I am running out of options. The possibility of the crocodile attack is starting to loom large.

There is a hard lump where my throat used to be, and a prickly, stingiing feeling in my eyes.

There's no point, I tell myself, in walking off down that dark track in the middle of the night and offering myself as dessert to the crocs. Even if the other three have been eaten.

But I have to know.