Drone Chase

by Pam Withers

  “You checked for foreign boot prints to see if someone brought us a breakfast special?” Cole tries to mock Min-jun, but I can see in the mirror that he’s frowning. Silence follows.

  “I heard drones in the middle of the night,” I finally say. “I heard them dropping stuff next to the tent.”

  Maybe I was dreaming, maybe I wasn’t. It’s the only explanation. Yellow Drone and its poacher operators wanted to scare us away after catching me filming the cannery. Their UAV is large and easily strong enough to dangle a few pounds of salmon for a mile or two as the crow flies. As a drone flies. Over enemy lines.

  Cole brakes suddenly. He pulls over on the side of the gravel road to twist his head around and direct bug eyes at me.

  “Are you serious?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say, looking to Min-jun for support. Min-jun saw something inside the cannery yesterday. He also saw the stealth drone on the Outdoors Club camping trip. Does he remember either? Both? He might make the connection. Instead, he chuckles like it’s a great joke.

  “You are whack, Ray,” Cole pronounces in a cold voice. “You know nothing about bear country, salmon, or Bella Coola. You move here, try to take our girls, pretend you know about the great outdoors. You lied about wanting to learn camping tips, when all you really wanted was a ride here to fly your stupid toy. I knew you were a drone nut, but I didn’t know you were a paranoid lunatic. Sure — drones came by in the night to drop off salmon. Minjun, I say we get him to the hospital right now, so they can put one of those special white jackets on him and lock him away.”

  His eyes bore into me, and I see all his resentment for my single date with Dorothy burning like dangerous embers.

  “Guess you don’t get my sense of humour,” I say in a tone unconvincing even to myself. “Sorry if you thought —”

  “We’re out of here, Min-jun,” Cole declares, pulling back onto the road and making like a derby racer. “And don’t even think of signing up for another Outdoors Club trip,” he warns me, even though he’s vice-prez, not prez.

  Min-jun is looking out the window, frowning like he wants nothing more to do with the conversation. Anger rising, in need of some kind of revenge, I can’t stop myself from breaking my code of silence about the seizures.

  “Min-jun,” I say testily. “You said you have seizures every couple of months. But yesterday’s makes at least two in one month. Are your episodes increasing?”

  He studies the woods flashing by like he hasn’t heard me. Cole glances at his friend but says nothing.

  “Because if they’re increasing, that’s called pre-stasis. It’s super serious. You could have a seizure you don’t recover from. You could die.”

  I see him swallow, see his jaw go tight.

  “You need to see a doctor, Min-jun. You need different medication or a change in how much you’re taking.”

  When he finally speaks, it’s hardly loud enough for me to hear. “I’m taking something. My dad has upped the dosage. And it’s none of your business.”

  Cole speaks up, startling me. “It’s our business if you kick the bucket on one of our camping trips. But maybe it’s our business just because we care.” His tone is gentle, in sharp contrast to when he addressed me earlier.

  “Western medicine or traditional Chinese medicine, TCM?” I dare to ask.

  Min-jun turns my way in surprise, glares at me, then slumps in his seat. “The medicine the Bella Coola doctor gave me had bad side effects. And my dad won’t let me go back there because a cousin of his who was really sick died after taking Western medicine. My mom and dad argue about it, but I’m going with what my dad gives me. Now leave me alone,” Min-jun says in a dejected voice, and he all but pastes his face against the car window.

  It’s not the right time to argue with him, I figure. And anyway, traditional medicines have been used forever in other cultures, so who am I to diss them, as long as there’s no cruelty to animals involved? Even if Western science doesn’t understand traditional medicines, or hasn’t tested them all, they’re gaining respect and evidence these days — in veterinary as well as people medicine.

  As the car jolts from pothole to curve, I imagine us arriving home and Min-jun’s dad instantly phoning Granddad to tell him that I flew my drone into the cannery. Also that I left something around our campsite that attracted bears in the night. I imagine Cole’s dad, a taxidermy customer of Granddad’s, confirming it.

  “Count on it,” Cole had said earlier. Everyone knows everything within five minutes. Even though I’ve kept mum about Min-jun’s seizures till now.

  “Guys,” I say, and they turn slightly toward me. “Can we agree that what happened at Campsite 78 stays at Campsite 78?”

  The car bounces around two hairpin turns before they respond.

  “Agreed.”

  “Deal.”

  We’ll see if their word is good.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SINCE BEING DROPPED off by Cole, I’ve put in five phone calls to Evan Anderson and made one visit to his office. No one there, and no replies. Just a recorded message that refers emergency calls to the police. I’m pissed and anxious. I could write him a note or leave him a long message, but what do I really have that would convince him? No film anymore, damn it. Nor anyone else who saw the same thing I did.

  “Grandson,” Granddad starts in during dinner, “how was camping with Min-jun and the other fellow?”

  “Good,” I say, braced for a harangue.

  “I hear you did everything perfectly: tent pitching, fire starting, bear-bag hanging. Did yer family proud for once.” He spoons up Mom’s Manhattan clam chowder with gusto.

  “Mmm,” I say, still waiting.

  “And grizzlies, eh? You saved yer mates from harm by keeping ’em quiet, helping ’em keep their heads on. Quite the hero, is how Min-jun told it to his dad.”

  “Grizzlies?” Mom’s spoon halts halfway to her mouth. She looks from Granddad to Dad to me.

  “We were a safe distance away,” I say cautiously. “Just watched them eat salmon.”

  Dad smiles. “It’s bear country, honey, like I keep telling you. Great chowder, by the way.”

  “Three young boys camping alone overnight, and the fact that they encounter bears doesn’t worry you?” she challenges my father. “How many bears, Ray?”

  I hesitate, but decide to tell the truth. “Six, including the cubs.”

  Dad gives a quiet sigh and throws me a look like, Don’t fan the flames, please. He also looks a little startled at that number.

  Granddad grins as he scrapes his bowl clean. “Sean here was eight the first time he camped on his own with a schoolmate.”

  “You mean in the backyard?” Mom asks Dad.

  “Probably,” Dad says, tossing his father a look.

  “Nope. Up in the mountains. His mom and I, we picked ’em up in the morning. You two were banjaxed but big-eyed happy,” he recalls.

  “Eight years old? Without adult supervision?” Mom’s spoon clatters to the table. “But that time no one lost an ear from your irresponsibility, did they?” Her eyes narrow at Granddad.

  “Honey,” Dad says, reaching for her hand.

  “Yer not from here,” Granddad says, like he’s delighted to have gotten a rise out of Mom. “Kids learn woodsmanship early in these parts. They learn to coexist with nature. Boys grow up to be men, not like in the city.”

  I groan inwardly and feel my entire body tense up. Mom can be like a pit bull sometimes, not knowing when to back down. And Granddad likes to bait.

  “Oh, so you’re in charge of Ray’s manhood now, are you?” she asks, although Dad has risen and put his hands on her shoulders like he’s about to lead her away from the table.

  “He just came back a hero today, Leah,” Granddad all but spits out at her. “He’s earning his spurs. He’s a McLellan.”

  Compliments from Granddad? I’d go into shock if I didn’t realize he was working some kind of agenda.

  “Okay, Dad, we’re all proud
of Ray, but let’s leave it at that,” Dad says. “It’s been a long day.”

  “It has been a long month,” my mother says, voice steady and alarmingly hollow as she stands and places her napkin in the centre of the table, “with your father always interfering in family matters, insulting me, bullying Ray, and complaining about our clinic, which pays for all the meals I make him, which he never thanks me for, not once. And you, Sean, I never knew how spineless you were till we moved here. Never sticking up for Ray or me.” Her voice goes spookily soft. “Your father is a bully and I’m tired of living under the same roof as him.”

  A pain in the back of my throat grows to tonsillitis level. Granddad rises unsteadily, almost triumphantly, and points his finger at her. “Then git!” he pronounces. “Git out o’ my house. Now! Had more than enough o’ yer whining!”

  “Dad, stop it!” Dad shouts, as I shrink into my seat. “Leah!” But she has walked dead calmly into their bedroom and shut the door softly. Dad throws a sad glance at Granddad, but before Dad can make a move, I cross the room, boldly slip into the bedroom, and close the door behind me.

  Mom is sitting on the bed, her back to me, trembling slightly. I take a shaky step forward and sit down beside her. Her arm reaches out and I grasp her hand. She smells like lilac soap.

  We sit together awhile as her breathing steadies.

  “Mom …”

  She pats my hand as I retreat back into silence.

  “I’m … I’m sorry,” I say. Huh? For what? For the way I’ve only been thinking of myself, not her? For how Granddad treats her, for Granddad’s illness, for how Dad is caught in the middle? For how I’m all twisted up inside, trying to ignore it all? I need to spend more time with her, do more for her.

  “I’m sorry I … I’ve never really thought before how hard it is on you. I mean, he’s hard on you. For sure. Granddad, I mean. Sometimes I want to blow up, too, but … Well, if anyone gets to, it’s you.” Yet she didn’t. Maybe in words, but not in tone. She’s a strong woman. She’s my tenacious mother.

  Her body shudders a little and she raises a hand to wipe away an escaped tear. Not helping, Ray.

  “But we can’t change Granddad, and Dad’s trying his best. What I really want to say is —”

  She turns to me and draws me into a fierce hug. The kind I haven’t had since I was little. A long hug that feels good, and which I return as I mumble, “I love you.”

  There’s a soft knock on the door, and Dad peers in, a solemn look on his face.

  “I’ll do dishes,” I say, rising quickly to leave them alone.

  I clear the table without looking at my granddad. I’m still warm from Mom’s hug, and that makes me hope things will be all right. It’s true I’ve been so into my own stuff that I haven’t really thought about how Mom has been struggling. What can I do about that? Granddad can be a pain, especially to her. On the other hand, he’s family, and I can’t toss away my loyalty to him, especially as his health gets worse. I also feel sorry for Dad, who’s in the centre of a tug-of-war between two stubborn people he loves: homesick Mom and grumpy Granddad. A contest that can have no winner. He’s not handling it perfectly, but can’t Mom see he’s doing his best?

  Like Dad, I just want peace. And somehow, with every day that goes by, I’m less interested in moving back to New York. I’m not sure why, but it’s not just Dorothy. Bella Coola can grow on a person.

  I soap each plate like I’m treating a skunked dog, slow and steady. Only when I’ve finished washing the dishes do I turn. Granddad is attempting to make his own way from the table to his bedroom, in serious danger of falling and breaking bones. I rush over and offer him an arm. He takes it, pats it, and lets me help him to his bed, where he waves me away before collapsing onto his frayed quilt. He looks small and shrunken now, all the fight drained away. His skin isn’t a healthy colour, and his hands shake as he arranges his pillow.

  “Good night, Granddad,” I say as I back out of the room.

  “Night, Ray.”

  I hesitate at the door. “Granddad?”

  “Yes, Ray?”

  “You know the Forest Service Campsite Number 78?”

  “I know all the campsites within a ten-mile radius.”

  “Do salmon swim up the stream there?”

  “That wee pisser? Never in a million years, grandson. Anyway, most salmon don’t spawn ’round here till fall, which you’d know if you ever listened to me.”

  The following afternoon, Mom picks me up from school with Chief in the back seat.

  “Hey, Chief,” I say fondly, reaching through the window to scratch his head. I’m wondering why Mom has shown up, rather than letting me walk home like usual. Not that I mind a ride. I hardly slept last night. And today felt like the first miserable day of school all over again. Dorothy gave me no more than one sad nod from far away. Cole avoided me altogether, and I saw him chatting with Dorothy twice. Trying to move in already? Min-jun was absent, as in sick. I spent lunch hour by myself, phoning Officer Anderson over and over again, and getting nothing but his mailbox-full and police-referral message.

  Mom’s all dressed up in heels and a nice dress that look totally out of place in the driver’s seat of the dusty Jeep. I haven’t seen her since the intense dinner spat last night.

  “Hi, Ray,” she says, over-the-top chirpy.

  “Hi,” I say. It comes out strangely, like a question mark.

  “Time to return Chief to his owners. Thought you might like to ride along.”

  I’m tempted to bolt rather than climb in. The last people I need to see right now are the Logan brothers. Instead, I sigh, seat myself, and fasten my seatbelt. I’ll just stay in the vehicle and let Mom return Chief and do the talking.

  “I’ll miss you, Chief,” I tell him over my shoulder.

  We head up the hill in awkward silence.

  “Ray, you should know that I’m flying to Vancouver tonight.”

  “You’re what?” My stomach turns over.

  “Tomorrow I’ll fly on to New York City.”

  I shake my head and curl my fingers into my palms. “When are you coming back?”

  “Dad will join us when he’s ready.”

  “Us?” My teeth clench.

  “There’s room on the flight tonight. I checked. We can spend a day in Vancouver if you like. Eat sushi and find some live music and …” Her voice falters. “I think it’s safe to say the stint here hasn’t worked out. It won’t be a big deal for you to slip back into your old school this week. Your friends will be delighted, and you can help me in the clinic as much as you like. We’ll release the vets we rented it to. I’ll need your help till Dad comes.”

  She seems to think that the faster she talks, the more likely it’ll all happen like she’s saying. My spine is so tight it’s about to snap.

  “Jae told us your girlfriend broke up with you. Sorry about that, honey.”

  She wasn’t my girlfriend, and now she never will be, I think.

  She reaches out to touch my hand, but I pull it out of her reach.

  “Ray?” She pulls up to the Logan brothers’ property, in front of the wire gate that’s padlocked shut.

  I picture Arlo and Koa grinning big, whisking me with them to Central Park for a drone-flying session first thing. I imagine them ogling my newest invention. My mind scans all my favourite New York eateries, cinemas, sports stadiums. I feel the throbbing excitement of the city that truly never sleeps. I remind myself that Mom and Dad never fought in the city, only here under Granddad’s roof. Then I look around me at the Great Bear Rainforest and breathe in the peace and the cedar scent. An image of Dorothy hovers at the edge of my view.

  “Don’t do this, Mom,” I say, a flood of tears threatening to burst from behind my eyeballs. “New York’s not home anymore. This is home, right here. With Dad. You can learn to like Bella Coola. I have.” Dorothy, Min-jun, the valley views, almost everything has grown on me. I run a sleeve over my face, then start as Chief leaps up and barks in the back s
eat.

  Oakley Logan, wearing — surprise, surprise — a logging shirt, camo trousers, and army boots, is peering through the gate, then unlocking it. He’s also squinting at my wet face. “Aww, the kid is that attached to Chief?” he says in a mocking tone. “Come on, Chiefie. You’re lookin’ good. They spoil you at that clinic?”

  Mom gets out, opens the back door, and lets Chief leap out, tail wagging.

  “Oakley Logan,” he says, extending his hand. “Man, if I knew you was in the vet office, I’d’ve come visitin’ way ’fore now.”

  Mom stiffens and shakes his hand curtly.

  “Jist kiddin’. Went to school with Sean, y’know. We was buddies ’fore he got all snobbish and urban. Used to be a wildman like me, y’know. Not.” He winks.

  She’s busy searching her purse for the invoice.

  Getting no reply from her, Oakley spits on the ground and lifts his John Deere baseball cap at me. “Little McLellan again, is it? You still don’t remember, eh, but we went campin’ together with your grandfather. He and I go way back, son. Been huntin’ and fishin’ and makin’ trouble together since ’fore you was born.”

  I study him closer, and a memory stirs. My left ear tingles. I see him sitting beside the campfire with my granddad, the two of them cooking hot dogs. I’m five. The camping trip. But the snapshot fades just as fast. I shrug, humiliated he just saw me leaking tears that had nothing to do with Chief.

  “Whoohee!” Oakley exclaims as Mom hands him the vet bill. “But no prob. This old boy’s worth it, hey, dog? Lost him while hikin’ in the mountains.”

  He’s making way too much of a show, petting his Doberman. Makes me sick, knowing how he really treats his hound. Nor do I believe he lost the dog while hiking. I look around behind him, half expecting to see stacked cages or chained-up bears, but it’s just a farm gone to seed, with a tumbledown barn and outbuildings.

  “I hope you’ll treat him better than someone did before he was found,” Mom says sternly.

  “You bet, ma’am.” He pulls a few crisp hundred-dollar bills out of his wallet. Mom’s plucked eyebrows rise. Who carries that many hundreds around? But she’s cool and professional as he hands her the fee in cash, plus a tip.