A shotgun banged loudly off to the left, and Della raised her head a little to see if she could pinpoint where the shot had come from.

‘Those are your people, aren’t they, with the shotguns?’ she asked.

Ed nodded. ‘It sounds like it. Did you see where they were?’

‘I think so. Down behind the fence there, about five or six uprights along. The other people are using M3A1s.’

‘You can tell just by listening?’

‘Every gun has a distinctive sound of its own. And remember I’m trained.’

Ed said, ‘How many of them do you guess there are? Six, maybe?’

‘It’s hard to tell,’ said Della. ‘More, probably, by the way they’re firing.’

Ed thought about that. Then he said, ‘In that case, I think we’d better go back and get some reinforcements. There’s no way that four of us are going to be able to hold off that many of them.’

‘I think it’s time to back off,’ said Della. ‘We don’t have any proper cover here or any spare ammunition. Can you call Willard, and see if you can get him to hear you? Tell him to make his way back to the farm.’

‘Listen,’ said Ed, ‘who’s giving the goddamned orders around here?’

‘Have you got a better idea?’ Della demanded.

There was another burst of light machine-gun fire, off on their right. The raiders were encircling them now, trying to cut off their escape back to the house.

‘If we don’t get out of here now, they’ve got us,’ said Della. ‘So what are you going to do? Call your friends, or die gallantly?’

Ed looked at her intently, trying to make out her face in the darkness. ‘If any of us come out of this famine alive,’ he said, ‘what the hell are you going to do with your life?’ Della said, ‘Call them! If we don’t run, we’re going to have to fight.’

‘I asked you a question,’ insisted Ed.

‘Do you really think I’ve got the time or the inclination to answer you? But if you must know, I’m going to give up the FBI and do what I always wanted to do. Marry, settle down, live in Bluefield, West Virginia and raise children and flowers.’

Ed said, ‘Bluefield, West Virginia?’

He was going to say something else, but he was interrupted by a fast, sharp burst of bullets. Six or seven of them struck the Jeep Wagoneer. They heard the side windows crack, and the high, squeaky hiss of a punctured tyre. Then they heard someone calling, ‘Get over that fence. George! Along the back!’