Page 26 of The Unlikely Pair
“I don’t know if one less Conservative in the world is something my social conscience would feel guilty about,” he retorts.
Toby’s shoulders have relaxed in the course of our exchange. Insulting me seems to have eased him back from the cliff edge of panic he appeared to be teetering on.
Which is a good thing. I need Toby to hold it together right now.
Because he’s right. I usually avoid the use of coarse language, but “epically fucked” does have a certain ring to it when describing our situation.
Fear makes another attempt to take over my stomach, but I beat it back.
Now is not the time for emotion.
The forest ahead of us is endless, a labyrinth of trees stretching as far as the eye can see. The crisp breeze carries the faint, clean scent of pine resin. The peacefulness of the forest is a contrast to the tightness inside me.
“We need to keep moving,” I say.
“But what way should we head?”
“I don’t know. Does the kit contain a compass?” I nod at the survival kit, which Toby clutches like a lifebuoy. It’s still wrapped in my coat, and now that we’ve stopped, I’m beginning to notice the absence of my coat as the breeze penetrates my suit jacket.
Toby unwraps my coat from around the survival kit and unceremoniously hands it back to me.
I try to shake off all the pine needles and debris, but it is somewhat of a lost cause. I give up and shrug it on, grateful for the extra layer.
As Toby unzips the case, I glimpse a jumble of survival gear: silver survival blankets, a first-aid kit, a multitool, a fishing line, a torch, and some energy bars. He rummages in one of the pockets and retrieves a plastic compass, which he hands to me.
“There you go. You’ve got your compass. Does it actually help if we don’t know where we are and what direction we need to head in?”
He may have a point. But I can’t deny something inside me feels better holding the compass.
“We need a plan,” I say.
“A plan that involves more than running away from the nasty men with guns chasing us?”
“Yes. I think we need something slightly more elaborate than that.”
“I’m voting for ‘find people who want to rescue us rather than kidnap or kill us’ being high on the priority list for our plan.”
I study the compass. “We need to keep going. The crash site is west of here, so we’ll aim to head east. And we should attempt to get somewhere high so we can get our bearings.”
“We’ll be more exposed if we go somewhere high,” Toby argues.
“We shall have to evaluate the risk when the time comes,” I say.
Toby looks at me like he’s planning to argue but then obviously decides against it. He gives a crisp head nod. “All right.”
“What else is in the kit?” I ask.
“It looks like the standard stuff you’d expect.”
“Is there, by chance, any water?” I’m suddenly aware of how parched my mouth is.
Toby digs around in the survival kit. “There are water purification tablets and collapsible water bottles. But we need to find a water source.”
“We better get moving then.”
But the words are barely out of my mouth when we hear the sound of another helicopter. The sound starts as a low buzz, rapidly swelling in volume. Toby’s eyes go wide with alarm.
“We need to hide,” he says urgently.
