Beatrice opened her notebook, checked the address and cycled her cargo bike up towards the house. It had an electric fence around the grounds and a sliding gate, which she slid open and then shut behind her.

A huge German shepherd – the kind of dog her old neighbours in the Corpo flats used call a bleedingreatfuckinsavagealler, ran to the end of the chain and raved at her. The pups in the back basket of her bike whined worriedly.

She stopped, out of the big dog’s reach, and yelled at the house. “Mr Callaghan!”

No answer. She considered the German shepherd. It wrinkled back its lips and snarled at her. “Are you a good dog?” she asked. Something was lying on the trodden-in grass near it: a battery and some wires and metal. On the dog’s neck was a wire connected to the remains of a battery and metal. An electric shock collar.

“Oh, no, puppies,” she murmured. “I’m not leaving you here, you needn’t worry about that.”

She pulled out a handful of dog kibble from the bag in the cargo box and threw it to the German shepherd. It sniffed them, and backed away.

“Oh, no, no, no.” She walked back to the gate, slid it back, wheeled through and closed it behind her.

A shout came from the doorway of the house, and the German shepherd shut up and crouched down. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Going,” she called, and got on the bike, and started away.

But he ran after her, vaulted the gate and grabbed the back of the basket the puppies were in. “You’re the woman that’s selling me the dogs?”

“No,” Beatrice said. “I made a mistake.”

She pulled away, but he pulled back. “We made a bargain! I paid you!”

“You haven’t paid me a penny.”

“I paid you online with my credit card.”

“I don’t have a bank account,” said Beatrice, “and I don’t have a computer, and I don’t have any credit facility. You’ve made a mistake.”

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“Give me them pups now.”

“I will under no circumstances sell you puppies, Mr Callaghan.”

He ran back to the house. She set off again, fearful that he might be getting a weapon, but he came running after her with a handful of cash.

Beatrice jumped off the bike and took the wire-cutters she always carried, swung the gate open again, and ran to the German shepherd. It was still lying flat to the ground, ears laid back in terror. She clipped the wire around its neck and the collar and ran back to the bike.

Callaghan yelled at the German shepherd. It cringed. He shouted that he’d get her for this, he knows where she lives. She muttered that she’s sincerely glad he doesn’t. He got into his huge Jeep, unaware that there were no tyres. “You’ve wrecked my car! Where’s the wheel?” He shouted that he’d get the police on her…

“A chuint lofa!” she roared back at him, and set off cycling as fast as she could make it, leaving him yelling curses – none of them as effective – after her and shaking both fists to the sky. She turned away from the lane, sailed out onto the empty coast road and pointed her bicycle back towards home, and reached her hand back. Two cold noses and warm tongues touched her palm.

***

Finn was so tired. He didn’t know where his sister was. Was the house safe? He didn’t know. He picked his way across the broken surface of the blown-up side of the road. No sign of neighbours. Half the houses were completely gone, but the ones next door and for a couple of houses up the road, the ones where the neighbours got the word in time to open the windows, they were okay. But empty, or anyway nobody showing.

He hesitated at the open front door and gave a cautious sniff. The smell of gas was gone. Would he risk it? He called out, “Hello?” Silence.

The kitchen floor was awash with blood and water. He opened the freezer and jumped aside as smelly blood and fluids flooded out from the heap of half-thawed meat and vegetables on its floor. He mopped and swept the liquid out the back door. He opened the taps. Nothing. Even the toilet was empty.

A cooking pot on the gas hob had a little water in the bottom from where Optima had boiled eggs this morning.

The mouldy smell of the house was catching him. He took one of the tablets from the tin the hospital doctor had given him, and put the tin up on a shelf.

He went out to the back garden, took a shit and covered it over with earth, using his mother’s razor-sharp bronze garden spade, then he dug a trench, leaving the earth piled beside it. He came in and lay down for a few minutes on the sofa, and then he brought in wood from the woodpile in the garage and lit the stove.

He was making a bowl of stew when Optima pushed the front door in. She dropped her dank clothes with a flop on the floor, went up and came down dressed again. “We have to salt all the meat and roast it,” he said.

“We have to find clean water,” said Optima.

“Eat first,” said Finn, and they laid the table with place mats, napkins, knife and fork at each place and a crystal glass each for the last of the milk, and the blue Chinese bowls to take the stew. They sat and looked at each other for a moment, then ate.