Page 93 of The Unlikely Pair
He takes the remnants of my blanket in return, wrapping part around his shoulder, the other around his middle, and we both set off down the slope, our steps cautious and measured.
The sleet quickly turns to snow. I normally like snow. It doesn’t snow much in London, but when it does, it transforms the city into something from a fairytale.
This is no fairytale.
By the time we’ve descended the hill, the snow is coming thick and fast, reducing our visibility to only a few feet in front of us.
Fuck. How are we going to find the cabin in this?
We should have stayed at the rocky outcrop. At least there was some shelter there. But when I turn to look back, I can’t even see what direction the rocks are in. The snowstorm obscures everything.
I squint into the swirling white, trying to make out any landmarks, any clues that might guide us to safety. The snowstings my eyes, the flakes so thick and heavy they seem to swallow the world whole. I take a tentative step forward, my foot sinking into the rapidly accumulating drift, and panic surges inside me. How can we possibly find our way in this?
There’s a glint of gray just ahead of me, and I blink at it.
The lake. We’re at the lake. The cabin is on the shore of the lake.
But which way?
I scan the shoreline, trying to make out any sign of the cabin, but the snow has turned the world into a blank, featureless canvas.
Fuck. Surely we can’t have come all this way, survived this long out here, only to die lost in a snowstorm?
I turn to Harry, desperation clawing at my throat, but the words die on my lips as I see him sway, his knees buckling.
Oh, holy hell. If Harry falls over, what the hell do I do? I can’t leave him here. I won’t leave him here.
“I can’t feel my feet,” he says.
His words send a jolt of fear through me. I grab his arm, trying to keep him upright, but his weight drags me down, and we both stumble, nearly losing our balance on the treacherous ground. I grit my teeth, my heart pounding, and I summon every ounce of strength I have left, determined to keep us both moving.
He sinks to his knees.
I drop beside him, my own legs shaking with exhaustion and cold. I wrap my arms around Harry, trying to shield him from the worst of the wind, my teeth chattering so violently I can barely form words. But I force them out, a desperate, pleading litany as if I can will him back to his feet through the power of my voice alone.
“Come on, Harry, you’re the most stubborn prick I’ve ever met,” I say. “You’re going to be the next prime minister,remember? Think of all those Conservative policies you’ve got to force onto the nation. You can’t give up now.”
Harry doesn’t react to my words.
I grab hold of Harry’s coat, my fingers numb and clumsy as I try to get a grip under his arms. He’s heavy, his body limp and unresponsive, but I grit my teeth and heave, putting every ounce of my remaining strength into the effort. The snow is getting deep now, the drifts reaching up to my knees, and each step is a battle, a brutal, exhausting slog.
But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. The cabin is out there somewhere, a promise of warmth and safety, and I cling to that thought like a lifeline, using it to keep me moving even when every instinct screams at me to lie down, to rest, to surrender to the cold.
I squint into the swirling whiteness, trying to make out any sign of the cabin, but there’s nothing, just an endless expanse of snow and bitter, biting wind. Panic that I’m going the wrong way grips me, that I’m dragging us both deeper into the wilderness, into a frozen, lonely grave.
Who will find our bodies? A sob chokes in my throat.
But I push the panic away, refusing to let it take hold. In every life-threatening situation we’ve been in so far, Harry has done everything to keep me calm. But he can’t do that right now.
Today, it’s all up to me.
I have to believe that each step is bringing us nearer to salvation. I talk to Harry as I drag him, a constant stream of encouragement, promises, and desperate, pleading words I’m not even sure he can hear.
“We’re almost there, Harry. Just a little further. You have to hold on. You have to fight.”
The wind howls around us, a mournful, desolate sound that seems to echo my despair. My lungs burn with each ragged breath, my muscles screaming in protest, but I keep going, keepputting one foot in front of the other, keep dragging Harry through the bitter, unrelenting cold.
And then, suddenly, miraculously, a dark shape looms up out of the swirling whiteness, a solid, rectangular form that can only be one thing. The cabin. A sob of relief tears from my throat, and I stumble forward, my legs shaking, my heart pounding. I half-drag, half-carry Harry up the steps, my fingers fumbling with the doorknob, my eyes blurring with tears.
