Doug used the cover of the freighter to cross the harbor to the mainland. He “borrowed” a fiberglass canoe leaning at the back of the old wooden lighthouse. The girls crouched in the front of the boat until they came ashore along a driftwood strewn stretch of deserted beach. It was a short hike up from the beach through the forest to the small Sand Point ranger Station.
The station was a simple two-story white house, with a green shingled roof just beside the coast road leading south to town. It was shielded on two sides by trees. To one side it faced the bay. Doug waited until the lone officer, clad in shorts and a tee-shirt stretched with a yawn and went inside. Doug dodged across the road and crept carefully from vehicle to vehicle. There were three official vehicles parked side by side just past the door. Doug paused and heard the shower begin from one of the upstairs windows.
The last vehicle was a Jeep Wrangler, with its ubiquitous bright white color and forest green letters on the side. The door was unlocked. Doug searched the glove compartment and the visors but came up empty for the key. Under the floor mat beneath the driver’s seat Doug discovered a single key.
The jeep started easily. Doug dropped it into reverse and backed it across to where the girls were waiting, keeping a cautious eye to the house. Doug waved the girls over and they climbed inside. As Doug swung the jeep onto road he said a small prayer. There was a single road all the way to town, and then he’d have to get past a State Police outpost. If the jeep was discovered missing before then he and the girls hardly stood a chance.
“Jane, if you can hear me,” John muttered under his breath, “I need you now more than ever.”
“Dad, are we going to be in trouble?” Dana asked.
“Guys, we’re already in trouble.”
There was no point in hiding the truth. The road narrowed, bounded on one side by steeply wooded hills, and dropped sharply towards the lake on the other. He might have enjoyed once how beautiful and secluded this place was, but now it only felt like a trap.
“What if the police catch us?” Megan asked.
“If that happens,” he said, “you’ll tell the police everything” He looked to the girl’s reflection in the mirror and saw their turmoil. Megan was holding her sister’s hand, clutching it tightly in her lap. The State Police post was just ahead; a small brown building just beside the road. The freighter was already offloading a mountain of coal just across the road.
“We’ll get through this,” Doug said.
“Is it terrible that I’m glad mom isn’t here?” Megan said soberly. Dana looked up at her, her chin quivering with emotion
The words crushed him.
“No, honey.” He found her eyes in the mirror. “But I hope that she’s watching over us right now.”
The passed the post without incident, and passed quickly through town. The two-lane highway more or less followed the lakeshore. In places it climbed to heights offering sweeping views of the lake and forests. Where they came together was akin to two great armies crashing headlong in eternal battle, their meeting marked by ranks of heavy white waves crashing upon timber-strewn beaches.
Always dominating this pristine view was the great expanse of Grand Island. Doug could make out the tattered haze of smoke hovering over the southern end. He’d watch from a distance, safely hidden among the woods as the men approached the house. The man at the back kicked in the door and charged inside. A moment later, with a blinding explosion that knocked Doug backwards, the house disintegrated. There was little doubt as to the fate of the three men. They had come to kill Doug and the girls, and Doug had intended that they would die before they could harm Dana and Megan. Still, those deaths weighed on him. They tore at his heart for the families left behind, for their pain, and for the waste of it all. Wrong or right, those deaths would feel like a stain upon his soul for all time.
This was still a primitive land settled by stalwart souls who carved tentative parcels in some hard scrabble existence between the modern and pioneer worlds. These tentative places dotted the road, seemingly symbiotic with the surrounding wilderness. These folks were oddities to the outside world, and nefarious to out of town visitors unaccustomed to life in these parts. Truth was they were a mix of folks from the poor, anti-government types, loners, and aging hippies to people who just didn’t wish to be found.
Below the road, almost hidden from view among a thick bank of trees was one of those ramshackle little houses. It looked to have been patched together with tar paper and old boards. The small shack leaned slightly to one side, where it was braced hastily with a number of two by fours of varying lengths. Several of the he small windows on the one story structure were missing, replaced with heavy plastic or pieces of plywood. There was an ancient-looking outhouse out back and a clothesline. The yard was crowded with rusting tools, engine parts, and an old plastic lawn chair the front chassis of a 72 Chevy Impala. What caught Doug’s eye was the Sixty-five Ford F-100 pick up for sale in the grass beside the weedy driveway. It was hand painted a dull black and the rear bumper had been replaced with a single wood plant bolted to the frame. Doug swung the Jeep around to the opposite side of the road and got out with the girls. They hurried across the deserted highway and scrambled down the embankment to the shack.
The girls remained beside the old truck as Doug approached the shack. Nearly to door when a hobbling old man came out of the woods with a rifle and a big Canadian goose he shot for supper. Swimming in a dark Navy Pea Coat from an army surplus store, he glared suspiciously from beneath a bright orange hunter’s cap.
“Help you, Mister?” said the man, abruptly. He was leery of the strangers, nothing in particular to do with Doug and the girls, just that the old loner was naturally wary of all strangers.
“Interested in the truck,” Doug replied. “She run?”
“Looks like hell, but she’ll get you where you need to go.” He laid the dead goose over a stump, and set the rifle against the crooked house. He reached over and shook Doug’s hand, looking him straight in the eye. It was as much a test as a courtesy. “Got a three fifty-two, V-Eight under the hood, rebuilt carburetor, decent brakes, patched-up radiator. She looks like hell, but she’s solid.”
“I need a…”
“The old timer stopped him quickly. “Don’t much care what you need it for. By the looks of you and your girls, must be some sort of trouble. Want it, or don’t ya?”
“How much?”
The man studied Doug a moment, the girls no doubt weighing into whatever calculation he was making. “Whatever trouble you’re in ain’t none of my business, especially if you don’t make it any of my business.”
“Just need a truck, that’s all.”
“Four hundred. Firm.”
“Five hundred, and throw in the hat and coat.” said Doug.
“Got yourself a deal.”
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