Chapter 46 #2
“Roger that,” the soldier replied. “Over and out.”
He lowered the walkie talkie, attached it to his belt, then started walking toward the forest. Right toward us.
“Shit,” Marc whispered.
He looked from the soldier to the border crossing station where the Mounties stood, their bodies tense as they watched the Department of Fertility soldier.
So little space separated us from freedom, yet at that moment, I felt farther away than ever before.
It seemed so hopeless, especially when I looked at the gun slung over the American’s shoulder.
“We need to make a run for it,” Marc said. “We have to cross. Now. Before he finds us.”
I nodded even though I wasn’t sure I had the energy for it. I was tired and sore, and walking through the woods had been challenging enough. How would I ever make a run for it?
As if reading my mind, Marc put his arm around me. “I’ll hold on to you. Make sure you don’t fall. Okay?”
I nodded again.
The soldier had just reached the tree line, and even though he was several feet behind us, he would spot us the second he set foot in the forest. We were out of time.
“Let’s go,” Marc hissed.
He didn’t wait for a reply before taking off, pulling me with him.
Our footfalls were deafening in the otherwise silent forest, and there was no way the soldier would miss them.
My heart still jumped to my throat when he shouted for us to stop, though, and I let out a squeak of fear when his thunderous footsteps joined ours.
Venturing a glance over my shoulder, I saw him charging after us, his expression angry as he pushed his way through the trees.
“Stop! Now!”
“Keep going,” Marc huffed, holding on to me tightly as he maneuvered through the forest.
We burst through the trees ten feet from the border crossing station, pulling shouts of surprise from the Canadian Mounties. They lifted their guns, shouted at us or the soldier hot on our trail or both. I wasn’t sure because I couldn’t focus on anything but putting one foot in front of the other.
“Stop!” one Mountie said while another yelled, “Stay back!”
“We need asylum!” Marc yelled in return, pushing me to run faster. “We need asylum!”
“Stop!” the soldier behind us shouted. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
Fear unlike anything I’d ever felt before shot through me. He was going to shoot Marc. I knew it. Was sure of it. We had to get to safety.
“Please,” I sobbed. “Help us!”
The Mounties’ shock at seeing us had faded, and in its wake, an air of professionalism had fallen over them. They still had their guns up, but they no longer looked confused. Instead, they looked mad.
“Lower your gun,” one of the Mounties shouted. “You cannot fire a weapon toward Canadian soil!”
“These are US citizens,” came the furious reply. “They’re fugitives.”
One of the other Mounties stepped toward us, getting as close to crossing into the US as he dared. “Come on!”
The man waved, the gesture urgent, and Marc tightened his grip on me and pumped his legs faster. I was flying rather than running, and I didn’t know how I was doing it, especially since I’d felt like I had no energy left only ten minutes ago. Adrenaline, probably.
“Stop!” the soldier running after us shouted again.
We didn’t listen.
Step, step, step. We were so close. Four feet. Almost there. The Mountie waving for us to keep moving reached out, and I did as well, straining to grab his hand. I was so close. I could almost reach him.
Then I did.
His skin was warm against mine when he wrapped his hand around mine, and so comforting a sob of relief broke out of me.
It was quickly cut off when the crack of gunfire cut through the air.
I screamed and Marc grunted, making me cry out again.
He stumbled and started to go down, taking me with him, and I tripped over my feet as fear exploded in me.
“No!” I screamed when it dawned on me that Marc had been shot.
The Mounties went crazy.
“Stand down!”
“Do not shoot!”
“Stay away from Canadian soil!”
The Mountie holding my hand helped me stay on my feet when Marc released me.
He lurched forward, gasping but somehow stayed up, then stumbled across the border at the same time the Mountie pulled me to safety.
I fell against the man, gasping for breath and shaking, and he put his arm around me, preventing me from falling.
“Ma’am, if you return to your home country, would you be persecuted based on being a fertile woman and would you be subject to the danger of imprisonment?”
“Yes,” I gasped, nodding so hard it made my head hurt.
“As a person in need of protection, do you wish to seek asylum in the country of Canada?”
“Yes,” I said again, shaking. Sobbing. “Please.”
As soon as the words were out, the Mountie holding me turned his attention to the man across the border. “This woman has asylum! Step away from Canadian soil or we will be forced to retaliate.”
The Department of Fertility soldier didn’t respond, but he did lower his gun. His expression was furious, his eyes narrowed to slits as he glared at me, and for a few tense seconds, I didn’t think he was going to back down. Finally, though, the man shook his head.
A second later, he lifted the walkie talkie to his mouth. “They’ve crossed into Canada, sir. There was nothing I could do. Over.”
Without waiting for a response, the soldier headed for his truck.
We’d made it. We were in Canada.
Before I had a chance to relax, Marc let out a pained grunt.
Remembering he’d been shot, I pulled away from the man holding me and spun to face Marc.
He was lying on the ground, a Mountie kneeling at his side with his hands pressed against the gunshot wound in Marc’s calf, trying to stop the flow of blood.
Since it had pooled on the road beneath him, the Mountie’s efforts were clearly wasted.
“No!” I rushed to Marc’s side, throwing myself to my knees and clutching his hand. “You’re okay,” I said through my tears. “You’re going to be okay.”
“We need an ambulance,” the Mountie who’d helped me across the border said into a walkie talkie. “We have a gunshot wound. Looks bad.”
Marc clung to my hand. “We made it. I got you here. We’re going to be okay.”
“We’re going to be okay,” I repeated.
His face twisted in pain, and I clung to his hand tighter. He had to be all right. We couldn’t have come all this way for nothing. We would be together now and happy, and no one would take our baby from us. We’d be safe. We’d be a family.
Marc closed his eyes when the Mountie pressed more firmly on the gunshot wound.
I held his hand, oblivious to the cold or what was going on around us, focused only on him.
I had no idea how much time passed, but vaguely, I became aware of a siren in the distance.
Then an ambulance was here, and people were rushing toward us with medical equipment, and I was pulled away from Marc.
I resisted but only a little because as much as I wanted to be with him, he needed the paramedics more than he needed me right now.
“Ma’am,” a female medic said as she led me away from Marc, “are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“No,” I replied in a daze. “I’m fine.”
As if not believing me, she urged me to sit on the nearby curb. “How far along are you?”
“Thirty weeks.”
“Are you having any cramping or other signs of fetal distress?”
“No,” I replied automatically.
She kept asking me questions, and I must have answered, but I didn’t remember any of it.
I couldn’t stop staring at Marc as the paramedics worked to get the bleeding under control then moved him to a gurney.
Couldn’t stop praying, begging for a break.
He had to be all right. We were here. We were safe.
He’d done everything he could to make sure we were okay, so it wouldn’t be fair if he died now.
When the paramedics started rushing him toward the ambulance, I shoved past the woman looking me over and took off after them. “I’m going with him!”
Thankfully, no one argued.
In the ambulance with the door shut, I held Marc’s hand while the paramedics worked. His face was several shades paler than usual, and his expression pained, but he also looked at peace as he stared up at me.
“We made it,” he said.
I forced out a teary smile. “We did.”
“And now we can be together. Can be a family.” He looked at my stomach. “That’s our baby, and no one can take it from us.”
“Our son,” I whispered, feeling for the first time like it was safe to tell him the truth.
Marc’s eyes flicked to mine, widening. “It’s a boy?”
“It’s a boy,” I said in a strained voice. “It’s a boy.”
Then I leaned down and kissed him gently.