Chapter 12 #2
And, somehow, seeing Toby like this spurs me on. I need to find a solution. I need to get Toby out of here.
“Stay here,” I instruct.
“I was planning a ziplining adventure, but if you insist,” he yells back.
Hearing Toby’s usual snark is reassuring. If Toby is still snarky, things can’t be too dire.
Clutching the rock ledge, I edge my way closer to the waterfall. I need to get an idea of what we’re facing before we decide whether to risk trying to go over the waterfall or climbing out and being shot at.
Neither option particularly appeals, if I’m being honest.
As I near the waterfall’s edge, the roar of the water is intense, the spray coming up, splattering my face.
It’s hard to think straight when my world seems to have boiled down to cold and noise.
The rock is more broken here, and I can scramble halfway out of the water and edge along to get a view of the waterfall. It’s a fall of about twenty feet, where the water plunges into a deep pool, boiling up into a mess of water at the bottom.
Bollocks. A strong swimmer might have a shot at making it, but I doubt Toby will manage it. Which means climbing out is our only option. And we need to do it soon and quickly before Kade and his friends make it round the corner and are on the bank opposite us to shoot at us.
Just as I’m about to immerse myself back in the water and struggle against the current back to Toby to explain my plan, something catches the corner of my eye.
It’s a glint of green where there shouldn’t be any.
I blink to clear the water from my vision, craning my neck to see what it is. Only a few feet below me, just through the screen of the water falling, I can make out the outlines of a fern.
A fern behind the waterfall?
My heart is in my throat as I make sense of what I’m seeing.
Behind the waterfall, there’s a ledge where a few ferns are growing, a splash of vibrant green against the gray rock.
If it’s big enough to grow a fern, it might be big enough for us.
Hope flares in my chest, and the thought propels me to climb back into the river.
Toby’s still clinging to the ledge. He’s rearranged the survival kit so it’s looped around his chest, but he’s barely hanging on. The water is buffeting his body, and I can see the strain in his shoulders as he grips the rock shelf.
Shit. I hope he has the strength for what comes next.
I motion him towards me, and he starts moving down the rock face, gripping the ledge with white-knuckled hands.
When he reaches me, I have to raise my voice over the noise of the falling water so he can hear me.
“There’s a small ledge behind the waterfall. If we can get ourselves there, we’ll be safe.”
Safe.
It’s a word I’ve never really thought too much about before, but now it’s my ultimate goal.
I want to be safe. I want us both to be safe.
Toby nods his agreement to my plan, and then, together, we make our way to the waterfall. As we get closer, the noise grows until it’s all I can hear, filling my ears and brain.
I come to the broken rock face and scramble out of the water. Toby follows me.
“We’ll have to jump,” I shout, my voice nearly lost in the thunder of the water. “Aim for the ledge.”
Toby’s expression is one of exhaustion and fear, but he still gives a sharp nod, his eyes fixed on the ledge.
I reach out, gripping Toby’s hand tightly in mine. His skin is cold, his fingers trembling, but he squeezes back.
And then we’re jumping, our bodies launching into the void. The world blurs around us. We hit the rock hard, the impact sending shockwaves up my legs, but we’re through the falls and into the small cavity behind.
I scrape against the rock and halt our momentum, dragging Toby beside me. We collapse onto the narrow rock shelf, the ground cool and damp beneath my hands. Clumps of ferns dot the uneven surface, their soft, feathery leaves brushing against my skin as I shift to a sitting position.
We’re out of the water, but it’s deathly cold here, away from the sun.
I immediately start to pull off my wet jacket and shirt.
“I don’t think now is the time for a strip tease,” Toby says in my ear. His voice is so shaky it takes me a moment to understand him. When I swivel to look at him, I can see his lips are so blue they are almost black, which scares me.
“We need to get warm quickly. Your wet clothes will wick the heat away from you. You need to remove them.”
Toby shrugs off his coat and blazer, then starts to pull off his shirt, but his hands don’t seem to work properly. Without thinking, I reach over and help him unbutton his shirt.
I never thought I’d be undressing Toby Webley, but now isn’t the time to dwell on the peculiarity of this situation.
I hesitate when I get to his underwear, but Toby doesn’t seem modest, pulling down his boxers like he’s simply discarding another layer.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of the rounded curves of his buttocks and the light dusting of hair on his upper thighs.
I make myself swallow, dragging my eyes away.
This is a survival situation. Nothing more, nothing less.
I repeat that mantra as I remove my own clothes. There’s no point in being a modest corpse. I need to get warm. Fast.
The survival kit lies remarkably unscathed at Toby’s feet.
I have to rub my hands together frantically before my fingers regain the dexterity to unzip it.
But once I manage to open it, I discover that, thankfully, it appears to be waterproof, and I grab the survival blankets like they are the holy grail.
I spread one on the ground to provide some insulation from the coldness of the rock, then wrap one around Toby’s shoulders.
It’s probably a testament to how freezing Toby is and the fact he recognizes our dangerous predicament that he makes no comment when I slide in next to him under the blanket. We’re both completely naked, but I’m refusing to think about that now.
His skin is cold and clammy against mine. Goosepimples prickle across his flesh as shivers wrack his body. His curls are plastered to his forehead and droplets of water cling to his eyelashes and drip down his cheeks. I reach forward to grab two energy bars out of the kit.
The only way to ensure Toby can hear me over the noise of the water is to lean my mouth close to his ear. “Here, you need to eat.”
“I thought we were going to conserve them,” he replies through the rattling of his teeth.
“It’s more imperative that we get sustenance into our bodies now,” I say.
I wonder if Toby gets my subtext. There’s no point in dying from hypothermia while conserving energy bars we’re never going to consume.
It’s hard to eat through clattering teeth, but I force myself. Chew. Chew. Swallow. Chew. Chew. Swallow.
Toby has closed his eyes and seems to also be focusing all his effort on chewing and swallowing. I lean over to rub his arms, trying to help get circulation back into them. His skin is like ice beneath my palms, the fine hairs on his arms standing on end.