Unfortunately, with their focus on the outside of the room, both had completely dismissed their search inside. With a piercing, inhumane scream reverberating around the walls, Bishop heard the sound first – before turning back to see a man on top of Miller, scratching and gouging away. Miller was doing his best to wrestle with his attacker but he was no match for the strength holding him down. Instinctively, Bishop aimed his gun. He had to be careful to avoid Miller but there was no other choice. Three shots rang out into the air and the screaming man fell back. Injured but not dead.

Miller scrambled up and joined Bishop, his face now white as a sheet. Bishop looked at the man he had shot, spread-eagled on the floor. At least he’d stopped that awful scream. But there was a crimson tide of blood everywhere. With his gun still trained on the man, Bishop ventured closer. And that’s when he noticed it. The blood wasn’t just from his bullets… the man’s insides were torn apart and had been trailing along with him. Bishop couldn’t fathom how he could possibly be alive, even without the gunshot wounds. Taking another tentative step forward, he could see there was no way it could be an animal attack. Unlikely, anyway, unless something had escaped from the zoo. Self-inflicted, it seemed, although not with a sharp instrument. Had he butchered himself with his own hands?

Bishop’s train of thought was interrupted as the sound of another bullet being fired pierced the air. The man slumped dead, a pellet of lead to his head. He turned around and saw Miller behind him, two hands on his gun. Even paler than before, sweat ran down his face.

‘What are you doing private?’ Bishop seethed.

‘To stop it attacking again. Look at its guts.’ Miller’s voice wavered as he spoke. ‘It was going to die anyway.’