‘Ben, we’re going to have to take a break,’ said Chris, part way up the hill.

I looked back to where the boys had stopped walking. They had formed a circle around Rhys, the youngest, who was bent over, trying to breathe. By the time Chris and I reached them, he had started crying. In the presence of the adults — the responsible ones — his few breathless tears swelled to a racking sob. Jacob sat on a rock by himself, and stared defiantly out across the ocean.

‘He … they … we all need water,’ said Chris, sounding desperate.

‘Listen up, you fellas,’ I said.

They all looked at me, even Jacob. Rhys’s chest was still heaving, but there were no more tears. They had dried up.

‘I know where there is a waterhole, very close to here. A cold, fresh waterhole — big enough to swim in.’

‘Great. Finally,’ said Chris, with more than a hint of impatience.

The man has balls after all.

‘However,’ I said, and then paused for dramatic effect, ‘I’m only taking you there when the sly fucker who stole my tin returns it.’

~

The chopper swooped in about two hours after Chris’s call. It landed on the top of the hill. I was the last to get in. I gave the boys one last chance to return my dope. But none of them would meet my eye. The only one who made eye contact was Chris, who wore a sorry frown. It was a look I’d seen before, which said, It’s out of my hands.

Losing my stash was the only reason I was happy to leave the island. I’d miss this place. I’d miss this job — even though the kids were a pain in the arse, it felt good to be back here, passing on my knowledge. Leaving early wouldn’t cost me anything, financially. My contract stated that I got paid in full, even if the trip was canceled or called off prematurely. Besides, Chris was the one who’d pulled the plug, and I’d be making damn sure that point was well known to everybody.

‘It’s for the safety of the boys,’ he’d said.

They certainly didn’t seem disappointed to be leaving. In fact, as the chopper rolled off the hill, following the southern ridge down toward the coast, they seemed pretty damned excited. I’d been in plenty of choppers and was used to the exhilaration. I guessed this was their first time. As the trees opened up, I craned my neck to see the waterhole at the old tin mine. I wanted to point it out to the boys — and to Chris, in particular. To show them what they had missed out on. But the light that caught my eye wasn’t the familiar glint of silvery water. It was the glittery sparkle that comes from mica in river sand. There was no water.

Not a fucking drop.