She supposed she deserved it. After what she’d done to Vernon. Her boots in his ribs, Judah’s in her own.

She looked at the phone again. Maybe Peter wouldn’t come for her at all. She lifted her shirt, difficult with one hand, and saw half of her side turning purple, where the boot tip had struck. She didn’t dare touch it, and gingerly lowered her shirt.

A car pulled up outside and then through the door with the smashed lock walked her son. Peter looked over the station, looked at his mother behind the counter. His eyes widened.

‘Mum?’

‘Hey sweetheart,’ she said, struggling to sit up.

He came over to her slowly, trying to puzzle out what he was seeing. His face fell. ‘What happened?’

‘I just need to get to the hospital.’

‘Bloody hell. Mum. What happened? Are you . . .?’ Peter reached out a hand to touch her face. ‘You were in a fight? Have you seen your nose?’

‘I was.’

Her son’s eyes hardened at this. ‘Who did it?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘Who?’

‘Peter,’ she said, and saw him look at her weapon, on the ground by the door. ‘Just get me to hospital. Please.’

‘You need an ambulance.’

‘I’m alright. I can walk.’

‘You didn’t shoot? Bloody hell, look at your arm.’

‘Hospital, please.’

She saw tears brimming in his eyes. He swiped at them, nodded, and put his head beneath her arm. She let him take all her weight and he lurched with her to the door, then to the car. He propped her up against it as he opened the passenger door and helped her in.

Before he started the car, he said, ‘Shouldn’t you lock up?’

Sharon smiled sadly. ‘Can’t. They blew the lock off with a shotgun. You didn’t see it?’

Peter shook his head. He backed out of the lot and Sharon watched him as he drove with his usual ease, lounging back in the seat, one hand on the bottom of the wheel. If he was panicked about his mother he was doing a good job of hiding it.

Sharon said, ‘I was attacked because—’

‘With a bloody shotgun—’

‘Because I didn’t give people what they wanted.’

‘You should’ve just given them what they wanted, then.’

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘They wanted a man.’

Peter slowed down and put on his right indicator. ‘So did you stop them getting him?’

‘No.’

‘So you getting beaten to hell didn’t do any good?’

‘I don’t know what good it did. But I feel good I didn’t give in.’

‘Well, it doesn’t look good.’

Sharon smiled, felt her nose twinge. ‘Yeah. Guess it doesn’t.’

TWENTY-EIGHT

CALEB MOORE

He made it to his parents’ house. Found the key in the shed, up on the shelf out of sight. He went back and opened the front door and walked inside calling out for them, but nobody answered. He made himself some sandwiches and sat there eating happily, enjoying the ability to make decisions for himself, choose what to do. He was free, though he knew that each moment he spent outside prison meant a longer time in it. It may be worth it, though, if those Cahills were coming for his parents. If he could protect them.