I was in the classroom, waving goodbye to Luke and his dad, when I spotted a looming figure in the hallway. Scott didn’t look quite as threatening as usual. He was clean shaven and dressed in a pale green polo shirt. He even smiled at Pat Haas, displaying a fine set of teeth.

But I still felt a twinge of dread when I saw him. Oh shit, I thought. Krystal obviously hadn’t told Joyce that Aaron was taking a sickie.

‘Where’s my son?’ Scott demanded, after scoping out the classroom.

I took a deep breath. ‘He’s not here. He didn’t come to school.’

Scott stared at me. I could see the colour creeping up his throat into his face. Then his eyes turned to slits and his brows collided.

‘You gotta be joking,’ he said through clenched teeth.

‘No. Sorry, I haven’t seen him.’

‘That stupid little cunt.’ He turned on his heel and stormed out, almost tripping over Phoebe on the way.

Five hours later, the police arrived at my home and told me that Krystal had abducted Aaron.

2019

2019

WHEN WARREN AND I reached the zipline, we found Tyler lying near the bottom step. Matt was huddled a few metres away, his face wet with tears. Dean had ducked under the platform. He was pacing around like an animal in a cage.

Warren scanned the three of them, then headed straight for Dean. I hunkered down to examine Tyler. He was suet-coloured and damp with sweat, though his expression was stoic.

‘It really hurts,’ he muttered.

‘Which leg?’

‘The right,’ said Matt. I tossed him a smile and shrugged off my backpack. Then I pulled out the first-aid kit.

‘I think it’s broken.’ Tyler’s voice was just a thread of sound. ‘I think I felt it snap.’

‘Can you move it?’ I asked.

He winced. ‘Hurts too much…’

I began to cut off his uniform with a pair of scissors.

Matt cried, ‘Don’t do that!’

‘I have to, Matty. I have to see what the damage is.’ I was dreading a compound fracture. But after a quick look, I decided the skin wasn’t pierced—though Tyler’s skinny little leg was bruised and badly swollen above the ankle. The sight of it made me feel ill. ‘Warren?’ I said.

‘Yeah.’ Warren had offered Dean a chocolate bar, which Dean was now stuffing into his gob.

Bribe, I thought. Good one. ‘I don’t think we should move him.’

Warren frowned. ‘Not even with a splint?’

‘No.’ I wasn’t a medic, but I knew enough to realise there might be internal injuries. Spinal damage. Concussion. ‘We can’t risk banging him around on a downhill walk. We should wait till Lifeflight gets here.’