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Sinna turned to Abbott with a grin, sharing in the moment. "I think we’re just about done here. Why don’t you two poke off and we’ll catch up with you at the house?"

Abbott’s smile vanished as he was jerked back to reality. He was aware that every second spent off base exposed them to significant risk and whilst he wanted to help Campos find his parents if at all possible, he did not want to put himself or his colleagues in any greater jeopardy than was absolutely necessary.

"Are you sure?" he asked with a frown. "Wouldn’t it be better if we waited and went together?"

"This is the last lot of stuff to chuck in the Landy. It’ll only take a mo and we’ll be right behind you losers. I’d rather we get back to the station as fast as possible and certainly before sunset."

Sunset was at six thirteen; it was now five forty-two. That did not leave them much time. Abbott was about to argue until he saw the look on Campos’s face. He shrugged. "Sure, okay we’ll get cracking then. And thanks – this means a lot to the boy."

"Yeah I kinda gathered that," Sinna laughed. "Go on, just stay in radio contact and don’t do anything daft, okay?"

‘Anything daft’ - did that include allowing Campos to persuade him it was safe to leave the vehicle after there was no reply to their shouting? Did that include going into the house even though Abbott knew it was lunacy to be confined in such close quarters? If only Sinna knew how ‘daft’ he had been since last they spoke.

Abbott now shuddered and the makeshift weapon slipped from his grip as he passed a hand across his face. Only then did he notice the throbbing in his arm. It was a small bite mark. The skin was barely broken, hardly worth mentioning really, with just a slight prick of blood. He could tell where the man’s teeth had fallen out with the marks on his arm representing those that remained. He rubbed his flesh ruefully and pulled the sleeve down. As he sat hugging his knees to his chest the temptation was to remain there, hidden and safe from the horrors of the outside world, horrors that were never far from one’s conscious thoughts, horrors that temporarily submerged when one was preoccupied but then resurfaced like a bloated corpse.

However he knew he could not stay there. It was hard to find motivation but he had to leave the house and fast. He rebuked himself for his inactivity; come on, get moving soldier. This is no time to rest. Wearily he rose and crossed quietly to the door. With every step the floorboards creaked. He stopped and held his breath, listening for sounds. The house was still; evidently the scuffles had not attracted any further, unwanted attention. Yet!

He drew his gun and flicked the safety catch off, taking no chances this time, then raised his radio and operated the ‘press-to-talk’ button. "Sinna, this is Abbott, do you read?"

Nothing.

"Sinna, this is Abbott. Come in."

Deathly silence.

Odd, he thought. The only explanation he could think of was that they had got confused and gone straight back to base. Ordinarily Abbott might have been angered by this. Ordinarily alarm bells might have started to ring. But now he just clipped the radio back onto his belt, rubbed his arm and continued, survival mode dictating his actions.

He paused on the landing and listened again, then slipped quickly down the stairs. Campos’s body lay at the bottom, his head twisted unnaturally to the side where his neck had snapped. His eyes and mouth were open in the grimace he bore as he was savaged and fell. Abbott felt for a pulse but he already knew there would be none. Above him on the wall was a photo, a portrait in a wooden frame. It side-tracked Abbott and he took it down and stared at it for a moment. It was a typical family pose of much-loved mother and idolised father with their arms around each other’s shoulders. A boy, Private Campos of perhaps only seventeen years old, was sandwiched between them, kneeling down as though in the stance of a football team. Campos was not much older now and had hardly changed since that photo was taken. He reflected on the photo a moment, the familiar ease with which the three of them embraced each other and thought with sadness for a moment of his own parents.

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