His body convulsed violently, clewing his gut, tautening muscles so tight they hurt. Mud and broken tinder had risen from the water’s depths like plankton; a single entity born from a thousand parts. Ben felt every piece of it; in his boots, under his jeans, anywhere it wasn’t welcome. He washed both hands in the water and saw the skin of his palms for the first time since the bells. The sight of them was short-lived. He buried in his kneecaps and hauled himself onto the knoll, scrabbling over towards Chloe who was already examining the cottage’s wall.

She produced their two Maglite torches from her pocket and held one out to him.

‘Good idea,’ he said, embarrassed that had he travelled alone he would have forgotten them.

‘Oh, and here.’ Her hand sank back into her jacket and returned holding a hammer. ‘It’s the only thing I could find in my house. But it should make short work of that door.’

Ben gripped the hammer, bones rising white under red skin. His hand felt its weight but not its handle. The anaesthetic was kicking in. Fingers and toes were the first to go. His heart was already thumping like an industrial pump, keeping the blood from freezing in his veins.

He left Chloe’s side and dithered over to the boarded-up doorway, being careful not to step too close to the bank. Considering how useless he felt, taking a tumble back into the flood almost seemed fitting.

‘There are new markings,’ Chloe shouted from around the corner.

‘What kind of markings?’ he asked, hammer raised, committed to strike.

‘Someone’s painted a few more symbols. They’re different from the last ones.’

‘Okay,’ he called back.

‘Hang on, don’t you want to…’

Ben struck a plank, splitting it across its centre. He stood back, wincing as maggots squirmed into sight, curling and falling, as though the wood were rotted flesh. Again, he attacked it, swinging over and over with whatever strength he had left. The first board crumbled and the most putrid air escaped from within. He kicked the ruins into the flood, wiped their filthy spray from his face, and continued his assault. Ben ignored the growing pain in his arm and swallowed back the stench that fed into his mouth like a poison. He hammered as he should have, as a man whose very life depended on it.

‘Hey,’ Chloe shouted, her voice a million miles away. ‘Hey!’

He stopped, sweating cold, and turned. She was stood beside him. He had zoned out entirely. Had she edged any closer he could have easily caught her with a blind swing.

‘Take it easy. You’re going to hurt yourself.’

‘Sorry,’ he replied, massaging some feeling into his arm. ‘It’s just, well, look for yourself.’

Chloe buried her nose in the crook of her arm. ‘Jesus, that’s foul.’