True North

True North

By M.J. Locke (excerpt)

After the End, much of what remains of true civilization inhabits in the now-balmy Arctic and Antarctic circles. Survivors still live in the rest of the world, though – the exploiters and and the exploited, and loners like Bear Jessen, who isn't sure why he's still hanging around... except for a silent promise made to his dying wife.  

… It was all for naught. They crossed the border unharmed but were stopped by the Mounties the next morning, about five miles in. The Canadians were not cruel, but the said little. The confiscated the trailer – all their food and water and medicines. Bear complained and the soldiers only shrugged. They locked them in a windowless warehouse at their border station, along with dozens of other refugees: people of all nationalities, all religions, all races. The world's detritus, tossed up against a nation's borders. Bear tried to doze on the hard concrete. His tailbone ached and the burn on his arm hurt like hell.

They were there for about six days. They were fed, but the cramped and uncomfortable quarters and their own low spirits made time drag. Late one afternoon – or so Bear guessed from the slant of the sun's rays on the wall – he heard noises outside. After a while, the guards brought them out into the sunlight, where a convoy of big military trucks waited. A Canadian officer turned them over to a group of men in a hodgepodge of American uniforms. Patty gripped Bear's arm so tight she nearly broke the skin.

“You know them?” Bear asked.

She nodded. “I recognize that one.” She gestured with her chin at the officer who spoke to the Canadians, “He is el coronets number-three man.” Her skin had gone pallid. “The man whose camp we escaped in Denver.”

She faded back among the others and kept her head down as the first lieutenant walked past. He wore Air Force insignia. The man stopped and looked Bear over.

“Name?” he asked.

“Bear Jessen. Lately of Rexford.”

The lieutenant shouted over his shoulder, “Load them up!”

They were hustled toward the trucks. They tried to stay together, but the trucks only held twelve or so. This did not bode well.

Bear towered above the rest. He caught Patty's gaze, and then Tommy's and Vanessa's. Somehow, the all understood what needed to happen – they each gathered the children nearest them, whispering, passing the word. Bear took the youngest six, the five-and-under set. Bear and his kids sat near the back of the open transport, across from a young soldier with a rifle across his knees. Land passed by; Bear recognized the road, and the miles and miles of wind power generations. They were headed over the Grand Tetons, toward Spokane.

Penelope and Paul, the toddler twins, cried inconsolably. Bear pulled them onto his lap and bounced them on his knee making shushing sounds. The other little ones sat looking out at the scenery, to all appearances unafraid.

That night they reached a military base. The sign by the road said Fairchild Air Force Base. They passed a munitions dump and an enormous hangar, and rows and rows of military barracks. The trucks came to a halt at a roundabout in the middle of the camp. Soldiers unloaded them all from the the trucks. Floodlights lit the concrete pad they stood on. They gathered the refugees in a circle. Two officers came out of the nearby barracks. One of the spoke to the lieutenant. Bear knew instantly he was the colonel.

Canadian border guard. Photograph by Elena.