Vincent needed a whole mile to put something together. He said, ‘I think it’s a nice theory. But I saw the reality. I saw people starved, electrocuted, drowned, driven literally insane with sleep deprivation. Blown apart, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose. It was absolutely hideous. And that’s what our side was doing. That’s what the good guys were doing. And then you think of the thousands of people who did my kind of work and saw the same thing, in different circumstances.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m just relieved to have nothing to do with it anymore.’

‘I didn’t realise you’re so opposed to violence.’

An edge to the line. It echoed what her father had said to him: What happened to being a pacifist?

Vincent said, ‘I’m not opposed to violence. I’m opposed to violence against people who don’t deserve it. Especially if it’s justified as accidental, or serving some kind of broader strategic aim. There’s nothing decent or moral about it.’ He thought for another moment, and then said, ‘Which is a long way of saying, “it’s bullshit”.’

He delivered it to his side window, and kept looking that way through the silence that ensued. He had no idea of her reaction.

Five minutes passed, and then Erin said tightly, ‘Well, maybe you should write the introduction to the paperback. In the interests of balance.’

The address they’d been given was on Old Stage Coach Road, north and east of the downtown area. The initial stretch off the highway was bitumen, but after a mile the road turned to dirt, wending through pine trees and past wooden shacks—dust-filmed and unpainted behind yards filled with rusted machinery.

The fire the radio had mentioned was ten miles east, and there was smoke in the air, a thin skein of it high up, and a faint acridity filtering through the car’s AC. The terrain was hilly, and above the pine-tree belt the grassed slopes were brown, starved back to bare dirt in places. The Range Rover bumped and wallowed in the scalloped ground, and their progress was traced out in dust—a five-foot cloud, thin and almost motionless along the road behind them.

Vincent was checking their route on Google Maps. He said, ‘This road doesn’t link up anywhere. It’s a dead end.’

‘Is that a problem?’

‘Not necessarily. Just be prepared to back up in a hurry.’

The trees thinned after a couple of miles, and the road straightened as the contours grew less severe.

Vincent said, ‘My signal’s patchy. I think I’m going to lose it.’ He’d been keeping track of mailbox numbers, and as they crested a shallow rise he said, ‘I think this is us over here.’