Wildman struggled at the door, fumbling with the latch and open padlock. He glared at Jack, and seemed to convulse. From her perspective, still halfway down the alleyway from him, it looked to Gwen as though Wildman was going to be violently sick. She heard a plopping sound, and Wildman regurgitated a green-grey bolus at Jack. Jack stepped aside with a surprised yell, bumping into the two construction workers. Wildman took his chance in the confusion. He almost wrenched the door off its rusty hinges, and dived into the building site.

The construction workers were staring at whatever Wildman had sicked up. It hadn’t splattered as it hit the ground. It just lay there, pulsing slightly. Jack reached out one foot, trod the thing into the dusty pavement. Then he kicked it through the door. He was briefly prevented from following it, as the two workmen grasped him by the arms. Jack shucked them off with a swift, violent shake of his shoulders. That’s when they saw his pistol, and they backed off, raising their hands.

‘Good choice,’ said Jack, and disappeared into the building site, still in pursuit of Wildman.

Gwen pounded up the street to the door, and brandished her ID card.

The older of the two workers stared at her. His wide round eyes were pale in the dirty brown leather of his face. Now he’d seen the ID, his manner was wary, less confrontational. ‘What’s going on here? That bloke’s not well. He was throwing up… what was that thing?’ The door was slightly ajar, and he was about to open it for a look, but Gwen pushed it shut again.

‘Well, this site isn’t safe to go wandering around in,’ persisted the workman. ‘I’ll have to let the gaffer know about-’

Gwen dismissed his objections. ‘I don’t need your gaffer’s permission. I just need you to get out of the way. Anyone else in there? Anyone else arriving for another shift?’