‘ME WANT. BROOM BROOM TAR!’ Zilla bellows.

‘Go, Matt, go!’ I yell.

We’re driving at the speed of a tortoise chasing a lettuce smoothie.

‘Wait!’ I say. ‘Is the park brake on?’

‘Oh, is that what that is? I thought it was some sort of perfume dispenser,’ says Matt. ‘No wonder it’s not pine fresh in here.’

‘Matt, we’ll be in a pine box if she catches up with us!’ I yell as I reach over to release the brake.

But before I do, Zilla stops in her huge tracks. She plonks to the ground and begins to cry.

Her tears rain down.

Puddles form.

The puddles run together in streams.

The streams become a river.

The river surges down the road. And begins to splash around the wheels of the golf buggy.

The crying keeps going.

And going.

And going.

AND GOING!

The golf buggy starts to bob along in the deepening flood. For a minute or two it seems like it might actually be able to float, but then it pitches dangerously to one side.

‘Abandon ship,’ I yell.

‘CANNONBALL!’ Matt leaps out and splashes into the lake of Zilla’s tears.

I grab the bag and try to follow him, but I seem . . . stuck?

I am!

One of the bag straps is tangled around the park brake. I lean over and jiggle it free. It comes loose and I throw the bag to Matt.

I try to leap off the sinking buggy, but I bungee back into my seat.

My braces are tangled!

I struggle to unclip my braces as the buggy drags me under. I take a deep breath before the water covers my head.

Even underwater I can hear Matt’s voice.

‘Rich?’ he yells. ‘What would you give my cannonball out of ten? Rich . . . Rich . . . Rich?’

I sink into the shadowy depths.