Free Out of Time by John Marsden

soft and bulgy, with hard lines in it. He understood that it was human, a body. Suddenly he was grabbed with manic force: an arm clamped across his chest and a fierce, desperate, dark face, with a big nose, was staring into his. James’ mouth, his whole face, was open wide with horror. His face was in the shape of a scream but no sound came. The man was pressing him down, pushing and forcing him down. James was drowning in a silent struggle. He could not seize on a single thought that might save him.There was no room for that, just for gaping unformed fear. His face was under the water twice, three times. The man had ceased to be a human, if indeed he had ever been one. Now he was a force, an idea, evil. James floundered.
    As he had known in the ocean, so again he knew in a part of his mind that there was something that could save him. It was not a considered, rational thought but he knew there was something, and it was in his hand, and it was the key to his survival. A part of him that was not dying struggled with this knowledge. A persistent voice told him to press. Press? Press what? It doesn’t matter, just press. He pressed. Nothing happened. With no air left, nothing left, he went under again. The lights in his head focused themselves, concentrated, then began to resolve themselves into one bright coin of light. Then the light, while not fading in brightness, began to withdraw in distance, to travel away from him, at a faster and faster pace. It was a bright strong distant spot, becoming a pinpoint. ‘Wrong finger,’ James thought, if it was a thought. He gave a faint, flickering tremble of his thumb.
    He was lying on hard earth. It was dark until he realised his eyes were closed. He did not open them for quite some time. He was frightened of what he might see. When he did open them he saw an apple tree in the back yard of the house in which he lived. He lay there a long time, eyes closed, breathing deeply, in a kind of sleep. Afterwards he got up and went into the house. The woman who was there said to him, ‘James! Wherehave you been? We wanted to go to Grandma’s but we couldn’t find you. So Daddy’s gone on his own.’ He went upstairs like an old man. As he came to his sister’s room he moved across and passed by on the other side of the corridor, looking down at the floor.
    JAMES SAT ON a swing in the playground, rocking rhythmically to and fro. It was rare for him to get a swing to himself but at the moment the craze was yoyos and most of the kids were absorbed in them. Some days the rocking motion of the swings made him sick; other days it was restful. Today it felt good.
    A little way off were Ellie’s old friends, most of them anyway. He watched them covertly. They seemed to be having fun. He wondered how they could and was angry that they were.
    It had been raining hard most of the morning and the rain looked as though it was likely to start again soon. Large brown puddles lay morosely around the playground. James studied the one at his feet, then began kicking loosely at it, enough to disturb it violently but not to scatter it. Then he stopped suddenly, noticing a struggle in the water. He looked more closely and realised that he had washed a small insect into the puddle. It was fluttering its water-heavy wings frantically, trying to escape. James watched it for a moment, then used the edge of a dead leaf to lift the insect clear. He put it on dry ground, but the black and gold creature, waterlogged, moved only feebly. James feltthat there was nothing more he could do for it. He left it there to dry out and wandered away from the swing, back towards the school buildings. He walked along, thinking of the religious people in India whom he had heard about – the ones who took care, whenever they moved, to harm nothing. Even ants were safe from their light footfalls. James wondered whether the invention of the microscope, and the discovery of all the teeming