Page 119 of The Unlikely Pair

I hold up the branch to show Toby, raising my eyebrows in grim confirmation. His jaw tightens and he gives a barely perceptible nod.

A bear or elk is the only thing large enough in these woods to create that damage.

But something tells me it wasn’t a natural inhabitant of the forest.

Hope battles with fear inside my chest.

Could it be a late-season hiker or camper passing through? Perhaps even a search party that has tracked us down after all this time? The thought makes me lightheaded, the idea that potential rescue could be so close.

A flicker of hope lights Toby’s eyes, and I know he’s thinking the same thing. His hand gives mine a reassuring squeeze.

I give a subtle flick of my head to indicate we should head up the slope away from the cabin, and Toby nods. We head up the hill, our movements cautious and quiet. We’ve learned to navigate the forest with far more care now, so as not to disturb the animals, and it shows.

Finally, we come to a rocky outcrop partway up the slope of the hill. Staying low, I creep to the edge and carefully peek out. Toby’s pressed in tight behind me.

That’s when I see them. Three armed men converge on our cabin’s location with purpose. Their black fatigues and militaristic movements are all too familiar.

My stomach plummets.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder, and I look back to find Toby’s face drained of color.

“They’ve found us,” he whispers.

I have to clear my throat before I can muster a reply. “Yes. It appears so.”

Toby’s breath is ragged, and I wonder if he’s experiencing the same sense of violation I am watching the men enter our cabin.

The cabin where they’ll find a bed with sheets still rumpled because, after extensive mocking from Toby, I’ve abandonedthe regimented make-the-bed routine I’ve carried out every morning since Dentworth.

The cabin where they’ll find the almost finished liners I was making for Toby’s boots to help keep his feet warm through the winter ahead.

The cabin that has been our home for the past few weeks.

What’s more, it is the cabin that contains everything we need to survive.

I feel slightly dizzy, my limbs suddenly weak and unsteady.

Toby and I watch the cabin closely, but it appears to have swallowed the terrorists because they don’t re-emerge.

“They’re waiting for us inside. It’s an ambush,” Toby says finally.

“So, what do we do now?” I ask.

“We can’t go fleeing into the woods with no supplies.”

He’s right. As tempting as it is to put as much distance between us and these men as possible, we know enough now to know that blindly setting off into the forest is not a good idea.

I take a moment to assess our current situation.

We have three hares and a squirrel we’ve retrieved from the snares. We have the clothes we’re wearing, which fortunately, due to the crispness of the morning, means we are in possession of warm jackets. I have the multitool securely in my pocket, which contains our ferro rod, and what remains of the spool of wire.

But we are lacking in waterproof equipment. We don’t have our remaining intact survival blanket or other essential items from the survival kit. We don’t have any fishing gear besides the potential to retrieve our set net in the lake.

It is now early November, and the temperature continues to drop with each passing day. Running off into the woods would be tantamount to a death sentence.

“All we need is for them to give up, to go searching for us, then we sneak back to the cabin and grab what we need,” Toby says.

The thought of relinquishing the safety of our cabin makes my throat constrict, but he’s correct.