I jog forward again. A body emerges from a nearby house, the front door of which hangs open like a gaping mouth. It’s back to business as usual as I tighten the grip on the machete in my hand and wait to strike. The corpse lurches at me. I don’t recognise it as being anyone I knew, and that makes it easier. I swing at its head and make contact. The blade sinks three quarters of the way into the skull, just above the cheek bone. Kill one hundred and forty-nine drops to the ground and I yank out my weapon and clean it on the back of my trousers.
I turn the corner and I’m in Harlour Grove. I stop when I see our house, filled with a sudden surge of emotion. Bloody hell, if I half-close my eyes I can almost imagine that everything is normal and none of this ever happened. My heart is racing wi
