There was a sudden ceasefire. Kelly joined Milo at a window, just in time to see the Hound ride round the side of the barn. Everyone turned, keeping track of the noise, reloading as they did so.

“Woodbury is still out there,” said Ortmann.

“The Hound’s not interested in him,” Kelly said, sliding in her last magazine. She racked the slide just as the bike’s engine cut off.

“Spread out,” Milo whispered.

While the others moved to cover as many entrances as possible, Kelly crept to the ladder, climbing it as quietly as she could. She got to the hayloft and crawled for a while before rising into a low crouch. The wood creaked beneath her weight.

The hole in the roof was more than big enough for her to pass through. It opened up on to a dark sky laden with clouds. She jumped for a broken beam, pulled herself up, and balanced on one knee while she reached for the hole.

And the Hound’s face appeared right in front of her.

She cried out, fell back, fired blindly and hit nothing, and the Hound landed before her as she fell on her ass. She shot him in the shoulder, then switched targets, aiming for his leg. He wobbled, almost fell. She fired again, and again, keeping him off balance, making him totter, and then she went for the final shot, the shot that’d force him out of the hayloft, that’d send him crashing to the ground, and the gun clicked on empty.

“Aw hell,” she said.

The Hound straightened up, that calm expression never leaving his face. Christ, she hated that calmness. What she wouldn’t give to see some anger, or hatred, or even some goddamn annoyance flicker across those features. But no. All she got was calmness.

“Kelly!” Milo yelled, and threw his shotgun to her. She grabbed it and fired and the Hound flew backwards and was gone.

Her ears ringing, she crawled to the edge, as more gunfire erupted. The Hound was back on his feet, but being peppered by bullets. He stumbled against the wall, and then Milo was there, plunging a pitchfork through the Hound’s arm, pinning it to the wood.

Lucy grabbed the second pitchfork while Ortmann took hold of the Hound’s other arm. Once it was flattened against the wall, the middle prong skewered it.

Kelly climbed down the ladder as the others paused a moment to catch their breath. The Hound didn’t struggle. He just stood there, arms splayed, looking at them.

“So how do we kill him?” Ortmann asked. He, like Lucy, had reverted once the immediate danger had passed.

They all looked to Milo, who looked at Kelly. “Could I borrow your phone?”

She handed it over and he paused, trying to remember a number. He punched it in, held the phone to his ear.