We searched all through the night, and before we knew it the weak morning sun was looking down on us. As the day wore on, we combed the fields of knee-high grass. We searched through thorny bushes and inspected any tangled undergrowth that was big enough to conceal a boy. The sunlight changed from white to yellow to red, finally draining of colour. We had split up so that we all covered search areas of our own. At each side of me Charlie and Mel walked in parallel lines. It reminded me of the search parties that we used to see on television. The news crew would show footage of volunteers scouring the nearby woodland and marshes, before cutting to the crying parents who would beg their child to come home. The grass around us was yellowing with the approach of winter. I doubted Ben would be in it. I just couldn’t figure out why he would run away. I knew that he wasn’t happy; he’d lost too much over the last couple of years to wear the smile of a normal kid. Surely he didn’t think that he would be better on his own?
