Alf allowed himself one glance over the top of the central island and saw the big stranger with the blat gun approach the dining room door. He edged backwards towards the pantry, and with his hand behind his back found the handle. As Tork kicked in the door to the dining room, Alf opened up the pantry and ducked in amongst the pickles, dried herbs, cured meats, tins and preserves, pulling the door closed towards him.
Tork squinted into the darkness of the dining room, the dark slab of the dining table in front of him. He fired the blat three times, splintering the vast oak antique. Then he looked at the heavy curtains across the large window and fired the blat into the fabric, tearing it apart, shattering the windows and blowing holes in the shutters, so that the eerie moonlight reflected
