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‘Where are they?’ said Scott.

‘They must be almost here now,’ she muttered, with a confidence she didn’t quite feel. ‘It can’t be long before they’ll find us.’

The wound in her thigh was bleeding again; she had pushed herself too far, launching at Carly like that, and the dressing and bandage she’d patched herself up with from her first aid kid had almost come off.

It was worth it, though. They had saved Scott’s life.

She’d do the same thing again in a heartbeat.

She couldn’t tend to herself right now; both her hands were pressed hard onto the wound in Ben’s chest as she did her best to stem his bleeding.

She leaned in close to his face, checked for his pulse again.

She could barely feel it now, it was so faint, and it was becoming slower.

This was the worst possible sign. He’d lost too much blood; most likely too much to be saved.

Come on, come on. Ben and Mira can’t hold on much longer.

She knew the rescue helicopter was on its way; Scott had told her what Ben had managed to say about calling for help with the satellite phone.

Scott had it in his grip now; the handler had called again, just a moment ago, and reassured them that the location she had for them was still accurate, that the rescuers were entering the retreat on foot as they spoke.

She hoped they would be here soon – they could do nothing until then but wait.

There was no hope of them walking themselves out of here, not with Ben so close to death, her injury and Scott’s twisted ankle, and Mira now badly wounded, and all already so exhausted and dehydrated and weak.

Naya knew, too, that Carly might still be lurking somewhere nearby – she no longer had the knife, thank God, but she was smart; resourceful.

She’d shown that well enough. Perhaps she had more plans to take them down.

Their only chance of survival was being found here – and soon.

Naya looked around the group again, then at the blood still trickling down her leg, though mercifully less quickly now.

She thought of Carly, so racked with a grief that led her to take such extreme revenge; she pictured Hannah, left to perish slowly and alone in her own rainforest, her dreams of creating a spiritual sanctuary for her followers as dead as she was, before it had even begun.

She thought of her beautiful children at home, of how proud she was of them, of their resilience in the face of all the challenges they had already been dealt.

She thought of the life that was growing inside of her.

She had raised two of them already, hadn’t she?

She could do it again – she could do it one more time.

She was a good mother – good enough, at least.

When she’d got here, just two days ago – how was that possible?

– she’d felt that her abilities as a mother were stretched beyond their limit; she was a rubber band that had lost its snap.

But now she saw it – her true resilience.

If she could cope with this, she could handle a third child – even if she would be doing it, essentially, alone.

I can do all of it, if I make it back home alive.

Naya thought of all this, and she did something she hadn’t done for years, not since she’d stopped being forced along to the Catholic church in Armentières with Maman every Sunday until she was fifteen: she closed her eyes, and she prayed.

Eyelids squeezed together, hands still clasped over Ben’s wound, she pressed her knees into the jungle floor, no longer caring what crawled over her.

She sat and she waited and before she knew it, she was drifting; the exhaustion and the shock and the blood loss taking over, all the adrenaline draining away from her.

‘Naya?’ A hand was rocking her gently, stirring her from her haze. ‘Do you hear that?’ It was Scott, his voice coming from close to her ear. ‘I don’t know if that sound is in my head, or if it’s real.’

Naya blinked her blurry eyes, listened. Then she heard it too: a chopper, its blades whirring high above them.

‘Oh my God, I hear it,’ she said, as the shouts of the rescue team grew louder. ‘They’re coming – they’re going to find us. Mira, Ben, stay with us, please! They’re almost here—’

Mira made a sound; Scott shushed her: ‘It’s OK. Don’t try to speak – save your strength.’

‘Ben – Mira – they have to take them first,’ said Naya.

Scott touched her arm. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll tell them. We’ll make sure they know.’

‘And Hannah,’ she said. ‘They have to find her.’

‘They will,’ said Scott. ‘I marked all those trees, remember...’ But he stopped short as voices, calling out to them, started to reach them through the trees – quietly at first, echoing, but then quickly they became artificially loud – of course , Naya realized: the sound was coming through a megaphone.

They spoke in Spanish at first, calling out for them, and then in English.

‘They’re here!’ said Scott. Thank goodness.

‘ Hola? Hello? Help is here – please call out so we can find you.’

Naya took a deep breath, mustered her remaining strength and shouted: ‘We’re here! Over here! Please, we need help!’

‘We can hear you – please keep on calling out to us, so we can find you.’

Naya and Scott did as they’d been asked, yelling out with cracked, hoarse voices, screaming to help the rescuers find them. The voices approached them, becoming louder every second, and the chopper above was tracking the path of the people with megaphones, circling lower and closer.

The rescuers burst through the trees towards them, a flurry of bright orange and olive green and khaki. A paramedic rushed to Ben’s side; another ran straight to Mira.

‘We are evacuating you to the hospital in San José,’ said one of the rescuers. The chopper was still circling and it was low now, so close that the tops of the trees were blowing wildly, swaying from side to side; Naya’s eyes were dazzled by the beams of its lights.

‘Please,’ she said, nodding to Ben and Mira, ‘take these two first – Ben has a stab wound to the side of his chest, and Mira has a head injury. I’m a nurse – I’ve done my best to stem his bleeding, but he’s lost a lot of blood. I think it might be too late...’

Two more paramedics rushed to Ben, and within seconds Naya was releasing her grip on him as they hauled him onto a stretcher, then carried him through the trees, directing the chopper to a large enough clearing where it would be safe to come lower.

Two others raced to Mira, took her next, then Scott, and finally Naya, whose dry, heaving sobs now wouldn’t stop as the strong arms of four men carried her, the stretcher bouncing her through the jungle.

Soon she would be leaving Hannah’s rainforest retreat and its catalogue of horrors behind.

I’ve made it.

Cupping a blood-smeared hand across her stomach, she whispered the words to herself:

‘We made it, baby. We have survived.’

She imagined the little bean inside her stomach, pictured Elodie and Marcus in her mind, told them silently:

It’s going to be all right. I am coming home.