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“I mean,” Davey continued, “I suppose they could get through, but they’d hardly be able to chase it. And even if they caught upwith it, they wouldn’t be able to keep both the lion and the bear in the back of the truck.”

“Who said anything about the back?” Michael wheezed.

Davey looked at him.

“Where’s my lion?” Kelvin called from his tree.

“Back inside,” Davey called over his shoulder. “In a truck.”

“Well, let’s go and take it out of the truck,” Kelvin replied, pushing himself away from the tree and heading back in the direction of the quad bikes.

For a moment, Davey just looked at Michael. Then he bent down and gave him another swig from the hipflask and turned to follow Kelvin. It was then that Michael’s eyes settled on Steph. She hadn’t moved.

Michael was clearly weak and lacked the will to initiate any talk. Steph came closer.

“Why did they shoot you?”

Michael smiled.

“Black market. Didn’t trust me after the last time. Not that they let me know until after I’d delivered the animal.”

“What do you mean by ‘last time’?”

Michael’s smile vanished and, with a groan, turned his head slightly so he didn’t have to look at Steph.

“I tried to give them the lion before. Went wrong. Gave it too much sedative and looked like it was dying. Gave it something to wake it up. It woke up. Killed one of their men and ran off. Killed a boy.”

Silence descended save for the singing of a few territorial birds in the trees. Steph watched as a tear rolled down Michael’s cheek.

“Maybe this is what I deserve,” he whispered.

“Steph!”

Steph turned her head in the direction of where her name had been called from. Then she turned back to Michael.

“But how did you get it out? It’s chipped!”

“Cut it out. The lion is so cut up from scrapes with the bear, no one noticed. Then it was put it back in after.”

“Steph!”

So there it was. She had the answer she had been seeking for the book she wanted to write. Now that she had it, what use was it?

Michael coughed. Somehow even more blood trickled from his mouth that was set sunken between his pale cheeks. A pang of shame shot through Steph, and she bent down meaning to inspect the wound. Michael growled pathetically, and she looked up.

“It’s too late,” he whispered. “Besides, there are worse places to be right now.”

Steph looked around. Laying slumped against a tree beside an abandoned buggy with a bullet wound in your stomach, was not high up on her own list of ways to die. Then again, she supposed he was talking about the weather and being surrounded by nature.

“Steph! Hurry up!”

Michael moved his head slightly in the direction of the voices. Reluctantly, Steph turned and left. She tried to ignore the fact she was walking away from a dying man – let the disgust die within her. She’d never seen a person dying before. She looked up at the trees and noticed a wood pigeon sitting peacefully on a branch.

What was she doing? Why was she walking towards the quad bikes to head back into danger? She had what she came to Scotland for. What more was there? Another interesting story? Was that why she found herself heading back? Yes. And no. Yes, what was unfolding was fascinating, but no, she was not there for that. It was more than that. It was that sense ofdoing something worthwhile. Something that would satisfy her subconscious desire for self-credibility. What would help her gain credit more than the delusion of acting to save lives and doingwhat was right?

She reached her quad bike. Kelvin looked like he wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in her gut and have her slouch against a tree like Michael. Davey just looked troubled.

Without a word, Davey began driving off. Steph straddled her quad bike and followed. Then stopped. Davey had pulled up as soon as they went through the outer fence gate. He leapt off his quad bike, shut the gate and replaced the padlock. Then, again without acknowledging Steph, he got back on his quad bike and headed off. Steph followed, after chancing one last look over her shoulder at the closed fence.