that bathed the car park, the woods were completely still and dark. All that could be seen out there was the thick, pristine snow that covered everything.
Despite our fears for the girls, a current of high confidence buzzed through the congregation. The police divided us up into search groups, and after having been suitably equipped with maps and compasses, we then set off into the woods, waving the beams of our torches from side to side and looking carefully for any sign of life in amongst the flickering shadows. The group my parents and I had been assigned to headed east. Silence descended on us almost immediately, the knee-deep snow deadening the sounds of our passage through the forest, and I had to glance back over my shoulder to make sure that the bustle of activity in the car park was still there, or ever had been.
I was still a little unsettled by my dream, and being out there in the ghostly landscape of the woods did little to quell that feeling. I tried to rationalise the dream away, but every time I caught sight of an odd-shaped snowdrift, I half expected it to turn into a sheep. An unreal feeling of significance had settled over me, and as hard as I tried to shake it off by focussing on the search, it refused to leave. I knew from the Bible that God often spoke to people through dreams, but surely that couldn’t be what had happened, could it? Talking in the group had been forbidden as soon as we had left the car park, in case we drowned out the sound of the girls calling for help, so I couldn’t ask my mother or father what they thought.
My parents now walked the search line on either side of me, their eyes and torches sweeping back and forth as they stepped—and sometimes waded—through the snow. My mother would occasionally cast me what she probably thought was a reassuring smile, but I could tell she was spooked, too. Periodically, our party leader shouted out to the lost girls, but there was never any reply; the only sounds we could hear were those of our shoes crunching through the snow and our breath straining in and out of our chests.
By three o’clock in the morning, we were running out of forest to search. We had returned to the base camp several times during the course of the night, and each time we went there, more resources had been brought in to aid with the search. Floodlights had been deployed, another two dog handler vans were parked near the first, and a station for hot drinks and soup had been set up, staffed by an inappropriately jolly man in a thick parka who kept calling me Champ. When we came back to base for the last time, I overheard one of the policemen talking on the radio, asking someone how much longer it would take for a search helicopter to arrive.
We finished our drinks and set off into the woods once again, heading towards the final map grid our group had been given to search. By then, everyone was exhausted, and our earlier atmosphere of confidence had thinned, replaced by a sick sense of despair. I was almost dead on my feet, and as the team made its way deeper into the forest, I began to fall behind, lost in a world of misery with my dripping nose, chattering teeth and unfeeling toes. I could see the torches of the others flickering up ahead, but I hadn’t dropped so far back as to feel concerned; at least, not until my mind decided that the trees around me seemed to be leaning in, as if they sensed a weak animal falling behind the rest of the herd.
I was just about to wade after the others to catch up when I heard a quiet thump. My first thought was that it was merely a lump of snow falling to the ground, shaken from the trees by a startled animal, but the faint, muffled moan that followed it didn’t sound much like snow to me. I tried to force my teeth to hold still long enough for me to pinpoint the direction from which the sound had come, assuming I hadn’t just imagined it. Every second I stood still, I could see the lights ahead of me getting fainter, and it
Despite our fears for the girls, a current of high confidence buzzed through the congregation. The police divided us up into search groups, and after having been suitably equipped with maps and compasses, we then set off into the woods, waving the beams of our torches from side to side and looking carefully for any sign of life in amongst the flickering shadows. The group my parents and I had been assigned to headed east. Silence descended on us almost immediately, the knee-deep snow deadening the sounds of our passage through the forest, and I had to glance back over my shoulder to make sure that the bustle of activity in the car park was still there, or ever had been.
I was still a little unsettled by my dream, and being out there in the ghostly landscape of the woods did little to quell that feeling. I tried to rationalise the dream away, but every time I caught sight of an odd-shaped snowdrift, I half expected it to turn into a sheep. An unreal feeling of significance had settled over me, and as hard as I tried to shake it off by focussing on the search, it refused to leave. I knew from the Bible that God often spoke to people through dreams, but surely that couldn’t be what had happened, could it? Talking in the group had been forbidden as soon as we had left the car park, in case we drowned out the sound of the girls calling for help, so I couldn’t ask my mother or father what they thought.
My parents now walked the search line on either side of me, their eyes and torches sweeping back and forth as they stepped—and sometimes waded—through the snow. My mother would occasionally cast me what she probably thought was a reassuring smile, but I could tell she was spooked, too. Periodically, our party leader shouted out to the lost girls, but there was never any reply; the only sounds we could hear were those of our shoes crunching through the snow and our breath straining in and out of our chests.
By three o’clock in the morning, we were running out of forest to search. We had returned to the base camp several times during the course of the night, and each time we went there, more resources had been brought in to aid with the search. Floodlights had been deployed, another two dog handler vans were parked near the first, and a station for hot drinks and soup had been set up, staffed by an inappropriately jolly man in a thick parka who kept calling me Champ. When we came back to base for the last time, I overheard one of the policemen talking on the radio, asking someone how much longer it would take for a search helicopter to arrive.
We finished our drinks and set off into the woods once again, heading towards the final map grid our group had been given to search. By then, everyone was exhausted, and our earlier atmosphere of confidence had thinned, replaced by a sick sense of despair. I was almost dead on my feet, and as the team made its way deeper into the forest, I began to fall behind, lost in a world of misery with my dripping nose, chattering teeth and unfeeling toes. I could see the torches of the others flickering up ahead, but I hadn’t dropped so far back as to feel concerned; at least, not until my mind decided that the trees around me seemed to be leaning in, as if they sensed a weak animal falling behind the rest of the herd.
I was just about to wade after the others to catch up when I heard a quiet thump. My first thought was that it was merely a lump of snow falling to the ground, shaken from the trees by a startled animal, but the faint, muffled moan that followed it didn’t sound much like snow to me. I tried to force my teeth to hold still long enough for me to pinpoint the direction from which the sound had come, assuming I hadn’t just imagined it. Every second I stood still, I could see the lights ahead of me getting fainter, and it
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