Not Home Yet #3
Some of the tension left them as they all complied, and Reg was ribbed gently—and thanked profusely—for thinking that far ahead.
They not only took off shoes and socks, but rolled their pants up as far as they could go, shivering in the foggy dawn but knowing that wet clothes would be so much worse.
Ilia and Anthony hopped ashore first, splashing in the shallows, while Reg remained on board to help Reynaldo down.
Then it was Reg’s turn, Anthony there to help steady him as he landed, and the shock of the cold water on his feet was enough to clear the last of the Dramamine from his system.
They sloshed to shore, making quiet sounds of “ooh” and “ah” and “ouch!” as they did so, and finally, laughing, found places to sit on the crab grass that had grown in above the dunes.
Reg watched as Ilia helped Reynaldo slide his boots and clean socks on, and teased him about stinky feet, and thought, Even if they’re not a couple, they’ll be inseparable. They’ve endured something together that few people would understand.
It was an optimistic thought, but it didn’t help when Ilia had to hold Reynaldo’s pack while Anthony and Reg helped to support his weight.
Reg produced the last of the cheese and fruit, and they ate readily as they walked, but nobody had to say anything about how glad they were that this would be their last day, for better or worse.
Reg knew that people had gone without more during greater hardship, and he shuddered to think of their despair should they find that the place they were fleeing to was more dangerous than the place from whence they’d come.
THEY HIT a main road after less than a mile of walking and were following it inland when a man wearing flannel, a battered baseball hat identifying a local hockey team, and a three-day beard stopped alongside them.
“Do you all need help?” he asked, and Reg glanced at them, rumpled and unshowered, with Reynaldo half-suspended between him and Anthony while Ilia tried to carry extra bags.
Anthony was closer to the road, and he nodded at Reg and said, “Yes. Please. Our friend here is really sick, and we ran our boat aground because we got lost in the fog. Do you have a hospital nearby?”
“We’ve got a small one in Sooke Harbor,” the man said. “Hop in!”
They put Reynaldo and Ilia in the front, with a hurried admonition to Ilia to not disclose too much about where they were from, and then Reg and Anthony took the gear and hopped in the back of the truck.
It was an old American-made workhorse truck—Reg could never tell make and model, and as for color, he’d have to say “primer.” But as he and Anthony leaned back against the cab and huddled out of the wind, the rumble of the engine under their backsides was comforting.
“You know,” Anthony hollered over the wind, “I think one of the world’s most prolific serial killers came from Canada!”
Reg stared at him and then chuckled. It had certainly been trusting of them to just take this guy’s offer, but… God. Maybe being exhausted did that to your judgment.
He craned his neck and saw Ilia in the middle of the bench seat, cheerfully talking the ear off their generous new friend, while Reynaldo leaned against the window, obviously too sick to care.
Ilia sensed his regard, because he turned in his seat and slid the window panel back.
“It’s fine, Reg. He’s got a trailer with big dogs, but he figures since he’s taking us to the hospital, the dogs won’t be a problem.”
Reg blinked at him, and then nodded because he had no choice in the matter. Apparently life really was like coasting in the fog—steering was an illusion, and you took the direction the world chose to send you and ran with it.
Anthony wrapped his arm around Reg’s shoulders and murmured, “We’ll have the nurses call border control and give them your brother’s contact the minute we get there. Don’t worry, baby. We’ll make it. I really think we’ll make it.”
Reg huddled against him and hoped.
The town must have been small, because less than ten minutes later, the truck shuddered to a halt in front of a petite country hospital.
Reg and Anthony hopped (or rather heaved themselves since they were so limp with exhaustion) out of the truck bed and, after scrambling for their packs, hurried to help Reynaldo out of the front.
As soon as they had him between them, Ilia went running for one of the wheelchairs lined up in the foyer of the hospital, and Reg and Anthony turned to thank their benefactor.
But it was too late, because the man had started the truck as soon as they were clear, and was driving away with a wave of the hand.
“Wow,” Anthony said. “Thank you, kind stranger.”
“Right?” Reg almost laughed. The oddest things—and the most random kindnesses—could get you through.
Ilia returned with the wheelchair, and they settled Reynaldo, who was huddling miserably into his damp hoodie with a denim jacket buttoned over it and a handmade stocking cap pulled low over his ears to keep him warm, and with Reg pushing the chair and Anthony carrying the bags, they made it into the hospital.
REYNALDO WAS admitted within minutes of their entrance, and Reg stayed back to give his details with the admission nurse.
Nobody asked for an ID or an insurance card—which was a pleasant bit of culture shock—but Reg felt like he should be upfront anyway.
“Hey,” he said, “I… I don’t know how to ask this, but do you have a number for border patrol?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes. You’re not obligated to—”
Reg shook his head. “The boys. They’re being targeted by a gang and by ICE in the States.
They’re looking for asylum—and they have an adult and passports and papers and all the things.
We were supposed to meet up before we crossed the border.
I mean, we had plans to do this legitimately and to sign all the papers and to…
.” His voice started to wobble, and he felt his focus spiraling.
“I mean,” he said, trying to get himself under control, “I have my passport, but―” His voice wobbled again. “We’re trying to do the right thing,” he finished, feeling stupid. “I… I have a number to call!”
He pulled out his wallet and produced the contact number he’d scribbled down when he’d talked with Dean in the first hotel room, along with the agent’s name.
“Here,” he said, almost tearfully. “This is the name of the Canadian border patrol agent we were supposed to contact. I… our phone ran out of charge yesterday afternoon.”
“How did you get here?” she asked kindly, taking the card and picking up the phone at her desk.
“We, uhm, borrowed a boat?” Which was precisely what they’d done, but he didn’t want to get Eben into trouble, either. “We were planning to return it to its slip in Tillamook Bay when this was all done.”
“Okay, sir. Okay.” The nice woman—in her thirties, maybe, and so very soft, comfortable, mom-like that she reminded him of his mother, in demeanor if not at all in appearance—covered his shaking hand with her own, and he remembered his last shower, two nights ago. “Okay, it’s ringing—”
She paused for a moment and spoke into the phone, asking to be put in contact with Dean’s friend. After a moment, she nodded, and then somebody else spoke, the voice intense and upset. “Okay, sir. He’s right here.”
She held out the phone, rolling her eyes. “Are you Reg?” she asked, and he nodded and took the phone.
“Dean?”
“Oh my God. Oh my God, little brother, have you scared the holy hell out of all of us. You’re in Sooke Harbor?”
“Yessir,” Reg said, feeling seven years old all over again.
“And you’re all okay?”
“Reynaldo is sick,” Reg told him, his mind flashing back to Chance and that terrible fear they’d all had when he and Chance had been sick.
“He’s so hot, Dean, and we had to stay on the boat—Bratva was in Tillamook Bay and ICE was called in the next harbor and we…
we had to get him here. We had to. You understand, right?
The kids aren’t going to get into trouble, are they?
I don’t know. Anthony and I have done everything we could, but we weren’t sure—”
And again, that terrible spinning in his head. He longed for Anthony’s strength, his confidence, but Anthony was in the room with Ilia and the doctor and Reynaldo, and he was on his own.
And then Val was on the phone. Oh God. The oldest, the one who had always, since time immemorial, made everything all right.
“You’re scaring him,” Val said sharply. “Reg, you there?”
“Val?” his voice quavered, hanging on by a thread.
“We’re coming, little brother. Give us two hours. We’ll be there. Don’t let those boys out of your sight until you see us, though, okay? Promise me.”
And oh God. A thing to do. “Yeah, Val. I got it. Two hours. You promised.”
“We’ll be there. And Mom says hi, but I want you to go find Anthony and the boys now. Uhm, Reg?”
“Yeah?”
“Bratva crashed the gate at the border last night. We’ve got a few in custody, but they split up to look for you. We’re going to call local authorities to come protect you. The locals have no masks, no tac gear—they might even have bright red suits and goofy hats. I know you’ll be respectful.”
Reg’s whole body went cold. “Oh Jesus.”
“Yeah. See you in two hours. Be safe.”
And then Val hung up, leaving Reg terrified and pissed off at the same time.
Which was, of course, what Val had in mind.
“Are you okay, sir?” asked the nice registration nurse, eyeing him with concern.
“Do you have brothers?” he asked, some of the dizziness sloughing away, replaced with purpose.
“I do.”
“So you understand what it’s like to thank God for them right before you strangle them in their sleep, right?”
She laughed. “Yes. Yes I do.”