“Look!”
At the water’s edge stands a large, metal barrel with holes drilled into the bottom. It’s chained to a crudely constructed post, a rough sign affixed to the top. Painted in a thick, tarry substance, the sign reads:
WELCOME TO HISTORIC CROFTON FERRY TERMINAL.
FOR PASSAGE TO SALT SPRING, LIGHT FIRE.
PREPARE ALL DOCUMENTS FOR IMMIGRATION.
“Do we have documents?” April asks.
“Of course not.” I know what the word means, but again, I get that Santa Claus feeling of stumbling upon something that only exists in legends. At least a hospital is something I can understand bringing back from the pre-Quake days, but paperwork? Who are these people? I was born in Port Alberni, which was relatively civilized, but even they never bothered with shit like this. At least, I don’t think they did. I was only nine when it fell to TNS.
“Should we make some?” April asks.
“No.” How would we? Rip pages out of one of the few books we carry, then write over them with a piece of charcoal? “We’re going to build a fire.”
By that, I mean I’m going to build a fire and April will set up the tarp, then rest. It takes me the remainder of the day, scrounging enough wood and dry moss to get a bonfire going in the metal bin. Now I understand why the buildings here have been stripped to ruins. It’s easier harvesting wood from the suburbs south of the terminal than trying to chop down any of the massive trees to the north. I saw off a few lower branches, but like so many before me, end up filling the barrel with Crofton’s bones. I scrape as much of the house paint off the wood as possible, but April and I still sit upwind so we don’t inhale the fumes.
If TNS is nearby, they’ll be on us in our sleep. But the bonfire needs to be visible across the water.
April, at least, seems encouraged as we take shelter from the mounting rain. “They’ve got, like, asystem,” she says, relishing the word. “They’re already prepared for us to come. Well, notus, but people like us.”
“It’s great,” I say, though I hear something ominous in her words. We’re going somewhere that has a host of rules we’ve never dealt with before. And with no documents, we’re starting off by doing something wrong.
Maybe more than one thing.
Provided you come unarmed.
No chance in hell. I’ve got my slingshot in my pocket and a knife strapped to my leg, like always.
Dinner is deer jerky and dried blackberries we gathered earlier in the summer. As the sun sets, I pull outAnne of Green Gables. I’ve read it so many times, the spine is falling apart. I want to swap this one for a new copy the next time we’re looting a house with books. It was super popular before the Quake, so I can almost always find it.
Although… maybe I won’t get the chance. Some colonies don’t allow books.
I read aloud as Anne slams Gilbert over the head with her slate and get a faint smile from my little sister. She’s heard it almost as many times as I have. The people in books are safe and predictable in a way real strangers never are, and so they’re our one source of company, aside from each other.
April falls asleep with her head lolling onto my shoulder and I don’t have the heart to move her so I can get comfortable too. As the night closes in, I sit awake, braced for any sound of rescue or attack.
***
JUST AFTER DAWN, a boat approaches, canvas sails billowing as it works against a headwind. It looks nothing like the photos of BC ferries I’ve seen on brochures from the pre-Quake days, but that’s to be expected. Those ran on oil, which is long gone.
April screeches with glee. The boat fills her with energy I haven’t seen in ages, like hope itself might cure her, and she flies out of the protective cover of the tarp. On her way, she knocks free a torrent of water droplets and my ankle gets an icygood morning.
“April!”
“We’re here!” She waves her arms at the approaching ship. “We’re here! And we’re…”
Her arms drop to her sides. “Kayla?”
“Yeah?” I get up carefully, not interested in another barrage of rainwater from the tarp.
“Is he holding a gun?”
Sure enough, the posture of the figure at the bow suggests he’s carrying a sizable rifle. Two more men flank him. Shit, I knew it. The whole smoke signal thing was a trap, and we fell right into it.
“Start running.”
