Free Wanted (Flick Carter Book 1) by Tim Arnot

made it cold enough for a frost to form outside. Now he was regretting turning down Flick’s offer of a warm bed in the town, even though the woollen lining of his flying overalls kept the worst of the cold out.
    He got the fire going again, striking his hunting knife against Flick’s stone knife for a spark, and warmed himself against the flames while heating up some water. He’d need to go out and find more wood. And while he was out, he’d keep searching for that damned radio. The chances of rescue without it were considerably less, especially while he was lying on his back inside the cottage; he needed to be outside scanning the sky for any sign of another aircraft. Another reason to keep the fire going: the smoke would act like a beacon and the rescuers would be sure to check it out. Somebody was bound to be looking for him by now.
    He started on his morning fitness regime; just some gentle calisthenics and stretches. He was too bruised for a full workout and still couldn’t put his full weight on his sprained ankle, but he did what he could. He carefully undid the top of his overalls and examined the bruises on his arms and torso; they were going a nice shade of purple. He noticed the small tribal tattoo on his upper arm and smiled. This was what Flick had wanted to see. He’d need to update it when he got home, extending it with a new design reflecting this experience and part of his life.
    Once his exercise was complete, he buttoned up his overalls, grabbed his crutches and headed out to the meadow to continue the search for his radio. He still hadn’t found it when he heard something in the direction of the cottage. That was probably Flick, so he crutched his way back.
    He was right; her bike was leaning against the wall, meaning she’d probably gone inside. As he went in, he bumped into her coming out of one of the rooms.
      ‘Oh there you are, I was looking for you,’ she said.
    Think of something plausible!
    ‘Had to take a dump,’ Shea said, matter-of-factly.
    ‘Yeah, well I’m glad you didn’t do that in here!’ Flick replied. ‘Place smells bad enough as it is!’ They laughed. ‘I’ve got some snares in the back of my bike, we can set them if you feel up to it?’
    ‘Sure,’ Shea replied, ‘and when we’re done I’ve managed to brew up some tea. It’s only nettle, and I haven’t exactly got cups, but it’s almost civilised!’
    Flick got the snares from her bike, and the pair went back out to the field. She pointed out the rabbit runs and set the snares, showing Shea how to reset them once they’d been sprung. ‘Check them a couple of times a day. If there’s foxes or dogs about, chances are you’d just be catching food for them else.’
    Shea nodded. It was basic woodcraft, but he’d never had to do it himself before, so he was glad of the lesson. And anyway Flick was kind of cute and he enjoyed having her around.
    Back at the cottage, Flick stoked up the fire, and Shea started making his nettle brew in the cooking pot. The tea was soon made and they sat down and waited for it to cool. Shea shuffled about uncomfortably, trying to find that position of least pain. Eventually he decided he was as comfortable as he was going to get.
    ‘Look, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable yesterday,’ she blurted out at last.
    ‘You didn’t,’ Shea said.
    ‘I’m sure it was all just a coincidence, you being here and the Kingsmen turning up.’ Flick said.
    ‘Yup.’ Shea nodded.
    ‘You never did properly explain how you got into that field.’
    ‘Did too. Crashed,’ said Shea.
    Flick thumped him on the arm. ‘There you go again!’
    ‘Owww! What was that for?’ Shea clutched his arm with his other hand. She hadn’t hit him that hard, but he was playing for sympathy.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Flick touched his sleeve and looked him in the eye. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
    ‘You didn’t,’ he said.
    She smiled.
    His heart skipped a beat. Something about her smile turned