‘Watch where you put your feet,’ Pete mutters as he pushes past me to take the lead.

‘Hey, not you,’ one of the men yells. ‘The girl goes first.’

The rain is falling on my face, waking me up, making me feel stronger, braver, even though my ribs are still hurting like anything. I don’t think anything is broken; at least I hope nothing is broken. I turn and give the man the coldest stare I can, then set off down the track, Jack right behind me. Pete obediently waits for us, standing in the fern.

I’m thinking about what Pete said. This is not the way he led us to the hut, not the direction the men came from, otherwise we would have seen them. This is where Pete had been looking out of the slit in the shed wall. He was looking this way for a reason. This is the way he was hoping they would come. I watch where I put my feet and hope Jack will do the same behind me, try to ignore the pain in my ribs from where the guy kicked me.

And then I see it. He’s used what looks like the drawstring from the top of the tramping pack this time. A black cord stretched limply across the track, the ends hidden in ferns on either side.

I step over it, careful that I don’t touch it, but even more careful that the men following don’t see me do it. Nothing. I keep walking, holding my breath, listening to Jack’s footsteps behind me, hoping he’s seen it too. How much explosive did you use with this one, Pete? Enough to blow us all up? Jack must have stepped over it. I breathe again. Now there will be Pete. At least he will know it’s there.

I’m not looking back; I’m too scared to look back. Now we’re all over it safely I lengthen my stride, trying to give us all more space, to get ready to run, my heart already beating fast enough for me to run a marathon. Even my fingers are tingling. I try to breathe slowly. In and out, in and out. Another step, and another, further and further away from it. Just keep going. Just keep breathing.

The explosion is like a starter’s gun. I’m leaping forward before I even realise what’s happening, the blast pushing me. My first stagger becomes a stride and then I’m running as hard as I can through the trees, jumping the ferns, not looking back. My ears are ringing with the sound of the explosion, of gunfire, yells, screams, wood splintering next to me as a bullet lands in a tree trunk. Jack is behind me, breathing hard, his legs crashing through the undergrowth. I catch sight of Pete way over to my left, dodging the gunfire between the trees. I start doing the same, weaving this way and that, keeping moving, making myself a harder target to hit. Getting further and further away.

The lake is still on our right but we’ve lost the track completely, run past where it zigzags down through the tall trees. The bush is thicker here. We’re pushing through branches, fighting our way under when we otherwise can’t get through. There are fallen logs, holes, gullies. A bank stops me for a second. I have to scramble up it but Jack grabs me.

‘Quiet,’ he whispers in my ear. We stay like that, buried in the fern against the bank, listening, our hearts both racing.

There’s nothing.

‘Have we…?’ I whisper.

‘I don’t know.’

We stay still for another minute, then another, and still nothing. Just the sound of the rain falling on the bush above us, dripping through the leaves.

‘Let’s keep going but stay down, as quiet as we can,’ he says, and I move again, crawl up the bank. I can just make out a path made by a deer, or some sort of animal. It will be easier going if we follow it, quieter.

‘Annie, wait.’

‘What?’ I turn around.

‘Just stop. There’s blood. Is that you?’

I stare down at where he’s pointing and see the blood on the fern I’ve just crawled through. Bright red. The rain washing it off already. And then I notice the hole in my raincoat.

Almost out of curiosity I touch it. It’s tiny. So tiny. I look up at Jack and he’s seen it too, his face going pale even as I watch.

‘Annie?’ He’s ripping open my raincoat, the domes, fumbling with the zip, pushing up my clothes from my waist, and I’m feeling sick and scared and suddenly I can’t stand up anymore and Jack has me and he’s got my raincoat off and I’m on the ground, on the path, and the rain is falling on my face and I can smell the bush all around me, the deep peaty smell of leaves and rain and ferns and moss. And it’s got cold, so cold.

Soon it will be dark and we’re wet and cold and we need to get out of the rain. We need to get somewhere warm and I’m telling Jack this but he’s not listening. We have to move. We have to get somewhere warm. Why won’t he listen to me? Instead he’s grabbing me again, rolling me over, pushing up my clothes.

‘The bullet’s gone right through.’

He lies me down in the moss and the ferns and I look up at him. He’s trying his phone and I wish he would hurry up because I’m getting really cold now. So cold. Just so cold. I close my eyes.

There are noises, someone running, pushing through the undergrowth towards us. I can feel the footsteps through the ground. Jack is grabbing me, trying to pull me off the path, but it hurts.

‘Pete? Is that you?’ he calls out quietly.

‘What are you doing? We’ve got to get out of here,’ Pete says. He’s puffing.

‘Annie’s been shot.’

‘Is she going to be okay?’

Jack doesn’t reply. I’m listening for a reply, waiting for a reply, but instead they’re picking me up, both of them, carrying me somewhere. Further into the bush. Then Pete’s hands are searching my body, his breath on my face.

‘You got to stop the bleeding, mate,’ he’s saying. ‘And she’s cold. She’s really cold. You’ve got to do something.’

‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘She’s going to die out here. Annie and I—’ He stops, about to say something, then changes his mind. ‘You can’t let her die.’

‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Here, hold this against it, stop the bleeding.’

Pressure against my side, something soft pressed against where the pain is. I gasp.

‘It’s hurting her.’

‘Just do it.’

‘I can’t get hold of my dad, there’s no cell phone coverage here.’

‘What do you want get hold of your dad for? How is he going to help you?’

‘He’s a cop.’

‘Now you tell me.’

‘You have to help us. Please.’

‘What sort of cop? Like a cop who can get a helicopter here with some firepower?’

‘Yes.’

‘Lots of firepower?’

‘Yes. He’s lead detective on your case. He’s Detective Inspector Grant Robertson.’

‘Give me your phone. Where’s the number? Is it under “D” for “dad”?’

‘Yes. Here it is. Password is two thousand.’

‘You stay with Annie and I’ll look for some coverage. Then I’ll have to go so the cops don’t find me. Which means you have to look after Annie. You keep the pressure on and you keep her warm and you don’t let her die She’s my neighbour. You don’t let her die. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

More noise, rustling in the ferns, and then he’s gone. Silence. Then a sob. Jack. I reach up my hand, grab his arm.

‘You’re going to be fine, Annie,’ he says after a bit. ‘Pete’s gone to get help.’ His voice sounds calm, steady. ‘How about we get you a little warmer? I’ll just try not to hurt you.’ I hear his jacket unzipping and then feel him pulling me up beside him, into his arms, across his body, pushing my raincoat over until it covers us both like a blanket. I feel his warmth through my back. Feel his heart beat, his chest rise and fall underneath me.

‘You’re like ice,’ he says. ‘Hey, talk to me, Annie. Don’t go to sleep on me. Annie?’ Then he swears. ‘Hurry up, Pete,’ he says, and then I must have gone to sleep or something because suddenly there are voices. Loud voices. I open my eyes. Jack is still holding me. He hasn’t moved, but it’s dark. There are torch beams flashing through the trees. When did it get dark?

‘Hey, look at this,’ one of the voices is saying. It’s a man, a deep voice. I remember that voice.

‘That’s blood. I thought we’d shot one of them.’ A different voice, lighter. ‘Where’s it going?’

‘I don’t know. The rain has washed most of it away.’ The voice of the man who knows me.

‘They could be close.’

‘They could be anywhere. We should keep going.’

I look up at Jack. I can just make him out in the blackness. He’s listening, watching the torch beams. He sees my eyes are open and puts his finger to his lips, signalling keep quiet, keep still. I nod, close my eyes again. The sound of the men drifts off. The one who knows me leading them away.

Somehow I fall back asleep. Dream. I dream of riding Tassie down Fairdown Beach at full gallop, bareback, no saddle, no bridle, nothing. It’s raining and there’s water streaming off us, off her black coat and my raincoat and then we’re not galloping but swimming, swimming through dark blue water but we’re under the water, deep, and we’re not breathing, we can’t breathe, we don’t have to breathe, we’re just swimming, Tassie strong underneath me, her legs pushing through the water and it’s dark and cold and wet but she keeps swimming and I keep holding on, my legs pressed against her side, my coat undone, swept back in the water, Tassie’s tail streaming behind us, my fingers wrapped tightly in her mane. And I know I’m not going to let go.

Tassie.