The main road is several miles to the north, and I can stay on this track for days before I need to change my tactic. There is nothing else for me to do but walk…and think about what I’ve done.
My actions haunt me, and I wonder if I would do the same again. I did it for Leah. For my mother. And, for the rest of the pack. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I hope they are safe now.
The Anchorage Police Department has issued a warrant for my arrest, and Johnson and Moore have made it their personal mission to bring me in. That’s the official version, but I know I will never make it back alive if they catch me.
My anger fuels my steps, and I eat away at the distance, putting many miles between me and my home city. I only notice how far I’ve come when lights behind me highlight the fact that it’s getting dark.
I turn around to see a pickup heading my way, bouncing over the uneven track of the rugged dirt road.
My heart jumps into my throat.
Johnson and Moore.
Chapter 2
The lights of the truck wash over me as the vehicle bounces over the uneven road, and I know they’ve seen me.
Hot blood flushes through my veins as my brain releases a massive dose of adrenaline. There’s nowhere to hide out here in the open, and I have no hope in hell of outrunning their truck.
My sweaty palms grip the rough straps of my backpack as I step back from the road, preparing to meet them. I’ll fight, even if it’s the last thing I’ll do.
As the tires crunch to a stop, my throat vibrates with a growl that threatens to tear my vocal cords. The passenger window winds down, and I angle to the side - I’m not getting shot that easily.
“Need a ride?” a stranger’s voice asks. “Pretty far from anywhere.”
I try to still my racing heart as I step closer to the truck. There’s no scent of Johnson and Moore. Just the stranger, a dog, cattle, and a faint lingering perfume of a woman.
“Yeah, thanks.”
The Border Collie in the back of the cab barks once when I get in but then wags his tail and stretches his head forward to sniff my jacket. Our kind usually gets along well with dogs.
The inside of the truck is warm, and I shut the door quickly once I stash my backpack in the back. The man smiles at me and holds out his hand.
“Jack,” he says, and I shake his hand.
“Logan.”
“Where’re you headed?”
“I’m not really sure. Away from Anchorage.”
Jack raises his eyebrows. “Heartbreak? That’s usually the reason for a strapping lad like you to wander.”
“Yeah, it’s something like that,” I reply.
“Well, Buddy and I,” Jack flicks his thumb back towards his dog, “are on our way to Whitehorse. I got some business over there in Canada. If you like, I can drop you anywhere along the way.”
The truck pulls off and rumbles over the rough road. Jack’s words sink in, and I feel like I’ve won the lottery - a one-way ticket to Canada.
“Canada sounds good,” I say and settle into my seat.
Jack laughs. “You youngsters have it easy. If you don’t like it somewhere, you just go elsewhere. It must be nice to be free like that. If I’m not back by next week, my missus will kill me.”
I nod and smile, pretending I agree with him. Jack’s an easy man to talk to, or rather to listen to, as he does most of the talking. Soon enough, he steers us onto the AK-1, and the truck smoothly eats up the miles through the night.
The Canadian border comes up on us as surely as the rising sun, and although I didn’t want to cross it by official means, my fast mode of transportation has made the option very appealing.
“We’ll stop at Beaver Creek for breakfast,” Jack says to me. “You hungry?”
“Starving,” I reply, and my stomach growls as if to confirm my statement.
“Haha, I can tell.” Jack laughs.
The border post rolls up, and I stretch over the seat to find my passport. Jack has his papers ready by the time the border patrol's ever-serious face is by our window.
“Good morning. Where are you going?”
“I have work in Whitehorse,” Jack says.
The twenty questions begin. I don’t even know why they ask them. Maybe to make the travelers nervous. As he checks my passport and looks at me through the window, the tactic is working.
“And, you? Also working in Whitehorse?”
A trickle of sweat runs down my back. “Hiking, before it gets too cold.”
“Quite bulky for a hiker,” the patrol officer comments. “More like a bodybuilder.”
He looks at my passport again and then takes a step back from the car, putting him just out of my sight. I have to lean forward to see him, and he’s reaching for his radio.
Did the cops call ahead? Did they release my photo to the border patrol? My heart hammers in my chest, and I force myself to remain still.
The radio crackles, and it sends shivers across my skin as I anticipate the words that are to come.
“Sector two, shift release. Over,” the static voice comes through the radio.
“Acknowledge. Over,” our inspector replies.
I slowly let out my breath. I don’t want to alert Jack that I’m nervous, and I press my hands flat on my legs to stop them from shaking.
Buddy pants in the back, tongue lolling out, and the patrol officer checks the dog’s papers once more before finally nodding us through.
We stop for gas and then park in front of the restaurant. Buddy jumps out of the cab but sticks close as we get out. Jack clicks his fingers, and the dog is immediately by his heels.
“You go in,” Jack says. “I’m just gonna take Buddy here for a quick walk.”
“I’ll tag along if it’s alright.”
My nerves are still frayed from the border, and I could do with the fresh air.
“Sure.” Jack’s face splits into a grin.
I can’t help it - the pack instinct within me gravitates towards Jack and his dog. I want to be a part of his pack, even for this short while – they calm me.
Buddy sniffs around between the trees where we walk him to, and Jack and I stand with our backs turned while the dog tends to his business. It’s a crisp morning of 20 degrees, and I shove my hands into my pockets.
“Let’s get some coffee,” Jack suggests the moment Buddy is done.
The restaurant is warm and smells like breakfast. Only one other guest sits at a table in the corner, and a middle-aged waitress with a checkered apron just poured him some coffee.
Buddy sneaks in undetected and quietly lies underneath the table we sit at. I don’t know if dogs are allowed in here, but the waitress doesn’t notice, and we don’t say anything.
“What can I get you?” she asks when she strolls over, pen poised over a little notepad.
“Two coffees to start, please.”
“Coming right up.”
As the waitress retreats to behind her counter, Jack slides one of the menus towards me.
“My treat. Eat what you like.”
“You don’t need to do that, Jack. I have money.”
“I know, I know,” he pats my hand, “but you’ve kept me company through the whole night. It’s usually such a chore to stay awake. It’s why I take Buddy with me in the first place. So I have someone to talk to.”