Marianne Keeshig — Point of View
The footprints were small. Barely the length of her palm. Pressed deep into the snow, toes splayed, the gait uneven. A child running. Fast. Terrified.
Marianne crouched beside the first clear print, her breath fogging in the cold. “Whoever you are,” she whispered, “you didn’t get far. And you’re not alone anymore.”
She rose and followed the trail into the trees.
###
The Forest at Night
The bush swallowed the sound. There was no wind, no birds. And no distant engines. Just the soft crunch of Marianne’s boots and the faint, broken pattern of the child’s steps ahead of her. She kept her flashlight low, sweeping the ground, careful not to destroy the prints.
Unit Two’s voices crackled faintly over the radio. “Keeshig, we’re canvassing the fire road. No sign of the driver.”
“Copy,” she whispered. “Stay on him. I’ve got a child on foot.”
A pause. “A child? Alone?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t add the rest. Barefoot. Cold. She is running away from men who want her to disappear instead of being found.
###
The First Sign of Distress
The footprints veered sharply left, deeper into the trees. Marianne followed, ducking under low branches. Then she saw it. A smear of blood on a broken twig. Small. Fresh.
Her stomach tightened. She kneeled, examining it. Not a lot. Not arterial. A cut. A scrape.
Something from running blind through the bush.
She whispered: “Hang on, kid. I’m coming.”
###
The Terrain Changes
The footprints led her toward a rocky rise — a small ridge covered in spruce and jack pine.
The child had climbed it. Marianne followed, boots slipping on the icy rock.
At the top, she paused, scanning the slope below. The prints descended the far side, more erratic now. The child was slowing down. Tiring. Maybe injured.
Marianne’s breath caught. She remembered Nora. Fifteen. Missing. Lost in the same cold. She pushed the memory down. Not now. Not this child.
###
The Second Sign
Halfway down the slope, she found a small piece of fabric caught on a branch. Purple. Fleece. Torn. She held it up to her flashlight. A bead clung to the edge — white, plastic, cracked. Her pulse spiked. A bracelet bead. Similar to the one at RR‑2.
It’s like the one Aiyana described. The ones found in South Four are comparable. She whispered: “Oh Maker… you’re one of them.”
She slipped the bead into her pocket and kept moving.
###
The Forest Thickens
As the trees grew denser and the branches lower, the snow also became deeper. Now the footprints staggered, with brief steps, dragging toes, and uneven spacing. The little one used up all its energy. Maybe it’s freezing. Maybe collapsing.
Marianne quickened her pace, scanning ahead. “Unit Two,” she whispered into the radio, “I need a thermal drone if you can get one in the air.”
“Working on it,” Renaud replied. “But the cold’s messing with the battery.”
“Try anyway.”
She pushed through a thicket of spruce. And froze.
###
The Clearing
A small clearing opened before her — a circle of snow surrounded by trees. In the center: A shape. Small. Still. Curled into itself.
Marianne’s breath caught. She moved slowly, carefully, not wanting to startle the child if they were conscious. “Hey,” she called softly. “It’s okay. I’m with the RCMP. You’re safe now.”
No movement. She stepped closer. The child huddled against a fallen log, wrapping their arms around their knees and tucking their head down. Bare feet. Blue lips. Shivering. Alive!
Marianne dropped to her knees beside them. “Hey,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I’ve got you.”
The child flinched at the sound, shrinking away. Marianne softened her voice even more. “You’re safe. I promise. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Slowly, the child lifted their head. Eyes wide. Red‑rimmed. Terrified. A girl. Maybe eight. Maybe younger. She whispered: “Are you… one of them?”
Marianne shook her head. “No. I’m here to take you away from them.”
The girl stared at her for a long moment. Then she whispered, “He said someone would come.”
Marianne’s breath caught. “Who?”
The girl swallowed. “The quiet man.”
Marianne closed her eyes. Then opened them. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s get you warm.”
She wrapped her coat around the girl and lifted her gently. The girl clung to her, trembling.
Marianne whispered into her radio: “Dispatch, this is Keeshig. I have a child. She’s alive. I’m bringing her in.”
Static.
Then: “Copy, Keeshig. We’re ready.”
Marianne held the girl close and stepped back into the trees. The night closed in around them. But it didn’t feel as dark anymore.