Life wasn’t meant to be this: fleeing in fear from a predator. It was meant to be so much more than what Leon had achieved so far in his twenty-six years. It wasn’t meant to be stolen.

His breathing slowed and his mind refocused. All around he could hear the sounds of the forest. He was like a rabbit, ears and eyes tuned to detect the approach of his hunter. Each crackle of bushes could be Kurt. Were those footfalls—that steady, even crunching? Should he flee?

He couldn’t bear to wait any longer. Worming out from his hiding place, he scraped free of ferns and took off, quicker this time and panicky, stumbling across the contour and then down, making too much noise, forcing through banks of vegetation, wattle flowers dehiscing yellow dust as he shoved past. If he could somehow get to the main track, he could sprint to the Toyota. But which way to go? His sense of direction was skewed. All the trees looked the same.

He came to an area of tall regrowth trees and bashed his way through, turning uphill to confuse Kurt. Sticks and litter crackled underfoot, but he couldn’t afford to go slower.

At a recently logged site, he stopped to listen. The open space ahead with no trees was a risk—he had to reach cover. He sprinted downhill, leaping over debris, dirt and piles of dead branches, smashing through tree crowns and bark mounds. A stick caught between his legs and he fell, grovelling, stabbing a twig into his palm. Adrenaline launched him back to his feet and sent him racing towards a patch of bushes lower down where he could go to ground and catch breath.

As he reached the edge of the clearing, a loud crack cut the air and dirt splattered near his feet. Kurt was shooting at him again. Leon leaped into the air, crashing over a log and skewering his shin on a fallen branch as he dived into the scrub while more shots pinged around.

Kurt’s voice echoed across the logged coupe. ‘You fucked my sister, you bastard. Now I’m going to fuck you.’

In the cover, Leon squatted and gasped for air while bullets smacked into trees. What the hell was Kurt on about? He hadn’t touched Miki. This guy was so crazy he didn’t know his own sister. Leon tried to think what to do next. He was wet with sweat and fear, and he could smell himself: sharp and rank. He considered his position. He was mud-caked and covered in cuts, a blood-soaked sleeve from a gashed arm, a shredded shin. The reality of his situation almost drew a sob from him. He had to stay calm or he would break.