Chapter Two #3
“Thank you.” He turns his gaze toward the horizon, which I take as an opportunity to sit down. April joins me and I hold her hand, trying to steady both our nerves. We could be here for a while. It’s difficult to prove someone isn’t there, so who knows at what point his men will stop looking?
I sit with my back to Sid Charles, who seems happy to scan the area for danger and ignore me, too.
Typically, I don’t turn my back to strangers, but I can’t look at him right now.
Our conversation still has my stomach in knots, and not in a way that has anything to do with the gun on his back or the intimidating size of his muscles.
Okay, it might have a little to do with that second one.
I was making fun of him. That’s what I was doing, wasn’t it? Pointing out his paranoia and mocking him for it. That all seemed obvious in the moment, but the way he responded to me has made me wonder… was I flirting with him? Just a little?
As he stands watch, I sneak a glance at him. He seems even taller from this angle and my eyes sweep up his legs, to his waist, his chest.
I duck my head away, feeling the back of my neck flush. This is so wrong and stupid.
April and I sometimes run into other people in the wasteland of Vancouver Island, but the interactions are always tense and brief, long enough only to barter items before everyone backs away, never wanting to be the first to offer their backside as a target.
Honestly, if I met Sid Charles in the woods, even without the gun, I would avoid him.
I only deal with people who pose the same threat I do.
I mean, I would approach someone weaker—but those people typically run away from me.
All this is to say, I haven’t met someone who’s my type in a very long time.
If I even have a type. But if I had to make one up on the spot, Sid is composed of the things that I value most in a person: calm under pressure, big enough to scare the shit out of anyone dangerous, no rotten teeth when he smiles.
Even his busted nose recommends him. Clearly, he’s survived getting hit in the face before.
Sitting here with that realization is terrifying in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
I can’t remember the last time thoughts like this even occurred to me, which means I’ve let my guard drop.
Even if I hadn’t shot him with my slingshot—even if he didn’t wield an absurd amount of power over my life right now—I have no interest in going down that path again with anyone. Not after what happened to Curtis.
Curtis.
I usually avoid thinking about him, so I squeeze April’s hand tighter, forcing my mind back to the present. Trusting these people goes against every impulse I have, but if it means saving April, I’ve got to try.
I have no idea how long we sit around waiting. It feels like forever, but the sun stays in about the same place in the sky. Eventually Bandana Man comes back, looking less angry than before.
“Well?” says Sid.
Bandana Man shrugs. “I found their trail easily. Followed it back a kilometre or so. Just two sets of tracks. If anyone is following them, they’re way back and we should get out of here before they catch up.”
“Great.” Sid pulls his walkie-talkie from his vest and clicks the button. “James, you found anything?”
“Haven’t seen shite,” comes the crackly voice.
“Then get back here. Silas found their trail. We’re leaving as soon as you’re back.”
“Brilliant.”
“On your feet.” It takes me a second, but I eventually realize that Sid Charles is addressing us.
As April and I stand, Bandana Man passes him a clipboard from one of his bags.
Sid thanks him, clicks a pen, then turns a grim, approximation of a smile on me.
“Welcome to Salt Spring Island and her Gulf Island Territories, a legacy nation of the Dominion of Canada. What is the purpose of your visit?”
“What?” That was far too many words for such a small island.
“Why do you want to come to Salt Spring?”
“Oh. We told you that. The hospital.”
“Great.” He marks something off on the clipboard.
I go up on my toes, trying to see what he’s doing, but he’s so damn tall, he can easily hold it beyond me.
He eyes me warily, then continues his spiel.
“The hospital is open to all Salt Spring Island nationals and members of allied nations. If you are not currently a member of an allied nation, you are eligible for Sanctuary Seeker status, granting you provisional access to the hospital. Are you a member of an allied nation or are you seeking sanctuary?”
“We’re just trying to go to the hospital.”
“I got that. Where are you from?” The way he switches between legal babble and more ordinary speech makes it clear he’s done this before.
“Well… nowhere, really. We’re nomads.” Some of his earlier words about allied nations start to click into place. “Is that a problem? Do we have to be allies already to use the hospital?”
“Not necessarily. Are you seeking sanctuary?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Are you looking for a safe place to live?”
April mutters a tentative “yes”. I snort at the question. I mean, who isn’t? Unfortunately, safe places don’t exist anymore. But I think I’m getting the idea of what he—or rather, the authority he represents—wants from us, so I force myself to smile.
“Yes, Sid Charles. We are sanctuary seekers. We would like sanctuary at your hospital.”
“Okay, great.” He checks off more things on the clipboard.
Some of the tension I’m carrying in my shoulders eases as I realize that it’s happening.
We’re getting what we want. “You’ll be required to wear masks until the doctor is certain you aren’t contagious.
There’s one on board, and he’ll perform an initial assessment. ”
“Really?” That sounds too good to be true. “You brought one?”
“Yeah, they come on all these immigration calls,” he says, packing the clipboard away. “Mostly because you nomads always come with a shitload of health problems. But also, in case someone tries to kill the guards. So I guess we both get to see the doctor today.”
“I wasn’t trying to—never mind.”
“Once we reach port, I’ll arrange for an immigration officer to meet you and sort out your sanctuary case.
” Sid’s eyes snap to something in the distance.
When I turn, it’s to see the third guy jogging toward us.
“Right, time to go. I’ll need you to surrender any weapons now.
Failure to do so will result in your sanctuary case being denied. ”
This time I don’t need him to clarify.
“That isn’t fair. You have guns.”
Like he said earlier, my slingshot and knives don’t count for much against guns, but I’m loath to give them up all the same.
“No, it isn’t fair.” He stubs his cigarette out on the side of the barrel. “But you want to visit our hospital, so you’re going to do what makes us feel safe.”
I want to argue further, but April is already opening her bag and handing over everything right down to the kitchen knives.
“Be quick about it.” He chides me when I take too long admiring the etching on my mum’s old knife. I have a few other pieces of her: a pair of pearl earrings; a tiny glass perfume bottle, scent faint, but lingering. Even with those mementos, I’m hesitant to let the knife go.
“Will we ever see these again?” I ask.
“No. But their value will count towards any fees you rack up at the hospital,” says Sid, passing us some cloth masks to fit over our mouths and noses.
When I finally drop that last knife, Bandana Man gathers them up.
My lungs tighten and I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with the flimsy mask I’m wearing.
We’re helpless now. True, these men don’t want us dead.
And Sid Charles has been remarkably forgiving, considering his hand is still bleeding.
But plenty of colonies play the long game. They gain your trust, then they strike.
I haven’t gone unarmed for a single day since we left Astolia. The only reason my family got out of that compound was because once we were beyond the gates, it was easy to run. That’s not an option on an island.
But April’s eyes are fixed on Salt Spring’s looming form. It’s our last hope. So, I follow her up the ladder that leads onto the sailboat deck, Sid and his men trailing behind me.
“James, get your ass up here.” Sid calls. At that, I turn to see one of the guys lingering on the shore.
“Right. Just making sure no one’s coming,” he says, but there’s a hint of sadness in his voice, as if he wanted to stay outside of Salt Spring’s fences a little longer. Or maybe I’m just projecting. There is a definite chance I’m projecting.
The final guy climbs aboard, and the three of them take up posts at the front of the ship, guns trained on the shore.
The captain calls out and someone casts off.
As the ship pulls away from the broken-down dock, the world wobbles beneath us.
I grab onto a bench, trying to feel secure, but it’s no use.
Everything is shifting, carried by the sea.
As the nose of the boat swings away from Vancouver Island and towards Salt Spring, I shift on my bench, not wanting to lose sight of my old island.
The shore retreats slowly, never far enough to vanish beyond the horizon.
Home—such as it is—will always be across the water. Tantalizingly out of reach.
Then there are footsteps, and my view is obscured by the guards walking around to keep their guns aimed at the Crofton beach. Sid Charles looms ahead of me, casting his shadow over the past I’m leaving behind.