Liam pulls the key out of his pocket as we race to the back door. He shoves it into the lock, and we fall inside as if the cottage is a burrow that will keep us safe from predators.

I stagger into the front room, panting and shaking. My vision blurs and something comes at me: a dark shape lunging from the corner of the room. I duck and let out a scream, but it’s only the crow. I bat her away as Liam comes tearing into the room, switchblade in hand, arm raised in battle.

The bird screeches, flying lopsided with only one wing, and careers into the wall before landing in the corner of the room, cawing in fright.

The panic that has been gathering like a whirlwind inside me finally bursts out in a howling sob. I collapse to the floor in a heap as Liam stands there, knife still clutched in his hand, pumped on adrenaline.

‘Fuck,’ he exhales. ‘Fuck,’ he says again, staring around the room.

I see through my tears that the bird has crapped everywhere; there are white streaks on the sofa, the fireplace, the coffee table and the rug.

‘How did it get out of the box?’ Liam yells.

Another sob rises in my chest. I fight it down. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’ I see that the box has tipped over. She must have wanted to escape her confines: a feeling I can sympathise with.

‘Get it the hell out of here,’ Liam snaps impatiently.

I struggle to my knees.

‘They’ll make us pay for the damage,’ Liam mutters, waving his hand at the sofas, which are covered in white splotches. ‘These sofas are new. It’s going to cost a fortune.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, though worrying about the cost of damage seems pointless right now, given we’re facing the much bigger issue of a man on the island with a gun.

I move towards the bird, which hops frantically away from me, and I grab the towel from the floor and throw it over its head. I gather it up in my arms, though it fights me, and look around hopelessly. I can’t take it outside and leave it. It won’t survive with a broken wing. ‘I’ll put her under the stairs,’ I say, reaching for the box.

Liam shakes his head. ‘No. Look at the mess it’s made. It can’t stay.’

‘But she’ll die if I let her go now,’ I argue weakly.

‘I can speed that up,’ he answers, still fuming.