Jax lifted his arm to acknowledge Father Martin. He’d seen only a round silhouette amid the brightness, but that, along with the voice and smell, was enough to tell him it was the priest.

‘Relax,’ Martin said. The voice no longer reverberated painfully; Jax’s ears were adjusting. ‘Take your time. Boy, you really did give us all a scare, didn’t you?’

Jax felt like he was floating underwater, his bones still reverberating from the effects of the now-inaudible violence. He opened his eyes again, slowly this time, admitting only a sliver of light. Still the fluorescent glare stung.

For a moment he became confused, thinking he was back in his army cot, with no one shot, no one locked up, everything as it should be. Then he felt confused by his confusion. For he never got confused.

He tried to remember what had happened. The images were foggy and vague: he saw angels, heard an alarm, felt cold hands. Nonsensical. He closed his eyes, concentrated harder and tried again, diving deeper this time, knowing that what he needed was there, if only he could access it.

Crisper images slowly began to emerge. White-washed, hazy memories were spliced with frames of complete clarity. Now he saw nurses, not angels, a heart-rate monitor rather than an alarm, defibrillation paddles instead of celestial hands.

He went back further, skipping past a dream that was definitely a dream to the previous thing he could recall. Then he watched it all in reverse. He smelled their flesh burning before he saw the fire. Then he heard the boom and saw the fear in their faces.

The bomb. It had worked. Nikki . . .

‘What happened?’ he asked, wondering how much the priest knew.

‘Terrible thing,’ Father Martin said, tut-tutting. ‘Just terrible. An explosion, they say. I think they’re still looking into the cause. You’ve been asleep for a few days. Maybe more. I thought you might not pull through. But I stayed and I prayed.’

‘Am I the only one who survived?’ Jax croaked, opening his eyes and looking at the chaplain.

‘Oh, you don’t—’

‘No, I want to know. I need to know.’

The priest’s look changed from concern to slightly alarmed.

‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but all the others died,’ he said quietly. Then he paused.

Jax could tell he was being studied. He did his best to conceal any hint of relief.

‘Except for one,’ the priest said.

Pain shot up the back of Jax’s neck as he jerked his head from the pillow, stunned by this last piece of information. Then his head fell back onto his pillow as he passed out.

THE CHAPLAIN was still there, eyes closed and mouth moving silently in prayer, when Jax came to again some minutes later. He almost dropped the Bible that was resting on his lap when Jax said his name.