I throw myself at the oak door over and over again – bang, bang, bang.

When my shoulder burns with pain, I try the other shoulder.

Bang, bang, bang.

‘Mum?’

The word sails through oak door, high and light.

‘Liberty?’ I put my ear to the door. ‘LIBERTY?’

There is a crunchy clack sound and the door opens. I catch myself on the door frame.

Liberty stands at the top of the stairs, bleached-blonde hair flopping across her forehead, long, skinny legs in cherry-red DM boots.

She has blood on her hand – the same hand that holds the door key. Skywalker sits by her side. He has blood on him too, around his muzzle and on one ear.

‘It’s okay, Mum,’ says Liberty. ‘We can go home now.’

‘What happened?’ I grab her bloody hand. ‘Are you okay? Did he hurt you?’

‘This is Michael’s blood,’ says Liberty.

‘Where is he?’ I push past her, scanning the stairs. ‘Where is he, Liberty?’

‘Injured,’ says Liberty. ‘We should go.’

‘Injured? Injured how? What happened?’

‘Michael tried to shoot me. But the gun exploded in his hand. And then Skywalker went for him. Some protective instinct. I taught him how to attack, but I’ve never seen him go crazy like that before.’

‘Where is Michael?’

‘Out there.’

‘Show me.’

‘Honestly, Mum, you don’t want to see.’

‘Yes, I do.’

Liberty leads me into the woods. My hand shakes in hers, but she is just fine – cool as a cucumber.

‘I’m warning you,’ says Liberty. ‘It’s pretty disgusting.’

On the path near the cottage, Michael is a bloodied heap looking blank-eyed at the sky. His black T-shirt and jeans are covered in blood. I mean, soaked. And his throat and hands are a mess. He twitches and I step back, pushing Liberty behind me.

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘I know,’ says Liberty. ‘Skywalker really went for him. A foot soldier. Protecting his pack leader.’

With my boot, I push at the bloody cloth thing that was once the love of my life. The thing is heavy and sand-like.

‘It was self-defence,’ says Liberty. ‘Michael tried to shoot me. But I’d already stuffed chewing gum down the gun barrel. The gun exploded and took half his hand with it, then Skywalker attacked him.’

‘You … what?’ I put hands to my head. ‘You put chewing gum down the barrel of his shotgun? How?’

‘Actually, I put chewing gum down the barrels of all Michael’s guns,’ she says. ‘I did it yesterday. Chess tactics. You have to disable the enemy defences.’

‘And then—’

‘Well, I pointed the gun at him. That way, he wouldn’t know I’d disabled it. You know? He had to be his own undoing. I have it all on camera.’