After they’d dressed, Frank took them out to one of the sheds where an older, blue truck was sitting.
“She’s a good girl,” Frank said, patting the bonnet. “Very reliable, never had her break down on us once.”
“Thanks again, Frank. I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Tom said as Frank handed over the keys.
Frank shook his head. “No need, no need. Live your life in a way that you’d also like to be treated. Cora’s always saying stuff like that. We hope you both get home to your families.”
With a jolt Tom remembered his phone.
“Sorry, Frank. I think I left my cell phone on the plane. Could you please show me where the wreck is? I need to let my wife know we’re okay.”
Frank nodded and whistled to Fritz, who’d started snuffling around the tires. They followed Frank back out into the snow. It was much better walking around with snow boots instead of his business shoes. It didn’t take them too long to reach the wreckage. Tom winced when he saw it, and marvelled again at getting out relatively unscathed. The night’s snow storm had piled snow up against, inside and on top of the plane. Tom didn’t know where to start looking.
“Mike, can you call my phone again? Maybe we’ll be able to hear it.”
Mike obligingly pulled his phone out of his pocket. Tom waited. Nothing.
“Sorry, bud. It’s going straight to voicemail. Battery must be dead… or the phone got wrecked.”
Tom cursed under his breath. He shovelled some snow away with his gloves, but it was no use. There was no sign of the phone.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Mike said, when Tom was about to give up.
“What?”
“I’ll call my sister and get her to go over to your house. She can tell Claire what’s going on, and she can get Claire’s number and give it to us.”
Tom felt like hugging him.
“You’re smarter than you look, Mikey-boy.”
Frank led them back to the house, so Mike could call his sister. It wasn’t as frigid as Tom knew Saskatchewan could get, but minus seventeen still wasn’t that pleasant to be out in.
Tom wrote down his address so Mike could repeat it to his sister. He called her and spoke for a few minutes, catching her up on everything that had happened, and then explaining about Claire.
“Thanks, Trisha. You’re the best. I’ll keep in touch.” He hung up. “She’ll go over there shortly.”
“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it. Claire will be worried.”
“No problem. Shall we hit the road?”
They went back out to the kitchen where Frank was drinking a mug of coffee and Cora was packing up a bag of food.
“Thanks again for everything, both of you,” Tom said. “But we’d better hit the road. We’ve got a long way to go.”
“Which way are you planning on going?”
“We don’t have our passports, so we’ve got to stick to this side of the border.”
Frank nodded. “You could always give it a try. Maybe the border guards forgot to turn up to work after all this bad news we’ve been having.”
“You never know,” Mike said.
“Well, if you do want to cross the border, the nearest one is at Patrol. Just drive to Estevan and you’ll see the signs. Turn left when you get to the end of the driveway. There’s a sign a few miles along that will point you in the right direction to Estevan. Can’t miss it.”
Mike and Tom both nodded.
Frank and Cora walked them both out. Cora handed Tom the bag full of food.
“I really don’t know how to thank you enough.”
Cora waved the thanks away and then said something with her hands.
“Cora says to take care and come back and visit if things work out,” Frank translated.
“We will,” Mike promised. “You two take care as well.”
The two men approached the vehicle. “Who wants to drive?” Tom asked.
“You can,” Mike said. “If we crash again, I don’t want both of them to be my fault.”
“We can take turns.”
They climbed into the truck. Tom adjusted the mirrors and seat and started the engine. It took a little while to warm up. They waved goodbye to Frank and Vera. Fritz chased the truck down the driveway.
“Nice people,” Mike commented.
“Yeah. Real nice. I hope we get a chance to repay them someday.”
Mike sighed. “Yeah, that would be nice.” He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
Tom drove on.
They reached the small town of Estevan after about an hour. The sky was beginning to clear up, and the landscape was a dazzling white.
“Should we try the border?” Tom asked, idling at a crossroads. One way led to the border, the other to the Trans-Canadian highway.
Mike looked down at his phone. It seemed to have data reception here.
“Well, according to this, it’ll be 10 hours quicker if we go that way.” He pointed to the way the border was.
“America it is.”
It only took them fifteen minutes to reach the blink-and-you-miss it border town of Portal. Tom was half expecting there to be no line up, but there was. More than two dozen cars snaked their way along the road.
“What do you reckon?”
“I kind of thought there’d be no one here,” Mike said, echoing Tom’s thoughts. “Maybe we should have picked an even smaller crossing.”
Tom pulled the truck over and they watched the crossing for a few minutes. Each car was held at the guard station for a couple of minutes or longer, while the guard presumably checked their travel documents and asked them the usual questions. “Well, it looks like they’re still checking passports. Damn it. I wish you could still get through with just your driver’s licence.”
“Do you think we could talk our way through?” Mike asked in a voice that made it clear he didn’t think so.
Tom sighed. “I doubt it. Not yet, anyway. Not if they’re still guarding the borders.” As they watched, a small green car was ushered out of the line-up. The two armed guards watched calmly as the driver turned around and headed back to Canada. Tom stared at the driver as the car approached them. The driver still had her window down, despite the freezing temperatures, and Tom saw the middle-aged woman wiping her eyes and hit her steering wheel before she passed.
“What should we do then? Try the next one? I don’t even know why they’re bothering. Surely they can’t all be manned?” Mike said.
Tom tapped the steering wheel and bit the inside of his cheek.
“We’re wasting time. Let’s try the next small crossing. If that doesn’t work, we’ll stick to the Canadian side. At this rate we’ll waste more time trying to get into the States than we’d save by cutting through the place.”
Mike studied his phone for a couple of moments. “According to this, Northgate is pretty quiet. Let’s try it.”
“All right. How do I get there?” Tom turned the truck around and followed Mike’s directions.
“… And if we just stay on this road it should get us to the next crossing in 20 or 30 minutes. Less if you go faster.”
“It’s a dirt track. Are you sure?”
“Positive, city boy.”
True to Mike’s words, they arrived at the next crossing twenty-five minutes later. There were no other cars lined up and Tom let himself hope for a second, but it was quickly dashed as a middle-aged border security officer stepped out of his booth at the last minute.
Tom wound down his window and tried to smile reassuringly at the officer.
“Passports, licence and registration,” the man said curtly, holding out his hand. He looked bored.
Tom fumbled with his wallet and handed over his driver’s licence. The officer gestured impatiently for the rest of the requested documentation.