I gave a strangled cry as the stable roof collapsed. I was running flat out, but my wounded leg kept making me stumble and I had to keep dodging the horses as they galloped towards me out of the smoke.

When I reached the stables, the walls were still standing but inside it was just a pile of burning debris. “Kristina!” I howled. A burning timber had fallen diagonally across the door, blocking it. I grabbed it, snarling in loss and fury. I could feel my already-burned palms blistering as I gripped the wood but I didn’t care. I heaved it aside and staggered through the door.

Nothing. Just a sea of tiles and timber, all of it burning. The heat scorched my face. “Kristina!”

Then movement. Tiles sliding down from a pile that was slightly higher than the rest. Something big started to shift….

I watched as a timber as thick around as my waist started to inch into the air. Jakov was crouched beneath it: he had it on his shoulders and he was heaving it into the air like Atlas lifting the earth.

And lying between his straining legs was Kristina.

Jakov pushed all the way up to standing. He had both hands on the timber, steadying it, and he was using every ounce of strength he had to bear its weight. “Take...her,” he spat through gritted teeth. “I can’t move.”

I raced forward, flames licking at the cuffs of my jeans. Kristina was semi-conscious and groaning. I grabbed her and threw her over my shoulder, then looked up at Jakov. The timber was alight in several places, the flames licking at his clothes. He was dripping with sweat, his face contorted with effort. “Go!” he grunted. “I can’t hold it!”

I ran outside. Emerik was just arriving, still coughing and wheezing but pushing through it. Caroline was following behind him, weak and shaky. I handed Kristina to Emerik.

And then I ran back inside.

Jakov glared when he saw me. “Get out of here!”

But I wasn’t going to leave him to die. Not after being so wrong about him. I ran forward, stood next to him and got my shoulders under the timber, too. If I could just lift it off him….

But it was much, much heavier than I’d thought. And Jakov’s legs were failing, putting even more of the weight onto me. The damn thing just weighed too much: there was no way to safely get out from under it. If we let go, it would fall and smack into our spines before we could move out of the way. “You idiot,” panted Jakov. “Now we’re both going to die.”

My knees began to shake and I couldn’t stop them. My back began to bend. I couldn’t catch my breath: there was too much smoke, too much heat. My head swam. And with every second the timber seemed to get another hundred pounds heavier. He was right. We were going to die here. I exchanged a look with Jakov. I’m sorry. But at least we saved her.

Movement at the door. Emerik stumbled in, still wheezing. He looked at Jakov and their eyes locked….

And then the older man ran across to us and got his shoulders under the timber. For the first time, we managed to raise it a half inch.

“Lift it and roll it back,” croaked Emerik. “On the count of three.”

All of us were shaking, our muscles close to giving out. I could hear the sweat dripping from me and hissing in the flames. But if we died in here, there was no one to protect her. She needed us. She needed all three of us.

“One,” said Emerik. “Two. Three!”

And we damn well lifted. We got it just high enough that we could roll it back off our shoulders like he said. We staggered forward and it missed our backs by an inch. We had to support each other just to make it to the door: our legs were like wet rope.

We collapsed just outside, panting and gasping. I’ve never known exhaustion like it, every muscle screaming.

Kristina was on her feet, coughing a little from the smoke but okay. She ran between us, checking us over, and for a second I just let myself lie back and rest. Emerik, Jakov and I exchanged glances. We’d done it. We got everyone out safe.

Then, in the distance, I heard a shotgun boom three times. Everyone looked round.

And then there was silence. We’d all gotten so used to the whistle of the mortar rounds passing overhead that it was eerie when they suddenly stopped. My dad had done it. Three shots from his shotgun: the two men working the mortar and the sniper. I let out a long sigh of relief. It was over.

Then another shot echoed through the night. Not a shotgun. A handgun.

Dad hadn’t been carrying a handgun.

“Dad?” I could hear the fear in my voice. “Dad?”

Kristina reached for me but I was off and running across the fields. My legs would barely support me between the aching muscles and the wound but I had to get there, had to know.

I reached the trees and started searching. “Dad!”

I found the mortar team first. Two men, like I’d thought. Then another man, a rifle next to him. All dead.

“I got ‘em,” said a weak voice.

Dad was sitting with his back against a tree. I stumbled over to him and fell to my knees beside him. That’s when I saw the glistening wet patch on his shirt. I could smell burned fabric. Someone had shot him point-blank in the guts and left him there to die.

“Never saw the fourth guy,” wheezed Dad. “Not ‘till it was too late. He’s fast. Pale, creepy-looking son of a bitch.”

Silvas Lukin. My hands tightened into fists. I could feel tears slipping down my cheeks. There was so much I had to tell him. That I was sorry I was away for so long. That I loved him. “Dad!”

“You do whatever you have to,” Dad said. “But you keep that bastard away from her.”

And his eyes closed.