Sarah Marshall (35), disheveled but not defeated, irons with robotic precision.
A cigarette dangles from her lips.
The iron hisses.
Her eyes are hollow but scanning.
The back door creaks open.
Danny enters, covered in dust, half-panicked, half-proud.
He heads for the pantry, grabs a few supplies.
Sarah leans on the door, watches Danny.
Sarah
You’re bloody filthy. I hope you’re not up to mischief. You’ve been gone all day. That Juba with you again?
Danny (O.S.)
Yeah, Mum. We’ve been fishing. Just grabbing some food.
Sarah
(grumbling, but softer now)
Your tea is in the oven. Clean up before you touch anything. And Danny—
Danny freezes, a jar of peanut butter in one hand.
Danny
Yeah?
Sarah (O.S.)
News says there’s a storm coming. Don’t be long.
Danny
I know that. I got eyes.
Danny sneaks extra supplies into his backpack behind her back.
Sarah
And for god’s sake, wear clean underwear. You’re not immortal.
Danny rolls his eyes.
Danny
Get a life, mum.
Sarah
Watch your bloody tongue!
Danny exits the scullery with a stealthy grin.
Juba stalks his way across low-tide sand flats.
In his raised hand is a long spear with a sharp, barbed metal point.
Attached to his waist is a rope with a gutted fish dangling.
He peers into rock pools, where trapped fish dart about.
Spots a stationary cuttlefish and spears it, quickly guts it and attaches it to his belt.
He looks out to the rising tide and starts to head back to land.
He takes one more look into the large pool.
Juba
(whispers)
There’s something in there.
He drops his spear and fish.
Dives into the pool and stands near what he’d seen: a silver capsule.
It shimmers when he touches it.
Juba
(CONT’D)
Shit!
He exits the pool, gathers his things and runs back to Diggers Cave at speed.
End of Chapter Eight