The key was on its piece of string around her neck and she tugged it up and over, wincing when she nearly took off an ear in her haste.

He had to be close behind her, but there was nothing he could do once she was inside. Mary’s house was Fort f**king Knox, bars on every window, deadlocks on every door. Not that it had helped. Back before anyone knew what was happening, Mary had taken a bite to the wrist. Apparently, the plague had been cooked up in a lab somewhere in Asia. No one would admit to exactly where. How it escaped had become another mystery, but it went global in days.

Nothing to be done. Not for Mary or anyone else. It couldn’t be murder if the person was already dead. And infected was dead.

Everyone knew it. Everyone who was left.

Luck was with her and the key slid in, the door clicked open. Everything unfolded as it should. She sobbed with relief. Get inside, and get safe.

The stale, oven-like air of the house greeted her with al the promise of home. She slid the gun onto the kitchen bench, gave both hands over to clenching the door handle and throwing herself against the solid old wood in a whole body effort to slam it shut. Lock the whole f**king mess out. Get back up into the attic. Pull up the ladder. Screw the light of day. She would stay up there til hunger or thirst drove her out, and that was a promise. You could go a long time on a box of cereal and a couple of bottles of water.

This was her home now. Her haven.

“NO!” the big guy roared on the other side. Then his hands were there, fingers jammed in, prying the door open and forcing his way inside. Too strong. She couldn’t stop him. But she wasn’t done yet.

Ali bolted for the ladder, panic pushing at her heels and sweat stinging her eyes. The door slammed shut behind her. The deadbolt was thrown.

A fresh cramp bit into her side, but no way would it stop her. Not a chance.

One hand hit the cool rough surface of a metal rung. Safety was so close she could taste it, sitting on the tip of her tongue like a tease.

Her feet couldn’t work fast enough. Her damp hands slipped, but above, the comforting dark of the manhole beckoned. The superheated air from the midday sun wafted down, furnace-hot and so welcome.

“No you don’t.”

Strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled, prying her free of the ladder with disgusting ease. She shrieked every insult known to woman and man, fighting him off with al she had. “You f**ker! You motherfucking cock-sucking ass**le. Get your f**king hands off me! Get off me!”

She kicked, punched and flailed. His hard chest stopped her fist short, jarring her wrist. Pain shot up her blood-smeared leg as she kicked. She wasn’t getting anywhere but she wasn’t giving up, either. Whatever the f**k he wanted, he couldn’t have it. She’d fight till her last breath. The big bastard took her down with ease, pinning her to the floor. Not crushing her, but giving no leeway.

Hot tears of frustration scalded her cheeks as she screamed words of abuse at her captor. They were a torrent, jumbled and nonsensical. She screamed till she choked. Then her cries morphed into gulping pleas for him to listen, to let her up and let her go. To leave her alone. Why the hell wouldn’t he listen to her anyway? What the f**k was wrong with him?

This man was every bit as good at the silent treatment as she was. In truth, he was better.

Eventually, she stopped. The tears, the words, all of it.

They lay on the pastel linoleum floor in a mess of sweaty limbs. She could barely move with the big bastard on top of her, holding her down. Her arms were pinned by his hands and her legs trapped beneath his. Effortlessly, he contained her. Ali shut her eyes tight, blocking out his determined gaze. Now he’d take what he wanted and all she could do was survive. A cry caught in her throat. She’d seen a woman dragged out of her car and raped on the Neilsens

’ front lawn not long after the infection hit, when the police first

abandoned the streets and chaos took over. But the man on top of her made no move. Apart from his breathing, he remained immobile.

Waiting was the worst part. She’d suffocate on the scent of him before long. The house was oppressive, humid, with every door and window locked tight. Claustrophobia dug into her, its razor sharp fingers sinking through her neck, clawing at her throat.

Everything was locked out. She was locked in – with this stranger – with no escape. She was cornered.

The man said something, chanting it over and over. His breath was hot on her ear, and his body hovered above her, caging her in even though he carried his weight on his arms. She couldn’t quite hear him over the pounding of her heart and the shit running riot in her head.

There was no air. No hope. No nothing. Sweat poured off her face as she gulped for breath. Her body was giving up, signing off, as all good little ensigns eventually did.

“Breathe, damn it. Breathe.” The man was in her face, staring down at her, blue eyes shot with concern. “You’re having a panic attack. Do you hear me? It’s a panic attack. You’re safe. Everything’s okay. Now breathe. That’s al you need to do. Just breathe for me.”

His words unlocked something, flicked a switch in her head. Her airways opened and stale, fetid air rushed in.

The sudden rush of oxygen was magic. She couldn’t get it down fast enough. Her head swam.

“Easy. Easy now, that’s it.” He stroked her arm, murmuring on and on.

Eventually he stopped too, rolled onto his side.

They lay in silence, him with a leg and an arm thrown over her, holding her down. He needn’t have bothered. Exhaustion had already won the war. She wasn’t going anywhere.