Still the father was coming, hauling himself through the blood and the slime on the concrete floor, his face a mess of boils and sores. Much nearer now. Ella backed away from him. He was making a sort of brushing sound as the air came out through his blocked nose. His eyes all the while staring at Ella with that clear, serious look.

Unable to see what was behind her, Ella tripped and stumbled, went dancing back and crashed into an iron support pillar. She slid down on to her bottom, too surprised to feel any pain. And still the father came on, one hand forward, then the other, dragging himself over the dead bodies.

Ella looked around for something to defend herself with and saw Daniel’s head sitting on the floor. It was as if he was looking at her. His lips had shrunk back from his teeth so that he was smiling, laughing even. Laughing at the useless little girl who thought she could hurt a grown-up.

Ella closed her eyes. She’d finally had enough. There was nothing left in her. She gave a little laugh. There wasn’t even any fear left in her. It had all been used up. Let him come. Let him do what he was going to do and then it would all be over. Maybe she’d see Sam in heaven. That would be nice.

The bang was so loud it left Ella’s ears ringing. She wondered if the father had hit her. But she didn’t feel anything. And there had been a flash behind her eyelids. She forced them open, forced herself to look. The father was lying on his side, blood leaking out of him.

He’d been shot.

‘Scarface?’ she said, looking around.

‘No,’ said a voice, very close, almost at her side, and she saw Harry sitting propped up against the wall of the barn, holding Scarface’s shotgun. Ella crawled over to him, too weak to stand.

‘Harry?’

‘He gave me the gun.’ Harry’s face was white, spotted with blood.

‘Your friend,’ he went on. ‘There were only two shells left. I was saving the last one. It’s done now.’

‘Oh, Harry,’ said Ella. She couldn’t think what else to say.

Harry nodded over to where Scarface was lying.

‘He tried to save me,’ he said. ‘He’s all right, you know.’

‘No, he’s hurt.’

‘He’s hurt … Idiot. I mean he’s an all-right guy. All night he stood over me. Fighting them off. I couldn’t move. Some of the bastards got to me. The girls ran away. Went up the ladder. I don’t blame them. There was just too many of the bastards. And some of them, they could climb. Yeah. Couldn’t believe that. Never seen it before. They tried to get up the ladder. Your friend, he pulled them down.’