Page 38 of The Unlikely Pair
I keep reaching for my pocket, only to remember my phone isn’t there. It’s like phantom limb syndrome but for social media addicts.
My urge to GoogleHow to survive in the wildernesshas never been stronger.
I find myself scanning the forest as we walk because, as Harry and I just discussed, our supply of energy bars won’t last us forever.
Can you forage in these woods? I’m sure the ancient people who lived in this landscape managed to hustle up something to eat. There are plenty of streams, and they’ll have fish in them, surely. The survival kit has a fishing line, but what would we use for bait?
And we have no idea if we’re still being hunted by Kade and his friends. It’s probably not the time to sit quietly on the bank for an extended fishing session.
Besides, how would we cook the fish if we did manage to catch it? Building a fire is too risky if we’re being hunted. We could eat it raw, but I’m not sure if whatever fish are in the streams of Scandinavia are your usual sashimi fare.
Mulling over our chances of fishing success at least distracts me from the way the straps of the survival kit are digging into my shoulders. At first, it’s just a small discomfort, but it quickly turns into flames of pain encompassing my entire shoulders. And it gives me a legitimate excuse to force Harry to stop ignoring me.
“Hey, anytime you want a turn carrying the survival kit, just let me know. I wouldn’t want you to feel like you’re shirking your duties and making me do all the work. Although, I guess that is the mantra of the Conservative Party, isn’t it? Make the little people do the work?” My words are deliberately inflammatory, hoping to get a response from him.
Sure enough, a momentary scowl comes across Harry’s face.
That’s something I’ve noticed in the last sixteen hours or so that I’ve spent in Harry’s company. He occasionally has a micro-reaction that looks like his real, genuine emotion before his usual cool mask descends. You’ve got to be watching very closely, though, or you’ll miss it.
“I am, of course, like all members of my party, perfectly prepared to take my portion of any shared burden,” he says.
“I think your tax policy may indicate something different,” I say happily as I take the survival kit off my back and hand it to Harry.
Harry effortlessly slings it across his back. “Our tax policy is designed to stimulate economic growth and encourage personal responsibility,” he says.
“Personal responsibility? Is that what you call it when the wealthy get tax breaks while the rest of us pay more?” I reply.
Somehow, as we start walking again, I’m the happiest I’ve been all day. It may be partly the relief of having a break from the survival kit, however temporary, or, perversely, it may be the argument with Harry that’s making me happy.
I may not know how to find food in the wilderness, but at least I can argue with Conservatives about their shoddy tax policy.
Although perhaps food-finding skills would be more useful right now.
“So, where are we heading? Are you planning to discuss that with me, or do you expect me to just fall in line and follow? I mean, I know you’re used to blind followers, but some of us actually require explanations for decisions,” I say.
“I’m still navigating east, away from the crash site. I’m also aiming uphill in the hope that we can survey the landscape and see any signs of habitation.”
“But if we’re in Finland, won’t east take us closer to Russia?” I ask. “Isn’t that what our potential kidnappers want?”
“Those men are not part of the Russian government,” Harry says definitively.
“How do you know?”
“Because the Russian government would have found us by now. They would have used every resource to track us down. The sky would be full of helicopters and military planes. They would use infrared technology to detect us.”
“It sounds like you’ve thought this through.”
“I had a lot of time to think last night,” he says.
A flash of guilt stabs through me because I can’t deny Harry did the lion’s share of the sentry duty last night. But that was his choice.
“If they are not the Russian government, who are they?”
He shrugs. “I haven’t figured that part out yet. But the absence of any UK search team means we were definitely off ourintended route and weren’t tracked. I think they are probably searching the completely wrong country.”
“You did have a lot of time to think last night,” I say, my tone slightly bitter.
As Oliver’s chief of staff, I’d been his right-hand man in many national emergencies. Flooding in Cumbria. The airport workers strike. Terrorists attacking our embassy in Nigeria. I prided myself on my ability to give a cool, clear-headed assessment of the issue facing us.
