I realized what I was saying. I thought of Natalie and Tabitha, and the bruises on their wrists from trying to free themselves from the bedframe.
“Fuck,” I said quietly.
We turned the bend and I saw the gray truck. And two more of them, three in total, each with a snow-covered tarp wrapper over the guns in the back.
“There’s three of them?” Lisa said. “What the hell?”
“Shit,” I said. “Turn us around, Graham.”
“Hold on,” he said. “It’s not easy…”
“Come on… turn us around…”
I reached behind the cab and pulled out the guitar case. I laid it out on my lap.
“There’s no time,” Lisa said.
I opened the case and pulled out a magazine. I grabbed the C12 and snapped in the ammo, and then I aimed it out the window.
Lisa reached over and pressed the button to open it.
They shot first. I couldn’t see from where.
I aimed for the front window and started shooting.
“Hold on,” Graham said as he started to turn the truck.
I heard the wheels spinning.
“Shit,” Graham said. It had to be bad if he was swearing. “We’re stuck.”
“Holy fucking shit,” Lisa said. “This is a goddamn nightmare. What do we do?”
“We shoot,” I said. “We shoot and we hope Graham can get us moving again.”
I heard the sound of bullets slamming against the side of the truck; we had our helmets and armour, but they weren’t foolproof. And the boys in the back didn’t have anything.
I hoped to hell they stayed low.
I emptied my first thirty and reloaded. I only had eight mags total. Only seven left. I kept firing. I had to pin them inside the cottage until Graham could have us moving again.
The wheels spun some more.
“You’re digging us deeper,” Lisa said. “You don’t even know how to drive in snow.”
“I’m doing my best,” Graham said.
“It’s not good enough.”
“It’s not the tires… it’s the plow… it’s stuck in the snowbank. I can’t get it out.”
“What does that mean?” She was almost screaming at him.
“We’ll have to dig it out.”
“Do we even have any goddamn shovels?”
“What if we removed the plow?” I asked.
I had to reload again.
“I can remove it,” Graham said. “Take me thirty seconds or so. Then I’ll give the bumper a shove and we should be able to get out.”
“I’ll do it,” I said. Out of habit, mostly.
“No… I’m faster. I’ve got my gear on… I’ll be alright.”
Graham opened the door and climbed out, with Lisa taking his place. I ramped up the firing as he got into position; he was mostly covered by the engine block.
There was a good chance he’d be able to pull it off.
He threw his gloves off into the snow and pulled at the plow, disconnecting the hitches and moving on to the wires.
I reloaded again.
“Start reversing,” Graham yelled.
Lisa slammed on the gas. The wheels spun.
“Hold on,” Graham said. He bent down and started digging into the snow with his bare hands, moving to the right.
The engine block wouldn’t be covering him.
I shoved two magazines into my pockets.
I opened the door of the truck and jumped out, hoping to draw fire. I ran toward the back of the truck, firing as I went.
Their bullets followed me.
I felt a prick in my left leg. I kept moving.
I turned the back corner and reloaded.
“Baptiste,” Graham called. “Move out of the way.”
I ran back in between the cottage and the truck, heading for the door. My left leg was slowing me down.
I took another hit, in the side. The vest seemed to have stopped it.
I climbed into the cab just as Lisa slammed on the gas.
The truck rocked backward and soon pulled out of the snow.
Lisa slammed on the brake.
Graham made a run for the cab as I emptied another magazine.
Lisa shoved herself against me as Graham climbed in.
We were on our way.
“Do you think they’ll follow?” Graham asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
I heard a tap on the back of the cab.
“Sounds like they’re okay,” Lisa said.
“Thank goodness,” Graham said.
The knock came again. Harder.
“We can’t stop now,” I said.
“I know,” Graham replied.
The road was poorly plowed, of course, but it was enough for us to get through in the one-ton gravel truck. We kept on past the first of the Walkers’ empty trailers, not stopping until we reached the second at Clute.
I expected Zach and Sky to hop out and walk up to the door.
They didn’t come.
Instead there was another tap on the cab.
I got out of the truck and walked over to the back, Lisa right behind me.
Sky was lying in the truck bed, his foot kicking the cab, while his hands were gripping Zach’s chest.
Lisa climbed into the back without a word.
She threw off her jacket and tore one of the sleeves off her shirt.
“Find the first aid kit,” she told me as she worked to stop the bleeding.
I went back to the cab to get the kit.
By the time I came back no one was hurrying.
“He’s gone,” Lisa said.
Zach Walker’s eyes were still open, staring at me.
It reminded me of Ant.
Sometimes the anxiety gets so bad that you feel like you’re not even able to breathe anymore, like the stress is actually going to kill you.
I guess now that I’m over fifty and on heart pills for life, that stress might just finish the job.
So tonight, just after ten, once Sara had fallen asleep, I took another tablet with the little maple leaf. I could say it was for the bullet hole in my leg that Lisa had half-heartedly patched up, but that was just an excuse.
About forty minutes after I swallowed it, I went down and sat in the kitchen, in the dark. I didn’t want anyone to find me like that.
When I was seven I got lost at Canada’s Wonderland. I remember being nervous at first, once I realized that my father had lost track of me. I stood under the Skyrider for what seemed like hours, watching the loop where the people strapped standing up would go completely upside-down, my little seven-year-old brain trying to figure out why there wasn’t a spray of coins and keys every time the roller coaster car would reach the top.
And I wondered why no one had stopped to ask the little brown boy with the curly hair if he was lost; I’d been too scared to actually ask anyone for help.
My father found me, and I think in the end I was only lost for twenty minutes or so. When he grabbed me by the shoulders and brought me in for a hug, I could see the absolute panic in his eyes. That was the first time I realized that my father could be afraid of something. It didn’t make me think of him as more human or more relatable; seven-year-old Baptiste thought his dad was just weak.
There’s so much crap we wish we could take back, things we did or things we said… I wish I could take back how I felt about my father at that moment.
I’ve known for a long time now that there’s nothing wrong with being scared. It’s been thirty-five years since I came back from the work in Panjwaii, and there are times when I’m still scared, when the weight of if comes back like I’m twenty years old all over again, on a mission that sounded noble but didn’t work out that great.
I don’t remember what it’s like to not have that in me. When I try to remember being a kid and what that felt like, to be innocent and naive, the feelings I remember are from that day at Canada’s Wonderland, the fear of being lost forever and the shame of seeing my father afraid.