I don't realise just how exhausted I am until I see Bea's sleeping face in front of me. A single strand of pink hair sticks to her flustered cheek. Her head lolls back, and a tell-tale snore escapes her lips.

I burrow into my own corner of the fish. The smell is still there but not as intense as before; I must be used to it.

As I sink further and further into the trout's flesh, it seems to cushion my head until I, like Bea, have fallen asleep.

* * *

When we both wake up, we're sliding. Among the blood we go, slipping like fish through the fingers of fishermen, a sour, metallic taste flooding into our mouths.

It takes me a second to realise that, as we slide down the trout, the space is getting wider and wider, and that sparks a single thought in my mind.

It's getting wider so that can only mean... I'm welcomed with a spray of blood to the face, and I have to compose myself to continue. We're getting pooped out.

And yes. That is a story I will tell my friends in a few years. I got eaten by a trout when I was fourteen. First time round, it vomited me out, and the second time round I was forced out with a humungous 'plop'.

And, rightly so, I start laughing.

Huge laughs rack my body. It does nothing to stop the blood and so I go hacking up even more, heaving up saliva mixed with diluted red.

Once I hit rock bottom, I'm still.

"Bea?" I manage to croak out. Turning onto my side, I cough up more water from my lungs, and it stains the rocks underneath me a bright red.

"Here," comes a faint murmur.

I turn in the direction of the voice. There she lies, looking bloodied like before, only this time worse.

"It shat us out," is all she says.

"I know," I reply and survey our surroundings. We're on the rocky river bank. The sun glints through the trees, starting its early routine again like any other day. It takes me a moment to realise that it's been twenty-four hours since Bea and I started digging in the river. And so much has happened in between then.

I glance a little way down the bank. The little clumps of soil are still there from when I last waved the metal detector over them, dried now. Bea sees my gaze and follows it.

She mutters a curse word. "We're in the same place?"

"Seems like it," I reply, smiling. The metal detector is nowhere to be seen so that can only mean one thing. "They know we disappeared," I tell Bea.

So my predictions were right. Mum must have come looking for me. Maybe they're still searching. She's probably still worried sick, pacing her tent, tugging on her hair, chewing her nails to the quick.

I begin walking briskly towards the path, not waiting for Bea.

Mum is up there. I can only imagine the look of delight on her face when she sees me.

I quicken my pace.

Her face will light up, and she'll look confused until eventually she'll smile and shout "Julian?" at the top of her voice. And then she'll come closer, realise it's me, and then sweep me into a joyful hug.

I turn the corner, heart beating with excitement. I almost have her name on my lips.

And then I stop dead.

Ahead of me, there's no digging site. The land is barren, not a trace of human activity left.

There's no one here. My knees are buckling.

"Julian?" comes Bea's worried voice behind me.

Collapsing onto the ground, I burst into tears.