I sit back, gasping for breath. The heat is unbearable, hammering down like noon in the Barrens, and for a moment I think the shape in my vision is a sun-spot. But there is no sun. When I look again, I see a figure in silhouette, standing there, watching me.

Fear shimmers across my skin.

‘Who’s there?’ I croak. The figure doesn’t move.

Shaking, I grope behind me, searching for something, anything to use as a weapon. But instead of the glass bottle, my fingers touch wet flesh, splintered bone. I recoil in horror.

Moloney lies beside the General, his head bleeding. His eyes, blue and piercing, swivel to fix upon me.

‘No—’ My voice is rough with fear. ‘You’re dead.’

The bandit grins. ‘Takes one to know one.’

‘We’re not dead,’ I whisper.

I close my eyes, digging my nails into my palm, willing my mind to return to reality. But when I finally look again, it’s the same viscous light, the same fibreglass grin.

‘I’m losing my mind,’ I say.

The corpse laughs. ‘Losing?’

‘What is this? What is happening?’

The dead bandit rolls his eyes to the blind sky. ‘This is the Suplicio.’

‘How do we get out?’

‘You can’t.’ Moloney flops on his side towards me.

I seize the General by one arm, dragging her across the sand. It must hurt, because she wakes with a shriek, loud enough to make me stop.

‘What—’ She struggles, before looking at her side. ‘Ow.’

I can barely breathe, staring at Moloney. ‘We have to get away.’

‘Away?’ The General struggles upright. ‘From what?’ She looks around, her eyes passing right over Moloney’s corpse.

‘You can’t see him?’

She looks confused, before laughing weakly, reaching for the mezcal bottle where it lies in the sand.

‘This will drive you mad faster than the heat.’ She sways as she stares at it. ‘But perhaps you’re right.’

Before I can stop her, she unscrews the bottle and swallows a mouthful of the burning liquor.

‘Thank you, Moloney,’ she wheezes.

Beyond her shoulder, Moloney frowns. A bit of his brain falls out.

‘That’s my coat,’ he says.

I take the bottle.

* * *

‘You know what I hate? Shoes. And the army boots, they ruined our feet y’know. Put us in them so young, they changed the shape and now I can’t wear anything else. Feet like tree roots, Giang used to say.’ She takes a swig.

‘Who’s Giang?’

‘Wing Commander – my best friend.’

I’ve long given up on trying to fathom a direction; there’s no point, not when there’s no sun and nothing moves.

‘Where are you going?’ Moloney whines, a few paces behind us. ‘We won’t get there like this.’

‘Get where?’

‘To hell.’

‘Leave me alone. You’re dead.’ I reach for the mezcal.

‘I’m what?’ the General slurs.

‘Moloney.’

‘Still see him?’

‘What do you see?’