This was what had happened at Wakeman Farm and the Bell: surrounded, blacked-out, and finally broken into. Bert was alone in there; no doubt he had his shotgun handy, for all the good it would do him. Once they were inside, it would be over in minutes, if not seconds.

Ellie’s gaze shifted to the drive. How far to the farmhouse? A hundred yards? Two? She remembered the drive back from the Height. There’d be more of the creatures this time: she’d have to park up, stationary, a sitting duck for missiles aimed at her lights, while Bert ran from the house to open the car door, exposing them both to direct attack, before driving back across the top of Slapelow Hill. Hardly any distance normally, but they’d be in darkness, with the entire horde in pursuit.

The lights flickered again.

There was no chance. None at all. If she’d only been running a couple of minutes later, it would all have been over by the time she got here – nothing to do, no hard choices to make – and she could have driven back with a clear conscience.

But she hadn’t, it wasn’t, and she couldn’t.

Do your fucking job.

But the lights would be out in seconds now; Bert would be gone before she even reached the house. And if he wasn’t, what then? Again she rehearsed the mechanics of a rescue: even if Bert made it aboard, the drive back would finish them. She wouldn’t get as far as the gate.

She had everyone else in Barsall to consider too, or so she told herself. But she knew the truth: You’re afraid, Ellie Cheetham, too afraid to try.

The creatures looked away from her, as if they already sensed her choice. That almost made Ellie ram the gate and try after all, but before she could the farmhouse lights went out, and the pale silent horde rushed forward. Some clustered around the ground floor; others scuttled up the walls like lizards. Glass broke; wood cracked and split under blows.

Move. Drive. Fucking do something.

But she didn’t. Couldn’t. She already knew there was no chance, that Bert Annable was already dead.

A shotgun fired inside the house. The snow had stopped and the wind had died and the creatures made no noise as they moved, so the sound rang across the hilltop. A second shot, a third, then nothing more. Ellie might have heard a cry. Then there was only the faint sound of breaking things.

A few of the creatures remained perched on the fences. Another slunk into view at the gates, just outside the headlights’ glow, all of them facing towards her. They didn’t advance. Not yet. Go away, little coward. Live a little longer, till we come for you as well.