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“Living on berries and leaving no footprints?”

She had a point. This wasn’t exactly adding up.

“And who would that make this?” Hanna pointed as close to the direction of Malcom’s body as she could without looking directly at it. “Nobody else has gone missing. Did they bring a corpse with them?”

She had several points. “Okay, okay, this was probably a bit of a stretch.”

“No.” Hanna’s tone was gentler than Liza expected. “It was worth checking out.”

Feeling the cold, Liza shivered, and Hanna came over at once to put her arms around her. “I think …” Liza went on. “I think I just really hate the idea of it being one of the ones left, you know? I mean, I realise we aren’t, like, friends or anything, but … well … we’ve kind of got to know these people, and I don’t want any of them to be a serial killer.” She huddled down, resting her cheek against the top of Hanna’s head. “Is that pathetically sentimental of me?”

“I think as sentimentality goes, ‘I’d rather people weren’t serial killers’ is a low bar.”

That was comforting. Slightly, at least. “Come on,” Liza said, “let’s go back in. I’m freezing out here.”

They trudged out of the old stables and towards the hotel, still too recently-corpse-exposed to appreciate the gentle brush of snow across the grounds, or the bright, welcoming façade of the hotel against the mountains.

Inside they followed the sound of shouting through the hotel, down past the kitchens and, to Liza’s dismay and Hanna’s mounting and obvious infuriation, towards the gun room. Returning to the company of the other guests made Liza suddenly both paranoid about and aware of the USB drive that was still in her wife’s breast pocket.

All of the survivors, including Mr Burgh, Emmeline White, and two other members of staff, were lined up, with the gun cabinets open and the colonel parading in front of them like he was inspecting his troops. “Now, we all know the situation,” he was saying. “One of us—know it’s not me, but could be you,”—he peered at Sir Richard—”or you”—he moved his gaze to Professor Worth—”is sneaking about doing people in when they’re not expecting it. Well, no more is what I say.”

Reverend Lincoln gave him a sombre look. “This is not a good idea, Colonel.”

“You’ll be thanking me when there’s a murderer trying to beat your head in and you’ve got something to fend ‘em off with.”

Emmeline White was the first to come forward, and when the colonel handed her a pistol, she seemed to lock eyes with him, just for a moment. “Thanks,” she said.

“I’m not taking a gun,” Reverend Lincoln told him flatly.

“Yeah, neither are we,” added Hanna from the doorstep, then after a sharp elbow in the ribs amended to, “Neither am I.”

“And I don’t want one either,” said Liza before cocking her head towards her wife and saying, “Thanks for checking.”

“You’re all bloody fools.” The colonel glared as only a military man can glare. “This is no longer a hotel in the Scottish Highlands—”

Hanna folded her arms. “It absolutely still is.”

“—it is the Wild West.”

“The American West of the mid to late nineteenth century”—Hanna had broken away from Liza’s side and advanced on the colonel, getting as close to up in his face as she could, which was basically up in his chest—”was actually a relatively peaceful region in which most people were unarmed and gun violence was avoided wherever possible. The annual homicide rate in Tombstone, Arizona capped out at five.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Liza was genuinely touched. “You remembered our episode about Old West gunslingers.”

Hanna turned back and smiled. “I do actually listen to your podcast.”

“I remember that one,” piped up Sir Richard. “Jolly interesting it was too.”

“If you’ve finished being rude,”—Colonel Coleman’s whole face bristled—”I was about to start handing out the firearms. Then I was going to take everybody down to the range for a training session.”

“This is such a bad idea.” Hanna turned to Mr Burgh. “How did you let him talk you into this?”

Mr Burgh shifted uncomfortably. “Honestly … I think I actually might also want to be able to defend myself, actually.”

“Oh God.” Hanna literally facepalmed. “Look, if I had the internet I’d dig up some statistics for you, but can’t we all agree that giving a hotel full of scared people guns they don’t know how to use is not a recipe for safety?”

The colonel wasn’t having any of this. “It isn’t my fault if none of you layabouts has learned to handle a weapon.”

“I know how to handle a weapon.” Reverend Lincoln’s voice remained calm. “But I’ve seen enough violence in my life—and in the past few days—without adding more needlessly.”