Dark Horse by Honey Brown

Sarah sought his gaze, but he was looking at the van and glancing at the Christmas food on the table. She continued, ‘I know because my horse and I were on the main bridge when it got destroyed.’
    He didn’t take in what she’d said, or he didn’t appreciate the gravity of it. ‘I didn’t go back down to see if the suspension bridge was gone. I guessed it would have been swept away.’
    ‘Did you hear the sound the water made?’
    ‘Yeah, it was massive.’
    Sarah busied herself putting wood on the fire while he dressed. ‘I’ve never seen, or heard, anything like it.’ She refilled the kettle, using the rainwater she’d collected in a bucket. When she turned around he’d finished dressing. They were now in identical clothes – King Gee shorts, twin layers of blue-check flannelette shirts. He pulled the blanket back around him and returned to his chair. He smiled at her through thin white lips.
    ‘Did you know about the storm before heading up the mountain?’
    ‘Didn’t have a clue. Didn’t hear any reports.’
    She watched him. He wouldn’t hold eye contact. He was sitting straighter in the chair, his neck extended higher and his shoulders lowered. He seemed to be fighting the effects of the cold more than he had been a few moments before; he was braced and determined not to shiver.
    ‘You’ve been able to contact your family? They know you’re here and sending some help?’ As she spoke she began washing the mud from the bottom of her legs.
    He warmed his hands. ‘I haven’t been able to contact anyone. Ran out of battery halfway up. It was low to start with.’
    ‘It’s Christmas Day, I’m sure your family will work out pretty quick that you’re missing. They’ll be worried.’
    ‘Yeah, they will be.’
    She dried her legs and put her socks back on. ‘My phone doesn’t work or I’d give you that to use.’ She pointed to it on the block of wood. ‘Rain got into it. Usually you can get a couple of bars of reception up here. In this weather though, maybe not. I don’t think we’ll be stuck for too long though. They’ll fly a chopper over in the morning. They’d know that anyone trapped would come to the hut. They’ll see our smoke. And we’ve got it pretty good in the meantime. There’s food in the van. The power is probably off in Lauriston, so we’re possibly warmer than everyone in town is.’ She qualified her statement with, ‘When you’re dry, I mean, you’ll be more comfortable.’
    Sarah pulled up a chair next to his. They sat side by side, a similar distance from the fire, facing it. Her hair was dark and wet like his.
    ‘At least they’ll see your car from the air and swing into action.’
    ‘Classic idiot, left my vehicle, unprepared dickhead, checked nothing, took the bush for granted. I could have been in some serious trouble without you.’
    ‘You would have made it to the shed.’
    ‘I’m not sure I would have. You read about cases like that, people dying only metres from safety.’
    He glanced around the shed, taking in his surroundings with a keener eye. He moved in his chair and looked at Tansy. She had turned her rump towards them. The oils in her coat reflected the firelight. Sarah could sense her mare’s nervous energy, and her exhaustion. A similar clash of tension and fatigue mixed within Sarah too.
    ‘Exposure does get on top of you quicker than you think.’
    ‘You’re still wet,’ Heath said looking down her body.
    Her top shirt was damp and her shorts were wet and muddy in places. Her feet were bare. ‘We’re out of dry gear.’
    ‘You should have these clothes.’
    ‘I’m bone dry compared to what I was when I got here.’
    ‘Aren’t there any more socks?’
    ‘I couldn’t see any. The clothes aren’t mine. I broke into the van. This is all the workmen’s gear.’ Sarah reached for the Jack Daniels and poured Heath some, passed it over. ‘That’ll warm you up.’
    He drank the shot of whiskey. After letting it settle, he