At the thought of his boy, who would be about the same age now, he’d taken a deep, trembling breath and drawn the tattered black-and-white photograph from his shirt pocket. He’d carried it through the rigours of training and into the jungle. It had been the only thing he’d managed to hide from his captors – the only tie to home – and a constant reminder of what he was fighting for and why he had to survive.

He’d looked at it and gently run his finger over the faded faces of his wife and child smiling back at him from that long-ago frozen moment of time. His sweat and the humidity of the jungle had almost obliterated their features, the creases and ingrained dirt making it difficult to see the details. But he’d known that his wife had worn her best cotton dress that day, and that the pretty comb that held back her hair was pink – and that there was a sprinkling of freckles across his five-year-old son’s snub nose.

He’d just tucked the photograph safely back in his pocket when he’d heard the unmistakable sound of a utility coming down the road. He’d sat very still, safe in the knowledge he was camouflaged in the dappled shadows beneath the trees.

The utility was driven at speed, the single occupant intent upon the road ahead. There was a red cross painted on the side, and he’d wondered if there was an emergency of some sort further down the road – or if the man was looking for his son.

He’d glanced at his watch. Over two hours had passed since he’d seen the boy, but at that speed, the man in the utility would be sure to catch up with him soon. Feeling rather happier about things, he’d slid further down the tree trunk and fallen asleep.

*

The shadows were more profound beneath the forest canopy, making it dark and rather forbidding, and Sal was all too aware of the time passing. Her throat was almost raw from calling out, and she’d returned to the utility and leaned on the horn for minutes at a time to try to get a response from him. But there had been nothing.

She climbed behind the steering wheel and wondered frantically what to do. The forest stretched for hundreds of miles, and Max could be anywhere. To try to find him would be madness – the fire was obviously still raging – and soon she could become trapped here. Yet she couldn’t abandon him.

‘Oh, Max,’ she whispered through her tears, ‘where are you?’

The sharp bark brought her swiftly out of her misery and she opened the truck door to find Brandy running back and forth in what was clearly some agitation. ‘What is it?’ she asked as she climbed down and stroked his head.