Fair point. And, admittedly, a strong cup of tea was suddenly very appealing. Or coffee with a quarter pound of sugar in it. “Was the hob on?”

Milly shook her head. “Gas is out too.”

Ellie nodded. Made sense. Gas meant both heat or light, and the attackers would deprive their intended victims of both if they could. Milly patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Got an idea.”

She slipped into a consulting room, emerging with an armful of blankets. The survivors wrapped themselves as tightly as they could in them and huddled closer around the waning, warmthless lanterns. Shared body heat was better than nothing; besides, there were worse dangers than the cold tonight.

Charlotte was still in her underwear, but the surgery ran a charity collection for unwanted clothing and Milly found jeans, heavy boots, a t-shirt and a sweater for her. Very infra dig compared to what Charlotte normally wore, but she seemed happy enough to wear them tonight.

The sounds from outside ebbed and flowed; whenever Ellie thought they were going to fade out completely, they rose again. And she just sat, as Barsall died around her, her neighbours, her friends. She was a police officer; it was her duty to keep order.

Well, go on out then. You know you won’t. You know you’re staying put.

Ellie tried to think of an alternative, but found none. Instead, she opened the box and began counting the flares. There were twenty: she began peeling off the paper wrapping, so they could be deployed more quickly if needed. She stuffed wads of shredded paper in her jacket pockets: it’d burn quickly. If light was the creatures’ enemy, fire was her friend.

She tried to think of nothing as she worked, or find a good memory to focus on. But her mind wouldn’t settle. She’d made some memories in Barsall, among the quiet of the Peaks, but the present poisoned them. Before that, she’d made memories with Stan, with Richard; she tried to dwell only on the good times with them, while they’d lasted, but there too her focus was dragged inevitably forward to the ending.

She’d finished a long shift to find her phone full of missed calls and messages: school first, then Stan. Richard had collapsed in the playground. They’d tried to get Ellie but couldn’t. Stan was at the hospital. Richard was in intensive care. And then the other voice messages:

Ellie, where are you?

Ellie, call me.

Ellie, call me as soon as you get this.