Jess halted and stumbled back to the gate; it yawned open to show a littered back yard and a house with shattered windows. The back doorway lay open, a black charcoal mark above it. Jess shoved the gate closed behind her, but the bolt was gone: They must have smashed the gate open to get at the house, rather than climb the glass-topped walls.

Jess ran to the back doorway and through the kitchen. Her back was agony; she could hardly breathe.

The brothers ran behind the houses, and Ernie and Laura went out after them. Mistake, thought Noel; they could have fired on the bastards from the cover of the garden entrance. He could provide covering fire from there, at least; his rifle easily had the range.

Ernie fired at the brothers; Paul fired back with his rifle and Laura dived to the ground. Ernie cursed, ducked down and fired his twelve-bore’s second barrel in response. The brothers disappeared through a back gate up ahead; as Ernie broke the shotgun open to reload, a gun barrel poked out into view.

“Ernie! Get down!” Noel shouted.

A shotgun boomed twice; Ernie fell with a cry. Noel ducked back inside the garden’s entryway as pellets smacked into the stonework, then peered out again as the shotgun boomed a third time, to see snow explode from the ground inches from Laura Caddick.

Ernie lay curled up on the path, groaning. Blood on the snow. Up ahead, a bulky figure, a baseball cap on its bald head, was aiming around a wooden gatepost.

As Laura fired back with her shotgun, Noel moved out onto the path and lay down in the snow, tucking the rifle stock into his shoulder and adjusting the sight until a pink blur resolved itself into Frank Harper’s face. Frank’s shotgun flashed and boomed; shot whistled over Noel’s head. Laura fired again and Frank let off a wild blast that tore up another strip of snow, then pulled back out of view.

Laura went forward in a low, crouching run. As Noel got the gateway into sharp focus, Frank leant back out, raising the shotgun.

A headshot would be more certain, but that was a smaller target, easier to miss. Noel shifted the crosshairs to the centre of Frank Harper’s chest, crooked his finger around the trigger and squeezed.

The rifle drove back against his shoulder; the crack of the shot rang and echoed down the flank of Slapelow Hill and out across Fendmoor. Frank Harper was driven back against the post behind him. There was no pain on his face, only confusion and surprise. He stood up straight, stepping out of the gateway, then dropped his shotgun, fell face-down in the snow and began crawling painfully across the path.