‘It’s tough.’ He hit it hard and it didn’t even dent. ‘Four metres long. Can take you guys easy. It’s got eight air chambers and there’s thigh straps as well as hand straps.
You’ll need ’em. There’s a hard shell, so it can withstand rocks and anything else that’s out there. But steer clear of logs, got that? They can rip these things to pieces. I use to rent them out for river runners and fishermen until the recession bit.
‘Won’t save you from anyone firing at you, but you keep your head down and hold on to these grab handles right here. The three, hell, I mean four of you,’ he noted Moucher at his feet, ‘can survive the rapids easy from here.
Category two at the most. Hell’s Gate would be six tonight and I wouldn’t fancy your chances. They’re supposed to be self-bailing, but don’t count on it. Make sure the dog is secure, he might panic, and here,’ he handed over two pairs of old socks and a bailer, ‘put socks on the dog.
His claws could go through the base. Don’t let him take them off.’
Genie laughed. Moucher in socks, it was funny. Mouch wasn’t keen but as long as it was Genie doing it he was almost OK with it. They didn’t smell too good but hey . . . what could they do?
‘If you can’t see your way, use the paddles to check for deeper water. There’s a number of places where you’ll be exposed, but beyond the bend here it gets deeper. The tricky bit is when this stretch of water joins the Fraser, OK? Can get real busy and there’s undercurrents. You think you can do this?’
Rian nodded. ‘We don’t have a choice. Thanks, Ferry.
Will you call Marshall in a couple of days and tell him where his truck is?’
Ferry nodded. ‘I’ll give it a service. That way I make a buck or two out of it. It looks pretty beat. At least you put the licence plate back on.’
‘Survived a fire. Drives good though.’
‘Noted. ’Bout thirty clicks downstream, there’s Bear Island in the middle of the river. Betty Juniper runs a lodge there.’ He took out a letter from his back pocket, looked greasy and worn, even in moonlight. He put it in a thin plastic sandwich bag and sealed it. ‘Meant to post her this but keep forgetting. She’ll feed you. Tell her to bill me.’
‘We’ll pay our way,’ Rian told him.
‘Just saying, she’s a friend. All right, son? Friends are hard to find in this world.’
‘Bear Island?’ Renée queried. ‘Like bears? They live there?’
‘I guess they used to. Good place to catch salmon in spring.’
‘Around here, everywhere is a good place to catch salmon in spring,’ Rian said. He got into the raft and took Moucher from Genie’s arms.
‘We’ll give her the letter,’ Genie told Ferry, taking it from him and slipping it in her back pocket. ‘Let’s go.
Sooner we’re gone, safer we’ll be.’
‘Don’t take risks,’ he said as they climbed in and cast off.
‘ Don’t take risks, he says,’ Renée muttered as she climbed in, ‘and he sends us to an island full of bears!’
Moucher barked, unnerved by the experience, but they were on the water and moving – dim moonlight showing the way.
They looked back but Ferry had already disappeared.
They were on their own now.
Genie said a little prayer. A whole lot of river lay ahead of them. How long before the Fortress realized they had evaded the roadblocks and came after them? She prayed for luck and invisibility.
‘I sure hope we’re doing the right thing,’ Renée said, squinting ahead into the darkness.
Genie gave Mouch a hug to reassure him it was going to be fine, but he shook; he’d just found out he hated being on water.
‘We’re leaving Spurlake, Mouch. No one will ever be mean to us again.’
‘I don’t want to worry you,’ Rian said quietly, ‘but this river is running a lot faster than he said it would.’
They could all feel the raft picking up speed, the river was beginning to toss them up and down, as they got to mid-stream.
‘What’s that noise ahead?’ Renée was asking. ‘Sounds like a waterfall?’
‘There’s no waterfalls on this river,’ Rian declared, desperately trying to remember if that was true or not.
They were going faster all the time now and it began to feel suddenly very dangerous.
‘I don’t think this is a good idea, guys,’ Genie said, clinging on to Mouch.
Rian looked back at her and sensed she was right.
‘Hang on, hang on real tight.’
‘Not good. Not good at all,’ Genie said, gripping the handle.
Moucher began to howl. He sensed they were doomed.
*
Cary walked out of Pizza World on Pioneer Street holding the warm box steady, his stomach growling, hungrily anticipating the hot pepperoni with double cheese. His mom had made a snap decision to eat pizza as they were driving back from seeing the lawyer.
He suddenly realized he wasn’t alone. The guy wore a dark suit, no coat, wet black shoes. Looked like he’d been waiting for him. Cary glanced behind him and realized another guy was standing there too, to stop him from running. He must have been in Pizza World all that time and he’d not noticed. Cary’s mother was waiting for him in the car just four metres away.
‘What?’ Cary asked, but he instinctively knew why they were here.
‘We spent all day looking for you, Cary. Seems you might be hiding from us.’
‘Mom?’ Cary yelled, but a truck went by and drowned out his words.
Another guy appeared from nowhere and grabbed the pizza from him and pulled him towards a waiting SUV.
‘Mom!’ Cary yelled again, realizing he had only seconds to raise the alarm.
Another suit was running towards Cary’s mother’s car.
His mother was just beginning to realize something was
happening and was opening her door.
Cary felt a prick on his neck. They had injected him with something.
‘Mom,’ he yelled again, but knew he was losing consciousness.
‘She can’t help you, Cary, we own you now,’
someone was saying as they bundled him into the back of their vehicle.
‘Harrison secure,’ another voice said into a cell.
Last thing Cary saw was a sign saying: We deliver twenty-four/seven. The Fortress had possession of him again. And then he felt nothing, absolutely nothing at all.
Acknowledgments
For Roxy, who was my inspiration and guiding hand.
With thanks to Freya, Victor and George Olden who gave excellent advice and to Lionel and Catherine, who provided the ideal mountain view to write in – not to mention the guard dog Moucher. Appreciation must go to the City of Vancouver, BC, for being so welcoming, it constantly inspires my writing.
And of course much credit goes to Beverley, who believed in the project from the very beginning and Carine ‘Kit’ Thomas for keeping my feet firmly on the ground.
The story continues in
THE HUNTING
The river picked up speed suddenly. They were once again in deeper water, steeper slopes on either side and the water was incredibly choppy.
‘We getting faster?’ Renée whispered; her voice betraying her anxiety.
‘Hold on,’ Rian called. ‘Ship your paddle, Genie.
Damn, I can’t see anything, but we’re . . .’ He nearly lost his paddle and the raft spun all the way around as it collided with some rocks mid-stream.
Not seeing where they were going and what dangers lay ahead was unnerving.
‘Hold on to Mouch,’ Genie called out, scared now as water cascaded over the prow and drenched them.
‘There aren’t any rapids are there?’ Renée asked, panic in her voice.
‘No. Hell, I don’t know,’ Rian answered, desperately trying to steady them. ‘We’ve diverted from the main channel I think. Hang on tight.’
A powerful flashlight suddenly flooded the raft. It blinded all three of
them. The light moved away wildly as the other raft turned to cope with the fast moving river.
‘It’s them,’ someone shouted. ‘I know it is. It’s them.’
Genie’s heart nearly stopped.
‘Jesus,’ Rian exclaimed. ‘Who the hell?’
‘Will they shoot?’ Renée asked.
‘They don’t want us dead.’ Genie muttered tersely.
‘They’ll want the reward money.’
Rian took strength from that. The raft was pitching up and down now as it entered the rapids, a surge of water pushing them forward, squeezing them up against fast moving debris. All he could do to just hold on, likewise for Genie, now holding Mouch tightly, and Renée was lying flat and twisting her hands through the grab handles – just in case.
The powerful searchlight was still seeking them. Rian ducked down beside Genie.
‘Start praying.’
‘I am praying.’
‘Good, ’cause I’m crapping myself here,’ Renée said.
‘Who the hell are they?’
‘Bounty hunters. I saw a pair go by earlier.’
Genie and Renée digested this set of facts. Hunters.
Hunters meant guns. Big guns. Hunters liked shooting at things.
The river was moving dangerously fast. Genie clung on to Moucher as Renée tried to grab Rian. Suddenly they
plunged down into a foaming rush of water, a jagged rock snagged the inflatable and Rian was sent flying.
A shot rang out real close, pinging off a rock. Genie was pitched underwater, churning in the freezing sluice, gasping for breath. Mouch sprang free. Somewhere ahead Renée was screaming as she stayed with the inflatable, rapidly disappearing downriver. And Rian? Where was Rian? Why didn’t he come up for air?
‘Rian? Rian?’ Genie wailed as she surfaced, but there was no sign of him. She saw the Hunter’s flashlight approaching and immediately ducked underwater again wondering how long she could hold her breath.
All the while she was praying Rian was OK. Please let Ri be OK . . .
‘They are right here,’ a Hunter was saying, as he reloaded the shotgun. ‘I can almost smell the money.’
Rian was reeling, tasting blood. He’d bashed his head hard and swallowed a ton of water. He surfaced, spinning around to get his bearings. He was still moving down river. The flashlight was sweeping the water looking for them and Rian, head spinning with pain, had to dive under again to avoid them finding him.
But where was Genie? Where was Renée? He surfaced again seconds later to look for them and was immediately
struck hard on the head again by fast moving timber. He instantly lost consciousness. The river able to do with him what it willed.
Renée tried to untangle herself from the raft. She’d twisted her hand around the straps to keep her in, but now it was on top of her and she couldn’t get free. She was being pummelled by rocks and knew if she didn’t flip it over real soon she was going to drown.
The hunter with the flashlight turned to his father and pulled a face.
‘Can’t find ’em again, Pa.’
His Pa swore. ‘I told you, Sean, no shooting. They want them alive, you dumb bastard. No shooting.’
‘Sorry, Pa. Accident. I swear it. Accident.’
His father attempted to steer the inflatable closer to where the raft was last seen.
‘Sweep again. That’s my reward money going under and they ain’t going to pay up if they drowned.’
Genie and Moucher were sitting shivering like drowned rats on a rock mid-stream, keeping dead quiet in the darkness. The moon was up at last and could be glimpsed through the trees overhead. She realized that somehow they’d taken a run-off channel, the main river was
flowing normally about fifty metres away. How that had happened she didn’t know, but then not one of them had any river craft.
She watched the two hunters in their inflatable sweeping the water with their flashlight. Where was Rian? She was beginning to panic; she had a terribly bad feeling about him. The hunters wouldn’t spot her here, nor could they get their craft near. She discovered her fingers were crossed, she’d been saying a prayer for Rian and Renée and their safety.
You could never count on anything, she realized. Ten grand per head motivated a lot of people in these parts.
That was for sure.
The flashlight was sweeping close to her again and she grabbed Mouch and squatted down low behind the rock.
Mouch shaking with fear and the cold, but keeping quiet, just as he’d been told to.
Genie heard the inflatable’s motor kick in. They were moving off. Either they had given up or were going downstream. Perhaps leaving, in case the gunshot had alerted anyone. But there was little chance of that out here. There was nothing but farmland and trees . . .
Rian hauled himself out of the river and lay gasping on the riverbank spewing out river water. He was in agony.
His head hurt like hell and blood trickled into his mouth.
He wanted to yell Genie’s name but the hunters might still be in earshot, despite their outboard engine’s noise.
He looked downstream for signs of Renée and the raft, but she had disappeared. He hoped like hell she’d managed to flip it over again and stayed put somewhere.
He clutched his head; he felt incredibly dizzy.
Shooting pains suddenly overwhelmed him and he had to cough. He felt bad, real bad. He could feel his temperature spiking, a hot flush sweeping over him; his brain was going to boil over. He really needed Genie now. Where was she? He fell back against the mud and sand, groaning loudly as he clutched his head; the world was spinning around him out of control.
Genie pointed to the riverbank. ‘We’re going to swim?
OK, Mouch? Follow me.’
Genie plunged back in, Mouch quickly followed, his doggy paddle pretty good, he wasn’t far behind her at all.
Clambering out over rocks on the other hand was harder, but eventually Genie got one half-drowned bedraggled hound out of the water and he shook as hard as he could to rid himself of the river.
‘Enough already!’ Genie exclaimed.
Mouch gave one last shake and then wiped his head on the grass to be sure.
‘Rian?’ Genie shouted. ‘Rian?’
Genie listened. Nothing. She realized that the river made a lot of noise passing over the rocks. He probably couldn’t hear. She hoped so. She had images of him lying bleeding someplace and . . .
‘Come on. We got some walking to do.’
Mouch was only too happy to walk. Better than being on the river, that was for sure.
Much further downstream, Renée had detached herself from the raft and watched it sink by the dim glow of moonlight.
She’d surfaced to discover a logjam had piled up on a bend and although the water was passing really fast underneath through a sluice, the logs and other debris prevented anything from going any further on the surface.
The raft was impaled on a jagged tree branch. Useless now. With it had died her courage and hopes. She really hoped the others were safe; was she the only survivor?
She suddenly realized that a life without either one of them would be just impossible. Totally impossible.
She felt guilty; she should have saved the raft.
Sam Hawksmoor answers our questions!
What research did you have to do for the story?
In Canada they keep national statistics about missing kids, in the UK they don’t. It’s shocking – some charities believe as many as 90,000 thousand kids go missing in the UK but no one really knows. Luckily, many are found or return, but the problem is getting worse in this austerity climate.
I read up on the current thinking on matter transference and the law of unintended consequences. That, and a lifetime wondering how teleportation functioned on Star Trek. The Terminator travels naked for a reason. The amount of computer power needed to teleport a pair of socks is IMMENSE. In part two of my story (The Hunting) we see just how problematic that
can be.
How close to being real and possible are the events in The Repossession?
Right now at CERN in Switzerland they think they have found the God Particle (Higgs Boson), the very building block of life. If true, the reality of transmitting matter is much closer than you think. Finding volunteers might be tricky, however. Failing that, you’d need to do what The Fortress did and keep it very secret.
Is there a real life inspiration for Spurlake?
The small town of Hope BC is situated at the bottom of a huge gloomy rockface by the southern end of the Fraser River Canyon. I have also spent vacations in Nelson BC and other little former gold rush towns in the beautiful Okanagan. Spurlake could easily exist.
Are Genie and Rian based on real people?
Genie was inspired by Roxanne – a real girl who is pretty, tough, determined and very bright. Rian by a kid in Coquitlam BC who rescued me one night in a blizzard when my car tipped over. He was 15 then and already taking care of his sick mother and girlfriend.
What made you want to become a writer?
You don’t have a choice in these things. I was writing stories when I was a kid, inspired by music and places I wanted to go to. Luckily none have survived to embarrass me now.
Do you have anything you do to inspire you and help you write?
I go to the movies every week. I listen to music as I write (classical mostly but contemporary voices too such as Emeli Sandé) and do most of my first drafts in noisy cafés. I don’t really like being ‘alone’ in the attic scribbling. I make sure I go for walks by the water (especially when in Vancouver) and miss the dog (who of course wormed his way into the book anyway). I can be inspired by a person, an object, a memory, or even the weather. I love those moments when suddenly the idea comes and you just have to get it on paper before it all disappears.
SAM HAWKSMOOR
ONLINE
Find information, extracts, reviews and all about the author at:
www.samhawksmoor.com
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