I’m so focused on Cain, I forget about the loose floorboard outside the bedroom. It whines under my foot sending a current over my skin. I press the bedroom door open, the bedside lamp is on and Cain’s still there. He has fallen in beneath the covers.

‘Cain,’ I say, a little louder. I was hearing things. My ears playing a trick on me through the rumbling, pounding storm. Yet it was so clear, I’m sure I heard the lock. Something is on the bedside table, it’s so out of place, so absurd as if in a dream. A medical syringe lies on its side, the needle pointing at me. What is that? My heart slams, yet still I can barely move. What is that syringe doing there? Did Cain take something? Or – a new thought comes that freezes me – did someone administer something, someone who is still here? I step closer, reaching to pull the sheet back. My heart feels like it’s bruising with each thud against my sternum. There’s another sound. The loose floorboard. My hand is on the sheet but now my heart stops. I brace. I can’t move at all.

‘He will be fine.’ A gasp. My body leaps. I swing around, facing the door and see him. The scream doesn’t come; it’s a bird trapped in my throat, beating its wings. The shotgun comes up slowly. The barrel stares me in the eye. My feet won’t move. Nothing moves.

‘Come on,’ he says, his voice deep, distorted by the mask strapped to his face. It’s a relic from an early war; black rubber, a canister hanging down below the chin. Beyond the two round pieces of glass, like a pair of old coins in a well, I see eyes looking out at me. Deep green eyes. It’s you, I think. Daniel.

‘Please… Wh-what do you want?’ Weakness, that’s what this feeling is. A malaise, like falling limp and playing dead.

‘We’re going to talk,’ he says, a voice full of gravel. He’s disguising himself, his voice. That’s a good sign. I’d heard that somewhere. If they’re hiding their face they’re planning on leaving you alive. But what if he’s hiding it for some other reason? I’m not prepared to test the theory. He lowers the gun, so the barrel is directed at the floor. He turns, sweeps his arm in a gesture for me to leave the room. My heart is a fist, air is trapped in my throat. How can I move, how can I do anything?

‘Come on, little rabbit,’ he says. He steps back, and gestures again. In the light of the hallway, his black hood keeps his face and that awful mask in shadow.

‘Please,’ I say, ‘let me go, you can take whatever you want but just don’t hurt us. Please don’t hurt us.’