Con grabbed Jack’s hands and pushed them against his side. ‘Keep pressure on here, mate. We need to get you out of the rain. Murphy, help me take him into the hut.’

‘No,’ groaned Jack. ‘Don’t . . .’

Murphy helped Eliza to her feet. ‘Shine the torch for us.’

‘I shot him!’

‘Yeah, and I’ll congratulate you later, but right now, we need to get him stable, so can you light the bloody way?’ shouted Murphy.

Eliza took the torch from him, her whole body shaking uncontrollably. Murphy and Con lifted Jack through the hut’s open door in a chair carry. Eliza followed, the rifle in one hand and the torch in the other, lighting the way for them as best she could. She saw Jack’s dirtbike, resting against a tree nearby, hidden from view.

The hut was as she remembered it. Timber slats for walls, a rotten timber floor that slanted down to a rocky hollow dug out at the back. The camping mattress was still there and it brought her a strange lurch of sickening nostalgia. The men lowered Jack onto it.

Her torch beam found two large hiking backpacks propped against the wall, packed to the brim. One yellow, one pink.

‘What happened, Eliza?’ said Con, his hands over Jack’s, keeping the wound tight.

‘I . . . I saw him standing there, and in the rain, with his helmet, he looked so . . . I just . . . Murphy crashed through the bush behind me and I just lost my head.’ Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry, Jack.’

‘What the hell is this?’ said Murphy. He unzipped the pink backpack and pulled out girls clothes, tent pegs, protein bars and ramen noodles, a first-aid kit . . .

‘Don’t, Murphy,’ said Con sharply. ‘It’s evidence. Don’t touch it.’

Murphy put the pack on the floor. He turned, his hair wet, his face fierce. He raised himself to his fullest height, voice filling the hut. ‘What are you doing out here, Jack? Why do you have a backpack full of girls clothes?’

‘Don’t, please,’ said Eliza, moving to stand between him and Jack. ‘Wait for the ambulance.’

‘Where is Jasmine?’ bellowed Murphy.

‘Gone,’ groaned Jack, shivering. ‘I dunno where.’

‘What do you know?’

‘Murphy, now’s not the best time,’ said Con through gritted teeth, pushing down on Jack’s wound as hard as he could.

‘They set it up, Murphy.’ Jack winced. ‘Need to know . . . the girls set it up.’

Eliza held her breath. Relief rushed in through the fear and guilt.

The fight. I’ll have to tell them now.

‘They set up what?’ said Con.

‘Madison’s . . . idea . . .’ Every breath seemed to bring Jack agony.

‘You’re lying,’ snarled Murphy. ‘Jasmine wouldn’t do anything that stupid.’