Forest moved deeper into the cave, eyes on the figure. His heart pounded hard in his throat. What would he do if he was caught? Who was this man? Could he talk his way out of it? Fight? Beg for mercy?

Finally the man moved on, out of view.

Still, Forest stayed in his hiding place a long time, until he was cold and cramping. He climbed out of the cave slowly, taking a sharp rock with him. Not much of a weapon, but better than nothing.

Not wanting to risk the light, he found it hard-going to get back to the path. He was all scraped forearms and bruised knees, but at least he hadn’t made any gasps of pain. Eventually he found the grave track and, crouched among the scrub, finally allowed himself to flick the light on every now and then, looking for the bike.

Suddenly it was there, right in front of him. It had been moved – out of the bushes and onto the path. Impossible to miss.

A piece of paper had been folded and wedged between the handbrake and the handlebars.

Forest’s fingers fumbled as he scrambled to turn off the light. He froze for a good two minutes, looking all around, ears straining for any sound, the smell of ocean and bush coming with every shallow breath. Finding no sign of the man who’d been searching the rocks, he slowly approached the bike and plucked out the paper.

A nearby voice snuffled, as though waking from a doze, and rasped, ‘Forest?’

Forest hardly realised what he was doing, but before he knew it he was flying back up the gravel path on the bike, pedalling with the fire of adrenaline and terror.

It wasn’t until he was back beneath the streetlights of Shacktown that he ditched the bike, leaving it where he’d found it. He sprinted down to the beach, away from the streets.

He had to rest, then, panting and coughing from the exertion.

The fear was too much. What was written on that note? A threat?

Stopping under a streetlight he pulled the paper from his pocket and unfolded it.

SOMEONE’S LYING.

OVEREEM’S DIVE CENTRE, PUMP SHED, 10 AM

DAY AFTER TOMORROW.

COME ALONE.

He stood there for a long minute, reading the note again and again. Fighting to breathe.

He scrunched up the paper.

Someone was onto him.

He had to leave.

He had to leave now.

He ran back to Ivy’s, but when he tried to slip over the fence he was too clumsy, too loud. Torchlight shone bright in his eyes, and he backed away with a whimper.

‘Forest?’ came a terse whisper. ‘Why aren’t you inside?’

It was a female voice, but not Ivy’s. The light moved, and he could see again. It was Linda.

‘How did you get out without us seeing you?’ she demanded. ‘How long have you been gone?’