Cold Snow: A Legal Thriller (21 page)

Meanwhile around it, the world was becoming more and more wild and mysterious, and the fog lifted to reveal landscapes that the three of them had never seen before. The dirt road wound through immense forests of spruce and poplar, through deep, wide valleys where animals they didn't know the names of roamed free. Off in the distance they could see huge, snow-capped mountains rising above the prairie.

Each one is larger than my world used to be,
Alex thought one day while the three of them trudged along the road.

As beautiful as their journey was becoming, supplies were an imminent problem. From the four backpacks they made the stock last as long as they could, eating only two meals a day. However, none of them could deny that the non-perishables were running out. The supply program had given them money, wrongly assuming that they would have been able to reclaim it. They could easily have bought more food with this.

Unfortunately the Transit did not command the same respect in Manitoba as it did in Quebec and there were very few towns along it. If they had gone a few miles off course in many places, they would have found towns with stores, and perhaps hotels so they wouldn't have to sleep by the road in their worn sleeping bags.

It was a fear they knew was shared between the three of them that kept them from doing this. They thought that the road was protecting them, and if they left it, they would be alone, lost, crushed by the overpowering openness of the land around them--and perhaps facing other dangers as well. They did not know where Ordoñez was, or the police.

They were usually so tired out by the pace Alex set that they rarely spoke to each other. Only when it was necessary for the undertaking did they communicate: when to go, when to stop, when to eat, how many miles to do today.

One day, a week after Ridge City, night was falling, and they made camp in a large birch forest. Now that they had matches, they could have fire, which became a greater blessing every day. They were all sleeping in their heavy jackets now, and rarely changed their clothes. After the fire had been built, Anthony took them aside, again poring over his map.

"Remember the Trans-Shield Express?" he asked them.

"The train you mentioned?" Alex said. "What about it?"

"I've got some good news, some bad news and some more bad news. Which one first?" Anthony said.

"I've always had the bad news first. It makes the good news seem better," Sarah put in.

"Good point," Alex said. "Okay. Give us both pieces of bad news and then the good news."

"You got it. Okay, I read about the train on the back of this map, and it turns out security is really tight since a bunch of guys tried to put a bomb on it a few years ago."

Alex laughed. "I can think of better places to put a bomb."

Anthony continued as if Alex hadn't spoken. "So if we try to sneak on, they'll catch us, and not only will the cops think we're terrorists, they'll know we're alive."

"I'm willing to take the risk," Alex said.

"You're an idiot," Sarah said sharply. "Being dead is our only cover. If that's blown it's back to court for all of us, and nobody will believe us this time. We fled, remember?"

Alex considered this for a moment, then grudgingly agreed. He leaned closer to the fire and shivered.

"So we'll have to buy tickets." Anthony began again, still as if nothing had happened. "And that'll chew up most of our funding. We'll have enough cash left to fill these backpacks one more time. But hey, when we get on the train, we'll barely need it anyway.

"The other bad news is how we get there. This road stops just a few miles from here, a few hours' walk. From there, there's no way to get the train's nearest stop except--" He ran his finger along a stretch of blank map, "--off the road."

Sarah stared at him blankly. "Leave the road?"

"That's right. I'm guessing about fifteen, maybe twenty miles across pure wilderness."

"You're crazy," Alex said.

"You want to get to Sawtooth, don't you?" Anthony snapped. "If we keep hiking like this, Ordoñez will get all of us!"

The mention of Ordoñez convinced Alex. "So, what's the good news?"

Anthony grinned. "The good news! Half a day away from here there's a town."

Alex and Sarah sat up at this. "How big?" Alex asked.

"Big enough for food, I think."

Sarah looked at the dot on the map that Anthony was pointing to, across the white space, to the dotted line marking the railroad. "Then that should be our point to leave the road."

"Exactly!" Anthony looked very happy that they had understood him.

"All right," Alex said, obviously jealous that Anthony had made such a good plan before him. "Somebody get some more firewood, I did it last night. Then we should go to bed."

The next day, after a short meal and five hours walking, the buildings of a small village appeared out of the mist. Beyond them the road ended.
Innocuous end for such a mighty road,
Alex thought, not sure whether or not to laugh.

A badly maintained sign just in front of the first building bore a word, which had evidently once been "Porcupine" but was now closer to

P RCU IN

It seemed an odd name, until Alex vaguely remembered a tidbit from his old school Geography class in another lifetime: the Porcupine mountains in Manitoba.

As they walked through the streets all of them noticed people looking at them oddly. Alex was aware of his appearance. He had not shaved since a week before he left Woodsbrook, and he was beginning to feel beard stubble on his face. His clothes were dirty and sweaty, he had not showered in longer than he hadn't shaved, and presumably he smelled worse than he looked.

Sarah looked about the same as Alex except without the problem of facial hair. Anthony was the scariest and filthiest of them all; besides his face being hairier than Alex's, his wound (which he still would not explain) had reopened and was bleeding so badly that every few days had to tear strips off his shirt to make new bandages.

As all of them were in need of rest and bathing, Sarah suggested they look for a hotel. Looking around the only street, Alex saw a building, which seemed promising. The moment they stepped inside, however, it was clear he had been mistaken.

It was a bar, filled with what appeared to be the entire population of the town. Their unshaven appearances fit right into the ambience. Several flickering neon signs, advertising beers nobody would drink if they had a choice, were spaced at intervals around the wall. Men and women sat at tables conversing in thick Canadian accents over large mugs of liquids that might at one point have been drinks. There was no music but the clutter of voices provided soundtrack enough, and the smoke hanging in the air drifted restlessly, mirroring the lives of most of the people in the room. The walls, old wood paneling, were stained with the dirt and grime of ages.

Alex's eyes were drawn to the strangest sight in the room: a boy, who looked barely older than Alex was, sitting at the end of the bar, gulping from a mug of beer. Alex began walking toward the bartender.

"What are you doing!?" Sarah grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

"Relax! I was just going to ask him if this place has a hotel!"

"Maybe they'll give us a drink…or a cigarette…" Anthony looked happier than he had been in a while.

Alex, trying to look more confident than he felt, strode up to the counter. The bartender, wiping a mug with a rag, looked up.

"What the hell do you think yer doin'?" he growled, in a deep, gravelly voice.

"I just wanted to ask--"

"I ain't gonna serve ya."

"I'm not looking for--".

"Git outta here! We do not serve kids!" The bartender yelled so fiercely that several of the patrons looked up momentarily before returning to their drinks. Alex was incredibly frustrated. This guy was not only refusing to listen to him, he was insulting him. this was no longer a matter of information, this was a matter of pride.

Sarah must have known what he was going to say because she put a hand on his arm. "Alex…don't! Don't say anything!"

He pushed her hand away. "I would like to know," he said angrily, "why you will give a drink to
him
," he gestured to the boy at the end of the bar, "and not me! He can't be older than thirteen!"

The bartender looked at him for a long time like it was the stupidest thing Alex could have said. Finally he spoke.

"New in town, ain't ya?"

"We're passing through."

"What the hell's that mean?"

"It means I would rather not explain it."

"Okay, then," the bartender said in a stage whisper. "That kid there is Hart McGee. His father's Roy McGee. I give him beer because if I didn't he could kick my ass."

Alex laughed out loud. "Him!? You've got to be twice his size and three times his age!"

The bartender shook his head and said simply, "You never met Roy McGee."

No matter which way Alex thought of the situation, it seemed too easy to be true. "How about this," he said finally. "I'll fight this Hart McGee. If I win, you give me a drink. If I lose, I'll leave your bar. You'll never see me again."

The barkeep's eyes widened in shock, but his expression turned eventually to obvious amusement and delight. "You've got a deal. Hey, Hart!"

The boy turned his head. "Told you not to interrupt me when I'm drinkin'." As he spoke, Alex noticed something odd--his accent, which should have been Canadian, was instead closer to American Midwestern.

"This kid here," the bartender gestured toward Alex, "fancies himself a drifter. What's more, he thinks he can fight you."

Hart's eyes narrowed with cold scorn. "You? You think you can beat me?"

Sarah and Anthony had retreated to the fringes, and each looked worriedly at the other. Alex had evidently gone even more insane that they had pegged him for. Word of the fight spread quickly through the room, and soon the patrons had formed a ring, and were shouting--cheering? Demanding blood?

Alex and Hart were left in the center of the ring, circling each other. Hart looked determined and positively angry that somebody, least of all this kid, had even challenged him. Alex, however, looked very wary, but still somewhat cool.

"Look at him!" Anthony whispered. "He's not even scared!"

"He's scared," Sarah replied disdainfully. "He's just good at hiding things."

In the center of the circle the noise from the yelling and chanting was so loud as to drown out voices. Alex shouted over the din. "How are you!?" he called over to his opponent. "I'm Alex Or--AAAARGH!"

Hart's massive fist had collided with his face and he had collapsed on the floor. He forced himself up, spitting blood and blinking stars out of his eyes, just in time to see a second blow racing for his forehead. Quickly, he reacted, dodging underneath it and leaping across to the other side of the makeshift arena.

"That's not very nice, you know!" Alex shouted. "I'm trying to introduce myself!"

"Shut up!" Hart shouted back, and raced for Alex again. Alex moved to the side and Hart fell into the crowd. Several of them pushed him back in and he faced Alex again.

"Now we're talking face to face," Alex said, grinning, "I don't have to yell. I'm Alex Orson. Nice to meet you!"

Enraged, Hart threw a right hook toward Alex's skull. However, his anger at being taunted had made him throw the punch wildly. Alex was able to throw both his hands in front of it, and forced with all his might, countering the blow.

"I don't want to hurt you, Hart! If you want we can stand here for hours while you batter the air to death," he said, as Hart staggered backwards. The crowd was booing and hissing now; whether at Alex for not fighting or at Hart for not crushing him, neither of them new.

"Ya said ya wanted to fight him!" somebody called. "Now fight him!"

"Grind him intah powder, Hart!" yelled somebody else. "Ye know ye can do it! What are ye waitin' for!?"

"Stand still!" Hart grunted, swinging his fists at Alex, who was now staying one step ahead of him, dodging out of reach. "Or at least throw a goddamn punch, ya coward!"

But even as Hart spoke, he felt what was happening. He was tiring--with each blow it became harder for him to swing his fists. This kid, Alex Orson, was the hardest target he had ever faced. He dodged some punches, and blocked others with his hands, but still he refused to attack. Orson was beating him, and he was not even fighting. Alex, in fact, was still smiling.

"I can't see what's going on!" Sarah said, desperately trying to jump over the heads of the crowd. "From the noise, I'd say he's winning…but…"

"Impossible!" Anthony said, shaking his head. "He couldn't win! Alex can't fight worth a damn, I've seen that!"

Back in the circle Hart was growing steadily weaker. He had hit Alex a few times, but never where he was aiming for. Alex leapt away from another blow and looked into Hart's eyes. "Named for the mountain, right? Hart Mountain?"

"None…of your…business!"

"Whatever you say."

"Punch…me…dammit!"