I stop.

My heart freezes.

There’s someone in the river.

Face down.

WAKE UP!

I don’t stop to think. Two steps and I’m there. The body’s floating in a rocky pool but the water’s slow here and only knee-deep. It’s a girl. Her hair’s all long and floating on the water. There’s blood coming out of her head; it’s making red swirls in the clear river. Near her is a jagged rock which is smeared in blood. She must’ve slipped, bashed her head on the rock.

I grab the girl under the arms and try to lift her. She’s so heavy! I heave with all my strength and lift her shoulders clear of the water. Her head dangles down over her chest. I lean right back. Her head flops on to my shoulder and her body turns and my feet slip and I fall so I’m sitting there in the shallow pool with the girl who is lying limp in my arms. I push the wet tangled hair out of her face.

It’s not a girl. It’s a boy.

His eyes are closed. I hold my wet hand in front of his open mouth. No warm air. He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing!

I scramble about, trying to find a foothold on the shifting pebbles of the river bed. I grip the wild-haired boy under his arms and I lean and I stumble and I slip as I drag him backwards out of the water. At last we reach the gravelly sand of the beach. I lay him down on his side and collapse to my knees next to him, panting. The boy doesn’t move. I look around for someone to help us.

‘HELP!’ I shout, as loud as I can. ‘HELP!’

My voice sounds so small in the tallness of the forest. The only reply is the far-off squawk of a bird, shrill and raw like a baby’s cry.

‘BEAKY!’ I yell. ‘LAMONT! Come quick, I need you NOW!’

But they don’t answer. No one does.

The boy’s lips are blue. I touch his wrist and I don’t know if it’s true or if it’s just what I want to believe, but I think I feel the tiniest flicker of his pulse. He’s alive! At least I think he’s alive.

‘HELP!’ I yell so loud my throat hurts.

Where is everyone? There’re always people running round the trim trail or little kids splashing about. Why is there no one to be seen at all, the one time when it really matters?

‘Help!’ I shout again. ‘Lamont! Beaky! Help me!’

But they don’t answer. If Lamont was here, he’d know what to do. He actually knows how to do resuscitation from when the lady from the St John’s Ambulance came in to teach us life-saving. Beaky and me got the giggles when we had to give the plastic dummy the kiss of life and Mr Pasco sent us out. Why didn’t I stop messing around and listen?

I tap the boy’s cheek.