Mama looked at Leni.
This is it, Leni’s gaze said.
Mama shook her head. Her eyes widened. Leni understood her mother’s fear; they had talked about the both of them sneaking away while he was gone, not running away while he was with them. But the weather was changing; the nights were growing cold, which meant that winter was approaching. Classes at U of A started in less than a week. This was their chance to run. If they planned it right—
“Let’s go,” Dad said. “Right now.” He clapped his hands. At the sharp sound, Mama flinched.
Leni glanced longingly at her bug-out bag, full—always—of everything she needed to survive in the wild. She couldn’t bring it without arousing suspicion.
They would have to make their escape with nothing except the clothes they were wearing.
Dad grabbed a shotgun from the rack by the door and held it over his shoulder.
Was it a warning?
“Let’s go.”
Leni went to her mother, placed a hand on her thin wrist, felt how she was trembling. “Come on, Mama,” Leni said evenly.
They walked to the cabin door. Leni couldn’t help stopping, turning back just for a second to stare at the cabin’s warm, cozy interior. For all the pain and heartache and fear, this was the only real home she’d ever known.
She hoped she would never see it again. How sad that her hope felt like loss.
In the truck, seated between her parents on the ragged bench seat, Leni could sense her mother’s fear; it gave off a sour smell. Leni wanted to reassure her, say it would be okay, that they’d escape and move to Anchorage and everything would be fine, but she just sat there, breathing shallowly, holding on, hoping that when the time came to run they would make their feet move.
Dad started up the truck and drove out to the gate.
There he stopped, got out, left his door open, and went to the gate, grabbing the lock. He removed the key from around his neck and fit it into the lock, giving it a hard turn.
“This is it,” Leni said to her mother. “In town, we are going to run. The ferry docks in forty minutes. We’ll find a way to be on it.”
“It won’t work. He’ll catch us.”
“Then we’ll go to Large Marge. She’ll help us.”
“You’d risk her life, too?”
The huge metal lock clanked open. Dad pushed the gate open, over the bumpy muskeg, until the main road was visible again.
“We might only get one chance,” Mama said, chewing worriedly on her lower lip. “It better be the right one or we wait.”
Leni knew it was good advice, but she didn’t know if she could wait anymore. Now that she’d allowed herself to actually think about freedom, the idea of returning to captivity seemed impossible. “We can’t wait, Mama. The leaves are falling. Winter could come early this year.”
Dad climbed into the cab and shut the door. They drove forward. When they’d passed through the gate, Leni twisted around in her seat, stared through the guns in the gun rack. Words in black had been spray-painted across the newly cut wood.
STAY OUT. NO TRESPASSING. VIOLATERS WILL BE SHOT.
She made a mental note of the fact that he hadn’t closed the gate behind them. They turned onto the main road and rumbled past the arch at the entrance to Walker land, past Marge Birdsall’s driveway.
Just past the airstrip, new gravel had been laid down, crunching beneath their tires. Up ahead was the newly painted wooden bridge, where a few people dressed in colorful rain jackets stood at the rail, staring down at the river, pointing at the bright red salmon swimming through the clear water, on their way to spawn and die.
Dad rolled down his window, yelled, “Go back to California,” as they rumbled past, spitting black smoke at them.
In town, a barricade ran down the middle of Main Street—a collection of sawhorses and white buckets and orange cones kept tourists away from the backhoe that was digging a trench in front of the diner. Behind it, running the length of the street, was a yawning scar of cut-up earth, with dirt piled alongside.
Dad stomped on the brake so hard the old truck came to a skidding stop in the tall grass on the side of the road. From here, they could see the backhoe operator: Tom Walker.
Dad wrenched the truck into park and shut off the engine. Slamming his body into the reluctant door, he jumped out of the truck and slammed the door shut behind him. Just as Leni said, “Stay with me, Mama, hold my hand,” Dad appeared at the passenger door, opened it, and grabbed Mama’s wrist and pulled her out of the truck.