John- United Human Faction- Day 60
Canada
was the only place John and Jeremy could escape to. The entire United States
was at war, but its northern cousin remained intact, secure. Too secure. John
doubted they would be able to pass through the border safely, but Jeremy seemed
certain. That’s why he was driving.
As
natural life became scarcer, so did signs of the war. The northwest corner of
the formerly United States was abandoned by men seeking a better life. Whether
it came through war or simply relocation was no matter to John or Jeremy. They
only worried themselves with the problem of passing Faction patrols. They spent
most of their time in silence.
Their
frozen neighbors would provide the quickest route into Washington DC. The army
was more concerned about defending the line than the border, so they assumed
sneaking in from the North would be simple. Their only problem would be
survival in Canada. With no money and no identification, they were helpless.
Jeremy promised he had a plan. John never believed him.
Two
months after the revolution had begun, John found himself trapped with the man
he had sworn to oppose. They were running out of supplies. With barely enough
gasoline to reach civilization, John turned toward Calgary. They hoped to find
an odd job. If they made enough money for three days’ worth of food and
gasoline, they would be able to reach the Union line.
Jeremy
woke as they reached the city limits.
“How
far are we from the border?” he asked, wiping his eyes.
“Not
sure. We’re far enough from the front lines to avoid the Canadian Army,
though,” John answered.
Jeremy
pointed toward a large grouping of vehicles in the distance. “Who are they?”
John
hadn’t noticed the caravan, but its affiliation became strikingly obvious as
they drove closer. The ramshackle squad was marked by the red and green of the
Canadian Rangers.
“They
have no reason to suspect anything. I’m just gonna keep driving,” John stated
firmly.
“And
if they do suspect something?”
“I’ll
drive faster.”
Two
of the Canadian jeeps stopped in the middle of the road, and their occupants
exited with rifles in hand. A massive vehicle appeared from behind the rest,
stopping in the right lane.
“We
can’t outrun bullets. We need to talk our way out,” John said, his hands
shaking.
“What
about our accents?”
John
glanced back at Jeremy. “They won’t notice.”
“Two
men show up in an American-made vehicle with no identification and no accents.
What does that make us look like?”
John
grimaced, and answered, “Exactly what we are.”
Three
of the Rangers moved into position around the car, and one walked up to knock
on the window. John rolled it down halfway, but the Ranger was not satisfied.
Placing his rifle’s barrel inches away from John’s face, he ordered John to
roll the window down all the way.
“License
and registration,” the Ranger requested.
“Since
when does the military do Highway Patrol’s job?” John asked.
“Have
you been hiking for the past two months, Americans?”
“What
makes you think we’re American?” Jeremy asked.
“We
don’t call it `Highway Patrol’ here. Give me your passports, both of you.”
“We
don’t have any identification,” John admitted.
Another
Ranger walked to Jeremy’s door, rifle raised.
“Out
of the vehicle.”
“What
if we say no?” Jeremy sneered, to John’s horror.
The
Ranger flipped the safety off on his weapon. “Step out of the vehicle.”
“You
didn’t answer my question.”
John
accelerated and attempted turn away from the caravan, but the moment his wheels
began to turn, so did those of two Canadian jeeps. The two Rangers were knocked
away from the truck, but regained composure quickly enough to shoot out the
Americans’ two back wheels. The slowed truck was an easy target for their
Coyote AFV, which rammed into Jeremy’s door.
John
and his friend were pulled from the wreckage battered, but alive. They were
handcuffed and loaded into the back of a jeep, headed to prison. They wouldn’t
reach the Union on schedule.
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