‘I hardly think so,’ said Luke, gesturing around. ‘Have you seen the size of this place? And the size of one rabbit? It would take millions and millions of years to overrun a country this big with rabbits.’

‘Continent,’ said Matthew.

‘What?’

‘Australia is a continent.’

‘Well, there you are, then. Even better. Billions of years.’

Jane was scribbling in her notebook. ‘A female rabbit can produce up to a thousand offspring in her lifetime. If half of those are female and they produce a thousand offspring, and half of those are female . . .’

‘Yes, all right. I’ve got it.’

‘And they produce a thousand offspring, then in five years’ time you’ve got . . .’

She paused, entangled in the number of noughts on her page.

‘A lot of rabbits,’ finished Luke. ‘Shall we get on with it before any of that actually happens?’

‘Actually, I don’t think it will be that tame,’ said Matthew slowly, reading from his scratchpad.

‘Why?’

‘Well, according to this, some nutter with a thing for bunnies wanted to breed a rabbit immune to myxomatosis, which apparently he has done, but a rather unwanted side effect is unusual aggression.’

Jane sighed. ‘Oh great, a rampant rabbit.’

Parrish sniggered.

She turned to him in puzzlement. ‘What? What did I say?’

‘Rampant rabbit. That’s very good.’

Jane stared at him.

He sighed. ‘You don’t know what a rampant rabbit is, do you?’

‘Not a bad-tempered bunny?’ she said, uncertainly.

Matthew snorted.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Parrish. ‘It laughs. Don’t tell me you know what a rampant rabbit is.’

Matthew nodded. ‘It’s one of those.’

A large – a very large – white rabbit lolloped past.

‘If it starts babbling on about paws and whiskers and being late, then I’m out of here,’ said Parrish.

Jane was aghast. ‘Did you see that? It’s the size of a table.’

‘Don’t be such a wuss.’ He pushed past her for a better look. ‘Bloody hell. That’s a very . . . solid-looking rabbit.’

‘It’s a very pregnant rabbit. Quick – after it.’

They jogged along the track and around the bend.

Ahead of them lay a small village, incomplete and raw-looking in the sunshine.

Half-built wooden cottages – ‘Slab huts,’ said Matthew, consulting his scratchpad again – stood either side of what would possibly, one day, be the main street. In contrast to the canvas-roofed, unfinished houses, the long garden plots behind them were well established. Which made sense. Food first, shelter later. Vines, vegetables and fruit provided welcome patches of shady green in hot sunshine. The gardens stretched back to some reasonable-looking pasture land on which grazed a few cattle and some sheep. Behind the pasture land and bordered by willows, a creek glinted in the sunlight.

At the end of the street, a small group of men swarmed over a large stone and timber building. They could hear the sound of hammering and a voice raised in song.

‘This is the church,’ said Jane.

‘Or school,’ said Luke.