Left for Wild - Harloe Rae Page 0,20
the bark.
It doesn’t take long before my arms are screaming from the exertion. Panting exhales rip from my tight chest. Muscles sear and quiver with rising pleas. The bone-deep ache is nothing I haven’t dealt with before, though a sharp twinge in my shoulder begs to differ. The punishing soreness will be a bitch to deal with tomorrow. Pushing my limits is the least I can do for getting Blakely into this.
With the back of a glove, I mop the sweat off my sticky forehead. Steam rises around me as if I’m a personal sauna. I’m not desperate enough to strip another layer, especially with the end in sight. The inferno brewing within notches higher as I toss the last log onto the pile.
Light clapping interrupts the silence of my thoughts. Blakely is on her feet and walking toward me. “It’s totally cheesy, but you deserve a round of applause. That’s a lot of wood.”
“We can always burn the extra. We’ll need more heat once it’s dark.”
“I left your jacket by the fire so it will be warm once you’re done being so hot.” She bites the lush flesh of her bottom lip. “I mean, after you’ve cooled off.”
A grin takes control of my mouth. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you. I just sat back and watched. Can I do anything now?”
I nod to an overgrown bush. “That wiry shrub has vines we can use for securing the pieces together.”
“Easy enough,” she comments with a shrug.
And it turns out to be just that. We work in quiet comfort, aligning the logs and tying them into sections. Soon enough we have three assembled planks that we arrange into a damn sturdy lean-to. We step back to admire our progress. The shelter is wide enough to fit both of us with extra room to spare. Set several feet away from the fire yet close enough to feel the heat, the space glows with promises of comfort. Considering our location, at least. Staying warm once night has fallen will be key.
Blakely dusts off her hands. “We should co-write a survival book after this is over.”
More optimism. I find my smile widening. “Absolutely.”
“They underestimated you.” Her voice rings with awe. I can’t stop the bolt of pride from thrumming into my veins.
“Us,” I amend.
“Huh?”
“You’re a part of this, too. If you didn’t have an upbeat outlook, I’d be less motivated.”
She scoffs, sending a spiral of disbelief into the chilling air. “I find that hard to believe.”
I’ve made more than a lifetime of mistakes. Letting her waste away into an unrecognizable pessimist won’t be another tally on that list. “Good thing we don’t have to find out.”
Survival tip #9: Getting a view of the bigger picture takes practice.
Shadows skitter across the snowy earth as daylight dips lower into the horizon. A noticeable chill creeps in with the dwindling sun. The icy threat has me scooting closer to the blazing fire, hands extending at the flames for optimal heat flow. I’m not the only one leaning in. Halder sits across the pit from me and mirrors my motions. The fact he maintains a safe distance doesn’t go unnoticed. More questions enter the already buzzing stream in my head—it’s more intense than a game of ping-pong up there.
Sparks and crackles from the fire are a soothing backdrop for my fumbling uncertainty. Plumes of charred smoke curl toward me, tempting my nostrils with the sweet promise of relief. A glance around our camp calms the fears pushing into my mind. I recall how easily Halder tore down those logs. Unless this forest is made of cardboard trees, he is wicked strong and accustomed to hard labor. It seemed like no effort at all as he plowed through one branch after another. But that’s not a secret. One peek at the guy exudes unstoppable power.
His wide scope of outdoorsy skills is crazy impressive. Halder is some sort of wilderness guru or wizard. Staring at him for too long ties my tongue into a tangle, or has it falling out of my mouth altogether. There are worse people I could be trapped with. But is that true? Other than being capable in a crisis, there’s no telling what prowls beneath the surface. Halder is a convicted felon. I have no clue what crimes he’s committed. Even my general knowledge of him is rather limited. But we can fix that.
“How old are you?”
His gaze flickers at me over the flames. “Twenty-nine.”
“When is your birthday?”
“March fifteenth.”
“Where do you live?”
One side of his mouth twitches as