I’m Dubbo Abattoirs United and I’ve got the ball and everything is good.
The sun is shining.
The grass is green.
The goalposts are solid gold.
Mum and Dad are among the spectators, smiling and waving.
My hip hurts but it doesn’t stop me dazzling the cup final crowd with my footwork.
What stops me is Bibi’s scream.
Fearfully I look around the stadium. I can’t see the problem. There’s no army truck on the pitch. No soldiers with guns. Nobody’s being chained to the goalposts. And yet I can still hear Bibi screaming.
I open my eyes.
The sky is black. A bitter wind cuts through the huddled people on the deck. Bibi is clutching onto me, screaming into my chest.
I look up and see why.
A huge dark foam-spewing wave is crashing down onto us.