He sat on a hump in the dry grass and swapped his shorts for a white shirt, corduroy trousers, socks and finally the boots. He’d never worn proper boots before and his first steps were an exploration of their heaviness and the unyielding soles. They didn’t seem a bad fit.

Although Marc was more comfortable barefoot, the boots were a thrill. They made him feel grown up and for a few moments he sensed freedom and excitement. But it wasn’t long before he considered that someone might be after him and he quickly swung the pigskin over his back and straddled the bike for the journey downhill.

Marc had wanted to see Beauvais for as long as he could remember. It was a town of less than 50,000 people, but to a boy from nowhere the cathedral, the cinemas and the shops with handmade chocolates and cream cakes piled in the windows were the stuff of legend.

But the city was on the main invasion route heading towards Paris and the German air force’s attempts to soften it up had turned Marc’s dream into a nightmare. The final stretch of road into town was like hell, with the smell of burning fuel in the air and curls of smoke drifting across the face of the moon. The road was partially blocked by a crater with the remains of a car tilted into it. Charred trees at the roadside had been cut to make a clear path for traffic, but this ground was uneven and Marc was forced to dismount.

Marc wheeled his bike close to the road’s edge and noticed a line of bodies covered with blankets or jackets. As if this wasn’t spooky enough a huge rat scuttled across his path and cut into the trees. A glance into the crater exposed him to the shadowy outlines of rats and crows bickering over blood and intestines that had spilled when a body had been dragged away.

Completely revolted, Marc was hit by the reality of being alone. He’d just passed two elderly refugees wheeling pet birds and a ginger cat and he considered running back and begging them for help.

But realistically they were in no position to help anyone. Marc looked towards the black outline of Beauvais and contemplated turning back towards the orphanage. If a man important enough to own a smart car could end up with his guts spilled across the road, what chance did a twelve-year-old orphan have?

Trouble was, he had burned his bridges. He could just imagine Lanier and the others laughing their arses off when they heard that he’d run away, only to arrive back within the hour. And as for the reactions of Sebastien and Director Tomas …