‘Hold — him!’ my father gasped, and began to heave. Tipene’s body lurched off the ledge and thudded into the bank. I clutched at him, teetered towards the river. Finola screamed.

Tipene saved me. My hands were locked onto his belt, and I fell forward against him, my face jammed against the knotted oilskin. It’ll break, I knew. It’ll tear apart.

It didn’t. I clutched at the bank, found a handhold, clung there. My friend’s hands moved, holding himself away from the crack. His body jerked upwards. I glimpsed Dad’s face — eyes slitted, teeth bared. Finola hauled beside him. Five seconds, and Tipene was sprawling safe on the grass, while my father tore at the knot around his waist.

I slumped against the bank, sucking in breaths. The current surged around my ankles; my heart thumped. Dad was still tugging at the oilskins fixed to my friend’s belt. ‘Hang on, son! Just a couple of seconds.’

‘Tipene!’ a new voice called. ‘Tipene!’ Auntie Whina had arrived. She dropped on all fours beside where he was sprawled. The little greenstone bat swung from her neck. Mum was there, too, hands clasped to her face, staring down at me. Silver glinted at her wrist.

Dad kept wrestling at the knot. ‘Alan!’ My mother gasped. ‘How—’

My neck hurt from gaping up at them. I tried to say something. Finola cut across us all. She’d half-risen to her feet, pointing upstream. ‘Look! Hurry, Uncle Matiu!’

At the same moment, I heard it. The same murmuring and sighing, swelling to a whooshing. Somewhere up the valley, water had burst through another slip. A second wave was coming.

Dad flicked a look, panted ‘God, no!’ He stopped wrenching at the oilskin around Tipene’s waist, begin ripping at the one further down. Another figure appeared beside him. Grandad Duncan, also panting, leaning on his axe-handle stick.

My body hunched. Could I cram myself back into the gap where my friend and I had huddled? I didn’t have any strength left. The wave would tear me away. The whooshing grew louder. Faces stared down at me.

Grandad Duncan fell. He collapsed face-down on the bank’s edge, arms hanging over. Mum called out; the others jerked towards him.

Then I realised. He was grasping one end of his axe handle, straining to push it towards me. It wasn’t long enough; a whole foot too high for me to reach.

Dad threw himself down beside my grandfather, while Mum shouted ‘Matiu!’ He gripped Grandad Duncan with one hand; his other stretched forward, seized the wooden shaft. My grandfather thrust his chest and arms over the bank, shoving the handle down further. I glimpsed Finola and the others clutching at the two men’s legs. A human ladder. The handle was almost within my reach.