It had a calm certainty. Dipped its head to drink again.

A little way from the pool sparrows folded in the dust.

The thin needling cry of a swift scratched the air.

They had hoped for rain, to diminish somewhat any casual enthusiasm for the protest. But the sun had got stronger through the afternoon, and the heat began to come up off the roof and catch under the hood.

Branner took some of his water ration.

‘Baffle nine,’ came Control.

‘Check,’ said Branner.

There was the soft white noise of electric traffic, filtered through the city. The sun flashed on the perimeter fence below.

Then Branner saw a small boy clamber through the failure in the panel and run, in a headlong way, towards the dog. The boy too looked feral. He would be seven or eight, guessed Branner.

Before the boy could get to the dog, the dog bounded away. Then stopped. Turned.

Barks reached Branner out of synch with the snaps of the dog’s jaw.

The dog was playing, but the boy seemed distraught. Gave loose, frustrated flaps of his arms, as if he tried uselessly to leave the ground.

The dog was delighted. Rolled in the dust. Stretched in the sun. Approached.

But every time the young boy took a step, the dog ran away.

In the end, the boy sat down in the dirt.

Branner saw the fence ripple again. The second boy had snagged his clothing. His face, in the globe of Branner’s scope, was angry and flushed. No more than a few years older than the first boy. He looked asthmatic, Branner thought.

There was some chatter on the comms, but Branner kept his focus on this second boy. The boy had torn his football shirt getting through the fence and shouted across the waste ground. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he walked.

It was clear the boys were brothers.

When the younger brother got up from the dirt, the older brother held him by the arm, and the dog barked once, percussively, as if something had been dropped.

Then the smaller boy began to bawl words into the other’s face. It seemed to pummel the older boy.

It was strange to see. Not hearing anything, at the distance Branner was from them.

Something, then, came across the children.

The dog became compressed and stiff, stared tensely past the boys. Growled, inaudibly to Branner. The minutest shake. Then it uncoiled and hammered off towards the empty river.

Branner looked to see what had caused the dog to spook. The younger boy already ran and shouted after it. The older pleading, hardly able to lift his feet.

Branner leant to the scope and went about a rhythmic grid check, sure he’d see another dog. Or people. Did not. Checked the waste ground patch by patch.

When he looked up, having done so, both the boys were gone.