I haul myself up, lungs bursting, heart pounding, until my head is above the surface of the water—but that just means that it’s surrounded by floating flesh. I still can’t breathe. I keep climbing, shoving the mush aside.

Insects are crawling all over my cheeks. A worm wriggles up my right nostril. And then, finally, air.

I take a deep breath, and fight back an ocean of vomit. Then I keep climbing. My feet trample rotting muscle and bone. My fumbling hands find a sturdy piece of weedy dirt near the top. I drag myself up.

Finally my legs are free. I scramble up and over. I’m covered in mud, blood and slime. I look like a golem. The Earth itself, come to life.

The worm is still in my nose, tickling my brain. I pinch the squirming end and pull it out, resisting the urge to sneeze.

The voice is back. Not Thistle. I think she’s gone forever. Couldn’t you have just eaten your way out? it says.

‘I’m not hungry,’ I mutter. When Thistle was alive, love pushed out the hunger. Now grief has replaced them both. It feels like I will never be hungry again.

Through the trees, I can see Charlie Warner slumped against the side of the van. She’s taken a round through the stomach. The front of her shirt is soaked with blood. Her face is pale, twisted in pain. One of her hands spasms in her lap. The other is underneath her leg, maybe clamping a second injury.

Sindy walks down the wooden steps into the clearing, wrapped in a heavy coat, cradling the hunting rifle. She’s a hell of a shot. By my count, it’s taken her only four rounds to kill three people and wound one more.

She slowly approaches the van. She can’t see Warner from where she is. Probably wants to make sure everyone’s dead.

She stalks around the edge of the van. Spots Warner.

‘Hey, boss,’ she says. I can barely hear the words. My ears are still ringing from all the gunshots.

‘You ungrateful bitch,’ Warner wheezes.

‘I always thought you might come looking for me.’

‘Wasn’t looking for you,’ Warner says.

‘I always liked your hair,’ Sindy says, and levels the gun at Warner’s heart.

Warner shifts, freeing her hidden hand. I see the compact Springfield XD-S a split second before she shoots Sindy through the head.

The rifle falls from Sindy’s grasp. She crumples to the ground. In the darkness, it looks as though she’s evaporated, leaving only a puddle of clothes. Like a Jedi.

‘Blake!’ Warner shouts, her voice hoarse. ‘I know you’re there.’

She doesn’t, so I stay silent. I want to kill her. But even if I had a weapon, that wouldn’t bring Thistle back. Maybe I should just run—except I have nowhere to go.

Then she says something else.