It drove Michael further. Powered him as he delivered blow after blow with his left fist. Four punches. Five. Six. Seven. Michael rained them into Hirst’s defenceless head. Striking his face. His neck. His skull. Anywhere.

Michael’s hand had broken by the fifth punch. He did not notice.

It was the eighth blow that caught Hirst clean. It slammed into his temple, sending him sideways. The sheer force dislodged him from the supporting headstone. With nothing now holding him up, Hirst slumped to the floor.

And Michael could finally stop.

Hirst was beaten.

No longer a threat.

To Michael.

To Sarah.

To anyone.

Michael stumbled backwards. His eyes fixed on Hirst’s slumped, battered body. Suddenly he could feel the cost of his efforts. With no battle left to fight, every step became more difficult than the last. Every second blurred his vision more.

Michael had used every last drop of energy fighting Hirst. He had ignored the blood flowing from the bullet wound in his right bicep. Had pushed himself further than he ever thought possible. Only the combination of fear, instinct and pure adrenaline had kept Michael on his feet. Had kept him conscious.

A combination that now disappeared.

One more step backwards. Two. Three.

By the fourth Michael could no longer focus. Could no longer stay upright. His adrenaline was used up. And so was he.

Stumbling a final time, the world went black as Michael dropped to the floor.

SEVENTY-SIX

Joelle Levy’s feet hit the ground before the Comanche had even landed.

The closest open space was at least three hundred metres from Michael and Hirst. Almost a minute on foot, in the dark across uneven ground obstructed by headstones and monuments.

Levy moved out of range of the Comanche’s propellers. Twenty metres. Far enough to be sure. She lifted the rifle to her shoulder, placed her right eye back behind the scope and closed her left. It made the world visible once again.

It had been impossible to take a second shot from the chopper. The first had been risky enough. Everything that had followed had happened too fast. Michael and Hirst were either on the floor or on top of one another in the moments that followed. Neither position allowed for a clean shot. Neither guaranteed Michael’s safety.

Levy scanned the distance. Both the spot where she knew both men had been and the area nearby. The fight had continued as the Comanche had descended, a necessary movement that had obscured Levy’s view.

Neither man had come back into her sight since that moment.

Levy covered the distance fast, fuelled by fear of the unknown. Of what Michael could be suffering at the hands of Hirst. It was a fear that disappeared as she reached the headstone that obscured Hirst’s battered body.

Levy had spent her adult life surrounded by violence. And by its results. It took her no more than a glance to know that Hirst was going nowhere. Alive or dead. Levy did not care which. Her concern was elsewhere.