Johan shakes his head. “The nearest hostel is half a day’s walk away. By the time you got there and back, even if someone did have one …” He tails off and nods towards Al. “Our best bet is to hide and continue on in the morning, or keep going but slower. We’ll have to keep to the edges of the paths, just in case anyone comes after us, but we could do it. If we can get to the Maoist checkpoint, someone there could call for an ambulance.”

“I don’t need an ambulance.” Al pushes up on her thighs and stands upright. “Let’s go.”

“No.” I touch her on the arm. “Let’s wait it out. We can find somewhere to hide.”

“And freeze to death? I pushed myself too hard, that’s all. I’ve got my breath back now. If I take it easy, I’ll be fine. And besides” – she glances at Johan, who’s rubbing his forearms with his hands – “if we wait until morning, we’re more likely to be spotted.”

“If you’re sure, then—” Johan freezes. We all hear it: voices, men’s voices, further up the mountain. Shouting, calling to each other.

“Go.” Al grabs my hand. “Go!”

The shouts grow louder, joined by the sound of heavy footsteps scrambling down the mountain behind us, pebbles and stones crunching and crashing, and branches snapping. Al and I are still hand in hand, but she’s lagging behind and I have to drag her after me. Her face is deathly pale in the moonlight, her lips blue, but every time I glance behind to check if she’s okay, she glares at me, urging me on. I know Johan could run faster than he is. Instead, he stays with us, shouting directions, pointing out broken steps and steep drops. My heart is pounding in my ears and my lungs are burning, but my legs keep moving, carrying me further away from Ekanta Yatra and closer to safety.

A woman screams and all the hairs on my neck stand up.

I’d know that scream anywhere. Daisy.

My ankle gives way as I twist round to check, and my hand, sticky with sweat, slides out of Al’s grasp and I slip off the step and tumble to my right, towards a steep drop. With nothing to break my fall, I hurtle down the mountain, spinning over and over and over, crashing through bushes and bouncing over rocks, down, down, down. Branches and bushes, a blur of green and brown, scratch my palms as I claw at the air, desperate for something, anything, to slow my descent, but I’m going too fast. I roll over and over and over and screw my eyes tightly shut. I’m going to die. I’m going to—