Trekking around the sand dunes between the road and the mansion proved a challenge. After taking Darren’s punch to her head, Claire Belamy’s legs felt like rubber. Darren chose a circuitous route, stopping every twenty yards or so to assess. When that happened, Darren grabbed Claire by the shirt, or sometimes latched onto a fist full of hair. Sometimes he pointed the machine gun in this direction or that and other times stood statue-still—listening. Claire wasn’t sure if he was listening to the storm surrounding them, or possibly the voice of the crazy man in his head. Then Darren would nudge her, his palm between her shoulder blades. Other times Claire felt the barrel of the MP5. When she stumbled, Darren jerked her back to her feet, the sudden motion registering like an electric charge i
