Page 39 of Wedding Games
Rory and Charlie headed east.Their packs were loaded with communication and rescue equipment as well as food and water, a medical kit, and a specialised stretcher with casualty straps, just in case. It still felt light. In their army days, they’d carried more, and weapons weighed a ton.
Charlie picked at the high vis jacket he was wearing, and the bright rucksack cover. ‘I feel like a sitting duck.’
‘That’s kind of the point, mate,’ Rory replied. ‘We want them to be able to spot us.’
‘I know, I know, I just like the idea of creeping up on them, leaping out, and yelling, “Surprise! You’re being rescued!”.’
Rory shook his head as he grinned. ‘Would it make you feel better if you slapped some mud on your cheeks?’
‘Ordinarily, yes. But this face is now worth millions—’
‘Of what? Pennies after the financial crash of 1929?’
‘You’re just jealous you haven’t been asked to front a cologne campaign.’
‘I’d rather sit on a hot poker. What was the name again? “Eau de Manwhore”?’
‘Remind me what Zoe used to call you? Wasn’t it “mutant hobbit-hobo”?’
‘You forgot “yeti”.’
Charlie laughed. ‘Your missus is amazing.’
Rory smiled. ‘I know.’
‘So, no last-minute wedding jitters?’
Rory gave him the side eye. ‘Jitters? I’m not performing in a school play.’
Charlie shrugged. ‘Yeah, but you don’t like crowds of people. Or even people to be fair.’
Rory grunted. He saw most of the following day as an exercise to be endured to get the outcome he wanted.
‘So, as the best man in every sense,’ Charlie continued, ‘if you need to talk through any concerns, I’m here.’
‘We could just have a fight?’
‘It wouldn’t be fair on you, mate. And besides, my contract says I’m not allowed to.’
‘You’re such a dickhead,’ Rory laughed as he shook his head.
‘Yes, but I’m thebestdickhead. Don’t you forget it.’
They hiked quickly,stopping frequently to shout for Arnold and Brad. Rory didn’t make any presumptions about their survival knowledge. Both were intelligent men, but Arnold lived in suburbia and worked as a bank clerk, and Brad lived in LA and worked in the fantasy land of film.
After a couple of hours, they stopped on a high ridge and surveyed the landscape around them.
‘If you had zero common sense and a death wish,’ Rory asked Charlie, ‘where would you head?’
His friend compared the view in front of them to the map in his hand, then pointed towards a steep gully. ‘There.’
Rory nodded. ‘Difficult to get into, and if you get injured, almost impossible to get out of.’
They set off, jogging down the glen.
Rory loved exercise like this. He was outside, with someone he trusted with his life, and they had a purpose. The going may have been rough, but both men were trained and still battle-hardened from their years in the service. It took them half an hour to reach the edge of the gully. They couldn’t see to the bottom but could hear the sound of running water.
‘Arnold, Brad,’ Rory yelled, as Charlie wolf-whistled.
