The bank shook. Something huge rose in the river and thundered towards the rocks. My teeth clenched, my eyes bulged, and I hurled myself upwards.

At the same second, Dad and Grandad somehow made another lunge down. My hands seized the handle, and instantly they were yanking me up. My face rammed into the clay. The wave smashed across the rocks, swirled around my waist, plucking at me.

My hands began to slip from the wood. Then a hand snatched at my shirt, another grabbed my wrist, and I shot up over the edge of the bank like a hooked fish, thumping onto the wonderful, filthy grass.

They all had hold of me. Every one of them. My father and grandfather clutched my clothes; Mum and Auntie Whina pulled at my arms; Finola seized one hand, heaved so hard that I thought my fingers would pop out of their sockets. Even Tipene was trying to crawl towards me.

They stared at me as they knelt or sprawled on the grass. Their clothes were dirty and drenched. I stared back. Then I opened my mouth, and — and I burst into tears.

Yeah, I know. It’s pathetic. Guys don’t cry. But I lay there, water draining from me, body aching and shaking, face and chest coated with mud where they’d dragged me up the bank, and I blubbered like a little kid.

Mum crouched with her arms around me, murmuring ‘Alan … darling’ (that was pretty embarrassing, too) over and over. Auntie Whina held Tipene. An ugly gash ran from one eyebrow up into his hair; clotted blood covered half his face. He was watching me; struggling to speak. I managed a wobbly nod at him.

Finola sat beside her brother, crying even harder than I was. That made me feel better, for some reason. Dad and Grandad? They stood gazing down at us. Dad had one arm across my grandfather’s shoulders. When he saw me looking, Grandad Duncan lifted the axe handle he was leaning on once more, and grinned. ‘Told you I had plans for it.’

I turned towards Mum, gasped as every muscle in my neck and shoulders stabbed. ‘That horn. Did—’

She laid her hand against my cheek. ‘I was driving back from old Mrs Ross, and saw the flood wave charging downriver. All I could think of was to blast the truck horn, and try to warn people. I never thought you two—’ Her voice caught, and I saw she was nearly crying, too.

I tried to stand. My legs buckled and I nearly fell, but Dad had hold of me. ‘I should tan your backside,’ he went, then ruffled my hair. ‘What on earth were you doing down there?’

Tipene croaked something, struggled up until he was sitting on the muddy grass, while Auntie Whina still held him. ‘We saw — this.’ He fumbled inside his dripping shirt, and drew out the carving.