Three twelve-year-olds looked at each other with the expression of children being given real responsibility for the first time and understanding that real responsibility was different from the classroom kind. "Yes, ma'am," they said.
She went back to Vikram and the question of higher ground.
"The slope above the road," she said. "You've been on this ledge before. What's above it?"
"There's a section about fifty metres from here — upslope from the bus — where the angle is less steep," he said. "It's where my father parked when we came down to look at the gorge. There's a kind of flat area, maybe eight by ten metres. Above the flood line even in bad conditions." He paused. "But the path to it is over the road, and the road is—"
"Water," she said.
"Yes. The road section between here and there is under running water. Not deep — I think maybe thirty centimetres. But it's moving fast."
Thirty centimetres of fast-moving water on a mountain road. Adults could manage that. Some of the older children could manage that. The younger ones — the Class 6 students, some of whom were small and light — would struggle against the current. A child who lost footing in thirty centimetres of fast-moving water on a mountain road above a gorge was in serious danger.
"The rope," she said. "Six metres. We can use it as a safety line."
"For some of them," Vikram said. "It's not enough for all thirty-two."
"No," she said. "We move in groups. Rope for each group." She thought about this. "How's the radio?"
Vikram checked it. The green battery light was still on. He tried the emergency channel. Static, and then — unmistakably — the Rudraprayag base station voice, which had been transmitting at regular intervals since the first contact, telling them that a ground team was en route and that they should hold position. She could hear it clearly now — the clouds or the terrain had shifted slightly and the signal was stronger.
