Page 23 of The Unlikely Pair
Our hiding place is halfway up the slope behind the plane, so we have a good view of the helicopter as it descends onto a flat part of the clearing two hundred feet from the plane wreckage.
My heart pumps furiously as the rotor blades die down. The door opens, and four guys jump out of the helicopter. They are all dressed in camouflage fatigues.
My stomach drops. Not a good start.
And that’s before I notice they are carrying guns. And not just any guns. Machine guns. Is the Scandinavian wilderness more dangerous than I’ve previously been aware?
I feel lightheaded as I stare at the men crossing the clearing towards the plane. They’re not bustling urgently like I’d imagine emergency personnel would do.
Instead, there is only one way to describe their gait as they approach the plane.
Stalking.
Like a predator stalks its prey.
Harry stiffens beside me.
Fuck. I like to be right, but this is one instance when I definitely would’ve preferred to be wrong.
The terror inside me feels like it has been injected with steroids.
A figure joins them who is not in camouflage fatigues but is still in his white-and-navy pilot uniform.
Kade.
He must have walked back down the hill to coincide with the arrival of the helicopter.
“Harry?” Kade calls, his faint voice reaching us in our hiding place. “Toby? Where are you?”
I turn my head fractionally to look at Harry. He meets my gaze evenly, but I’m fairly sure his chest is rising and falling more rapidly than normal.
Our ‘rescue’ party reaches the plane, their guns at their shoulders. One jumps onto the wing to check inside the cabin.
“Toby, Harry? Where the hell are you?” Kade calls out, whirling around to take in the clearing.
A menacing-looking guy carrying a gun comes up to talk to Kade. Even though I can only catch snatches of their conversation floating up to us, I hear enough to establish one key fact.
They’re not speaking English.
In fact, I’m fairly sure that’s Russian.
Now, another machine-gun-toting man dressed in camo has joined the huddle. He points downhill towards the small stream. I guess the natural assumption is that we would have headed toward the water, where the terrain is the easiest.
“We need to get out of here,” Harry whispers in my ear. He’s so close to me I can feel the puff of his breath on my skin.
Run in the opposite direction of the armed men? That is finally an idea from Harry Matheson I can get behind.
I nod silently. Then, I point up the steep hill behind us.
Harry’s eyebrows fly up.
“They won’t expect us to go that way,” I whisper.
His eyebrows relax, and he nods.
Now, we need to extract ourselves from our hiding place and melt into the forest without being seen by the scary men with guns.
My heart thuds furiously. I glance down at the survival kit I’m clutching like it’s my firstborn. I’m sure the bright-red canvas bag is designed to be found easily, but right now, being found easily isn’t exactly what we’re going for.
