Once we locked the shack, we paused for a second, looking from the place in which Isaac Mills had died to the graves on the other side of the stream, barely visible yet in the low light of the forest. And then we nodded at one another, Jo asked me if I was good to go, and we headed out, past the graves, to where the hand-drawn map had shown a trail. This time, it was harder to follow, the trees inching in closer every time we moved forward, Jo ducking under branches with ease, the six inches I had on her forcing me to be more careful. Once or twice, the light was so subdued I almost walked right into a rigid limb, but mostly I was able to protect my face with an upturned arm.

After an hour, the forest had barely changed, except for the dark: the sun was up fully and we could see more of what was around us, but I was unsure if it was better like this or not. The more we could see, the more colossal the forest seemed, an infinite ocean of trees moving in all directions, so distant and so vast they eventually faded into mist. Previously, all we could see was what was immediately around us, and that had allowed us to think we were getting closer to something; that the trail was leading us somewhere good, away from this labyrinth.

Two hours in, we stopped for water and something to eat, and Jo said she had to go to the toilet – so I sat down, gave her some privacy, and got the map out again.

I didn’t know if we were on the right trail.

I didn’t know if the map was even accurate.

I looked ahead of me and felt the first flutter of panic. It was already after 9 a.m. and it felt like we hadn’t even got anywhere. The trees were all exactly the same, the terrain hadn’t altered; if anything, the canopy had grown thicker, not thinner, and the sounds of the forest had deadened. There wasn’t a breath of wind any more. Any birds sounded miles away. It was just a perpetual hush all around.

‘What are you thinking?’

Jo was beside me now.

I looked up at her, then out at the forest.

‘I’m thinking I don’t know where the hell we are.’

‘Is the map wrong?’

I looked at it again, at the line that represented the trail from the house to what I hoped was a road. But maybe it wasn’t a road at all. Maybe it was just another trail. Maybe what Mills had drawn here was totally worthless.

‘This isn’t the direction they would have come,’ I said.

‘No,’ Jo replied, eyes on the trees. ‘I don’t imagine it is.’