Chapter 8
The static from the radio buzzed monotonously as Justin continued to scan the stations. March had bled into April, and even April was drawing to a close. The trees were no longer wintery skeletons clawing at the sky, and the smell of new leaves and grass filled the cabin. The evening breeze that drifted through the cabin was pleasant, though a faint chill remained to remind them that as much as May was just around the corner, it was still Alberta, and winter might yet strike one last time.
Justin shook his head in frustration as he finished scanning the stations. There had been nothing on the radio, not even the emergency broadcast, for over five months. He harboured little faith that the Canadian military had managed to withstand the American onslaught this long, but the lack of any news was beginning to make him wonder what was happening. He glanced over at Alyse, who was sitting patiently at the table. “I think it may be time, Alyse. We’re out of supplies…”
Alyse frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you walking into town, even one of the smaller towns,” she commented, shifting uncomfortably. She glanced at the small pantry where the last of the canned goods were stored. It was only with careful husbandry, and the benefit of early spring fishing, that there was anything left. “Not alone, at any rate. I still say that if it has to be done, we should all go.”
Justin sat back on his heels, staring at the radio. “It’s too far. Even the nearest town…”
“The nearest town is only twenty kilometers away. We can walk that in a day. We have a tent and camping gear. We could go, pick up supplies, camp overnight, and hike back the next day. It’s not as though Brigitte and I have forgotten how to walk, and you know as well as I do that James would just follow you.”
Justin sighed. They had argued this around in circles for days. The truth was, he didn’t know what to expect, and he didn’t want to inadvertently lead his small family into danger. Alyse knew that. She also knew that if something happened to him, she couldn’t make it out here alone with two children and no food.
Any risk was better than a slow death by starvation, however. The weather was getting to be too warm to be able to store game for any period of time, which made hunting an exercise in futility. And as good as James had gotten at fishing, there was no way the four of them could live on what he was able to catch. At last Justin nodded.
“I don’t like it, but I don’t see any way around it, either. I guess…” he was interrupted by a sudden, sharp two-note whistle from outside, and he felt himself grow tense. It was one of two bird calls that James had worked on diligently enough for them to sound realistic. The sparrow call was if he sighted game. It was a single, sharp chirp. The chickadee whistle, which he’d just sounded, meant potential danger. If James whistled a second time...
The whistle came again, high and then low, sharp and piercing. “Get Brigitte and get into the other cabin,” he told Alyse firmly as he moved across to pick up the rifle.
Alyse nodded as Brigitte rushed inside. “Did you hear it?” the tiny girl demanded.
“We heard it,” Alyse answered, grabbing the key to the unused cabin from the nail beside the back door. “You know what to do. We’ve practiced this before.” She walked calmly over to where the Glock was stored, checked the clip, and led her daughter out the front door.
Justin listened for the chugging cough of the generator shutting down. That was James’ job if the generator was running. Sure enough, the wheeze of the generator shutting down reached his ears. He nodded to himself and went to lock the back door, and then hurried after Alyse and Brigitte.
James was running around the side of the main cabin, closing the shutters as he went. He waved to his father. “Two vehicles coming down the back road. They had just turned off the highway when I whistled.”
“Get inside and get down. I’m going to make sure no one can see you,” Justin directed.
James scurried inside, and Justin peered through the window. The drapes were left open in both cabins, but the shutters were closed. The idea was to make the place look as deserted as possible so that anyone coming by would look in, see nothing of use, and would go. To that end, they had spent a lot of their spare time hiding anything that might tempt the casual eye. Other than the generator, there was nothing in the sheds. It had all been gathered in the rafters of the unused cabin, out of sight. In the main cabin, only the old radio remained obvious, as though it had been left behind. He checked the lock on the main cabin’s door, then joined Alyse and the children in the other cabin, keeping close to the wall, under the windows.
It was an interminably long wait, crouched on the cold cement, the smell of deer heavy in the air. The children were breathing hard, and Alyse was quietly stroking Brigitte’s hair.
The sound of the vehicles was remarkably loud. In one corner of his mind, Justin marvelled at how accustomed they had grown to the silence of the place. The noise of the engines cut out, and there was the sound of a door closing.
“Check the cabins, Hernandez.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” a second voice answered crisply.
Military. That could be good or bad, Justin mused. They wouldn’t loot the place, in all likelihood, but they might decide to be more thorough in their search than if they were just civilians.
“Doors are locked on this one, Sarge. Want me to just kick them in?”
“No,” the first voice replied. “Check the windows. See anything?”
“This one looks clear,” the one called Hernandez commented. There was a moment of silence, and then the doorknob on the cabin they were in rattled.
“This one’s locked, too,” a new voice added. There was a creak as one of the shudders swung open. A shadow fell across the floor. “Damn, these windows are dirty. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while. Nothing here, Sarge.”
The shutter creaked again as it was swung closed.
Justin calmed his breathing. So far, so good.
“Alright,” the sergeant’s voice growled. “Mount up. We’ve got four more places to check today.”
“Hey, Sarge…” a fourth voice piped in, “Does anything about this place feel… off to you?” Justin held his breath. He saw Alyse clutch Brigitte tighter. James pulled his knees closer to his chest.
“Talk to me, Drift,” the Sergeant encouraged, his voice interested. “What is it?”
“Well, I mean, we’ve cleared out a dozen of these places, all of them abandoned. But this place feels different somehow.”
“He’s right,” Hernandez voice agreed. “Look at the wood pile.”
Justin frowned. The woodpile?
“The woodpile?” the sergeant demanded, his tone incredulous.
“See how the concrete is dirty, but only up to about halfway? The rest is clean, like it was covered by wood not too long ago…”
“Hey Sarge!” the third voice called out. “There’s a canoe back here.”
James glanced over at his father. Justin mouthed, “Fishing tackle?” James shook his head and pointed at the rafters. Justin nodded.
“What about it?” the sergeant demanded.
“It’s got water on the inside and there aren’t any spider webs on it.”
There was a long moment of silence. At last someone outside cleared their throat. “Hello in the cabins,” the sergeant’s voice called out loudly. “We aren’t here to hurt you. Come out in the next minute, or we’re going to have to break in the doors.”
Justin’s shoulders slumped and he looked over at Alyse. Her expression said everything. She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded to him.
Game over.
“Alright,” Justin called out, sliding the rifle underneath a roll of aging carpet that had never been installed. Alyse did the same with the Glock. “There are four of us. We’re not armed.”
He rose to his feet and opened the door. The four soldiers were standing in a fan-formation in front of the cabin. One of the soldiers had what appeared to Justin to be a classic looking M-16 trained on them, but the other three appeared relaxed. Even the one with the gun seemed to be doing it more out of habit than anything.
Once all four of them had exited the cabin, the sergeant – a tall African-American with a nose that had obviously been broken more than once – nodded to the one with the gun. The soldier moved cautiously forward, giving the four of them a wide berth, and glanced inside the cabin, ducking his head back quickly before taking a second peek. “This one’s clear,” he announced.
“Is there anyone in the other cabin?” the sergeant asked Justin softly.
Justin shook his head. “I can give you the key, if you want to check.”
The sergeant nodded, and Justin reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out the key. He held it out to the soldier nearest him. The soldier approached and took the key, glancing at the one with the gun. “I open, you check.”
The soldier with the gun, Justin assumed it to be Hernandez from his complexion, frowned. “Why do I always have to check?”
“’Cause we can afford to lose you, Hernandez,” the soldier standing beside the sergeant laughed.
“That’s it, Drift. You’re checking the next place,” Hernandez grumbled.
“Folks, if you would please step away from the cabins?” the sergeant asked politely. “I need to ask you some questions.”
Justin nodded, and the four of them walked forward to stand by the jeeps.
“This place is clear,” Hernandez announced.
The sergeant nodded. “You did a good job in covering up your presence,” he told them as he approached. He studied them carefully. “It might lead someone to wonder why.”
Justin shrugged. “It pays to be careful. We had a couple of drifters come by a few weeks back, deserters by the look of them. It was what made us decide to take some precautions.”
The sergeant squinted at him. “Did you get a good look at them?”
Justin shook his head. “We were out wandering around. Saw them sneaking off when we were coming back.”
The sergeant scratched his head behind his ear. “That kind makes us all look bad,” he observed. “I’m glad you decided to come out rather than make us come in after you. It makes my job less stressful. How long have you been holed up here?”
Justin grimaced. “Since it started,” he replied. He didn’t think he had to clarify what ‘it’ was. “This place has been in my family for years, and it seemed like a good time to get out of the city.”
The sergeant’s eyebrows rose. “You stayed out here all winter? Impressive. I’ve been up here since December, and you Canadians have to be crazy to tolerate the winters you have. Where did you say you were from?”
“Calgary,” Justin answered.
The sergeant nodded. “Alright. I don’t see a vehicle…?”
Justin shook his head. “Yeah, well there’s a story behind that,” he commented drily.
“There always is,” the sergeant laughed. “Look, you seem like a decent little family. I don’t want to have to detain you, but you’ve got to realize that I’ve got orders.”
Nodding, Justin tried to smile. “As long as they aren’t ‘shoot on sight’, and since we’re chatting I assume they aren’t, then I guess we don’t mind too badly. We were running low on supplies, anyhow. Can I ask what your orders are?”
“Civilians are to be identified and provided transport to their city of residence. You did know that the war is over?”
“I sort of figured it had to be. It’s not like Canada’s army was in the same league as yours. I assume we surrendered?”
The sergeant nodded. “About two and a half months ago. Now we’re trying to rebuild. Canadian citizens are being treated with all due consideration. Now, do you happen to have any identification?”
Justin paused, trying to recall where his wallet was. “In the jacket hanging inside the door,” he said at last. “Inside pocket.”
“Hernandez…” the sergeant called out, but the soldier was already moving. He emerged from the cabin a moment later with Justin’s wallet and tossed it to the sergeant.
“Justin McLeod,” the sergeant said as he studied the drivers’ licence. “What did you do before the war, Justin?”
“I was a teacher,” Justin replied.
“And this is…?” he turned to Alyse.
“Alyse Moulin,” she replied. A faint grimace touched her lips. “Unfortunately, I did not remember to bring my purse with me.”
The sergeant frowned. “When you get to the Calgary Detention center, make sure you have the same last name if you want to stay together,” he whispered, too softly for the other soldiers to hear. “The Detention Centers don’t recognize common law spouses.”
Justin nodded. “Thanks. Can we go inside and get our things?”
The sergeant nodded, and they hurried inside to gather up their things. Justin discreetly collected the Glock and several boxes of cartridges in the process, though he left the rifle concealed in the carpet. He was only mildly surprised when James took down the old poster from above the bed. He found it more surprising when his son gathered a small collection of books to take with them.
When they returned and had packed their gear into the jeeps, the sergeant smiled and glanced down at the two children. “Cute kids,” he observed. “Hope you don’t mind that we don’t have booster seats in the jeeps. Okay, boys. Let’s go. We need to deliver this family to the Red Deer Transportation Center. Looks like the other places will have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Aw, shucks, Sarge,” Drift commented sarcastically. “You mean we don’t get to run all over hell’s half acre looking for shadows anymore today?”
“I can always tell the duty sergeant that you want a double shift, Private,” the sergeant growled.
“That’s okay, Sarge. I guess I’ll survive. Hernandez, are you driving or am I?”
“Do you really think I’d let you touch the keys, Drift?” Hernandez muttered as he stomped over to one of the jeeps.
“Sinclair,” the sergeant called to the last soldier. “Lock that door and return the key to this gentleman. You’re driving. Mr. McLeod, would you prefer to ride with the boy or the girl?”
“I go where he goes,” James said firmly, his expression determined.
The sergeant nodded. “Let’s get a move on. We’re wasting daylight.”
*
The Calgary Detention Center was located outside of the city itself, and appeared to originally have been a massive mall of some sort. It was a sprawling complex, and it was crawling with people. Lines of people waited, with varying degrees of patience, at the numerous official-looking registration areas. More lines clustered around what appeared to be food distribution centers.
The driver of the old school bus they had driven down in, an aging soldier in a neatly ironed uniform, nodded politely to them. “You’ll need to get registered. New registrations are at that pavilion over there… the one that’s not quite so busy. You four are the only people that I’ve seen come here in nearly a month. Most of the registrations have already been done.”
“So who are all of these people?” Alyse asked as she shouldered one of the larger backpacks and guided Brigitte down the aisle toward the open door.
“Detainees,” the driver replied. “Mostly people whose homes were bombed out. The city center took most of the damage, and with all of the apartments down there, they’ve got no place else to go. Some of the suburban areas were less badly damaged, and a lot of folks have been given the opportunity to return to their homes, at least for now. Go check in. They’ve got a pretty decent database of who lived in the city before the war, so if your home wasn’t hit, you might be able to go back. They’re trying to relocate as many people as possible, but I think this Detention Center will stay in use for a while.”
Justin nodded his thanks, and stepped off the bus. The stink of the long row of blue portable toilets hung in the air, along with the exhaust from the numerous diesel generators and the smell of various foods being cooked to feed the vast number of refugees. On top of it all was the reek of thousands of unwashed people. The miasma was almost enough to make him retch. He reached out and took Alyse’s hand in one of his own, and James’ in the other. Alyse clutched Brigitte’s hand firmly, her knuckles white.
“I knew it would be bad,” Alyse whispered. “But I didn’t expect this.”
“Let’s hope my house didn’t get hit,” Justin murmured. “He said some of the suburbs weren’t too badly hit.”
Alyse glanced in the direction of the city, to where the skyline had once risen proudly from the prairie. Now it was a mass of jagged, broken spires. The iconic Calgary Tower was conspicuously absent, and smoke seemed to still hang over the ruins of the city. “We lived downtown…” she whispered. “I’m so glad we got out.”
The clerk at the reception desk in the huge tent labelled “New Registrants” looked up at them from behind the folding table in mild surprise. He put down his small tablet computer and rose to his feet, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Good evening,” he said, his nasal tone proclaiming him to be from one of the north-eastern states. “Just coming in? We haven’t had new faces arrive in a while.”
Justin walked forward and placed his drivers’ licence on the folding table. “We got out of the city before the bombing started,” he told the young clerk. “McLeod.”
The clerk checked his identification and punched the name into the tablet. He stared at the screen for a few moments, his expression neutral. “How many in the household?”
“Four,” he replied.
The clerk frowned slightly. “The last census indicated that there were only three.”
“Our daughter was born just after the last census,” Justin lied smoothly. It was a question they had anticipated. Fortunately, Brigitte was acting shy and was partially hidden behind Alyse’s legs. The clerk glanced up and shrugged. “I’ll update that. What’s the girl’s name?”
“Brigitte Moulin McLeod,” Alyse answered softly. The quaver in her voice would only be noticeable to someone who really knew her.
“Alright,” the clerk commented absently. “It appears that your home was not damaged in the air strikes, Mr. McLeod, but we will have to ask you to remain in the Detention Center for a couple of days while we go over some questions and make certain the home is still habitable. You are being assigned to Family Block C in the interim. It is the large building near the perimeter fence. I will have a guard escort you there. The quartermaster in Family Block C will see to your personal quarters and your food-stamps. Your quarters will have a lockable box, where I suggest you place any valuables you may currently have on you. Theft has been a significant issue in the Detention Center, as I’m sure you could probably guess, considering the circumstances. I also recommend that your wife and daughter not move around unescorted. There have been a few attacks on women in the past weeks. If you have any other questions, address them to your Block Officer. I will need to take your pictures for your ID badges. These must be worn at all times, outside of your personal quarters, and they must be clearly visible.”
“They aren’t yellow stars, are they?” Justin asked, his tone bitter.
The clerk stared at him coldly. “No, Mr. McLeod, they are not.”
Justin stared back at the clerk, unflinching. “Take your pictures, then.”
The clerk took a moment to set up a white screen. Once he was done he gestured to each of them to stand in front of it and snapped a quick picture. He punched a couple of buttons on his tablet, and a printer under the folding table spat out four plastic cards. He attached clips to them and handed them to Justin. “I understand your frustration, Mr. McLeod,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine that this is easy for you. I know that if Newark – that’s where I’m from – if Newark wound up looking like Calgary does, and I had to spend an unknown amount of time in a Detention Center before I could go home… if my home was even still there… I would probably feel the same as you do.” He glanced up at Justin. “But bear in mind that we are doing the best we can for the Canadian people.”
Justin bit back a sharp retort. Instead he simply nodded briskly. The clerk picked up a walkie-talkie and called for an escort. A few moments later, a young soldier poked his head in the pavilion. “If you folks will follow me, I will escort you to your Block.”
Family Block C was a huge warehouse that had been hastily separated into hundreds of small living quarters. The doors to the personal quarters were spaced exactly twenty feet apart, and the halls between the rooms were arrow straight but so narrow two people could pass each other only by inching along the walls. The only saving grace was that there was no ceiling above the hallways, which eased the sense of claustrophobic closeness the narrow passages created. The soldier led them down the central hall, which was slightly wider than the branching hallways, to the Block Reception Area, which appeared to be in the exact middle of the warehouse. It contained three offices and a waiting area. The doors to the offices were clearly labelled: Block Officer, Communications Officer, and Quartermaster. The soldier opened the door to the waiting area and gestured them inside. He then turned and knocked on the Quartermaster’s office door.
“I guess it could be worse,” Justin mused as he looked around the sparsely furnished room they had been deposited in. The room had a single, low table and four straight-backed plastic chairs. There was no decoration of any kind on the walls. He shifted the backpack he wore to ease the weight on his shoulders. He considered sitting down, but the soldier returned immediately. “The Quartermaster will see you,” he announced.
The Quartermaster was a lean, sharp-featured man. Intense, dark eyes studied them as they walked into the small office. He sat behind a plain, non-descript desk, his fingers steepled in front of him, elbows resting on the faux-wood. His hair was grey, but he didn’t appear old. He examined the four of them in silence for a moment before he grunted and got to his feet and extended his hand to Justin. “I’m Sergeant O’Neil. I’m in charge of getting you set up.”
Justin shook O’Neil’s hand firmly. “Justin McLeod,” he stated.
O’Neil nodded. “You here for the long haul, or do you have a home in the city?”
“They say my house wasn’t bombed out, but they have to check. We could be here for a few days or a few months. I don’t know.”
The sergeant nodded. “Right. First, you need to be aware of the layout. Halls are labelled alphabetically from the front door to the back, A through Z. There are twenty rooms to a hall on either side of the main artery. Numbers one through twenty are on the north side, twenty-one through forty on the south. Bathrooms are shared, with two at the end of each hall. The bathrooms are gender specific, though children under the age of ten are permitted in either as long as they are with a parent. Lights out is at 2200 hours. Reveille is at 0600. Each room is equipped with a portable stove. Test it when you get into your room. It had better be working when you leave. Rooms have one set of double bunks, a secure lock-box, and a storage box…”
O’Neil carried on, explaining the basics of the accommodations. At the end, he provided Justin and Alyse each with a key to their room. “I recommend you lock it. I also recommend you don’t allow your children to roam around unattended. We don’t have the man-power to patrol the Blocks, and it would be a shame if something happened to one of them. Sadly, the same is true for you, Mrs. McLeod. Don’t go anywhere alone. People here are desperate, though the Family Blocks are better off than the General Blocks.”
O’Neil handed a small booklet of stamps to both Justin and Alyse. “These are your food vouchers. You can each use one of them a day to obtain your food ration. It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing. They are family vouchers, so you’ll each obtain a double portion, as long as you get there before the food is all gone. I recommend you get there early. Do you have any questions?”
Justin glanced at Alyse, who shook her head. “I think we’re fine, Sergeant.”
The quartermaster nodded. “You are in R23. I’ll take you there.”
He led them through the warehouse and its tiny hallways, finally stopping in front of a clearly marked door. “You are here. Test your keys.”
Justin and Alyse complied and the sergeant nodded. “Alright. If you need anything, come and see me. If you have complaints or concerns, address them to Captain Andersen, the Block Officer. If you see anything suspicious, report it to the Communications Officer, Lieutenant Ramirez, immediately. Take care.”
“Thank you,” Alyse murmured.
The sergeant nodded and strode briskly away, leaving them standing silently outside of their temporary home.
Justin shook his head in frustration as he finished scanning the stations. There had been nothing on the radio, not even the emergency broadcast, for over five months. He harboured little faith that the Canadian military had managed to withstand the American onslaught this long, but the lack of any news was beginning to make him wonder what was happening. He glanced over at Alyse, who was sitting patiently at the table. “I think it may be time, Alyse. We’re out of supplies…”
Alyse frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you walking into town, even one of the smaller towns,” she commented, shifting uncomfortably. She glanced at the small pantry where the last of the canned goods were stored. It was only with careful husbandry, and the benefit of early spring fishing, that there was anything left. “Not alone, at any rate. I still say that if it has to be done, we should all go.”
Justin sat back on his heels, staring at the radio. “It’s too far. Even the nearest town…”
“The nearest town is only twenty kilometers away. We can walk that in a day. We have a tent and camping gear. We could go, pick up supplies, camp overnight, and hike back the next day. It’s not as though Brigitte and I have forgotten how to walk, and you know as well as I do that James would just follow you.”
Justin sighed. They had argued this around in circles for days. The truth was, he didn’t know what to expect, and he didn’t want to inadvertently lead his small family into danger. Alyse knew that. She also knew that if something happened to him, she couldn’t make it out here alone with two children and no food.
Any risk was better than a slow death by starvation, however. The weather was getting to be too warm to be able to store game for any period of time, which made hunting an exercise in futility. And as good as James had gotten at fishing, there was no way the four of them could live on what he was able to catch. At last Justin nodded.
“I don’t like it, but I don’t see any way around it, either. I guess…” he was interrupted by a sudden, sharp two-note whistle from outside, and he felt himself grow tense. It was one of two bird calls that James had worked on diligently enough for them to sound realistic. The sparrow call was if he sighted game. It was a single, sharp chirp. The chickadee whistle, which he’d just sounded, meant potential danger. If James whistled a second time...
The whistle came again, high and then low, sharp and piercing. “Get Brigitte and get into the other cabin,” he told Alyse firmly as he moved across to pick up the rifle.
Alyse nodded as Brigitte rushed inside. “Did you hear it?” the tiny girl demanded.
“We heard it,” Alyse answered, grabbing the key to the unused cabin from the nail beside the back door. “You know what to do. We’ve practiced this before.” She walked calmly over to where the Glock was stored, checked the clip, and led her daughter out the front door.
Justin listened for the chugging cough of the generator shutting down. That was James’ job if the generator was running. Sure enough, the wheeze of the generator shutting down reached his ears. He nodded to himself and went to lock the back door, and then hurried after Alyse and Brigitte.
James was running around the side of the main cabin, closing the shutters as he went. He waved to his father. “Two vehicles coming down the back road. They had just turned off the highway when I whistled.”
“Get inside and get down. I’m going to make sure no one can see you,” Justin directed.
James scurried inside, and Justin peered through the window. The drapes were left open in both cabins, but the shutters were closed. The idea was to make the place look as deserted as possible so that anyone coming by would look in, see nothing of use, and would go. To that end, they had spent a lot of their spare time hiding anything that might tempt the casual eye. Other than the generator, there was nothing in the sheds. It had all been gathered in the rafters of the unused cabin, out of sight. In the main cabin, only the old radio remained obvious, as though it had been left behind. He checked the lock on the main cabin’s door, then joined Alyse and the children in the other cabin, keeping close to the wall, under the windows.
It was an interminably long wait, crouched on the cold cement, the smell of deer heavy in the air. The children were breathing hard, and Alyse was quietly stroking Brigitte’s hair.
The sound of the vehicles was remarkably loud. In one corner of his mind, Justin marvelled at how accustomed they had grown to the silence of the place. The noise of the engines cut out, and there was the sound of a door closing.
“Check the cabins, Hernandez.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” a second voice answered crisply.
Military. That could be good or bad, Justin mused. They wouldn’t loot the place, in all likelihood, but they might decide to be more thorough in their search than if they were just civilians.
“Doors are locked on this one, Sarge. Want me to just kick them in?”
“No,” the first voice replied. “Check the windows. See anything?”
“This one looks clear,” the one called Hernandez commented. There was a moment of silence, and then the doorknob on the cabin they were in rattled.
“This one’s locked, too,” a new voice added. There was a creak as one of the shudders swung open. A shadow fell across the floor. “Damn, these windows are dirty. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while. Nothing here, Sarge.”
The shutter creaked again as it was swung closed.
Justin calmed his breathing. So far, so good.
“Alright,” the sergeant’s voice growled. “Mount up. We’ve got four more places to check today.”
“Hey, Sarge…” a fourth voice piped in, “Does anything about this place feel… off to you?” Justin held his breath. He saw Alyse clutch Brigitte tighter. James pulled his knees closer to his chest.
“Talk to me, Drift,” the Sergeant encouraged, his voice interested. “What is it?”
“Well, I mean, we’ve cleared out a dozen of these places, all of them abandoned. But this place feels different somehow.”
“He’s right,” Hernandez voice agreed. “Look at the wood pile.”
Justin frowned. The woodpile?
“The woodpile?” the sergeant demanded, his tone incredulous.
“See how the concrete is dirty, but only up to about halfway? The rest is clean, like it was covered by wood not too long ago…”
“Hey Sarge!” the third voice called out. “There’s a canoe back here.”
James glanced over at his father. Justin mouthed, “Fishing tackle?” James shook his head and pointed at the rafters. Justin nodded.
“What about it?” the sergeant demanded.
“It’s got water on the inside and there aren’t any spider webs on it.”
There was a long moment of silence. At last someone outside cleared their throat. “Hello in the cabins,” the sergeant’s voice called out loudly. “We aren’t here to hurt you. Come out in the next minute, or we’re going to have to break in the doors.”
Justin’s shoulders slumped and he looked over at Alyse. Her expression said everything. She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded to him.
Game over.
“Alright,” Justin called out, sliding the rifle underneath a roll of aging carpet that had never been installed. Alyse did the same with the Glock. “There are four of us. We’re not armed.”
He rose to his feet and opened the door. The four soldiers were standing in a fan-formation in front of the cabin. One of the soldiers had what appeared to Justin to be a classic looking M-16 trained on them, but the other three appeared relaxed. Even the one with the gun seemed to be doing it more out of habit than anything.
Once all four of them had exited the cabin, the sergeant – a tall African-American with a nose that had obviously been broken more than once – nodded to the one with the gun. The soldier moved cautiously forward, giving the four of them a wide berth, and glanced inside the cabin, ducking his head back quickly before taking a second peek. “This one’s clear,” he announced.
“Is there anyone in the other cabin?” the sergeant asked Justin softly.
Justin shook his head. “I can give you the key, if you want to check.”
The sergeant nodded, and Justin reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out the key. He held it out to the soldier nearest him. The soldier approached and took the key, glancing at the one with the gun. “I open, you check.”
The soldier with the gun, Justin assumed it to be Hernandez from his complexion, frowned. “Why do I always have to check?”
“’Cause we can afford to lose you, Hernandez,” the soldier standing beside the sergeant laughed.
“That’s it, Drift. You’re checking the next place,” Hernandez grumbled.
“Folks, if you would please step away from the cabins?” the sergeant asked politely. “I need to ask you some questions.”
Justin nodded, and the four of them walked forward to stand by the jeeps.
“This place is clear,” Hernandez announced.
The sergeant nodded. “You did a good job in covering up your presence,” he told them as he approached. He studied them carefully. “It might lead someone to wonder why.”
Justin shrugged. “It pays to be careful. We had a couple of drifters come by a few weeks back, deserters by the look of them. It was what made us decide to take some precautions.”
The sergeant squinted at him. “Did you get a good look at them?”
Justin shook his head. “We were out wandering around. Saw them sneaking off when we were coming back.”
The sergeant scratched his head behind his ear. “That kind makes us all look bad,” he observed. “I’m glad you decided to come out rather than make us come in after you. It makes my job less stressful. How long have you been holed up here?”
Justin grimaced. “Since it started,” he replied. He didn’t think he had to clarify what ‘it’ was. “This place has been in my family for years, and it seemed like a good time to get out of the city.”
The sergeant’s eyebrows rose. “You stayed out here all winter? Impressive. I’ve been up here since December, and you Canadians have to be crazy to tolerate the winters you have. Where did you say you were from?”
“Calgary,” Justin answered.
The sergeant nodded. “Alright. I don’t see a vehicle…?”
Justin shook his head. “Yeah, well there’s a story behind that,” he commented drily.
“There always is,” the sergeant laughed. “Look, you seem like a decent little family. I don’t want to have to detain you, but you’ve got to realize that I’ve got orders.”
Nodding, Justin tried to smile. “As long as they aren’t ‘shoot on sight’, and since we’re chatting I assume they aren’t, then I guess we don’t mind too badly. We were running low on supplies, anyhow. Can I ask what your orders are?”
“Civilians are to be identified and provided transport to their city of residence. You did know that the war is over?”
“I sort of figured it had to be. It’s not like Canada’s army was in the same league as yours. I assume we surrendered?”
The sergeant nodded. “About two and a half months ago. Now we’re trying to rebuild. Canadian citizens are being treated with all due consideration. Now, do you happen to have any identification?”
Justin paused, trying to recall where his wallet was. “In the jacket hanging inside the door,” he said at last. “Inside pocket.”
“Hernandez…” the sergeant called out, but the soldier was already moving. He emerged from the cabin a moment later with Justin’s wallet and tossed it to the sergeant.
“Justin McLeod,” the sergeant said as he studied the drivers’ licence. “What did you do before the war, Justin?”
“I was a teacher,” Justin replied.
“And this is…?” he turned to Alyse.
“Alyse Moulin,” she replied. A faint grimace touched her lips. “Unfortunately, I did not remember to bring my purse with me.”
The sergeant frowned. “When you get to the Calgary Detention center, make sure you have the same last name if you want to stay together,” he whispered, too softly for the other soldiers to hear. “The Detention Centers don’t recognize common law spouses.”
Justin nodded. “Thanks. Can we go inside and get our things?”
The sergeant nodded, and they hurried inside to gather up their things. Justin discreetly collected the Glock and several boxes of cartridges in the process, though he left the rifle concealed in the carpet. He was only mildly surprised when James took down the old poster from above the bed. He found it more surprising when his son gathered a small collection of books to take with them.
When they returned and had packed their gear into the jeeps, the sergeant smiled and glanced down at the two children. “Cute kids,” he observed. “Hope you don’t mind that we don’t have booster seats in the jeeps. Okay, boys. Let’s go. We need to deliver this family to the Red Deer Transportation Center. Looks like the other places will have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Aw, shucks, Sarge,” Drift commented sarcastically. “You mean we don’t get to run all over hell’s half acre looking for shadows anymore today?”
“I can always tell the duty sergeant that you want a double shift, Private,” the sergeant growled.
“That’s okay, Sarge. I guess I’ll survive. Hernandez, are you driving or am I?”
“Do you really think I’d let you touch the keys, Drift?” Hernandez muttered as he stomped over to one of the jeeps.
“Sinclair,” the sergeant called to the last soldier. “Lock that door and return the key to this gentleman. You’re driving. Mr. McLeod, would you prefer to ride with the boy or the girl?”
“I go where he goes,” James said firmly, his expression determined.
The sergeant nodded. “Let’s get a move on. We’re wasting daylight.”
*
The Calgary Detention Center was located outside of the city itself, and appeared to originally have been a massive mall of some sort. It was a sprawling complex, and it was crawling with people. Lines of people waited, with varying degrees of patience, at the numerous official-looking registration areas. More lines clustered around what appeared to be food distribution centers.
The driver of the old school bus they had driven down in, an aging soldier in a neatly ironed uniform, nodded politely to them. “You’ll need to get registered. New registrations are at that pavilion over there… the one that’s not quite so busy. You four are the only people that I’ve seen come here in nearly a month. Most of the registrations have already been done.”
“So who are all of these people?” Alyse asked as she shouldered one of the larger backpacks and guided Brigitte down the aisle toward the open door.
“Detainees,” the driver replied. “Mostly people whose homes were bombed out. The city center took most of the damage, and with all of the apartments down there, they’ve got no place else to go. Some of the suburban areas were less badly damaged, and a lot of folks have been given the opportunity to return to their homes, at least for now. Go check in. They’ve got a pretty decent database of who lived in the city before the war, so if your home wasn’t hit, you might be able to go back. They’re trying to relocate as many people as possible, but I think this Detention Center will stay in use for a while.”
Justin nodded his thanks, and stepped off the bus. The stink of the long row of blue portable toilets hung in the air, along with the exhaust from the numerous diesel generators and the smell of various foods being cooked to feed the vast number of refugees. On top of it all was the reek of thousands of unwashed people. The miasma was almost enough to make him retch. He reached out and took Alyse’s hand in one of his own, and James’ in the other. Alyse clutched Brigitte’s hand firmly, her knuckles white.
“I knew it would be bad,” Alyse whispered. “But I didn’t expect this.”
“Let’s hope my house didn’t get hit,” Justin murmured. “He said some of the suburbs weren’t too badly hit.”
Alyse glanced in the direction of the city, to where the skyline had once risen proudly from the prairie. Now it was a mass of jagged, broken spires. The iconic Calgary Tower was conspicuously absent, and smoke seemed to still hang over the ruins of the city. “We lived downtown…” she whispered. “I’m so glad we got out.”
The clerk at the reception desk in the huge tent labelled “New Registrants” looked up at them from behind the folding table in mild surprise. He put down his small tablet computer and rose to his feet, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Good evening,” he said, his nasal tone proclaiming him to be from one of the north-eastern states. “Just coming in? We haven’t had new faces arrive in a while.”
Justin walked forward and placed his drivers’ licence on the folding table. “We got out of the city before the bombing started,” he told the young clerk. “McLeod.”
The clerk checked his identification and punched the name into the tablet. He stared at the screen for a few moments, his expression neutral. “How many in the household?”
“Four,” he replied.
The clerk frowned slightly. “The last census indicated that there were only three.”
“Our daughter was born just after the last census,” Justin lied smoothly. It was a question they had anticipated. Fortunately, Brigitte was acting shy and was partially hidden behind Alyse’s legs. The clerk glanced up and shrugged. “I’ll update that. What’s the girl’s name?”
“Brigitte Moulin McLeod,” Alyse answered softly. The quaver in her voice would only be noticeable to someone who really knew her.
“Alright,” the clerk commented absently. “It appears that your home was not damaged in the air strikes, Mr. McLeod, but we will have to ask you to remain in the Detention Center for a couple of days while we go over some questions and make certain the home is still habitable. You are being assigned to Family Block C in the interim. It is the large building near the perimeter fence. I will have a guard escort you there. The quartermaster in Family Block C will see to your personal quarters and your food-stamps. Your quarters will have a lockable box, where I suggest you place any valuables you may currently have on you. Theft has been a significant issue in the Detention Center, as I’m sure you could probably guess, considering the circumstances. I also recommend that your wife and daughter not move around unescorted. There have been a few attacks on women in the past weeks. If you have any other questions, address them to your Block Officer. I will need to take your pictures for your ID badges. These must be worn at all times, outside of your personal quarters, and they must be clearly visible.”
“They aren’t yellow stars, are they?” Justin asked, his tone bitter.
The clerk stared at him coldly. “No, Mr. McLeod, they are not.”
Justin stared back at the clerk, unflinching. “Take your pictures, then.”
The clerk took a moment to set up a white screen. Once he was done he gestured to each of them to stand in front of it and snapped a quick picture. He punched a couple of buttons on his tablet, and a printer under the folding table spat out four plastic cards. He attached clips to them and handed them to Justin. “I understand your frustration, Mr. McLeod,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine that this is easy for you. I know that if Newark – that’s where I’m from – if Newark wound up looking like Calgary does, and I had to spend an unknown amount of time in a Detention Center before I could go home… if my home was even still there… I would probably feel the same as you do.” He glanced up at Justin. “But bear in mind that we are doing the best we can for the Canadian people.”
Justin bit back a sharp retort. Instead he simply nodded briskly. The clerk picked up a walkie-talkie and called for an escort. A few moments later, a young soldier poked his head in the pavilion. “If you folks will follow me, I will escort you to your Block.”
Family Block C was a huge warehouse that had been hastily separated into hundreds of small living quarters. The doors to the personal quarters were spaced exactly twenty feet apart, and the halls between the rooms were arrow straight but so narrow two people could pass each other only by inching along the walls. The only saving grace was that there was no ceiling above the hallways, which eased the sense of claustrophobic closeness the narrow passages created. The soldier led them down the central hall, which was slightly wider than the branching hallways, to the Block Reception Area, which appeared to be in the exact middle of the warehouse. It contained three offices and a waiting area. The doors to the offices were clearly labelled: Block Officer, Communications Officer, and Quartermaster. The soldier opened the door to the waiting area and gestured them inside. He then turned and knocked on the Quartermaster’s office door.
“I guess it could be worse,” Justin mused as he looked around the sparsely furnished room they had been deposited in. The room had a single, low table and four straight-backed plastic chairs. There was no decoration of any kind on the walls. He shifted the backpack he wore to ease the weight on his shoulders. He considered sitting down, but the soldier returned immediately. “The Quartermaster will see you,” he announced.
The Quartermaster was a lean, sharp-featured man. Intense, dark eyes studied them as they walked into the small office. He sat behind a plain, non-descript desk, his fingers steepled in front of him, elbows resting on the faux-wood. His hair was grey, but he didn’t appear old. He examined the four of them in silence for a moment before he grunted and got to his feet and extended his hand to Justin. “I’m Sergeant O’Neil. I’m in charge of getting you set up.”
Justin shook O’Neil’s hand firmly. “Justin McLeod,” he stated.
O’Neil nodded. “You here for the long haul, or do you have a home in the city?”
“They say my house wasn’t bombed out, but they have to check. We could be here for a few days or a few months. I don’t know.”
The sergeant nodded. “Right. First, you need to be aware of the layout. Halls are labelled alphabetically from the front door to the back, A through Z. There are twenty rooms to a hall on either side of the main artery. Numbers one through twenty are on the north side, twenty-one through forty on the south. Bathrooms are shared, with two at the end of each hall. The bathrooms are gender specific, though children under the age of ten are permitted in either as long as they are with a parent. Lights out is at 2200 hours. Reveille is at 0600. Each room is equipped with a portable stove. Test it when you get into your room. It had better be working when you leave. Rooms have one set of double bunks, a secure lock-box, and a storage box…”
O’Neil carried on, explaining the basics of the accommodations. At the end, he provided Justin and Alyse each with a key to their room. “I recommend you lock it. I also recommend you don’t allow your children to roam around unattended. We don’t have the man-power to patrol the Blocks, and it would be a shame if something happened to one of them. Sadly, the same is true for you, Mrs. McLeod. Don’t go anywhere alone. People here are desperate, though the Family Blocks are better off than the General Blocks.”
O’Neil handed a small booklet of stamps to both Justin and Alyse. “These are your food vouchers. You can each use one of them a day to obtain your food ration. It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing. They are family vouchers, so you’ll each obtain a double portion, as long as you get there before the food is all gone. I recommend you get there early. Do you have any questions?”
Justin glanced at Alyse, who shook her head. “I think we’re fine, Sergeant.”
The quartermaster nodded. “You are in R23. I’ll take you there.”
He led them through the warehouse and its tiny hallways, finally stopping in front of a clearly marked door. “You are here. Test your keys.”
Justin and Alyse complied and the sergeant nodded. “Alright. If you need anything, come and see me. If you have complaints or concerns, address them to Captain Andersen, the Block Officer. If you see anything suspicious, report it to the Communications Officer, Lieutenant Ramirez, immediately. Take care.”
“Thank you,” Alyse murmured.
The sergeant nodded and strode briskly away, leaving them standing silently outside of their temporary home.