Chapter Twenty

Building was booming in Byron Bay and Josh knew how lucky he was. When he finished his apprenticeship as a chippie, he walked straight into a job. His mates had decided to stay in Sydney and were still looking for work, but here he was, three weeks in, working on what had to be one of the best building sites in the country. Only a narrow road separated the house from Wategos Beach and the huge windows meant they had views of chicks in bikinis all day. Even better, some of them were topless. But he also saw all the lucky dudes out there on their boards, and today the surf was pumping.

When his boss sent him for supplies, Josh floored it to the hardware store, figuring he could sneak in a very quick surf on the way back. He’d tell the boss the traffic back into town from the industrial estate was a nightmare. Who wouldn’t believe that?

He flew over the speed humps and parked at Tallows. He swapped his fluoro-orange work gear for his bright-pink boardies, grabbed his board and sprinted down the track to the beach. There was hardly a surfer to be seen and Josh figured a lot of them would be looking for that missing dude. Shark attack, apparently, but what were the chances? Sure, his mates jokingly called them ‘men in grey suits’ rather than say the word ‘shark’, but they’d surfed among them heaps of times without a problem.

As he paddled out, he wondered how he would explain his wet hair to the boss. Before he could think of an answer, he was paddling flat chat as a huge wave bore down on him. He sprang to his feet and sliced his way down the wave, one hand tracing through the sheer liquid wall to his right. The mountain of water started to curl over his head, and it was line ball whether he would squirt out the tube just in time or have a massive wipe-out. He crouched low under the arching wave and, just when he thought it was over, shot out through the foam into clear, dry air. Fuck yeah. He only had a few seconds of exhilaration before the break closed out and he bailed off the back of the wave at such speed he was catapulted high through the air. He kept a wary eye on his board as he flew, making sure it was safely clear, then closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact. The landing knocked the breath out of him – it was unexpectedly hard – but his momentum still carried him deep under. He swam back to the surface and emerged gasping for air, with a stabbing pain in his ribs every time he sucked in a breath. He turned to see what he hit. A man bobbed in the water. His face was horrible, grey and bloated. A dead eye stared straight at Josh. One leg was missing below the knee and strips of muscle floated from a jagged wound. Josh turned away and vomited, struggling to stay afloat as great heaves emptied his stomach into the water around him.

Josh looked around in panic, not sure what to do. He thought about leaving the body – he was going to be in so much shit with his boss. He might even lose his job. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The dead dude was a fellow surfer.

The waves buffeted him as, with shaky hands, he attached his leg-rope to the man’s remaining leg before climbing onto his board and paddling to shore. He pulled the body onto the sand above the reach of the waves, unable to avoid looking at the bloated face and the missing leg. The acid rose to his throat again and he just had time to turn his head before his insides emptied themselves onto the sand.