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tall man yet. ‘There was an explosion,’ she shouted again, still in Spanish. The policeman was about thirty metres away from her. Not far. She didn’t have to shout very loud.
    ‘I am police, little girl,’ he said, speaking bad English suddenly, and looking irritated. ‘You do what I tell you. Come over here now.’ But still he didn’t get up from the crouch. He was looking off towards the house, looking very nervous, like he was frightened the tall man would appear from there. That’s what it looked like. He shouted again, ‘Where is the man you were with? Tell me now.’
    ‘I don’t know,’ she said. She was still taking slow steps forward. Why had she lied?
    He stood up, beckoned her with his hand. ‘Walk to me,’ he said. ‘You are safe.’ The gun in his other hand was pointed forward, not at her, but in her direction. She stopped.
    ‘Come,’ he said, more urgently. ‘Come now.’ He looked down the hill again, then started to come towards her, ­warily. She saw the gun coming up. She had followed none of her mother’s advice today. What would her mother say about this? She would tell her to run.
    She spun quickly and started across the junction, heading up the road beyond, away from him.
     
    Carl was already coming round the side of the house when he heard the first shot. He sped up, kept his head low, ran to where his pack and gun lay. As the front area came into view he could see a man up on the road, in uniform, a handgun held out at arm’s length. He was about seventy metres away. The man fired the gun as Carl watched. Carl couldn’t see what he was shooting at, but knew. He felt a flush of fear in his blood, then heard her scream – a short yell of fear, rather than pain. He tried to keep calm, got his hands onto the gun, dashed sideways towards some bushes.
    Then he could see them both. She was about thirty metres from the man, lying on the ground. She was off to Carl’s left, about forty metres distant, above him, on the road that led past the house. She was partially screened by the low bushes there. Carl felt his scalp prickle, the kick of adrenalin high up in his chest. The policeman was further away than her, to Carl’s right, but moving forward quickly, not looking towards him.
    He got the rifle up and the scope to his eye as she scrambled to her feet and started to run. The policeman aimed at her again, moving towards the rock where Carl had told her to wait. He fired twice very quickly, before Carl could do anything. Both misses, because she didn’t pause. The policeman started screaming something, then disappeared behind the rock, into cover. Carl had the cross hairs on the rock, but no clear shot. He could feel his heart thudding as he tried to steady his legs. The gun was difficult to shoot accurately from a standing position. He needed to go down onto one knee, brace it against his leg, but there was no time. He kept his eye against the scope, waiting for the man to emerge at the other side. He heard the girl cry out again, decided he couldn’t wait. He started to move clumsily sideways, just as the guy came out.
    The man was holding the gun with both hands now, pointing it towards her, completely focused on the shot. Carl had the cross hairs over his chest, but he was still moving, off ­balance. He squeezed anyway. The shot smacked out with a loud whipcrack. The gun was big, the round powerful – so even with the muzzle brake and the fat suppressor mounted on the end of the barrel, the recoil spun him, pulling his eye from the scope. The guy disappeared from view. There was a puff of stone and dust from the rocks behind where he had been, where the bullet struck.
    Carl recovered and put one knee on the ground, eyes on the road still. He slid the bolt, felt the next round chamber, then stood and moved up the hill, moving very cautiously, holding the gun ready in front of him.
    But there was no need. As soon as he got to the junction he saw the guy lying there, flat out,