Turning, he walked swiftly back to the arch of rubble, the cold fury in his stomach refusing to abate. The rising wind caught the stench of the blood and the charred remains on his clothes, carrying it up his nostrils. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he stripped off his stained shirt, jacket and tie, dropping them at the ground near his feet and stood there, clad only in his trousers, shivering a little in the chilly evening air. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for a moment or two before releasing it and opening his eyes again. He made his way under the arch one more time and went up to the hole where the boy in the cap—Theo they had called him—was still crouched, hiding, shivering, whether from cold or fear Albert wasn’t sure. Probably both. He stood at the hole for a long moment, staring down into it, his face hard and expressionless. Then he reached out his hand.

Small, frightened fingers clasped his. He pulled the child out and held the slight, shaking frame against his, feeling the warm tears running down his bare chest and stomach. Then, still holding his hand, still saying nothing, he half-supported, half-carried the boy as they made their way under the arch, past several mountains of junk and debris, to the wall at the far end, where he lifted the child over before vaulting over himself.

Twenty minutes later, they were home.

Albert sat at the kitchen table, still dressed in only his trousers, a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. He had dispatched Theo to the bathroom armed with a pair of pyjamas, while he sat alone, trying to come to terms with what he had just done. If anyone found out he had protected an Outlier child, and even worse, was harbouring him …

But then, what had been the alternative? Leave the boy there, alone in the wasteland, with the remains of his friends? How could he have? Although the child couldn’t remain here. That much was certain.

Albert sighed. He felt weak, drained of energy. His head was throbbing. He decided to postpone answering the question of what to do about the boy until morning. He sighed again and, reaching for his mug, drained the contents in a single gulp, feeling the welcome resultant roughness on his tongue as the scalding liquid scorched its way down. He stood up. Maybe it was time to check on the boy. He’d been in the bathroom for a while, and perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to leave him alone for too long, especially in his current state of shock.