WELCOME TO MANITOBA. I Crossed the Border with My Family

WELCOME TO MANITOBA. I Crossed the Border with My Family VIDEO

The shotgun feels heavy in my hands. The man in the black suit doesn’t move. He only watches us from below, his arms at his sides.

“Is it him?” Emma asks.

“Yes.”

“What do we do?”

I don’t answer. I walk slowly down the hill. Sam clings to my neck. Emma follows behind, her cane sinking into the wet ground.

The man waits. When I’m ten meters away, he speaks.

“Jack Coleman.”

“Who are you?”

“My name doesn’t matter. I work for people who want to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to talk about.”

“They think differently.”

“Tell them to go to hell.”

The man smiles. A small smile, with no joy in it.

“I can’t do that. I have orders.”

“Orders from who?”

“To bring you to them. Alive.”

“And if I refuse?”

He pulls out a gun. A black pistol, the barrel pointed at the ground.

“Then dead.”

Emma steps up beside me. She holds the stick with both hands. Sam presses his face against my shoulder.

“Let us pass,” I say.

“I can’t.”

“How much are they paying you?”

“Enough.”

“I’ll pay you double.”

“I don’t take bribes.”

“Then there’s no deal.”

The man raises the pistol. He points it at my chest.

“Put the child down,” he says. “And the gun. Now.”

“No.”

“Do it or I shoot.”

“If you shoot, the others will hear it. They’ll come investigate. And you won’t be able to explain why you killed a man with a child in his arms.”

The man blinks. His finger rests on the trigger, uncertain.

“You’re smarter than you look,” he says.

“I’m not smart. Just desperate.”

“Same thing.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“For what?”

“To cross the border. Forget you saw us. Tell them you didn’t find anyone.”

“They’d kill me.”

“Then we’re in the same boat.”

The man looks at me. His eyes move over my face, the shotgun, Emma, Sam.

“The boy,” he says. “Is he yours?”

“Yes.”

“How old is he?”

“Three.”

He nods. Lowers the pistol a few inches.

“I have a son,” he says. “In Calgary. I haven’t seen him in two years.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

Silence. The wind moves the fog. Sam lifts his head.

“Dad, why does that man have a gun?”

“Because he works for bad people.”

“Is he going to hurt us?”

“No.”

The man looks at me. He puts the pistol back in his belt.

“Cross,” he says. “But if anyone asks, you never saw me.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I just hope my son has as much luck as yours.”

He turns around. Walks into the woods. Disappears among the trees.

Emma exhales.

“I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I.”

“Let’s go before he changes his mind.”

We run toward the border. The rotten posts are fifty meters away. The fallen wire forms a rusted heap. We duck under it. Sam laughs.

“We made it, Dad!”

“Yes.”

“Are we in Canada now?”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“Now we find a safe place.”

We keep walking. The forest changes. The trees are taller, thicker. The ground is covered in pine needles.

Emma walks beside me.

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if he calls the others?”

“Then we’ll have the advantage.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

We keep moving. The sun climbs higher. The fog fades.

Border crossed. Canada greets us with silence.

But the fear doesn’t leave.

I walk north, one hand on the shotgun, the other holding Sam. Emma moves beside me. Her ankle hurts, but she doesn’t complain.

For an hour, we make our way through the woods. The ground becomes rougher, full of rocks and roots breaking through the soil. Sam has fallen asleep again, his dead weight in my arms. My shoulder burns, but I don’t let him go.

“We need to stop,” Emma says.

“Not yet.”

“Jack, I can’t do any more.”

I stop. Look around. A small clearing between the trees, with a flat rock to sit on. I lean the shotgun against a pine trunk and lay Sam gently on the ground, resting him on my folded jacket.

Emma sits on the rock. She takes off her boot and sock. Her ankle is swollen, purple around the edges.

“It’s worse,” I say.

“I know.”

“We should have stopped sooner.”

“There wasn’t time.”

I kneel in front of her. I touch the swelling carefully. Emma clenches her teeth.

“It hurts.”

“I know.”

“Will I be able to walk?”

“Yes. Just slower.”

“That will slow us down.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’d rather arrive late than not arrive at all.”

She nods. Puts her sock and boot back on. Tightens the laces hard.

“Where are we going now?” she asks.

“North. Until we find a town or a road.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll see.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Yes. Survive.”

She smiles. A tired smile, but a real one.

“That’s enough for me.”

Sam stirs. Opens his eyes.

“Did we get there, Dad?”

“Almost.”

“Where are we?”

“In Canada.”

“Are there bears here?”

“No. Only squirrels.”

“I like squirrels.”

“Me too.”

I lift him up. He wraps his arms around my neck. I pick up the shotgun and we keep going.

The woods suddenly open. A dirt road, narrow, with tire tracks. At the end, a wooden sign:

WELCOME TO MANITOBA

Emma points at it.

“We’re in Manitoba.”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“We follow the road until we find something.”

We walk along the edge of the road. The sun is warm, but the air is still cold. Sam plays with a button on my shirt.

After half an hour, I hear an engine. An old red truck, with the bed full of wooden crates. It slows down and stops beside us.

The driver rolls down the window. An older man, white beard, sunglasses.

“Do you need help?” he asks in English.

“Yes,” I answer in the same language. “We’re looking for a town.”

“The nearest one is Riverton. Fifteen kilometers.”

“Can you take us?”

“Get in.”

I open the back door. Help Emma climb in. Then I pass Sam up. I sit beside them. The truck smells like wood and gasoline.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome. Where are you coming from?”

“The United States.”

“Vacation?”

“Something like that.”

The man nods. Doesn’t ask anything else.

The truck starts moving. The landscape passes slowly: green fields, farms, silos. Sam stares out the window with wide eyes.

“Look, Dad. A cow.”

“I see it.”

“Why isn’t it moving?”

“Because it’s eating.”

“Oh.”

Emma rests her head on my shoulder. Closes her eyes.

“Rest,” I say.

“Just a little.”

The truck keeps rolling. The engine hums. For the first time in days, I feel the danger start to fall behind.

But not completely.

There’s still a long way to go. And a lot of enemies.

But for now, we’re alive.

And that’s enough.