CHAPTER 91

In his tanned palm, the dull silver firearm with a black grip appears little. Aside from the machine gun, it's the only revolver I know the name of, and only because of the old cowboy movies Dad used to watch.

Dan pokes his finger inside the silver projecting cylinder on the side. That's when I realise what he's been doing — or has been doing — all this time. Checking that each chamber has a bullet. If somebody walks through the door, he won't have to load or reload his weapon; he'll just take up a gun and shoot.

Swallowing hard, things suddenly feel much more real than they were five seconds earlier.

"Finn and Jade know what they're doing down there," Dan says as he clicks the chamber back into place and returns the rifle to the table. "I know what I'm doing up here," he says, not picking up another weapon. "This attic extends the entire length of the house." All that's up here is dust and insulation, so there's lots of places to hide. We've got—"

"No."

"Amanda, we're doing this—" he