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We were scouting for the trek to the next bay, which was still our big plan, though even Arnie no longer believed we’d find a tourist village. We were hoping to find another source of fresh water, and also hoping to find more jungle fruit. We hadn’t had any further success this way since Miranda’s wild banana tree, but we were hopeful.
    Our method was to walk along the beach until we came to a natural opening in the trees, then head in toward the foot of the cliff, turn north there and explore until we got stopped by a thorn thicket. Then we’d fight our way out to the beach again and repeat the process. By midday we were farther toward the headland than ever before, and we’d found a grove of wild guava trees; but the fruit we’d knocked down with our multipurpose sharpened sticks was too woody to eat. Otherwise, there was nothing to report. It was thirsty work. Even half a day trekking showed us how hopeless it would be to set out on a longer expedition without carrying lots of water.
    We rested, chewing our coconut strips, on the cool sand in the shade, and then went on. The forest got nastier; darker and thornier, and soggy underfoot, but never any water fit to drink. After about an hour we hit a gloomy clearing, near the cliff, where Miranda spotted something exciting.
    “Look!” she said. “Something’s been digging up the ground!”
    We’d seen plenty of birds, butterflies and insects, and one snake. We’d had a few glimpses of monkeys. But all the wildlife on this desert island was very shy. We’d never seen any animals bigger than beetles on the ground. I peered at the marks she’d found, struggling with my poor eyesight.
    “And look here! Bark chewed off a tree trunk, and scratches. I wonder what did that? Maybe a small deer? Or maybe it’s wild pigs! Ooh, Semi! Imagine roast suckling pig!”
    She lifted her head, sharply. I’d heard it too. There was something rustling in the undergrowth, really close to us.
    “You stay here,” she whispered, quietly taking out the net bag. “I’m going hunting!”
    I’d seen Miranda do such amazing things I almost believed she’d reappear in a few minutes with a wild pig slung over her shoulder. I was so hungry for a change from fish and coconut that my mouth was watering at the very thought. I’d been standing there for a few minutes, trying not to breathe aloud, when I heard a snuffling noise behind me. I turned, cautiously, and my heart leaped! In the middle of the clearing there was a pool of stagnant water. There by the pool stood an animal about the size of a large cat. It seemed to be drinking. It had a stripy back, and I was sure I saw a snout. A wild piglet!
    I crept forward, holding my breath and leveling my fruit-picking stick like Stone Age Girl the Hunter, feeling incredibly silly, but excited too. The piglet went on snuffling up the dark water. It didn’t seem to know I was there. I was almost on top of it when it gave a start, and looked up. I saw its eyes. I saw it lift its front legs, as if to ward off a blow. Oh,
what?
The piglet had
little human hands!
    I screamed.
    Miranda came leaping back into the clearing. The piglet squealed. Miranda flung the net bag. The piglet ran through my legs, overturning me. I fell forward, grabbing Miranda. All the birds in the trees around shot up into the air screeching, and a few monkeys hooted for good measure; we both ended up in the pool, splashed to the eyes in stinking swamp water.
    The smell was so bad, we couldn’t stand it. We had to give up on the forest, head back out to the beach and wash ourselves down in seawater.
    We decided that was the end of the expedition.
    I was shaken by the fact that I’d thought the piglet had little hands. But I managed to put it out of my head quite quickly. We were all used to the horrible obsessions we had about the dead bodies, and I think we’d all decided, separately, not to talk about any other strange ideas that came into our heads. It was easier to