Understanding time was running short, Arthur barrelled through the scenery like a rock tumbling down a ravine. Chandler had at times resorted to physically grabbing the soaked collar of the older man’s shirt, ringed yellow with sweat stains, salt granules icing a neck that was now slim if not entirely healthy.

‘Arthur.’

‘What?’ said the old man, seeking to free himself from the embarrassing restraint like a punished child.

‘Don’t get separated from the rest of us.’

Arthur flung off Chandler’s hands, charging onwards. Chandler watched him for a few seconds, the bright red wrecking ball of his sunburned face crashing through the thin undergrowth before realizing that the boy hadn’t set off after his father but was studying him alongside Chandler. Their eyes met, the boy seemingly in two minds over what to do, worried wrinkles around his eyes that no kid that age should have. Chandler wondered if at that moment they were thinking the same thing: whether his dad had become a danger to himself and everyone around him.

From his other side, Mitch said, ‘Why are you bothering? If he has an accident it might get him to stop this shit.’

Mitch had already voiced his thoughts on the matter. There was no glory in finding a set of bones. There would be no individual acclamation for such a discovery, merely a statement in the paper proclaiming that after nearly four weeks of searching the police – in generic terms – had discovered the remains. True to form, Mitch was thinking purely of himself.

As the boy ran after his father, Mitch continued, ‘You have to explain to them that it’s pointless. The time, the effort, the money they’re wasting.’

‘They need to come to that conclusion themselves,’ said Chandler. He wasn’t sure he had the capacity to ask them to stop, no matter how much he wanted to get back to Teri.

‘What if they never do?’

Chandler believed they had to. At some point.

‘They’re fucked,’ said Mitch. ‘Their heads are fucked. We need to bring this to a stop. You need to. If anything happens it’ll be on your head. If anything happens to the other kid . . .’

‘Then you tell them,’ said Chandler. If Mitch was so keen to stop then he could deliver the news.

‘I’ve tried,’ said Mitch, ‘but you’re closer to them.’

The tone seemed to insinuate Chandler had done something improper by developing a bond with the family.

‘Why would they listen to us?’ said Chandler. He rephrased it, ‘They aren’t listening to us.’

‘Make them,’ growled Mitch. ‘Every fucking step out here is grinding my nerves.’

Mitch slowed down and let Chandler forge ahead pursuing Arthur.

Chandler called for a break. They needed some time to breathe, to take on some water and any food they could force down.