by Les W Kuzyk
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They accelerated to highway speed coming off the ramp onto Deerfoot south. A few other cars jostled along as late night traffic.
He had reviewed this trip in his mind dozens of times, eventually believing it might actually happen. A night time departure was best—get out when things are calm. The best place to be when shit really hit the fan was, no matter what the destination, already there. He listened to Brad too much, idealizing, when the fact was this trip was in front of them. The range of the city’s influence was as a distinct worry. Amidst others. Lots of what-if scenarios, but the farther they got from Calgary the better.
As they passed McKnight Boulevard an orange glow appeared as a flicker on the horizon. He felt his heart speed as he stared. That must be near downtown.
“Inner City boys party on the hill,” Annalise said. “Kara went once.”
He didn’t say anything, wondering if she had gone too.
The fire burned high on the riverbank hill overlooking the inner city. As they drove closer two City Police patrols drones appeared hovering in formation on the next interchange ramp. The drones entered the freeway lanes not far behind their hybrid. To keep things under control Vince thought but whose control?
“Kara says the drones take down some guys in wrap straps,” Annalise said pursing her lips. “The cops in cars better show up fast though. ‘Cause the guys got those low-tech drones figured out pretty good.”
“No shit.”
Vince caught sight of another glow reflecting off the glass of buildings right downtown. Could there be a fire at the Olympic Plaza across from City Hall?
The mini-drones pulled up beside them one either side cutting into their talk with a short siren blast. Vince watched his dash flash telling him the drone had confirmed their vehicle ID and taken a licence plate photo. They had been investigate tagged. The drone voice came through his smart phone demanding a voice response.
“Provide purpose of trip. Provide destination.”
“Vacation. Ski Resort.” He kept his voice as calm as he could. The drones followed them further, and then moved on to the next vehicle.”
“Shit,” he said. “Tagged! Just what we need.”
“Kara said gang guys blast those drones out of the air,” Annalise said. “They use shotgun buckshot just like cowboys used to.”
Vince glanced over jaw clenched.
“So the police load drones with real bullets now,” she said.
“Jesus,” he breathed. He could feel sweat building on his brow.
As they finally crossed the Bow River to leave the city’s south limits he wiped at his forehead. The smell of patient hay growing in the fields and the hum of the tires on the highway helped him calm. The RCMP officially policed the regional roads out here using surveillance and control mini-drones. Whatever that meant. The road block gang swarms worked the countryside—he did not want to know Kara’s insights on that. Focusing on the divided pavement ahead he was unable to keep their back seat shotgun from his mind.
The military checks he and Brad had bribed their way through in Africa were more civilized than this. And that was a decade back. If only that damn HICCC project in the Sahel had made the difference in climate change. But High Impact Climate Change Countries or not, those countries’ geoengineering challenge to the West did not sit well with global politics. Not then. A few select targeted NATO bombs later Brad and Vince’s project design ended up in a closed file with a bad public name. No matter how useful the engineering that option closed politically for the planet.
Vince had concocted his version of risk analysis back then. Brad smiled but few others really heard. The traditional game the Russian’s play with a revolver. One loaded shell his calculating mind estimated fit for each global degree C. Now two chambers of the six were loaded with climate change shells. Click, click, bang—if you were sequence lucky. The ensuing brains-on-the-wall scene was not pretty. Better to deny. Better to pretend your life away.
He looked out to where High River once was. Beyond the abandoned interchange the now defunct town with its provincial diversion channel had been flush-formed into new gravel bar territory by flood number four. Displaced residents had never become climate refugees. The media reserved that term for faraway places the first time water flooded the town and still now. All part of the politically touted adaptation strategy. Tough hard working frontiersmen worked everything out with a gunfight at the corral.
What corral?
We build a new community, a real community, with this regionally supported One Valley project Brad spoke with his incessant grin. The guy was born to smile. Maybe optimism could help form a more resistant community.
The night turned darker as the divided highway lanes merged into one. Roadblock swarms happened more in the summertime and usually closer to the city on lower speed roads. Still, he reached behind to check the safety on the shotgun.
They switched drivers under a town streetlight at their first turnoff.
Vince noticed his daughter’s new tears. “What are you thinking?”
“Mom.”
“Yeah.”
Annalise’ mother was stuck in the go shopping mode—Vince got the updates from Annalise. His ex-wife Natasha now lived out her dream with John behind a wall in that Rocky View mansion with private guards watching security cameras. The latest was a solar panel install as a backup power security feature. Winter trips south were not to gun patrolled beach resorts. Her SUV had been armoured for the shopping trips.
Vince had consoled his daughter telling her there was nothing he could really do to change another person’s—her mother’s—outlook.
Annalise slowed for the first right angle corner on the narrow secondary highway. Vince watched another set of headlights ahead make the turn. They followed the curving asphalt up through the foothills under the starlight. The night almost held a peace and Vince relaxed for a moment.
“Kara says the country gangs work intersections,” Annalise said. “They park trucks in the ditch with headlights off until someone pulls up to stop. That’s when they swarm.”
Vince tensed. Their next turn would be at a T-intersection with a stop sign. “Right. Look Annalise, don’t stop when we get to the corner ahead.” Vince wondered if he should be driving—this was not exactly a vacation. “Slow down just as much as you need to.”
“I know how to drive dad.”
He glanced her way. She had grown up in a world so different than his.
They came down the slopes of the last hill and around the bend. As the car ahead slowed to a stop at the corner headlights flashed on from four points. Vince stared in disbelief as Kara’s warning played out before their eyes. Annalise hit the brakes and they skidded to a stop. A kilometer back from the intersection. But their lights had been spotted and one of the vehicles roared out of the ditch heading directly their way.
“Dad,” she said determined. “The Porcupine Hills road. Remember?”
“Yeah, yes,” Vince heard himself say. He couldn’t think. “Yeah.” Nor believe the calm in his daughter.
Annalise hit the gas cranking the steering into a tight U-turn. Their outside wheels dipped deep into the ditch as they spun wildly around and bounced speeding back the other way. “We need to get the right corner.”
Vince looked at his daughter’s fixed determination. She truly was part of another world. He snapped back. He had always held back on another thing too, maybe his decades old world but now he needed to think like a cowboy. They had a scene at the corral. He reached back and grabbed the shotgun from the rack clicking the safety off.
The vehicle behind turned into a 4 wheeler truck as it gained on them.
“Top of that next rise—the two white barbwire fence posts. Turn.”
Annalise braked just enough to skid the car hard around the corner and as she straightened their swerve he leaned out the open window. Hard faces leered through the truck’s windshield. Young faces—his advantage he knew. Waiting ‘til the truck
just started its corner, he aimed at two lined up front mud-grabber tires and pumped all three shells through the chamber blasting ball shot out the barrel. The truck with two blown tires swerved crazy and skidded on gravel into the ditch. Last he saw as he swung back into his seat the truck was tipping over slow. He was breathing hard.
They tore up the gravel road following the ridge into the pine forest, alone now in the dark.
“Sorry baby,” he placed his hand on Annalise’ shoulder.
His daughter nodded. Her face was maybe tear-streaked but set firm. They checked GPS on the dash map. Previous trial runs told them there was a turnoff ahead back down the ridge to rejoin their highway—should have had GPS on all along. At least he knew they would come out far south of that swarm corner.
And better than being on bicycle so far was all Vince could think. He stared out from the heights at the distant lights.
