Page 52 of The Unlikely Pair
Dread fills my stomach.
Fuck.
“Hide,” Harry says urgently.
I don’t need to be told twice. I stumble towards a bush and enthusiastically throw myself into its embrace.
Shit. I should have probably been more discerning and chosen one without prickles.
My bush at least gives me a decent view down the valley, where a black helicopter buzzes along the skyline in the distance.
But the helicopter doesn’t come any closer. Instead, it swoops down the valley, then suddenly climbs the ridge line and disappears over the hill.
It leaves behind nothing but the rushing sound of the waterfall and the occasional chirp of a bird.
I wait a few more minutes before climbing out of my hiding place. Harry emerges from the tree he’s stashed himself behind.
“Do you think that was our friends leaving?” I ask, pulling a prickle out of my thumb.
“One can only hope,” he replies.
“Well, we’re still lost in the freezing wilderness, but we seem to have potentially got rid of the armed terrorists hunting us, so you know, let’s take that win,” I say.
“Yes, let’s take the win,” he agrees.
Our eyes meet, and there’s something unreadable in his gaze.
Maybe he’s thinking about how it’s just me and him here now.
I mean, not that I really wanted the company of the men with the scary guns, but knowing we’re the only humans for potentially hundreds of miles suddenly makes the landscape around us seem so big and makes me feel so small.
“Let’s keep close to the river and head further downstream, shall we?” he suggests.
“All right,” I agree.
And so we begin another torturous trudge through the forest.
The cloud has completely lifted now, and weak sunlight filters down between the gaps in the canopy. But there’s a cold breeze blowing, and my clothes are still damp, so despite generating heat by moving, I can’t help shivering.
Harry glances back at me and stops abruptly.
“We need to light a fire while it’s still daylight,” he says.
“What about the smoke? If someone is still here, it’ll lead them straight to us. We’ve just convinced them we’re dead, and ghosts aren’t exactly capable of lighting fires.”
“We’ll die if we don’t dry these clothes,” he replies simply. He looks up at the clear sky. “Now it’s clear, the temperature will plummet as soon as the sun goes down. We’ll need every layer of warmth possible. And the fire won’t be as visible in the daytime as it will be at night.”
“All right,” I agree.
Let’s face it, I would agree to almost anything to get out of these damp clothes.
How have I not appreciated how amazing dry clothes are? Every morning of my life, I’ve pulled on clothing without appreciating their absolutely incredible properties of being warm and dry.
So, for the second time in a day, I find myself undressing in front of Harry Matheson. I feel weirdly self-conscious, and the way Harry’s gaze lingers on my body adds to my shivering.
And my question from earlier is back in the forefront of my mind.
Is he…?
