Hana knew but didn’t waste time in the telling. She gripped Logan’s tee shirt to right herself and set off ahead, leading the way towards the awful sound of dying children.
The ground changed underfoot, becoming sodden and heavy. Brown liquid resembling clay-slip oozed through Hana’s delicate strappy sandals and coated Logan’s trainers. The track wound through the trees and they followed, a cacophony of bird sounds hysterical overhead and the relentless screams of thirty boys.
Rounding a sharp downhill bend, Hana stopped with such abruptness, Logan ran into her spine and grabbed her by the shoulders to prevent him flattening her. Where the two gullies joined into a muddy, swampy pool, boys of varying height and weight appeared molded into a dirty ball. Their smart black and white sports
