I sprint to the edge of the water, throw off my t-shirt, shoes and socks and dive into the water. My jeans stick to my legs, and it’s hard for me to swim, but I keep going. I have to do something. The water streams past my ears as I flow through the water. Through the turquoise blur, I see a body. I swim towards it and gasp thought the sea foam. It’s another person. He’s not breathing, but just unconscious. I drag him to the surface and he takes big gasping lungfuls of air. I whistle between my fingers and Patcho comes soaring down. On his way, he picks up the emergency raft and brings it to me. I haul the boy onto the raft, tie the rope around my waist, and am about to swim back, when I hear screams. I look behind me and see several motorboats streaming towards us. I gasp and swim faster. Patcho helps me, but it doesn’t make a difference.

“Patho, I want you, Kiwi, Mia and Spike to get all the coconuts shells. Start pegging them at the invaders.” I order. Patcho salutes me with his wing, then flies off. I see him a few moments later with an army of coconut shells, papayas and thorns. Screaming of pain follows. I swim to the edge of the beach, then realize the coral. I take a quick turn, but I’m too quick. The boy falls off the raft and sinks. I frantically pull him up again, and drag the raft along the beach. I untie it from around me and hook it onto the pulley and run of to the top. I haul the raft up, but I’m not strong enough. I whistle for Spike who appears with with half a dragon fruit in his mouth.

“Come help me!” I say. He looks at the pulley, at the dragon-fruit, back at the pull, then finally rolls his beady little eyes, spits out the papaya and pulls the end of the rope with his mouth. Spike may be chubby, but he’s strong. We haul,the raft up gradually, and when I look, I can see the boy scraping against the tree. I know if I swing the raft, the pulley will break.

“Keep pulling.” I say to Spike. I grab one of the parachutes made of three banana leaves. I attach the end of it to another pulley and hold the end, wrapping the other around my waist. I glide down to the raft, haul the boy over my shoulder and haul, myself back up. Spike realizes what’s happening and drops the raft rope, letting it fall. He hauls my rope up and I drop the boy on my bed. Spike goes back to his dragon-fruit and I help myself to a salmon. A good feast is what I need. Patcho comes back and I can tell the boats have gone. I give him some of my salmon, while Kiwi chews some leaves. Mia delicately chews her mouse as I help myself to another dragon-fruit. The boy lays still, lightly breathing. I fetch some of the salmon carcass from Patcho, who’s not happy about it and wave it under his nose. Nothing. I slap it across his face. It just rolls over. I pull his hair. Nothing. This is where I give up. I’m clueless about dealing with unconscious people. I glance out into the bay, to see the boats fading from view. Whoever they were, they’re gone now. What would Mum and Dad told me if they were alive? My mind runs back to when we were all playing on the beach. Every year, for the first 5 years of my life, we’d all go down to the water and spend hours playing in the sand and in the water. No I realize just how lonely I’ve been. No human contact for 12 years. 12 lonely years with only four animals for company. This boy was the first human I’d seen in all those years. I try and remember my home before the home in my heart. I remember large buildings, busy streets and lots and lots of people. Then I remember the event that changed my life. All of our lives. My father, Dr Shane Richardson, was receiving his award for an excellent report explaining how all natural disasters are connected. I sat on my mother, Dawn Richardson’s lap, with her clapping my chubby little hands, beaming. Then, when my father was about to receive his award, his arch nemesis stormed into the ceremony and claimed he had made a report exactly like it before. Dr Thompson had always been Mum and Dad’s enemy. He’s always taken credit for their work whenever he could.

I don’t remember what had happened from then on, only having a few of my things packed into a small suitcase and spending what felt like three months on a boat. I glance over my shoulder to that small bag. I just wish I’d known what had happened. All Mum and Dad had told me was what happened to Dr Thompson. He got cold feet, and spend six months claiming to be a tour guide, only to be fatally attacked by a lion while giving a safari tour.