Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Harry
Toby and my decision to stay in the cabin assuages something inside me. We now have a plan. I’ve always been an advocate for adopting a solid strategy.
Of course, staying here through winter has ramifications for me politically.
Best-case scenario, we make it through winter and find our way to civilization in early spring, delivering us back to the United Kingdom perilously close to the election.
Which provides Rupert with a much larger opportunity to prove his leadership.
There’s a high probability I could arrive home to discover that the Tories are on track to win the election, but I am no longer wanted as the leader of my party.
Therefore, I will not be the next prime minister.
But I push all thoughts about what is happening in London out of my mind. Because Toby and I need to survive winter first.
That thought spurs a new urgency to take stock of everything in the cabin and the surrounding area.
We find a set net in a cupboard, which is great news as it means we can hopefully learn how to use it and increase the fish we catch.
Although, we’ll have to resort to ice fishing once the lake freezes over.
We also do an inventory of the firewood. There’s already a decent amount stacked in a small lean-to by the cabin, but we’ll need more to last us through the bitter cold ahead. Considerably more.
Just as we’re turning to go, I notice a small reel of wire resting on a small shelf in the lean-to. I pick it up, holding the weight pensively in my hand.
“Look.” I hold up the reel to show Toby.
Toby’s eyes widen theatrically. “I’m not sure if introducing wire into the bedroom and starting to tie each other up is a good idea.”
“Very funny. I’m thinking I could use this to rig some snares. We could try to catch rabbits or squirrels. Add some other forms of protein to our diet besides fish.”
Toby eyes the wire skeptically. “Have you ever caught an animal before?”
“Not with snares. I went pheasant and rabbit hunting with my grandfather once.”
“Of course, I forget blood sports are favorite pastimes for you Tories.”
“I’m pretty sure if we manage to catch a rabbit, you’re soon going to be grateful for my ability to skin it,” I reply.
We’re back to bickering, but our bickering definitely lacks the animosity Toby used to direct towards me.
Yesterday, there was something almost…tender in how he looked at me, cared for me.
But then, he’d reminded me that our interactions are simply about keeping each other alive.
I need to remember that. I need to stop the part of me that is determined to seek more meaning from the way Toby acts towards me.
Toby accompanies me as we venture into the woods in search of the most advantageous locations to set up our snares.
“It’ll need to be on an obvious game path,” I say. “Can you see any paths that look like hares and squirrels might take?”
“Well, I’m not sure my mind is in sync with woodland creatures, but if I were a squirrel, I guess I’d be going the easiest way between my home and food source.”
“That’s an excellent idea. Now we just need to figure out where their home and food are,” I say, and Toby’s mouth curls into a smirk.
Eventually, we take our best guess at what looks like a small trail between the trees. When I construct the snare between two bushes, it is virtually invisible.
“Good work.”
“We’re going to have to mark the snares somehow so we know where they are, so we don’t accidentally walk into one,” I say.
“What about putting three pinecones in a clump together? That way, we’ll know they are there, but the animals won’t notice anything foreign,” Toby suggests.
“I thought you said you didn’t think like a woodland creature,” I comment.
“Maybe I’m getting wilder by the minute,” Toby retorts.
I snort in amusement, and Toby’s lips tilt.
Toby and I work through the forest, setting up a dozen snares in a large semicircle around the cabin.
“We’ll have to wait to see if they work. In the meantime, we can chop some wood,” I say.
“Why do I get the feeling that’s a phrase you’re going to repeat a lot in the future?” Toby asks as he bends to check our last snare. “Almost as much as you say, ‘Keep doing that, Toby.’” He sends me a flirty wink.
I roll my eyes.
As we walk back towards the cabin, Toby enthusiastically comes up with recipes to cook all the theoretical rabbits and squirrels we will catch.
His curls are wild around his face, his gestures loud, and I find myself having to take a break from looking at him, instead glancing to where the rock underfoot slopes down to the lake.
But then I hear a small cry from Toby and whirl back around, only to find Toby has disappeared.
My stomach plunges.
“Toby!”
When I rush back to where he had been standing, my heart pounding in my ears, I discover a deep, narrow ravine hidden by the undergrowth.
Dropping to my knees, I peer down into the shadows. “Toby!” My voice echoes off the rocky walls.
“Harry.” Toby’s voice reaches me, and I’m fairly sure if I wasn’t already on my knees, the relief pulsing through me would send me to them.
I spot him about eight feet down, wedged against the rock face on a narrow ledge. The ravine looks deep, at least fifteen feet to the bottom, with steep, jagged walls.
“Bloody hell, are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m all right, but I don’t think I can climb out on my own.”
“I think I saw a rope in the lean-to. I’ll retrieve it and pull you out.”
My mind races as I sprint back to the cabin. What happens if I can’t get him out? What happens if he’s stuck down there? For some reason, I’m struggling to find the usual composure I pride myself on having in a crisis.
I grab the coil of rope from the lean-to, my hands shaking as I hurry back to the ravine.
I take a deep breath to calm myself. Toby needs me right now.
Back at the edge of the ravine, I secure one end of the rope to a sturdy tree trunk. “I’m going to lower the rope to you,” I call, my voice sounding more composed than I feel. “You’ll just need to tie it around your waist, and I’ll pull you up.”
I carefully lower it to him, feeling my shoulders loosen when it reaches him.
Toby obeys my instructions, tying it around his waist.
“Are you ready?”
“Yep, I’m ready.”
I plant my feet firmly on the ground, my hands gripping the rope so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
“On three,” I say, my heart pounding. “One, two, three!”
The rope chafes my palms, but I ignore the pain. Instead, I pull with all my strength.
It’s a struggle against gravity, but I refuse to let it win. Finally, finally, Toby’s hand grasps the edge of the ravine.
I lunge forward, grabbing his arm and hauling him over the edge.
“Are you all right?” I ask desperately, pulling back from him so I can examine him.
“Yeah, I just scraped my knee. You might be calling me hop-along for a while,” he says.
I let out a shuddery breath, trying to calm myself. “That’s probably better than some of the epithets I’ve called you over the years,” I finally manage to say.
He snorts. “Very true.”
“We’ll get you cleaned up and some cold water on it when we get back to the cabin,” I say as I help him to his feet.
He leans on me, and the feel of him warm and solid against my side sends a flurry of emotions through me. I wrap my arm around his waist, supporting him as we shuffle our way back to the cabin.
“Let’s get you inside and take a look at that knee,” I say, guiding him through the cabin door.
I help him sit on a chair, then concentrate on cleaning his scraped knee, gently removing the debris, applying antiseptic cream, and wrapping it in a clean bandage.
Just as I’m finishing, Toby grabs my hands, stopping them.
“Oh my God, Harry, your palms are a mess.” He turns my hands over so he can examine them.
I blink down at the raw flesh. “It’s just from pulling the rope.”
“You need to use some antiseptic cream too, so they don’t get infected.” Toby is immediately leaning over to the first-aid kit.
“We don’t want to use it all up,” I say.
He pauses in his rummaging in the first-aid kit to give me an exasperated look, which is fair given I was quite liberal when applying antiseptic cream to his knee.
Toby squeezes a dab of the cool cream into my palm and starts to rub it in, his touch gentle. I’m struck by the slight quirk of his lips as he focuses on his task. The late afternoon light catches on his cheekbones, highlighting the dusting of freckles.
“It feels like death and disaster are so close around here,” he says.
I swallow hard. “I know what you mean.”
But as Toby continues to fuss over my hands, one curl falling across his forehead that is furrowed in concentration, I realize it’s not the natural disasters I’m most worried about surviving this winter.
It’s the disaster that is potentially going to happen to my heart.