Leon couldn’t believe this was happening: it was simultaneously terrifying and surreal. He was an animal cowering in the undergrowth and Kurt was the hunter.

What had triggered Kurt to chase him? People had been visiting this part of the forest for weeks now without Kurt going after them, so it didn’t make sense. Something else must have happened.

Leon puffed as he struggled through scrub, and the forest breathed too. Then the rain eased and stillness settled again. He was aware of every sound, every tiny movement, every nuance of the bush. The peppery scent of the shrubs. The dense smell of wet earth. The misty light. The touch of leaves on his cheeks. He saw how cloud had settled over the forest like a coat. He heard thunder rumble.

When his knee snapped a stick, the noise radiated through the quietness. A loud crash downslope told him Kurt was coming. Instinct commanded him to run, but sudden movements would give him away. He fought to calm himself so he could think. There must be eighty metres between them, so he had some time.

A shot rang out and slapped into a tree somewhere. Not very close. Kurt was just guessing; he didn’t know Leon’s location. Stooping low, Leon crabbed over a slippery log—then skidded and fell, vegetation collapsing beneath him. He paused and held his breath, hoping Kurt hadn’t heard. The crashing stopped: Kurt must be listening too.

On hands and knees Leon went on, trying to increase his distance from Kurt. Soon the way opened a little and, semi-crouching, he ran. The terrain was awkward and uneven, and he worried about making noise as he shoved through the scrub. He needed to find somewhere to hide.

He came to a thicket of grass and wriggled in. Fern fronds waved overhead, and through them he could see the dull sky. He groped for his phone to check for reception, but the screen was smashed and the phone wouldn’t work—it was useless. He slipped it back into his pocket. Squatting, he waited, listening for Kurt.

Now that he’d stopped moving, his mind started racing. Thoughts and images flashed at him like fireworks. He saw himself lying dead on the forest floor, eyes glazed, a bullet hole in his head. He saw his mother’s face as she phoned him again and again, to no answer. His father sitting shrivelled and yellow in bed. Grandpa in his lonely room staring at a door that never opened. Bonnie running circles in the yard, racing along the fence then sitting quietly watching the road. Food rotting in his fridge. The Parks staff waiting for him to return this afternoon; Terry helping to organise a search party.