She twirled around just as the curved steel exploded towards her, a glimmering blur in the moonlight. She dropped to the floor. It swept past, thunking into the plastic side of a wheelie bin, laying it open like a human corpse, foul detritus disgorging like entrails. Lucy made a frantic forward roll away from her attacker, but as she leapt back to her feet, he came at her again, this time with a backhand slash. She jumped backward, just evading it. As before, the blade sliced into the nearest bin, more filth spurting from the wound.

Lucy caught a flying glimpse of the face under the hood; it looked unnaturally pale, and yes, she could see that fixed Halloween grin that so many who’d survived the Creep had reported. As he wrenched the sword free, she spotted that it had a guarded hilt at one end, just, as the reports had said, like an old-fashioned cavalry sabre.

Lucy backed away from him, retreating deeper into the innards of the sepulchral building.

‘I’m a police officer,’ she warned him, breathless. ‘You cut me with that thing, you’re gonna be in bigger trouble than you’ve ever known.’

With face in shadow, he advanced at a half-crouch, sabre held loosely in his gloved right hand, blade turning slightly, back and forth, back and forth, a clear indication of how flexible a tool he found it.

Lucy retreated more quickly, trying to recollect what she could about this place. If her memories were correct, there was a single flight of stone steps somewhere behind, leading up to the first level, at which point three corridors ran off between apartments, one on the left, one on the right, one straight ahead.

‘I’m warning you,’ she said again.

He lunged at her, this time a thrust rather than a swipe, trying to skewer rather than slice, forcing her to jump aside but at the same time throw herself forward, grappling with him chest-to-chest. He was so startled by this that he temporarily froze – and wasn’t remotely prepared for the blast of CS agent she directed into his face.

Lucy had used this weapon many times, and always there was gasping, choking, gagging, the assailant tottering backward, hands clawing at streaming eyes. But this time it made no difference. He didn’t so much as flinch – which surprised her, and instead grabbed her throat with his free hand, flinging her sideways, her spine jolting against the brick jamb of an interior doorway. The next blow he aimed at her was two-handed, and would have severed her head from her torso, had she not struck down at him with the only heavy device she had to hand – her radio; she swung it from on high, crunching it into his collar bone.