No, no, no. Just assume there’s nobody up there. Nobody has to die for this…

Alex One, as Jack had subconsciously named him, took his first step onto the staircase. Alex Two started to follow. Gracie would have her gaze pointed out of the front window, and assume any noise to be Jack – who couldn’t afford to call out and draw the clones’ attention—

‘Hey,’ came Gracie’s voice from upstairs, loud and joyful, ‘I think that’s Ewan heading up the road!’

All three Alexes leapt in surprise, with the same shocked expression that the real Alex wore whenever Thomas jump-scared him for fun. The shock faded a moment later, and all three faces turned angry. Their war modes had been activated.

Alex One accelerated up the stairs.

‘Gracie, you numpty…’

The whisper was loud enough.

Alex Two turned to investigate the darkness. When he found nothing visible he opened fire indiscriminately, his bullets riddling the walls, the mounted lights, the DVD rack and the television. Jack ignored the strobe light of the muzzle flash, flung himself to the carpet and fired all eight of his handgun bullets. Two of them flew towards the staircase, and pierced Alex One in the shoulder blade and kidney. One of the others hit Alex Three in the chest and sent him dead to the floor. The rest struck nothing but the painting next to Alex Two.

Alex One toppled to the staircase, alive but in tremendous pain. But even then, there was fury in his twisted facial expression rather than fear. Gracie’s voice sounded from upstairs, asking if Jack was OK. Alex Two looked at his colleagues in surprise, giving Jack enough time to cast his empty handgun to one side, leap to his feet and reach for his hunting knife. He threw it towards Alex Two but it missed pathetically, bounced off the wall and drew the clone’s attention to where he stood. In desperation, he grabbed a glass pot of boiled sweets on the mantelpiece. He charged across the room, his enemy too angered and confused to aim with any accuracy, and raised the glass pot over his head. He brought it crashing into Alex Two’s face, where it shattered upon impact.

Jack did not feel the sting, nor the warm trickle of his blood as it spilled from his hand. The clone before him was in agony, his eyes closed and his hands picking glass shards from his cheeks. Jack grabbed the clone’s submachine gun in one hand and used the other to deliver his strongest punch to his enemy’s nose.

Jack realised the hopelessness of his situation. The real Alex Ginelli was twice as strong as Jack Hopper, and the clone versions were no different. They may not have been grown with Alex’s taekwondo skills, but they shared his muscular form. That, and Jack had never seen that kind of ferocity in Alex’s eyes.