This daisy bush protected me from the person who was following me. The thought came to her from nowhere, and then a wild and irrational fear rushed through her. She spun around, staring into the forest, groping for Darren’s hand. Her breath came in heaving pants, her chest tight and throat dry. ‘There was someone else . . . footsteps, I know it . . . someone was hunting me!’

‘Relax, Miss Ellis,’ said Darren. ‘Just breathe. You’re fine. You’re okay.’

‘He followed me here. I remember his footsteps! I do!’ She gasped.

‘Should we call someone? She can’t breathe,’ said the farmer.

‘No, it’s fine,’ said Darren. ‘She’s fine. Aren’t you, Miss Ellis?’ He rubbed her back. ‘It’s okay for you to have a panic attack, you’ve been under a lot of stress. Try to breathe, but take your time – we’ll still be here, ready when you are. Just take your time.’

Slowly, with Darren’s encouragement, Eliza’s breathing began to slow, until she could spit out angrily, ‘I’m not . . . having . . . a panic . . . attack.’

‘Either way, you’re doing a good job,’ he said. ‘There, that’s better. You’re okay.’

‘I’m really not,’ said Eliza, when she could finally speak again. ‘I’m falling apart.’

It had begun to rain, the water icy cold. The other searchers all took off their packs, pulling out raincoats, but Darren let it run down his hair and face. ‘So . . . you do remember something?’

‘Someone was following me here.’

‘What do you remember about them?’

‘Just footsteps . . .’ The back of her head begun to ache. She remembered the terror of being followed, the urgency in her chest to reach the girls, the urgency not to lead this hunter to the girls . . .

‘Just think, Miss Ellis. You can do this.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Please. You . . . Can you try?’

‘I’m not remembering —’

‘Eliza,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘I . . . have a confession to make.’

Eliza looked at him. His face was striking now that his hair was wet in the lashing rain.

‘My sister was one of the girls taken in 1985.’

‘What?’

‘Rose. Rose Cahil.’

‘Oh, Darren. I’m so sorry.’

‘No one in my family ever believed Ted Barclay was responsible. And if the Hungry Man is active again . . . I want to stop him. I want to find him. I have to stop him.’ He gripped her shoulders. ‘I need you to think. Really think. Do you remember where you were when you woke up? When you first realised you were being hunted?’

Eliza looked up and down the trail. She pulled herself out of his grip. ‘I don’t think I could even find my way back to the motorbikes, let alone back to where I woke up, where Carmen first found me.’

‘You might be the only one who can help us. We have to find the other girls. If they’re still alive.’

‘Darren . . .’ said the grey-haired SES officer.