he called after the man just before the door to his room shut. John laid still in the bed for a moment, his hand finally beginning to relax and let go of the section of sheet he had been pulling. “You’re still here.”

“Three days,” the man said, opening the door. “Might only be nine months before I know what I need to know… and you’re welcome. Get some rest, Mr. Moore. You’ll get my name when I think you’re ready for that particular burden.” John said nothing, hearing the man slowly take his leave of the room. “It isn’t an easy load, and you should keep your options open for as long as you can.

“But you’re sixteen, and nowhere near as cute and funny as you believe yourself to be,” the man stated as he continued walking, even though his footsteps ceased to make any sound. John frowned, hearing the man’s voice moving around the foot of the bed. “So, until we both think you’re ready, call me Bob.”

“Bob,” John repeated, slowly nodding his head. “And I’m not as cute as I think I am?” he muttered.

“No, you’re not!” the man answered in huffing breath. He sounded as if his mouth was inches away from the side of John’s face and the frightened teenager almost screamed from the surprise. “And no matter how cute you get, I’ll always be sweeter looking than you. If you don’t learn anything else from me, learn that!”

By the time John was back in the middle of the bed, the door to his room was closing. He was breathing hard and fast. He was lightheaded and held onto the linen to keep his bearings. Quickly processing the fear, John felt the sudden urge to let rage respond to that fear. John took in a deep breath to yell at his mysterious visitor, call him out of his name, and talk about his family.

“But where would that get me?” he thought. “This isn’t a regular hospital… so I can’t expect them to play by regular rules. And I still don’t know what all is wrong with me and why my face is bandaged. Play it cool, J.J.Play it cool… for now.

“Thanks, Bob!”

In the corridor, approaching the elevator, the slender figure smiled. Not one to normally show emotion, the incredibly daring longshot he’d made on the hillside was showing signs that it might actually come through. But hope was a painful poison – something people in Bob’s line of work endeavored to steer away from whenever possible.

It had been a mistake to train Craig Goskin, and the exploration of mindset and heartset had already been made. The mistake had been vetted and fully understood. Bob understood the mistake, dedicating the skills and abilities amassed over years of study to rectifying the situation. But Craig’s training was far from wanting, and Bob’s initial approach had been rushed and sloppy.

Three men… poorly trained operatives Craig had either recruited of fooled into thinking they had been trained. They were spotted before any of them had initiated their engagement. Poorly trained, but not instantaneously removed from existence. Not even Bob was that powerful. He killed one and left the other two in his wake.

And so… Bob was running behind schedule.

The three fools made Bob late to the rental car counter at the airport.

One woman – a very talkative housewife from Indianapolis – got in front of Bob and was aggravatingly slow in coming to the decision she wasn’t going to rent a car.

The master killer held no grudge against the woman; she was living her life. No, the real argument was with the three assassins and the faulty form Bob had used in receiving and dispatching them.

“But things are looking up,” the master assassin thought, feeling the approach of the remaining two operatives. “My student might be older than what would be considered ideal, but he comes with a crate full of motivation.

“And being down one man, these two are going to try to kill me again,” the aggravated killer thought. “Bold… and stupid! Time to put them out of my misery!”

~ Chapter 2 ~

September 27th, 2003

Both of John’s knees hurt and it was a struggle to remain standing. He could feel blood beginning to roll down his right leg from the open wound on his shin. The dramatic withdrawal from his cross-functional suite and hospital room had been a costly one. He couldn’t remember what movie he’d seen the maneuver in, but he was pretty sure it hadn’t involved broken furniture and three rather ugly falls.

“That might have something to do with the fact that I’m blind!” John thought, gripping the banister of his deck tightly. “Bastard destroyed my face! Damn near drove my nose into my brain… between his fists and my fall, my eyes were destroyed… all the way to the optic nerve. God dammit!

“I guess we can kiss The Visionary goodbye,” John thought, regretting what he already knew was an arrogant name for a hacker. “I’m certainly not that anymore… if I ever was.

“Why am I not dead?!” he pondered.

“Because I wouldn’t allow it,” Bob spoke aloud, startling John. “Still no good with those ears, eh? That will be one of the first things we work on.”

“You’re not fooling me for one second!” John snapped, the area around his face burning. It was something the specialists told him to look out for. With the severity of his injuries, they weren’t sure if he would regain the use of his tear-ducts. “Okay, you’re good at the stealthy moving, but you could’ve driven a truck through that room with all the noise I was making, and I wouldn’t have heard you.”

“Stealthy?” Bob chuckled. “Okay, I’ll take that. And good point.”

“And this isn’t a real hospital, so you could’ve left strict orders that they not deliver the bad news until you came back.”

“Takes all of the mysticism out of the moment, doesn’t it?” Bob said as he slowly approached. “Kind of makes you think that the only thing making the mystical mysterious is the mind of the viewer.”

“Pretty much,” John affirmed with a huff.

“Yeah, but you’re blind, J.J.!” Bob said, his voice sounding as if it was coming from five different directions and distances. “Does the same bullshit reasoning apply? Or are you going to get a hold of yourself, recognize that you’re supposed to be dead, and get on with righting this wrong?”

John spun around, once again forgetting he couldn’t see and didn’t know the layout of the deck. His foot caught the leg of something that must’ve been bolted to the floor because it didn’t budge. His arms flailed out from his sides, but there was nothing to grab. He braced himself for another hard fall.