THE DOOR. ALL HE HAD TO DO WAS GET TO IT. THE BREATH BURNED IN HIS lungs as he ran. Each rasping heave of his chest was all he could hear above the thud of his feet on the sun-dried grass, the scuff of his trainers kicking up the powdery earth beneath, and the baleful thumping tread of the man pursuing him through the dark, fifty, maybe only forty, metres behind, gaining with every stride. No way would he risk glancing back. He already knew what death looked like.
Ahead, the boxy white walls of a low-slung house stood out against the dark slopes and shadowed gullies of the hillside behind and the moon-bright sky above....