‘One!’ Bolus’ voice was thin as a distant scream. ‘One!’

Varens turned back to look at the hospital. If he went back now for help he’d lose Bolus for sure, and when they found him, they might shoot him.

He scanned the marshes, looking for his friend. Finally, he caught sight of him, a white ghost leaping high to negotiate the mud and water, his night-gown sleeves hanging over his hands and flapping. Behind him, Bolus had left a path of broken reeds. The trail meandered dramatically, but he appeared to be heading towards a thicket of low, willowy trees clustering on a hump at the edge of the marsh’s first mere.

‘Damn him!’ said Varens. Ignoring the chills and hot shivers that gripped his limbs, he plunged back into the marsh in pursuit of his friend.

He soon reached Bolus’ trail. It was so convoluted that he decided not to follow it, instead chasing down the sound of his friend’s voice. He kept his eyes on the low island and its trees when he could, and sure enough it appeared that Bolus was indeed heading towards this point. Whenever Varens was forced to divert around deeper water and lost hearing of Bolus’ eerie shouts of ‘One! One! One!’, he would head towards the island and pick them up again.

Hours seemed to pass before his feet found the harder ground of the island. Shivering with cold and sickness, he slogged his way up the rise. There was about three metres of elevation in it, but the hillock felt as big as a mountain. He doubted he had the strength to return to the hospital. This had been a mistake. He should have gone back.

‘Bolus!’ he hissed loudly, unwilling to shout, even though they were a long way from the hospital. He pushed his way through springy branches and down the overgrown far slope. The marsh’s first stretch of open water was on the other side, making the hillock almost an isle.

‘One! One! One!’ said Bolus.

There he was, squatting at the lake’s edge, staring at his reflection in the black water of the mere.

Though he was sick and cold, Varens felt a surge of relief.

‘Bolus!’ he said angrily. ‘What are you doing out here?’

Bolus looked up from the water. He looked terrible, with dark rings under his eyes and his stubble caked with scurf.

‘Two, two,’ said Bolus sadly, pointing at Varens.

‘You had reached forty-nine last time I saw you.’ Varens’ attempt at levity came out heavy as lead. He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. As he did, the wound on his back twinged, and he grimaced. ‘Come on, we have to get back. I’m not well.’

Bolus shook his head and crabbed away from Varens.

‘Come on!’ Varens said.