Caleb’s face swam close to mine. His throat was already raw purple and his cheek was swelling up. ‘I owed you,’ he whispered, his voice sandpaper. ‘I’ll deal with this.’

‘But, Caleb …’

‘Go.’

56.

In a kind of daze, I bundled Amelia out of the canteen area and jogged – to have run flat out could have attracted attention – to the perimeter fence. Once we reached it we tracked west, past the horrible container we’d been cooked in, to where I’d last seen the bikes, on their kickstands amidst piles of pallets and empty oil drums, near the entrance to the mine complex. Marcel was sitting beside them. As soon he clocked us jogging into view he jumped up.

‘Vite, vite, vite!’ urged Amelia, and immediately he was astride one of the bikes. Our packs were there too. The weight of mine, as I swung it onto my back, told me Marcel had thought to refill our water bottles. I unhooked my helmet from the handlebars and just about ripped my ears off jamming it on my head. Marcel’s bike coughed to life. So what if Amelia jumped up behind him? We’d make faster progress that way, I had to admit. The rumble of a truck leaving the mine took the edge off the noise of my own bike as I turned the key in the ignition. I motioned for Marcel to follow me so that I could control our pace past the sentry. It was agony to pause, but I waited to fall in behind a departing lorry, and trundled slowly through the gates in its cloud of dust, even managing to wave at the two sentries, one of whom was leaning back in a deckchair with his feet up. Their job was to stop the wrong people entering the complex, not leaving it, I suppose. Either way, he just waved back.