Chapter 3 Now What?

The dust along the Yellowhead Highway was thick with particulates from the pulp mill. It was the middle of October, but the sun beat down hard. The heat mixed with the sulphur from the pulp mill made Ryan cough as he headed out of town. He didn’t give a damn if he breached his court order. He didn’t give a damn about anything.

As Ryan looked back across the river, he saw the pulp mill belching its smoke into the air. The people who lived in the shadow of the mill looked like its smoke — grey and gaunt.

Ryan trudged by a convenience store and glanced at his reflection in the window. He figured he looked older than his seventeen years. His mouth was a grim line and his brow was wrinkled. He took off his baseball cap and wiped his forehead. His brown hair needed a wash. Grey shadows showed under his blue eyes. He replaced the cap.

Across the road, he saw the adult prison. It was a fenced, grey-cement structure. People in orange jumpsuits milled around a small outdoor running track.

No way, he told himself, no damn adult prison will ever see my hide. His dad was wrong.

Ryan looked up at the never-ending trees in the distance, which he knew hid the Canadian Rockies. Maybe heading east, beyond the mountains, he would find what he was looking for — a fresh start.

A familiar sound brought him back to the present. He heard it before he saw it. A semi was grinding its gears as it wound its way up the slope.

Ryan pulled down his baseball cap and stuck out his thumb. He hoped he didn’t get some nut to ride with. He studied the blue and white plates of the truck as it inched its way up the incline. As the semi made the crest, he saw the slogan on the Ontario licence plate — Yours to Discover.

“So far, all I’ve discovered is that things suck,” he said to himself.

Ryan started to run as the dark red semi slowed and headed toward the gravel on the side of the road. His legs covered the distance in seconds.

In a whirl of dust and the smell of diesel, Ryan boosted himself onto the steps and pulled at the handle of the door. He hesitated for a moment before getting in. He gave the trucker the once-over.

A big guy in a baseball cap turned his way. He wore a T-shirt, jeans, and trendy runners. Ryan figured the guy looked twenty-something. The trucker’s smile was wide.

“Don’t wait till Sunday to make up your mind. I’ve got a deadline to meet. My name’s Pete.”

Ryan made a decision and hopped in. He placed his duffel bag on the floor.

Pete put the semi in gear and they started down the road. “Where you going?”

“I’m heading to Ontario — to work,” replied Ryan. “I figured I’d get a first-aid attendant’s job in a mill, then maybe fight fires in the summer. By the way, my name’s Ryan.” He smiled widely at Pete. The trucker was his ticket out. It was best to be somewhat friendly, but not too friendly. Too friendly could lead to accidentally mentioning things like having been in juvie, which might get him dumped by the side of the road.

“City you’re leaving is full of mills,” said Pete. “There are lots of first-aid positions — nothing there for you?”

“I don’t much like the smell of the mills. People in Prince George call it the smell of money. I think it stinks. Bothers my allergies.”

Pete’s eyebrows raised as he glanced Ryan’s way, then he faced the road again.

Taking off his cap, Ryan twisted to place it behind him in the sleeper cab. On the cab’s bed were books on psychology and history, plus a bunch of novels. Ryan stared at a pile of books on criminal law in the corner. He had no love for lawyers or probation officers.

Next to the brown leather jacket on the bed, Ryan spotted a folded off-white cotton jacket and pants, with a black cloth belt looped around them. His eyes widened.

As he turned and faced forward, he saw Pete looking at him again.

“You into martial arts — kick-butt movie stuff?” Ryan asked.

“I practise karate to keep in shape, but kicking butt isn’t my thing. I’d rather think and talk myself out of scrapes. Fighting is my last option.”

Ryan frowned. Most of the guys he knew wanted to kick butt. Even though he had fought a lot in juvie, Ryan had never liked fighting unless he had to. But he never told anyone he didn’t like to fight; that would be like asking for it.

Pete’s voice broke into his thoughts. “I don’t think there’s a book on karate back there, but there’s other stuff you might like to read. Help yourself.”

“No, thanks. They look kind of boring.”

“Not to me. Long hauls and layovers — reading gives me something to do.”

Ryan stared out the windshield. The woods usually calmed him, but today the forest of short fir trees looked like soldiers in camouflage closing in on the narrow highway. Silence filled the cab for the next fifteen minutes. From the corner of his eye Ryan saw Pete look at him.

“We got four thousand kilometres to cover,” said Pete finally. “Hope you’re up for some talk. It makes the road go quicker.”

Ryan continued to stare out the window. The trucker seems okay, he thought, but he’s a stranger who may ask awkward questions.

Ryan’s eyes shifted, and he saw Pete shaking his head.

Ryan decided he’d better come up with something. “Sorry, I’m dog-tired. I’ve been walking a lot. Just need to catch my breath for a while.”

“Man, I know how that is,” said Pete. “Sometimes at the end of a long haul, I just want to rest and not talk to anyone.”

Ryan nodded.

“Mind if I turn on the radio?”

“Won’t bother me,” said Ryan.

Pete reached over and switched the radio to the local country station. Songs of lost love, lost jobs, found loves, and misery whined and wailed in the semi’s cab.

Ryan looked out the passenger-side window at the scenery and road signs. The rolling hills followed by the mountains matched his mood — up and down like some gigantic roller coaster. He wondered if running was the right decision. Soon it would be too late to change his mind.