‘Put all your stuff back in the rucksack,’ said Lana. ‘And make sure it’s neat. I don’t want to leave anything behind.’

‘What shall we do with our dirty pants?’ said Kate.

‘How are they dirty?’ said James. ‘You’ve only had them on a few hours. The last pair I had I wore for the whole time we were on the Jellyfish and they were fine.’

‘Put them in this pocket,’ said Lana, ignoring him. ‘I’ve got washing powder too, so we can wash them when we get back this afternoon.’

Me and Kate silently put our pants in the front pocket of the rucksack.

‘We’ll put the rucksack on the beach, by the boats, so that it’s there when we get back later,’ said Lana. She said the last five words very confidently.

‘And the water pistols too. We might need those.’ said James. ‘Shall we go straight away?’

‘Yes, well,’ I said, ‘There’s not much else to do here, is there?’

We smiled.

‘Me and Kate will go and get as much petrol as we can. Can you two sort out the boats and get some matches?’ I said.

We shared some peaches and rice pudding for our breakfast. But it was hard to properly enjoy it, knowing what we were about to go off and do. Knowing that these might be our last rice puddings, and our last peaches.

The Jellyfish was closer to shore than it had been last night and, while it wasn’t obviously angry like it had been when we had been escaping, its tentacles were flailing around in a way which showed it didn’t feel comfortable. On board there was a darker patch to one side. It was hard to tell what it was: seaweed, fish, sheep . . . humans. But there was a sheen to the darkness, a whiteish coating which glistened in the sunlight as the shadows shifted across the sky. Something was being eaten; something weaker than the Jellyfish was being absorbed.

Me and Kate trudged towards the nearest cars.

‘All we need is a long straw,’ she said.

Anyway, I’m going to cut things short at this point, because let’s just say all we needed wasn’t just a long straw. Literally, I don’t want to relive the ‘getting petrol out of cars’ story again. We needed buckets to put the petrol in; we needed a much, much longer thing than just a straw: we needed a hose. And we also, and this is the flippin’ worst bit: we also needed to suck the petrol out.

By the time we’d filled four buckets – which took about twenty cars, by the way – Lana and James had arrived, and were sitting around making fun of us.

‘Just shut up and help,’ I said.

‘I’ve found some sweets,’ said James. ‘That’s valuable help.