Salby (Book 2): Salby Evolution by Ian D. Moore Page A

shingle shoreline and I stood waist-deep. Moments later, Barbara splashed up beside me, and I extended a protesting arm to help her rise. She spluttered, coughed and hocked out a mouthful back into the sea, before her face turned to look me over.
    “We, we made it,” she spat.
    “You learnt to swim between there and here?”
    “It seems I could always swim, but I never learnt when I was little. I was terrified of the water. Always,” she offered.
    “Your timing was brilliant, if confusing. Come on, we need shelter, fast.”
    We scrambled through the shale and sea debris which littered the shoreline, up towards a row of dense trees. They would provide us with cover and shelter from the brisk breeze sweeping across the harbour.
    In wet clothes, the cold-amplified, shivers racked our bodies involuntarily as we focused purely on placing one foot in front of the other. The tangle of trees and dense foliage offered a welcoming embrace from the bitter wind as we collapsed in a heap, drained of energy, to take stock of our new environment. We would not be able to remain still for too long, the cold would surely overcome us. The feeling in my fingers and toes had long since gone, and sea water began to puddle around us in its exit from our clothes.
    I began to undress, each garment twisted to squeeze out the excess water, my reasoning being that it would dry quicker and provide me with added warmth.
    “What are you doing? Aren’t you cold enough?” Barbie asked in amazement.
    “It’ll help dry our clothes faster, help to warm us. I know we don’t know each other that well, but, strip!” I quipped.
    Barbie didn’t protest. She did exactly what I told her to do. With more years between us than she’d been alive, I offered her as much privacy as was possible, in our current situation. With my back to her, I could hear her struggle with the clingy, damp clothing both to remove it, ring it dry, and later replace it. Even there, in some foreign woods, freezing and miles from home or friendly contact, I had to smile. I could imagine my feeble attempt to explain this situation to my wife. Ex-wife .
    Well, it was like this love, I was only naked in the woods with a twenty-three-year-old Barbie doll lookalike because— yeah, that isn’t going to wash.
    I never knew that simply getting dressed could be so exhausting. The damp clothes latched onto every protruding part of my anatomy in some kind of death grip. It took both of us to unfurl the tangled mess of my T-shirt enough to cover my battered body. As soon as we were clothed, still shivering from the chill air, I did a quick sweep to be sure we had everything.
    “Okay, that wasn’t so bad. We need to keep moving inland now, find some decent shelter, water and food.” I stated, as if knew exactly what I was saying.
    The thick carpet of decaying foliage proved to be hard going as each footfall sank into the sodden earth. On the plus side, the moistened ground had softened the fallen twigs and leaves, which reduced them to no more than compost and aided our stealth progress. Up ahead, a circular clearing beckoned us from the relative darkness of the wooded womb. In the middle, picturesquely situated, stood a small, cobblestone brick cottage. A single, precariously crooked chimney added a good dollop of pollution to what was otherwise a haven of nature. At the very edge of the oasis, I bent low, my eyes locked upon Barbie to ensure she got the message to remain quiet and close to the ground.
    “Looks like a small farm, single storey, central chimney column with limestone foundation, geometric carved block construction, additional after-build cellar—maybe a logger’s rest.”
    How the hell do I know that?
    “Someone’s home too, we need to be careful. Don’t suppose you can speak any Russian, can you?” I asked.
    “I’m sold, where do I sign?” Barbie added with a giggle before continuing. “No, only what I’ve seen in films. Though, Murmansk is an international