Burnished copper fire dripped from autumnal trees as we walked down the long, quiet lane; in step and in tune with each other.

Lost in silent thought, the atmosphere between us was affable, yet slightly strained. Who would broach the subject first, if at all? Was it polite to talk such dark deeds on this golden day? Who knew? Not I.

Around the bend the old church appeared. A gnarled and ancient yew hunkered protectively over a rusty gate, which squealed in protest as we pushed through it to the overgrown graveyard beyond. The path to the church, however, was well trodden and it was easy going. Angels and cherubs appeared to climb out the knotty undergrowth. The dead and their final resting place were not looked after it seemed.

The norman tower was crooked, covered in moss and many holes had appeared in its sides. It was a sad sight to see such aged majesty falling from grace. It gave the job at hand a bitter twist.

We reached the church door and stopped.

Turning to each other I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.

‘Are you ready for this?’ I leaned forward conspiratorially.

She nodded furiously, took a step back from me and shook my hand away.

She flung her coat open with a dramatic flourish and I saw that both sides were lined with guns – I was surprised she could walk.

‘Damn right,’ she grabbed a pistol, cocked it like a pro and burst through the door.

Noise filled my immediate world and I smiled and followed with a feral yell.