Page 24 of The Unlikely Pair
But I’m not keen to head off into the wilderness without it.
Harry follows my gaze to the survival kit.
Without saying a word, he shucks off his coat and hands it to me so I can wrap the survival kit in it.
He inclines his head towards the nearest tree.
“Crawl until we get to it,” he instructs.
“All right.”
Crawling through a Scandinavian forest while clutching a survival kit is not an experience I’d recommend. A drunk caterpillar would have better technique than me.
It turns out pine needles are fuckers designed by the devil. They shred my hands and pierce the fabric of my trousers and jacket. It feels like my palms and knees will be permanently imprinted with the texture of the forest floor.
But the pure adrenaline and fear racing through me keep me going.
I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe this is happening.
The words thud through my head as I reach the relative safety of the nearest tree.
My breaths come hard and fast as I straighten behind it. Harry’s right next to me.
The skinny pine tree is barely wide enough to shield us as we peer out at the clearing.
The men have fanned out along the banks of the stream. One of them crouches to examine something in the mud before shaking his head and moving on. Their movements are methodical, almost mechanical, as they work their way along the stream’s edge.
Harry nods at a tree at the crest of the hill.
“Aim for that?” he suggests.
“All right.”
It’s another twenty feet of pine needle hell. When we finally reach the top, it’s not a steep cliff on the other side, but instead, the ground flattens into a terrain of endless trees. But at least we’re now out of sight of the clearing.
“What do we do now?” Harry asks in a harsh whisper.
“We run,” I say simply.
Harry appears to have no issue with my idea, setting off at a brisk pace through the forest.
The undergrowth is thicker here. Small bushes clutch at my clothes, but the terror sloshing in my veins propels me forward. The primary objective is to get as much distance between us and our ‘rescuers’ as possible.
Harry’s beside me, breathing heavily, which actually makes me feel better about my own frantic gasping. It turns out that half an hour on the parliamentary gym’s treadmill three times a week does not prepare you for an extended session of running through the Scandinavian wilderness.
Still, I keep my aching legs moving as I continue to cradle the survival kit covered in Harry’s coat.
Harry’s half a step ahead of me. He suddenly stops so abruptly that I almost plow into him.
He holds up his hand to silence me so we can listen.
It’s the sound of a helicopter. The noise of the beating blades makes my skin crawl.
Is that the same helicopter leaving or another one arriving?
Please say they’re leaving. Please say they’re leaving.
Although, I’d hazard a guess that the likelihood of that scenario is not very high.
