They have people searching in Manitoba and Ontario.

 They have people searching in Manitoba and Ontario. VIDEO

The pickup truck rolls along the highway. Robert keeps both hands on the wheel, his fingers tapping softly to the rhythm of the country music.

“Do you know Winnipeg?” he asks.

“No,” I answer.

“Good city. Quiet. I’ve lived there for thirty years.”

“And before that?”

“I worked on a farm south of Regina. But that was a long time ago.”

Sam peeks between the seats again.

“Mr. Robert, are there wolves in Winnipeg?”

“In the forests around it, yes. But they don’t come into the city.”

“My dad says wolves don’t attack people.”

Robert looks at me through the rearview mirror.

“Your dad’s right. Wolves would rather run than face someone.”

“But men do attack,” Sam says.

Silence fills the cab. Robert doesn’t answer. Emma lowers her gaze.

“Men do bad things sometimes,” I say. “But there are good men too.”

“Like Mr. Robert,” Sam says.

“Yes. Like Mr. Robert.”

Robert clears his throat and changes the radio station. The music is softer now.

“Half an hour left,” he says. “Do you have anywhere to go?”

“We have a contact,” I say. “But first we need to find a phone.”

“There’s a gas station at the entrance to Winnipeg. You can use the public phone.”

“Thank you.”

The landscape slowly changes. Fields give way to residential areas. First scattered houses, then subdivisions, then warehouses and gas stations.

The pickup slows as it approaches a red light. Robert stops beside a gas station with an orange sign.

“You can get out here,” he says. “The phone is against the wall.”

“I don’t know how to pay you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Just take care of your family.”

I tighten my grip on the shotgun wrapped under my jacket. I get out of the pickup. Help Emma down. Then Sam jumps out after us.

“Thank you, Mr. Robert,” Sam says.

“Take care, little guy.”

Robert waits until we close the doors. Then he pulls away and disappears into the intersection.

I watch the truck drive off. Dust rises behind the tires.

“He’s a good person,” Emma says.

“Yes.”

I walk to the public phone. Insert a coin I found in my pocket. Dial the number Valeria gave me before we split up.

The line rings once. Twice. Three times.

“Hello,” a familiar voice answers.

“Valeria.”

“Jack. Where are you?”

“In Winnipeg. At a gas station on the edge of town.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Emma and Sam are with me.”

“Listen to me. The organization knows you crossed into Canada. I don’t know how, but they know. Mitchell too. They have people searching in Manitoba and Ontario.”

“What do I do?”

“I have a safe place. A small town north of here called Gimli. It’s an hour from where you are. There’s a cabin by the lake, isolated. The owner is trustworthy.”

“How do I get there?”

“Take Highway 9 north. The cabin is at kilometer 45, on the right. A white house with a red roof. The door isn’t locked. Inside there are supplies and a car in the garage.”

“And you?”

“I’m heading there too. I’ll be there in two hours. Wait for me.”

“Okay.”

I hang up. Turn to Emma.

“We found where to go.”

“Gimli?” Emma asks.

“A town north of here. An hour away. Valeria has a cabin there.”

“And you trust her?”

“Not completely. But we don’t have another option.”

Emma looks at Sam, who’s playing with a stone on the ground. Then she looks at me.

“All right. Let’s go.”

“We need a car.”

“We can hitchhike,” she says. “Or call a taxi.”

“A taxi is too risky. Someone could see it.”

“Then we walk to the road and stick out our thumbs.”

I nod. Take the backpack with the wrapped shotgun. Sam grabs my hand. Emma limps beside me.

We leave the gas station. Walk along the road north. The sun is warm, but the lake wind keeps the air cool.

Several cars pass. None stop.

“Dad, I’m hungry,” Sam says.

“Soon we’ll get there.”

Ten minutes later, a blue pickup slows down. The driver, a young man in a baseball cap, leans out.

“Need a ride?”

“We’re going to Gimli,” I say. “Can you take us partway?”

“Get in. I’m heading there.”

I help Emma climb into the back. Sam climbs in after her. I sit beside them, my back against the cab.

The pickup speeds up. Wind slaps my face. The landscape blurs.

Emma rests her head on my shoulder. Sam curls up between us.

The wind dries my lips. I blink to clear the dust from my eyes.

The road stretches straight north. On both sides, green fields and the occasional barn. The sky is clear, deep blue.

“How much farther?” Sam asks.

“About forty minutes,” I say.

“And does the cabin have TV?”

“I don’t know.”

“I hope it has TV. So I can watch cartoons.”

Emma smiles without opening her eyes.

“Sam, we’re going to rest a little when we get there,” she says.

“And then?”

“Then we’ll see.”

The pickup passes a sign announcing Gimli in thirty kilometers. The lake appears on the right, a blue-gray mass of water shining in the sun.

“Look, Sam,” I say, pointing. “The lake.”

“It’s really big.”

“It’s Lake Winnipeg. One of the biggest in Canada.”

Sam sits up to see better. The wind ruffles his hair.

“Can we swim?”

“The water’s very cold,” Emma says.

“But we can put our feet in,” I say.

Sam smiles.

The pickup slows as it enters a small town. Wooden houses painted in different colors. A store with a sign in English and another in Ukrainian.

The driver turns right and stops in front of a gas station.

“This is Gimli,” he says from the window. “Do I drop you off here, or do you need to go somewhere specific?”

“Here is fine,” I say. “Thank you very much.”

I get out of the back. Help Emma. Sam jumps down to the ground.

The pickup drives off. We’re left alone on Gimli’s main street. The lake shines at the end of the avenue.

“Now we find Highway 9,” I say. “The cabin is at kilometer 45.”

We walk down Gimli’s main street. The lake shines at the end of the avenue. I scan the store signs, the blue and white wooden houses.

“This way,” I say.

We turn left onto a side street. Highway 9 appears in front of us, a strip of asphalt disappearing between low trees.

The sun warms the back of my neck. Sam walks beside me, holding my hand. Emma limps, but doesn’t complain.

“How much farther?” she asks.

“About two kilometers.”

“We can walk.”

We continue along the edge of the road. The lake wind carries the smell of water and wet earth. A car passes every now and then. No one stops.

“Dad, I’m thirsty,” Sam says.

“There’s water at the cabin.”

I walk faster. Emma clenches her teeth with each step.

Ten minutes later, I see the red roof between the trees. A small white house, surrounded by pines.

“There it is.”

I quicken my pace. We reach the entrance. A dirt path leads to the door. The yard is neglected, the grass high.

I go to the door and turn the knob. It opens.

We step inside. The place smells of wood and dust. A small living room with an old sofa, a pine table, a kitchen in the back. Light comes in through the windows.

“It looks safe,” Emma says.

“Yes.”

I close the door. Lock the latch.

Sam runs to the sofa and sits down.

“It’s pretty,” he says.

“I’m going to check the garage,” I say.

I walk to the back door. Open it. A blue car is parked inside. The keys hang from a hook on the wall.

I go back to the living room.

“There’s a car,” I say.

“Good.”

Emma sits on the edge of the sofa. Rubs her ankle.

“Valeria said she’d be here in two hours,” I say. “We wait.”

I sit in a chair by the window. Place the shotgun on my legs.

Silence fills the cabin. Only the wind outside and the ticking of a clock in the kitchen.

Now all that’s left is to wait.