Ash scrambled backwards, away from the strongman, no longer caring how much noise she made. Her sneakers kicked up an explosion of brown dust. The strongman stumbled back, startled, then recovered and lunged forwards to grab her but she was just out of reach.

Ash climbed to her feet and started sprinting towards the tent wall. Can’t fight him, she thought. He’d tear me in half. I have to run. Run and hide.

“Stop!” the strongman yelled. “Police!”

What the hell? Ash was shocked, but she didn’t stop. She snatched her pocket-knife out of her jeans as she ran, and flicked out the blade. She was nearly at the wall.

The knife tore through the canvas with a sound like a giant zipper and she dived through the slit. Her ankle got caught and she slammed down onto the ground, the impact firing shocks of pain up her wrists. She pulled her foot free, spat out some dirt and kept running into the darkness of the big top.

She couldn’t hear the strongman behind her. Maybe he’d lost sight of her. Hide, she thought. Got to hide.

There was a platform to the right, a small podium with a hollow underneath it. She dropped to her stomach and rolled sideways, under cover.

The only sounds were her breaths and her frenzied heartbeat. There was a strange odour under here a dark, sweaty stench. She wondered where she was.

Her arm was pressed against something. She turned her head to see.

It was a hand in a jar.