Eldorado (15 page)

“How long do you think it will take?” he asked, trying to focus on something mundane.

“At this rate…” she said, “probably about another hour.”

They made good time, with Carrie’s intimate knowledge of the route and the safest paths, sticking to the highest pathways with unimpaired views of the surrounding countryside. By dusk they were gazing at the jagged silhouette of the towering skyscrapers of Vancouver.

Escape from Swallow

From the limited conversation he’d had with Swallow, Danny guessed that his captor was, in the words of Jim Keller, ‘a brick short of a load’, but he had to admit that Swallow had planned his kidnapping well. He’d brought lots of rope, with which he’d trussed Danny’s hands tightly behind his back. He'd used a ten foot length of what remained as a sort of leash, forcing Danny to walk ahead and show him the way.

Swallow had tried to pry the exact location of Danny’s discovery out of him, but Danny insisted that it was too hidden away to explain, and Swallow believed him. It was clear that Swallow knew approximately where they should be going. Danny had no choice but to obediently lead his captor in the right direction while he desperately fought to come up with an escape plan.

It was hard going on the thin trails through the bush, but Danny knew that Swallow didn’t dare walk on the road. Though the police were thin on the ground in Surrey, they were here. But he guessed that the police weren’t the main reason they were avoiding the obvious travel routes. There was someone else Swallow was hiding from – someone who scared him much more than the cops. Danny could make a pretty good guess at who that person was.

He hung back as close to his captor as possible, waiting for a chance to act if the strange little man made a mistake. Swallow would regularly threaten him and tell him to get away, and Danny would answer with an innocent expression that said: ‘what – oh I didn’t realize I was so close’.

He knew that Swallow would kill him once he had what he wanted, and the prospect of death made Danny think about the past few years – about his relationship with his brother. The endless mute evenings, the clink of his fork on the plate as he gulped down his dinner in silence, Richard's probing eyes when he thought Danny wasn't looking, the pathetic mask of guilt, sadness and regret that had become his brother's trademark.

It was that expression that Danny couldn't bear. What made it worse was the knowledge that his own face probably wore the same mask. It was as if he and Richard were a toxic combination – each re-living his own pain whenever they came in contact. Danny had been gone for more than a week. For all their quarrels, he knew his brother would be insane with worry and would be doing everything in his power to find him. He vowed to try to get past their differences if he ever made it home.

The going was so slow that they were forced to stop for the night. Swallow tied Danny tightly to a tree and he spent an uncomfortable and almost sleepless night frantically playing and re-playing scenarios for escape.

The next morning they had been hiking for an hour when Danny saw his chance. Swallow’s foot caught in a loop formed by a fallen branch partially buried in the ground, and he fell forward heavily, knocking his head on a stump just in front of him. Swallow was only momentarily stunned, but Danny seized the opportunity. He flew back and jumped on the kidnapper with all his weight, knocking the wind out of him. While Swallow was down Danny delivered a flurry of kicks to his head until he stopped moving.

Terrified that his captor would wake, he knelt with his back to the body and hurriedly fished through Swallow’s pockets for his gun. He found it, manipulated it into his right hand, and managed to slide his index finger onto the trigger. Squatting down with his back to Swallow, he maneuvered the barrel against the kidnapper’s skull. He closed his eyes and began to tighten his finger, but suddenly lost his nerve. Whatever Swallow had done he couldn’t bring himself to kill the little man in cold blood. Instead, he shoved the gun in his belt, pried the rope from the unconscious Swallow’s hands, and ran for his life.

He had no idea where he was going. His only thought was to put as much distance as possible between himself and Swallow before the kidnapper finally woke. He ran flat out for something like twenty minutes, until his energy began to drain. His hands were still tied; he watched for something sharp to cut his bonds. After ten minutes of walking, he came across a promising rock outcropping and scraped the ropes against a sharp edge. He felt the strands snapping, but the process was painfully slow. After several minutes, afraid that he was wasting precious time, he decided to move on.

He climbed a steep hill, hoping to see whether or not Swallow was following. The hill had a commanding view of the countryside, but he saw nothing. A short time later he came across another outcropping with sharp ridges, and decided to try to cut his bonds once and for all. He worked for what seemed an eternity, his wrists raw from the chafing rope, but finally severed the knot and was free.

He surprised himself by hiking another three or four hours before his strength once again began to fade. The sun indicated that it was late afternoon, and he sought out a resting place for the night. Exhausted, he finally staggered up onto a bluff guarded by a wall of thick brush, and collapsed on a soft patch of moss.

He’d expected to fall asleep immediately, but instead lay awake, cursing his decision to let Swallow live, wishing that he could re-play his escape and kill the kidnapper when he had the chance. Now every rustling leaf, every crying bird or barking coyote filled him with terror. Exhaustion finally won out, and he drifted off, imagining that any second Swallow would appear and his life would be over.

Respite

Carrie was relieved when the city finally loomed into view. It was late in the day; she didn’t want to tempt fate by riding at night. They descended into town. Sporadic bursts of frantic barking erupted as they passed many of the houses, and the occasional window curtain parted as the occupant noted their passage. On their arrival she stared in admiration at Richard’s house. After years of communal living, she found it hard to imagine being the sole owner of such a place.

“Will the infamous Zonk be there?” she asked.

“Not right now,” said Richard. “I left him at a shelter while I was gone.”

When they reached the front gate it was open.

“Damn,” said Richard. “I was afraid this would happen.”

They sped through the gate and parked near the front door. It too had been broken open. Richard turned to her without speaking and put a finger to his lips. He held out his hand gesturing for her to stay where she was. Reluctantly, she did what he asked.

He tiptoed through the door, and for a long time she didn’t hear a sound. She was about to venture in herself, imagining Richard lying in a pool of blood, his throat slit by some intruder, when he re-appeared.

“There’s nobody here,” he said, his voice a mixture of relief and dejection. She understood the double meaning – neither the thieves nor Danny were there.

“Doesn’t look like they were interested in taking anything,” he said, “– just some vegetables out of the garden. They ransacked the place. Thank God they didn’t find Danny’s journal.” He smiled and held up a tattered black book. “I had it hidden under a loose floorboard that nobody would have guessed was there.”

He shoved the book in his pack. “Maybe we better not stay here tonight.”

“Where could we go?”

“We can sleep in one of the respite rooms at the College. They’re provided for faculty in case of emergency. That might be good in a way. There’s someone at the College I want to talk to.”

He trudged off to the shed in the back yard and returned with some tools.

“I’m not sure why I’m bothering,” he said as he pried and hammered the door latch back into shape. He re-fastened the hardware so that it at least looked functional.

“I’ll come back and fix the lock properly tomorrow when it’s light,” he said as he finished.

By this time it was almost dark. Carrie was uneasy. Richard noted her expression.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not far.”

They headed south. After a few minutes’ ride they turned onto Kingsway, once one of the main thoroughfares for automobile traffic in Vancouver, and still an important travel route.

“Most of the side streets aren’t lit very well, and they’re pretty dangerous.” said Richard. “At least on Kingsway there’s a few lights.”

Carrie remembered Kingsway from her years in Vancouver. What had been a multi-lane highway before she was born was now a narrow two-lane road. The remaining right-of-way had been overgrown with weeds and even trees long ago, but there were still shards of pavement testifying to its original extent. Every few blocks a feeble street lamp illuminated the surface of the road, one of the few still maintained in good condition. Several times they passed riders going the other way, and each time a surge of adrenaline pumped through her veins.

They’d been riding for ten minutes when a bright halo of light appeared a few blocks ahead, spilling onto the roadway. Soon they approached an area enclosed by a massive steel fence topped with razor wire. A searchlight was perched on a pole in the center, and heavily armed guards stood attentively at each corner.

Behind the locked gate, bathed in floodlights, stood a giant brightly lit sign bearing the familiar red and blue logo and name: ‘Can-Cartel’. The sign towered over a tiny square building fronting two small pumps. Carrie hadn’t seen one in years, but she recognized it instantly. It was a gas station.

Richard rode a few yards ahead, scanning for signs of danger. Carrie deferred to his leadership now that they were in Vancouver. This was his territory; it was totally unfamiliar to her. Tonight they were lucky. The ride down the old highway was uneventful, and after twenty minutes they turned off Kingsway and headed north. In a few minutes they were within sight of the College campus.

As they approached the main building there was frantic activity around its massive double front doors. Within seconds a powerful searchlight tracked over them. Richard dismounted and stood beside his bike with his hands in the air.

“Who goes there!” yelled an anxious voice from the direction of the main doors.

“I’m faculty,” Richard yelled back. “Richard Hampton. I teach in the Department of Life Maintenance. I need asylum for the night.”

“Mr. Hampton,” the voice answered in recognition. “Who’s that with you? Get them to step into the light.”

Carrie pushed her bike up parallel to his and raised her hands.

“She’s a friend,” Richard shouted at the light.

“Okay,” said the voice. “Come forward. Keep it slow.”

They pushed their bikes toward the light. As they moved closer, Carrie could make out two men in uniform, their guns drawn, crouched in firing position.

“Stop,” said the voice. “If you’ve got any weapons, drop them on the ground in front of you - slowly. Then step back.”

Richard and Carrie did as they were ordered.

“They don’t kid around here, do they,” Carrie whispered.

“Better not talk right now,” Richard answered.

One of the guards came forward, picked up their weapons, and returned to his position.

“Better drop the bikes and come up – both of you,” The lead guard said, in what Carrie dared to hope was a friendly tone. As ordered, they climbed slowly up the steps toward the front doors. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the guards appeared to relax.

“Frisk them, Sung,” said the lead guard.

The other guard moved forward, patted them down, and gave a businesslike nod.

“Okay,” said the lead guard. “You’ll vouch for her?” He nodded at Carrie.

“Yes,” said Richard. “I’ll vouch for her.”

“The weapons will stay with us,” he said. “You’ll get them back when you leave. Sung, you can let them in – don’t worry,” he said to Richard, “we’ll take care of your bikes.” He hauled out a mass of keys and selected a large brass one. “Number 108. You know the way…”

“What was that all about?” whispered Carrie as they stepped through the giant College doors.

“Security’s tight.”

***

Richard led Carrie down the dimly lit hallway of the ancient building. He’d never had occasion to use a respite room, but their existence and location were included in the College’s frequent safety seminars. He and Carrie twisted and turned down several corridors before finally reaching a door marked ‘Respite 108’. Richard slid the key into the door lock and it clicked open.

“We’re here,” he said.

The room was simple but clean. It was about fifteen feet square, with two twin-sized beds in the center and a plain but functional bathroom off the left wall. There were no windows, but the room was painted in pleasant, if bland, colours, and there were a couple of paintings depicting pastoral landscapes hanging on the walls. A small round table surrounded by four uncomfortable looking chairs occupied the corner closest to them. A closet in the far corner held two sets of clean sheets and blankets and two full sets of towels.