White must have sensed her approach. He started to turn just as she crashed into him, but it was too late. Hawkins’ feet smashed into his side, sent him sprawling over Mike, into the wall.

He slumped as she landed awkwardly on the defibrillator, its hard case digging painfully into her flesh. But there was no time to think about injury; her dazed opponent was already righting himself, growling like a riled animal.

Hawkins kicked out again, attempting to shove herself backwards as he landed on top of her. His fist smashed into her chin, driving her head into the floor hard enough to send jagged black and white lines flashing across her vision. She braced herself for a second hit.

But instead of attacking again, White stood and stumbled away, almost certainly going for the chloroform he’d used on Mike.

Hawkins used the few seconds’ respite to continue with her plan, lining up the tape binding her wrists with the defibrillator’s sharp metal edge. She felt it slash the heel of her hand, but she kept going, catching sight of her assailant crouched over the holdall.

She jerked her wrists, felt the duct tape begin to tear, and repeated her action.

Still it held.

White was standing now, turning towards her, unscrewing the lid of the bottle.

This was her only chance.

She gave another hard thrust and felt the tape break, freeing her arms. She watched shock enter White’s expression as she flipped on to her front, bringing her knees up into a crouching position to thrust herself forwards.

‘No!’ White shouted as Hawkins leapt towards the entrance, and she heard him lurch after her. His hand closed around her ankle, wrenching her back. But she had already gripped the cold metal shaft of the crowbar and twisted on to her side, swinging the weapon in a vicious backhand motion. She felt the bar connect, heard the sickening crunch of steel breaking bone, and the agonized scream as White fell.

Her head went light as she pushed over on to her knees, leaning forwards to grab the cloth White had dropped. She crawled to her writhing adversary and clamped the material over his lower face, keeping the pressure on as he struggled weakly, until he slackened against her.

Hawkins sagged, too, heart pounding; waves of nausea pulsing through her head from the wound on her skull. Her eyes began to close.

Mike.

She opened them again and rolled her gaze towards him, imploring her malfunctioning vision to clear once more. He lay on his back near the wall, motionless, just out of reach. She said his name, managing only a whisper at first, before clearing her throat and repeating her call, but neither evoked any response.

She tried to get up, but White’s torso lay across her shins, pinning her down.