The Surf Lifesaver – Part 1: Between the Flags

"Between the flags," said Zac. "Always between the flags."

Henry nodded, squinting in the glare. The beach at Burleigh was vast and white, crowded with sunbathers, the Pacific rolling in green and gold. Red and yellow flags snapped in the breeze. Surfboards stood like a hedge along the sand. It was nine in the morning and already thirty degrees.

He was thirty-three, an accountant from Sydney, recently relocated, with a new red-and-yellow cap and a nervous manner. He had volunteered for the lifesaving club on a whim. He could barely swim a length.

Zac, his patrol captain, was twenty-nine, sun-bleached, tall and lean, with a lifeguard's easy grin and zinc on his nose. "You'll be fine. We start with the basics."

For two weeks they drilled: the radio, the tube, the rescue board, the first-aid kit. Henry swallowed seawater. He lost a flipper. He became, to his horror, the club mascot. Zac coached him, never losing his patience, never raising his voice.

Then, on a Saturday afternoon, a child's cry rose above the surf.

"Help!"

Zac was already running. Henry followed, heart pounding. A small boy, perhaps eight, was caught in a rip, being dragged out past the flags, arms thrashing. His mother screamed on the sand.

"I've got the board," shouted Zac. "Stay calm. Radio!"

Henry radioed. His voice, to his own surprise, was steady and clear. Out in the water, Zac paddled with powerful strokes, reached the boy, hauled him onto the board. They came in slowly on a diagonal, riding the surge. The mother ran into the shallows, sobbing.

Afterwards, the beach was a hush of relief. Zac sat on the sand beside Henry, panting, wrapped in a towel.

"You were good," he said. "On the radio."

"I was terrified."

"That's when it counts."

"Can I ask you something?" said Henry.

"Yes."

"Is it always like that?"

"Not always," said Zac. "Green?" he added, a flag colour.

"Green," said Henry, laughing. "Very green."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Sunset Patrol.