Their eyes were still locked. Tom knew he was faster, and he saw that Phil knew he had lost. There was just a curling of the lips. Phil knew he was going to die.

As Tom’s pistol came out he flicked it parallel with the ground. No time to extend his arms and get into a stable firing position.

His left hand was still pulling his shirt out of the way and the pistol was now just level with his belt buckle. There was no need to look at it: he knew where it was and what it was pointing at. He kept his eyes on the target and Phil’s never left Tom’s.

Now the muzzle was clear from his waistband, Tom simply brought the weapon up, twisting his wrist to raise the weapon’s barrel until it was parallel with the ground and against his hip, making sure he cleared his body away from the muzzle as much as possible.

Bend that hip back and he knew he’d have a firm position for the pistol.

He pulled the trigger.

The weapon report seemed to bring everything back into real time. The first round hit Phil. Tom didn’t know where; he didn’t need to. His eyes told him all he wanted to know.

He kept on firing low into Phil. There was no such thing as overkill. If Phil could move, he could fire. If it took a whole magazine to be sure, then that was what he’d fire. He took three rounds until he was down onto the ground, writhing in pain and shock as blood spurted out. Tom could no longer see Phil’s hands. He was curled up in a ball, holding his stomach. Tom moved forward and fired two aimed shots at the head, then spun round.

The other two were now in the room. Tom kept firing low until they, too, were down, in a lake of their own blood. As their legs flailed, they smeared it, like angel wings in the snow. The men’s screams sounded muffled for a moment; it wasn’t until Tom started to move that the volume bounced back up.

Colburn collapsed into the doorway, blocking it, but for now that didn’t matter. All that did was getting the weapons away from reach.

Colburn tried futilely to grab hold of him. Tom turned, brought the pistol down against his thigh and zapped off another round.

That one definitely hit the bone. He heard the thud and crunch. Colburn’s screams drowned out the others’.

Tom grabbed him by the feet and pulled him into the room. The expanse of blood on the floor made it easy. He closed the door.

Don was closest to him. Tom bent down into his face and screamed at him: ‘Why are we all fucked up because of the van?’