Static. The coordinating voice continuing its broadcast. Had it heard them? The radio's range was limited — a hand radio against a base station was a shout against a bullhorn. They might not be heard.
Priya held out her hand. He gave her the radio. She pressed transmit and said — in the carrying, clear voice, the voice that reached the back row — "This is Priya Nair, Class 6-B teacher, Kedarpur Valley School. We are on the mountain road above the gorge at approximately kilometer fourteen. We have thirty-two students aged eleven to fourteen. Driver is unconscious. We have injuries. We need rescue. Please respond." She released transmit and waited.
Static.
She kept the radio. She had the radio and the flares and the flag and the rope and the torch and the whistle and Vikram and thirty-two children. She had, she noted, no food — the tiffin boxes were with the children, that was something — and no water beyond what was in the children's water bottles, which she inventoried at three and a half litres total. She had the thermal blanket. She had her own bag, which contained her lesson plans for the first week, her phone — no signal, she had checked immediately — her wallet, a small tube of antiseptic cream that had been in her bag since a different emergency, and a bar of dark chocolate that she had bought at the Rishikesh station and had not eaten yet.
Outside, the roar of the flood continued. Not getting louder — not immediately. But not getting quieter either.
She looked at the water on the downhill side. She looked at the ledge. Vikram was right — four metres of solid rock between the bus's right wheels and the edge. The edge was real, the gorge was real, the brown moving water far below was real. Four metres was not a lot. It was enough for now. She did not know how long it would be enough.
"Vikram," she said.
"Yes, ma'am."
"How good are you at keeping track of time?"
He looked at his wrist. "My watch is working. It's seven forty-four."
"Every fifteen minutes, you tell me the time. And tell me if you see the water level in the gorge change — up or down."
"Yes," he said.
"And tell me if you see anyone on the road above us. Any vehicle, any person, any aircraft."
"Yes."
She turned back to the bus. She had thirty-two children to manage for an unknown length of time in a situation she had no training for. She was going to do it anyway. There was no other option available, so there was no point in considering the other options. She was going to do it and she was going to do it well and every fifteen minutes Vikram was going to tell her the time and she was going to keep them all alive until someone came.
She took a breath. She went to work.
