Page 4 of The Vanishing Place
“I know this shouldn’t be in the least bit funny,” said Blair, unable to keep the amusement from her quivering lips as Effie got off the phone with Keith. He’d promised to have a team deployed as soon as possible.
“It’s not.” Effie groaned and reached into her rucksack.
“But…” Blair smiled. “Come on, it’s going to make for a great story.”
“It’s not.”
It would take a while for the helicopter to fly in, and the wait would be more pleasant without the elements trying to drown them. Effie pulled out the storm shelter, wrestling against the wind, then she and Blair stood nose to nose, chest to chest, torso to torso, under the fluorescent-orange sheet. The waterproof fabric came down to just below their bottoms, leaving their legs exposed to the downpour.
“Right,” said Effie, their faces just inches apart, “on three, we sit.”
“Got it.” Blair giggled.
“And,” Effie continued, “remember to pull the seating panel underneath you so the water stays out.”
“Loud and clear.” Blair suppressed a laugh as a gust of wind thrust her forward and their cheeks smooshed together.
“One…” Effie started, ignoring Blair’s snorts. “Two. Three.”
As they lowered to the ground, the material formed a protective tent around them, their world reduced to a billowing orange bubble.
“This isn’t so bad,” Blair shouted over the flapping fabric. “Romantic, even.”
Effie rolled her eyes. “Christ.” She rubbed a hand across her face. “Seriously, even now?”
“Now what?”
“I don’t know.” Effie couldn’t help but smile. “I thought that maybe, just maybe, the threat of death might have dampened your…your…”
“My what?”
“Your infuriatingly persistent enthusiasm.”
“Aw, come on.” Blair nudged Effie’s leg with her foot. “You love it.”
“I tolerate it.”
“And I tolerate you nearly letting us die on our girls’ day out.” Blair smirked. “So we’re even.”
Effie smiled back, and for the next few minutes, they sat in a comfortable silence as the orange nylon flapped around them and the rain pummeled the two circular windows.
The natural light had all but vanished from the evening sky, swallowed up by October’s bleakness, and they were relying on two head-torches. One remained off, safe in Effie’s pocket, while the other was around her hat. Half an hour later, when the phone buzzed twice in her pocket—two texts coming through at once—Effie knew something was wrong. Removing her gloves, she opened the messages. The first from Keith. Then Greg.
“What is it?” asked Blair.
Effie looked at her phone, then back at her friend. “The chopper from Stornoway had to turn around…because of the severe winds.”
“So”—Blair took a breath—“no helicopter?”
Effie shook her head.
“No cozy airlift out?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Effie.
“What happens now?”
“Keith said they’ve already prepped a team to head out on foot.”
