Trac Control

The trac control kept flashing on and off as we started to make our way back to my place to pick up some supplies for the drive. Jack, or Alex, as he was actually named, had direct access to the current front lines from one of his, I would later learn, three fancy satellite phones and suggested we take the northern route through Algonquin Park, which would take longer, but would be no problem with a full tank of gas and a charged battery.

Fishtailing around the bend, we pulled into my driveway, which I'd mentally pictured differently than what I now saw. The debris was still piled up from when Alex's 'friends' showed up to pick up Matthew. I regret not being bothered to move it at least over to one side before I left.

"Your place looks like shit," Alexsaid as we pulled into the snow covering my gravel parking pad. Matthew's truck was covered over and likely frozen solid from the deep cold front that I'd avoided being in the city.

"Thanks for that. Remind me to send you a bill."

The plywood over my front window had at least held up, and once we got inside, the plastic sheeting was still taped up.

I still had some propane in the tank, which was good. No power outages from what I could see either. I turned on the heat, and once the place started to warm up, we stripped off our coats and I got to business.

Alex made himself right at home on my couch as I went down to the basement. He was yammering on about something, but after two hours of yapping while in the car, I'd just started to tune him out. For a CIA spook, as I assumed, he sure seemed to like to talk. His vowel sounds were especially grating. The only time he shut up was when he was chewing on a Kind bar I had in my Rav because I didn't want to stop more than we needed on the drive to the house.

The florescent lights flickered as I walked down the bare wood stringer steps that were still stained with salt stains and gravel from the pickup making the basement concrete look like a topographical map of a mountainous region.

I wasn't sure what to do about that quite yet.

Heading across the floor and into my workshop, I grabbed a box of 25 count waterfoul shot and box of 300 blackout I had from the workbench shelving, along with the double aught buck from a few years ago, and loaded them into the side of my gun bag. Walking back across the basement to the storage room I dialed in the combination to my gun safe, which opened with a solid thunk after I pulled the lever to grab my 12-gauge and my Bison Scout. Both fit in my gun bag, which is why I bought the bigger one at Cabela's or Bass Pro a while back. I don't remember. The paperwork is at the house somewhere.

Heading back upstairs, Alex had his feet up and said something. I propped the gun case up against the wall as I made a pot of coffee.

I cleared my throat.

"So this place," I asked, "It's a resort?" I could feel my face squinching up. I was still trying to wrap my head around what exactly we were walking into.

"Well, it was. You had some residents, the HOA, and the corporate landlords kind of dig in and decide to self organize."

"Self organize?"

"Yeah, before Operation Big Rake," I audibly scoffed at the name while he spoke, "They'd gotten the go-ahead from the state government to get a modular reactor."

"You mean province."

"Sure. Province. Anyway, with the reactor, they said to hell with it, and the HOA and corporation decided to do their own thing, which was good for business, only instead of selling vacations, they now sell power. It's a pretty well organized place, you'd be surprised."

I unzipped my gun case, "Not much surprises me these days, bud." I released the empty mag from the Bison and opened the box of blackouts. Coffee. A few more blackouts. Coffee.

"What's up with the train schedule? You one of those guys? My cousin's into trains."

I didn't answer. instead, I picked up and unfolded the Bison, making it easier for me to put the mag in.

"Nope." I thought about a few of the people I'd picked up over the last few months at the level crossing.

I checked the round. I put it back in the case, zipping the compartment closed, and opening the one for my 12, which I could load with my eyes closed.

"You hunt?"

"I did."

"Hunt what?"

I remember thinking The most dangerous of game Alex. How else do you think I keep propane in my tank and my bills paid?

"Deer. Geese," I drank some more coffee, "You know, when I could get the tags. Got a whole freezer full of venison cuts in the basement. Few breasts left from a year or two ago."

After the pot of coffee and some scrambled RediEgg I had in the back of the fridge, we piled back into the Rav. I stashed the rifle bag on the floorboards in the back, and threw a blanket over it to avoid talking too much to the OPGs, RCMP, CFs, or whatever alphabet boys we'd meet on the way. With Alex bucked in we pulled out of my front gate and back onto the highway.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before we hit our the checkpoint heading north. The OPG blockade forced us into the old Esso station that'd been converted into a checkpoint.

Constables in high-vis vests grabbed their mirror poles as I stopped at the bollards.

The lead Constable walked over to the driver's side while another approached on Alex's side. "Afternoon boys, cold day for a drive. Where you headed?"

"Peterborough. Visiting some family."

"Yeah? My brother lives in Fife's Bay."

The mirror's pass under the Rav. The second constable takes a look around the front, then the back. He took a pretty long look. He taps on Alex's window, which I lowered.

"You boys got an emergency signal beacon?"

I took it out to charge and must have left it at the house.

"No, I don't. Forgot to pack it."

"Dangerous business. Peterborough right?"

The first constable walked over to a frog box and pulled out fist sized black box with a tail hanging off of it.

"All right, I'll give you what, six, seven hours? Turn this in at the checkpoint when you get there. If you have any problems, yank on this," he tugged at the nylons trap, "It will pop out and send out a call."

The black box had an embossed maple leaf on it, along with a serial number, and 'Property of Ontario Provincial Guard' etched on the back.

The mirror check was done, and the bollards lowered. "All right, take care. Strong and free."

"Yeah," I said, "Sure."

Windows up and heat on full blast, we pulled back on to the highway and continued on.