Scott saw a flicker of shock pass across Carly’s face, then a twist at the edge of her mouth. ‘Oh, fuck. I didn’t know she was pregnant.’
Mira turned and met Scott’s gaze; he saw straight away that she too had known about Naya’s pregnancy. The look on her face was haunting: horror, grief, fear, mixed with a kind of vacant numbness. He knew that look; he understood it. He’d seen it before – and felt it himself. Total overwhelm – a person reaching their limit. And who could blame her? After everything they’d already suffered, everything they’d witnessed – to lose Naya as well. It was unbearable, he knew it was. But they couldn’t fall apart now. Naya needed them.
Then Mira’s expression shifted; there was a new firmness to her mouth, a steely resolve in her eyes.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘She’s pregnant, and it’s Naya, andwe can’t give up on her. Carly, Scott, we have to follow the stream – we can try and track her down. We’re going to split up, so we can cover more ground – all right?’ Scott was taken aback, but encouraged by the strength in Mira’s voice.
‘Scott, you’re the fastest,’ she continued. ‘I think you should keep going, tracing the edge of the stream – you need to go as quick as you can, as far along as you can, and scour the water as you go.’
‘She’s right,’ said Carly, nodding, her energy more frantic now too. ‘Scott, you run ahead and search further downstream – I’ll keep looking a bit behind you, closer to where she fell in.’
‘And I’ll stay here and search the edge of the water,’ said Mira. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t move as quickly as you two – but I can keep a lookout and shout to you both if I see anything. Go!’
Carly nodded. ‘Just stay where you’ve said you’ll stay, all right? So we can find you again. Don’t wander off – it’s way too easy to get lost out here.’
With that, Carly turned and began to move along the water’s edge; within seconds, she was out of sight. Scott gave Mira’s hand a quick squeeze, then raced further down the stream, tracking the direction Naya had been travelling, eyes searching the water with increasing desperation. The humid air kept catching at the back of his throat; within seconds, his lungs were starting to burn, rivulets of sweat running down his forehead, his neck.
Don’t stop. Keep moving. You have to find her.
Breathless now, he kept running, eyes darting between the rocky shore at his feet and the frothing water, then back, overand over. Next to a large, flat rock, he paused to take some air into his lungs, wiped the sweat from his cheeks, and bellowed her name.
‘Naya! NAYA!’ His voice was hoarse, his throat arid; he was losing most of the remaining water in his body through his sweaty efforts. He saw nothing but the rushing stream – there was no sign of her thrashing arms and legs, her drenched hair.
He tried to swallow; winced, as a thought occurred to him: that perhaps she might no longer be thrashing in the water. A new image, one that filled him with despair, rushed into his brain: that instead he might see her floating face down, a lifeless body bashed over and over against the stones.
No. He couldn’t even entertain the thought. Naya was strong; she would survive this. He forced himself to move again, stumbled on a few more metres, and then he saw it.
The water, just ahead, dividing into two separate courses.
The one furthest away – the one he’d need to be on the other bank to follow – continued its rushing path uninterrupted.
And the side closest to him, the one he could reach, plummeted downwards, a plunging, racing waterfall that would slam a human body roughly six metres down onto the circle of sharp rocks at its foot.
MIRA
Mira moved closer to the bank of water, edging slowly and carefully along the stream’s edge, close to where Naya had fallen in. She whipped her head from side to side, frantic, still trying to catch a glimpse of Naya.
She scanned the frothing waters, looking for... for what, exactly, she wasn’t sure, or didn’t want to fully register. For the clothes Naya was wearing – for the shape of her jacket? For the black tendrils of her hair?
Mira swallowed back a sob, leaned closer, dangerously close to the stream. Her hand reached for a branch to hold herself steady as her eyes darted across the surface.
There – what’s that?
She had caught sight of something – a shape, something dark and heavy, trapped somehow behind a rock that sat only a little way out, towards the centre of the stream.
What was it?
Could it be... was it Naya – was she stuck there, somehow?
‘Naya!’ she screamed.
I have to get to her.
She would have to make her way into the water. She’d beena strong swimmer once: taking part in competitions in her school days, swimming twice a week all the way into her early adulthood, teaching her nieces and nephews how to doggy paddle at only a year old. Perhaps the recollection of all her time in the pool lived in her body still, a kind of muscle memory.
Clambering across the rocks, she leaned as far forward as she could, tried to see what was floating, lodged, in the middle of the stream. With a jolt of relief she realized it wasn’t Naya stuck there at all: it was her bag. The straps of her rucksack must have got caught on something underneath the surface of the water.
I should try to reach it.She knew there was a proper first-aid kit in there, and God knows Naya might need that if –when– they found her.
