Ted, as a kid, had once got his ribs bruised playing football. He hadn’t been able to get out of bed for three days.

But bed rest wasn’t an option now.

It took him an age, and excruciating pain, just to stand up.

Well, he was able to walk, if he leaned on his little helper. But it felt as if someone was grinding a sharp fist into the centre of his chest, over and over.

“We should wait for mum.”

“No. We have to go before the quakes come back. We’ll find your mum.”

That was true; if they managed to get onto any of the A-roads, there would surely be reception centres; that was police procedure in eventualities like this. It shouldn’t be impossible to find Jane and Mike.

Always assuming he could drive.

Ruth Clark’s house seemed to have taken a still worse beating than his own. It looked as if the roof had simply fallen in, leaving the outer walls standing in broken spikes, delimiting the debris.

We ought to just get in the car, he thought I have to take responsibility for the lad. And I sure as pish can’t do any heavy lifting.

But he couldn’t just leave her.

With Jack’s help, he stumbled up the drive to Ruth’s house. Her front door was a heap of match wood, blocking the hall.

He limped around to one of the intact sections of wall. There was actually a window here, still unbroken, that let into the living room. He couldn’t see anything inside. He surely wasn’t going to be able to climb in there.

There was a soft whimpering, from inside the house. Crying, like a baby’s.

He got Jack to fetch him a towel. Ted wrapped it around his arm, turned away, and smashed open the window. Then, with the towel still in place, he pushed out the remaining shards of glass—

A tan brown blur hurtled out of the window. Tammie. He got a single clear view of the beast, as it looked into his eyes.

Then it dropped to the ground and was gone.

The crying had been the cat, then.

Jack said, “Should we chase Tammie?”

“No. She’ll look after herself.”

“What about Mrs Clark?”

Ted ran over what he’d seen, in his mind, in that brief confrontation.

The cat had blood all around its mouth. It had been chewing something. Eating into it—

“I don’t think Mrs Clark is home, Jack. Come on.”

He leaned on Jack again, and they limped back to the car.

Somewhere, a siren wailed.