Ewan grabbed the nearest pack of batteries and headed back for the warehouse. He had been right about the looters; with so many boxes strewn across the aisles it was difficult to find Shannon. By the time he did, she was ripping open the cardboard packet. She removed the GPS tracker and tossed it over to him, and he got to work with the batteries.

‘Bloody hell, I miss the internet,’ he muttered. ‘In the old days this whole trip could have been avoided by using a search engine.’

He took a moment to feel grateful that the Underdogs still had phones even though the internet was gone. Nicholas Grant could have knocked out their communications just by destroying a few phone masts, and the simple reason he hadn’t was because he had needed telephones too. His Citadels’ secure intranet system, however, had enabled him to safely cut off internet access for the whole of Britain without impacting himself.

‘Yeah,’ answered Shannon, ‘well, here are the numbers when you’re ready for them.’

‘One second… go.’

‘Fifty-one point eight one two—’

‘Wait wait, slow down. Let me process what you’re saying.’

Shannon sighed sympathetically.

‘Sorry, Ewan,’ she said. ‘I still keep forgetting. You just don’t—’

‘I don’t look like I have learning difficulties. Yeah, heard it before.’

‘Well, you just seem really capable…’

‘Wow, autistic guy with PDA and anger issues is capable of doing stuff. Stop the bloody press. Now just go slowly. Fifty-one…’

Shannon read out the rest of the numbers with a saddened look on her face, which may have meant guilt. It made Ewan feel sad too. Normally it was nice and satisfying when he made someone realise just how little they understood his needs, but there was no satisfaction when it happened to Shannon.

‘Seven five eight eight,’ Ewan repeated as he typed in the final numbers. ‘And our mystery location is…’

He pushed the search button, and waited for the map to load. When it did, it revealed a large building the outskirts of Harpenden.

‘Where is it?’ asked Shannon.

‘Not far at all. About half a day’s walk from Spitfire’s Rise. In fact, pretty close to…’

Ewan looked closer, and his eyes widened.

‘Ewan, what is it?’

The device shook in Ewan’s hand. He was trembling from a mix of fear and rage, which must have been what Nicholas Grant had wanted when he had chosen the location.

He threw the GPS tracker against the nearest wall, where it smashed to pieces. Unsatisfied, he took a short run-up and booted an empty box down the warehouse aisle. It didn’t go as far as he wanted, thudding to a quick stop like it was trying to insult him, so Ewan ran again with a scream and stamped it into the ground as if it were personal.

‘Ewan?’