Keep an Eye Out

I could see my breath as I rolled down the window at the checkpoint. At -40°, after years of this nonsense, I've learned that the sooner you answer the questions, the sooner they open the gate and you can be on your way.

I pulled up to a stop in the white X where they want you, which gives me a nice view of the anti-aircraft cannon up on the hills above, and the guardsman walked up. I could hear the ice crystals squeak underneath his boots with his hand on his carbine as he pulled down a relish jar camo full face mask, revealing the face of something like a 21 year old kid. Seeing the ID and paperwork in my hand, he lets his rifle drop to his third-arm system and says "G'day sir, where are you coming from?"

"Home," I say, handing over my ID, "heading to my folks house."

Looking over my paperwork, he thumbs the peeling lamination of my license. He breathes a cloud of steam out, and says "Where's that?" The kid's got a bleached out but obviously rural Ontario accent, so I don't put up a fuss and give him straight answers.

I imagine him playing minor hockey somewhere.

Maybe some nowhere town along where the old 401 used to run.

I rattle off my home address, then the general district I'm heading to. He reads my ID to check for a match and satisfied he looks over to tell another boy in green to run the mirror under my truck.

Handing over my paperwork he pulls his mask back up, "Hope you don't mind, it's cold."

"Nah, can I roll up a bit?

"Just a sec," he says. He takes a step towards my window he does a quick but thorough look around my cab. I read his name tag: Carruthers. I saw him look at my cigarette lighter cable connected to my Mastercraft signal beacon, then over at my cooler.

"I like your truck," he says, slightly muffled, "What's in the cooler?"

"Couple jugs of water. Two or three local beers. Yeah, you usually see these big ones around. I like my little truck. Easy to get in and out of."

I don't have the top on the back, so it was a pretty quick look in the bed for the guy with the mirror. I watched him give Carruthers a thumbs up. Carruthers put on his sunglasses. "Thanks sir, can you take the top off the cooler for me?"

I opened the top of my ancient Coleman cooler, revealing a couple jugs of water and three local beers.

"All right, looks good to us. Like usual, stick to the main roads as much as you can. I hear a ways up the OPG are engaged, so keep an eye out and your beacon charged. Have a good one, sir."

"You too," I say as the bollards sink down into their platforms and the gate opens.

Slow-rolling through the checkpoint I took a look at the anonymous relish jar manning the 25mm Bushmaster Autocannon, and glanced past that at the pair of snow camo Diesel LAVs parked on the apron with their matched set of the same.

Breathing out a cloud of steam in my still cold truck cab, I stopped at the red signal light. The second set of bollards sank, and the red light turned to yellow, letting me get back on the highway and further south.

About an hour down the highway I was stopped by Provincial Guard who again, asked me where I was going, and told me how to detour to avoid active zones.

This guy, Armitage, is a bit older. Nodding at my Mastercraft beacon, "Keep it charged. You may need it, his breath was spilling into my truck window creating a mutual fog of our respective exhalations. "OPG is pretty quick to send a drone out, and has planes up, but you never know. Strong and free," he says.

He could tell I wasn't too happy to hear the slogan again, but let me pass, and waved me over to an old service road heading west, which would eventually reconnect back to the 491 heading South.

After driving along a few minutes I see a rail crossing up ahead that's lit with its gates down. I stop at the line while the train goes by. It has a long chain of fuel cars, uniformly black. I gaze into the distance letting my vision blur as I sat idling.

At some point before the train had finished passing, I bent over and down into the passenger wheel well, opening the Coleman cooler to get one of the jugs of water.

However, when I sat back up I saw the barrel of a shotgun pointed at my head through my car window. It was held by a man about my age.

Through the pane of glass I could hear him say "Unlock." His breath escaping his uncovered mouth, forming more frost on his beard with the moisture from his lungs.

He circled around in front of me, moving the opposite direction of the train to circle around to my passenger side as I unlocked the cab.

Opening the door, he said "I don't want to shoot you, but I will if I need to. What's your name?"

"M-M-Matthew." It wasn't my first time with a gun in my face this year, but it's not something I wanted to get used to.

"Matthew, do you know where you are?"

"K-k-kinda?"

"Ok, he says, "Keep your hands on the wheel like we're in drivers ed, ten and two." I do it, but I look at him. He has an old Roots toque on, and it looks like an old ski jacket. No patches or anything.

He strains to sit down in the seat, keeping the barrel of his shotgun pointed at me.

"Like I said, I don't want to shoot you. Once the train clears, I want you to drive for about five minutes to an open farm gate that you're going to drive into. Once you do, you're going to stop, I'm going to get out, lock the gate behind us, and you're going to drive until I tell you to stop. All good?"

No, I thought, as hard as I could. Absolutely not. Then I considered the gun in my face.

"I guess so."

After the train passed, I followed his directions, and after locking the gate behind us, we drove up to a small bungalow, secluded by a forest of pine trees.

"All right, we're here. Stop the truck."

Returning the gun to my face, he told me to get out, and head toward the door.

I heard him get out of the truck, but I didn't notice when he picked up his pace to double-time me. Nor did I expect the butt of his shotgun to hit me in the back of the head, causing me to stagger and fall into the snow, scraping up my hands on the frozen driveway. I did expect another one, but this time it was to my forehead, causing me to black out.