I stepped on to the mesoglea, and it gave a little under my feet in that soft way it always did, so familiar and comforting. There was that clinging thread of goo that stuck to your shoes as you took a step, and the smooth white surface. It felt like coming home.

But then James climbed on to the surface next to me, and a moment later there was that low vibration beneath the surface of the jelly. It was so subtle you could have missed it, but we were both waiting for it now. We looked at each other grimly.

‘Let’s go right to the middle,’ said James. ‘I’ll start digging, but you get the cans.’

I nodded.

He unstrapped his machete and set off towards the centre, near where the Big House had been. There was no trace of it now, but there were a lot of darker patches hazily visible through the flesh of the Jellyfish. The sheep? Had the Jellyfish had a feast? Or was something else happening? For a split second I pictured us being sucked down there, sliding into that jelly, being absorbed. But then I shook off that thought and grabbed two cans of the petrol.

James had already sliced a circle into the mesoglea. It was hard going, and I could see his muscles straining as he pulled the machete through, but it had to be here, because the jelly didn’t seal up so quickly in this bit of the creature. I pushed one of the shovels into the gash James had made, and started to lever it apart. With a sticky squelch, it gave a little, and I pulled away a large chunk of flesh. James put a shovel in on his side too, and started to lever there, pushing the shovel further and further into the slit. He grabbed the machete and cut at his section again. There was already sweat on his forehead, but his face looked determined. He pulled away another, larger chunk, bending down to lift it with both hands. He kicked it away across the mesoglea towards the sea. I put my shovel back in the slit and started levering.

Beneath us, the Jellyfish gave a little shiver.

I pulled away another chunk and threw it towards James’s piece. ‘I’m OK here,’ he said. ‘Go and get the rest of the petrol. Quick.’ He was cutting away at the bottom of our hole now. This was already further than we’d ever managed to dig before.

I ran to the boat. Not stopping to worry about weight – because we were probably dead anyway, weren’t we? – I climbed straight into it, lifting two more cans of the petrol and slinging a couple of pairs of curtains over my shoulders. I ran straight back to James and dropped them off there.