📢📢"Hot Pursuit" by Cassie Connor

By the time Tom returns, I’ve rolled up the sleeping bag, tucked it back in its waterproof sack and I’m waiting for the water to heat.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks impatiently, doing up the clips on his rucksack. ‘We need to get moving.’

‘Just making some more coffee for the thermos flasks.’

‘What the fuck for?’

‘In case we need it on the journey.’

‘Jesus, Lydia,’ he snaps with obvious irritation. ‘We’re only walking for two hours, tops.’

‘We might be glad of it,’ I insist, my fingers clenching at my side. This is a hill I’ll happily die on.

‘Water’s fine. Once we get a lift, hopefully whoever it is will stop at a service station. We can get a coffee then. Don’t forget we’ve got twenty quid each.’

‘That’s for emergencies.’

Tom glares at me, his eyes narrowing in a what-sort-of-idiot-are-you expression.

‘And what sort of emergency do you think we’re going to have? We’ve managed pretty well for two nights without any cash. I think we can treat ourselves to a bit of food. I tell you, if we get anywhere near a KFC or a McDonalds, I’ll be blowing some of my cash on a burger and fries.’ He pauses and takes a deep sniff as if he can smell them right now.

This profligacy fills me with horror but I’m not backing down.

‘Fine, you don’t have to have any but I’m not leaving until I’ve made coffee.’

I hear him mutter, ‘Fuck’s sake’ under his breath.

‘It’ll take an extra ten minutes,’ I snap and turn my back on him.

‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ he says and stomps off.

I eye the second thermos flask, tempted not to fill it but I can’t bring myself not to. Just in case.

When I finally emerge from the cottage, offering Tom the second flask, he snatches it from me with a roll of his eyes and stashes it in one of his rucksack pockets and marches off at a pace he knows I can’t keep up with. Ungrateful git.

The brisk wind that toyed with my hair earlier has whipped dark-edged clouds up from nowhere, and after only an hour of walking the light has closed in. It’s amazing how quickly the weather has done a complete about-turn. I wouldn’t have believed it possible. Scowling up at the sky, I remove my rucksack and retrieve my raincoat as well as stop for a sneaky rest. We’re on quite a steep path and I’m nowhere near as fit as Tom, who strides ahead as I struggle into the coat, the wind determined to wrest it from my fingers. Before I’ve managed to shrug the bloody thing on, the first heavy drop plops down the back of my neck. Like a turtle I hunch into it and swing my pack onto my back. Ahead of me Tom whips out his fancy pac-a-mac, like a sodding matador cape, and puts it on with all the panache of someone on one of those Dancing with the Stars shows doing the paso doble without breaking a stride. And then he puts the GoPro on his head with the supplied strap.

Bloody marvellous, he’s going to film us walking into the hideous weather conditions. He has an eye for drama – I’ll give him that.

Fascinated by the sudden storm, I watch the rain sheeting across the valley, coming straight towards us, and the cloud which has dropped to surround us. I hurry after Tom, my legs struggling on the challenging incline. Shit, I really should go to the gym more often but then again I’m not normally charging about with a ten-tonne weight on my back, which is the killer. In a matter of minutes, the rain hits in earnest and I can barely see, it’s so fierce in my face. I duck my head and look at my feet, battling forward. When I squint upwards there’s no sign of Tom because he’s rounded the bend ahead. The increasingly muddy path is getting narrower by the second and is full of trip hazards with sharp rocks protruding here and there. I hadn’t realised we were quite so high up and I’m sure the view must be amazing but all I can see is the mist of the cloud that has descended around us and not Tom. The bastard has left me behind. At least there’ll be no footage of my struggle up the path.

With a heavy sigh I tuck my hands into the straps of my backpack and pick up my pace. God, it’s hard going. ‘Come on, you can do this,’ I mutter to myself, forcing my aching leg muscles into action and ignoring the irate protests they’re firing off to my brain. I round the corner straight into the oncoming wind and spot Tom a little way ahead. I sway for a minute, blinking the rain out of my eyes. To my relief the path has levelled out and … my toe catches a rock and I start to pitch forward, my feet stumbling as I desperately try to regain my balance. I just manage to sink to one knee, sending a shower of scree cascading down the hill, catching myself. Tom looks round and then my foot slips and the weight of the rucksack topples me over and I roll right over the edge of the path.

There’s a flash of rocks, grass, plus a mouthful of said grass as I go bump, bump, bump down the hill, so fast there’s no way I can stop myself. Everything is a blur, pain punching into my head, my arms, my legs as I tumble over and over and just when I think it’s never going to end, my body slams into something. Shock and pain radiate through every part of me as I lie there looking up at the sky, much like a tortoise with my arms and legs dangling from the rucksack on my back. Dazed, I’m too stunned and shaken to do anything but look up, the rain spattering my face with cold wet slaps.

When, at last, I try to move I realise my rucksack is wedged fast between some rocks and until I wriggle out of the straps, I’m as stuck as a beetle on its back. In fact, more stuck; at least they can go round in circles. This irrelevant thought makes me wonder how hard I’ve hit my head, and then reflect that if I can think like that, I can’t have done any serious damage, even though trying to extricate my arms from the straps is very uncomfortable.

‘Oh my God, are you all right?’ Tom comes half running, half stumbling down the hill and vaults the last few feet off one of the rocks above me. It’s like watching the hero of a film swinging into action and makes me feel even more stupid for my clumsiness.

I try lever myself to my feet but it’s a bit too hard to draw breath in at the moment. My back took one heck of a whack when I landed and it’s knocked the wind, the stuffing and everything else out of me. I try again. Lying here like a useless jellyfish, even though I think I might have turned into one, it isn’t an option. I can’t hold Tom back.

‘Fuck’s sake, Lydia. Stay still,’ Tom shouts at me and I blink up at him. What’s he so angry about? Because we’ve lost time? I make another effort to stand up. I’m not going to be a handicap.

‘I’m fine.’ Bugger, there’s a bit of a give-away wobble in my voice. I try again and this time sound more in command of myself. ‘Honestly. Just give me a second.’

‘Lydia –’ his voice is gentler this time ‘– you’re not fine. Don’t move. What hurts?’

I look up at him, the concern in his eyes, the way he reaches to touch me and then pauses as if I’m a delicate thing that might break.

I stare at him mutely, microscopically aware of the darker blue around his irises, the tiny water droplets clinging to the dark hairs of his arched eyebrows and the softening of the lines on his rain-misted face.

‘Lydia? Just take a minute. I think you might be in shock.’ Then he hisses in a breath and says, ‘Shit.’

I look down to where his gaze has landed. The bottom of my trousers is shiny with blood. He’s pulling off his rucksack and throwing things out until he gets to the first-aid kit. It’s a bit déjà vu; we’ve been here before. It’s like having my own personal doctor.

He rolls up my trouser leg and I watch. That’s a lot of blood and now I’m looking at it, pain roars in, ripping across the surface of my skin with sharp teeth, bringing tears to my eyes. I grit my teeth.

Tom’s tossing things out of the green box and then he grabs something back again. ‘Sling,’ he mutters. ‘That’ll do.’ Unfolding it, he immediately starts mopping up the blood with it. I kind of wish he hadn’t because now neither of us can unsee the jagged gash slicing down my shin, which hurts like buggery.

‘Shit, Lydia.’ He grips my hand. ‘Don’t look.’

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I’m not dying.’

‘You’re not dying but…’ His voice trails away. ‘I need to bandage it up and we need to get some help. And don’t you dare say you’re fine.’

‘I’m sure I’ll be able to walk on it, once it’s bandaged. It’s just a cut.’

He sits back on his heels. ‘And what about the rest of you?’ Now I realise his face is white, those dark brows and three-day stubble accentuated by the pallor. ‘God, when you went over…’ He closes his eyes. He’s as shaken up as I am.