Shadows over my sleeping bag. Phantoms on the walls of my tent.
I twist, get up on my knees, one hand on the ground for balance, the other hand on Hope’s back. I’ll lunge straight forward, bowl them over, dragging Hope behind me. We’ll scramble down the corridor, find a quiet place. I’ll use a weapon, bust some heads. We’ll escape the mall, out into the street, make a beeline for the suburbs, and run out into the world.
‘We know you’re in there.’
Twenty young voices titter. I hear them jostling each other.
‘BRING IT ON, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS.’
Before I can react, two of them part the flaps of my tent while a third–Ötzi–shoves a big flaming ball of napalm inside. I fall back with my daughter and whip a sleeping bag over us.
‘Eden, Jesus! It’s a birthday cake! Calm down!’
I lower the poly
