Stinky kicked away from the side of the boat. The raft started moving slowly out, over the seething, searching tentacles. The little feelers wriggled beneath the corpses on each side, touching them over and over again, searching and fondling that dry, yellow, dead skin. And the raft kept moving. Outwards and away from us it spun round, with the tentacles bubbling beneath. They started to clear. A pathway opened in front, a way through to the shore.

Then the larger tentacle slipped up and into the air. It was pinkly wet, and the sea water fell off it reluctantly, in thick globules of mucus. My stomach clenched as it reached down and gently stroked the corpse lying on top of Stinky. It slowly caressed the body, feeling up and down the full length of the legs, the torso, the arms, the face. It seemed to pause momentarily on the hair, hovering and pulsating in mid-air above, but then it slid back into the water again.

The raft kept moving outwards. It was through the shorter tentacles now. Nobody spoke. We were all focused on Stinky and the raft. Soldier John signalled for more rope to be released. It eased out. Inch by inch. Carefully, breathlessly, through trembling fingers.

The raft spun again, nothing touching it now, and that little ripple of tentacles behind it started to wave, as though urging it towards the shore. But it came in a sort of groan first, a shift in the mesoglea beneath us, maybe. It felt as though there was a vibration, a gentle buzzing; a stirring, surging, sighing under our feet. Nothing important; nothing to worry about.

And then the larger tentacle rose back up again.

‘Get ready,’ said Soldier John.

It floundered for a second, as though . . . perhaps not? But then the tentacle muscles tensed.

‘Pull him back,’ shouted Soldier John. ‘Now.’

The team pulled sharply, heaving Stinky back just before the tentacle made impact with the raft.

‘Pull!’

There was a mighty smash as the tentacle splintered the raft. The corpse collapsed under the weight, dividing and separating into parts.

White mucus started leaking out from the edge of the Jellyfish, seeping towards the raft, and the corpses.

‘Pull! Everybody! Pull!’

We ran to help, heaving Stinky in. His face was desperate with fear as the mesoglea reformed itself around him.

‘Quick. Pull! Pull!’

We pulled him through the mass of viscous liquid which hauled at him, battling against the creature.

It sucked at him, dragging at his body and arms.

But the rope held, and he emerged, gasping and pale, on to the surface next to us.

Chapter 23

23

‘It’s smell. It can tell because it can smell us.’

‘It felt him, though, it was definitely touching Stinky to check if he was there. I think it can tell the difference between the dead bodies and live bodies. Stinky’s softer. So it’s feel.’

‘It’s definitely feel.’