4 The Greenwood

 

The Greenwood. July. 03. 2033

[Coordinates unknown]

 

Moss carpeted the forest floor and scaled the trunks of its ancient evergreens. Twisted pathways wound into a labyrinth of promised destinations. Along the broken trails, prehistoric ferns erupted from the deadfall. Any ambient sounds were absorbed straightaway, leaving only the voices of the trees to whisper their ageless secrets.

A red fox sat poised next to a stump, his face barely visible behind the rushes of grass. He stared intently at an unsuspecting rabbit that grazed several yards away. The fox slowly lowered his head to the ground and hunched his shoulder blades, tensing his haunches. Suddenly, a branch snapped. Birds flapped from the treetops and the rabbit bounded into the brush. The fox’s ears shifted forward and he raised his head far enough to locate the source of the disruption: Humans. Upon this realization, the fox abandoned his pursuit and slipped into the shadows.

The two humans were oblivious of their transgressions against the fox. They sat with their backs against a giant cedar, chatting in quiet voices. A sliver of sunlight broke through the forest’s canopy and shone in a lattice-work pattern near their feet. They made for an odd-looking couple as they sat together in the deep woods. The older one was a muscular man with ebony skin; the other, a boy of 18, had pale skin and hair the color of dried wheat. If their appearances seemed mismatched, their dialogue proved even stranger. The dark man’s Swahili accent rose and fell like water over stones, but the youth’s Slavic intonation sounded guttural and choppy. Nevertheless, they conversed with ease and familiarity.

The boy’s name was Pasha; he’d arrived in the Greenwood five years before, after immigrating from Magadan. Pasha’s family still lived in the tiny frozen village of Northeast Russia. As a teen, Pasha followed a girl across the Bering Sea and, after losing interest in the girl, kept traveling; eventually drifting down the Inside Passage, working on fish boats. Undocumented and without a chip, Pasha sought refuge within the hidden boundaries of the Greenwood. Soon enough, he became one of their fetchers. Pasha had a knack for locating drop-offs and was adept at handling the tricky longboats and kayaks in the rough conditions of Hecate Strait.

Despite their difference in age, Pasha was fond of working with Adili. He admired the tribesman’s strength and poise. Adili was a formidable fetcher; possessing the stamina to control the biggest boats across 60 kilometers of ocean. Adili loved the Greenwood and its diverse inhabitants, whom he considered his adopted family. When Adili had arrived nine years before, he was alone and bereft. His wife and son had been lost at sea during their voyage. The Greenwood council welcomed him and gave him numerous responsibilities. The chief appointed him one of the code speakers and in doing so, provided Adili with a reason to live.

 

They waited for their comrades who’d been patrolling off Porcher Island and were now overdue. Pasha and Adili, along with another team, had been sent to look for the missing paddlers at the entrance of the Oona River.

“Do you think the code speakers heard news?” Pasha asked.

“About what?”

“Skaukw seemed, uh, what is this word… tension? She seemed tension.”

“Tense. ‘She seemed tense’,” Adili replied. “I think she is just cautious. This is a good thing to be when you are chief.”

“Da, good. But still, she seemed as if worried.”

“There are many things happening out there. Things with the governments again.” Adili gestured out to sea as if incorporating the world in general. “I think many of these changes may not be so good for the small men of this world—those like you and me, Pasha.”

Pasha shook his head and peeled a tuft of moss from a twig that lay on the ground next to him. “Then all I say is, thanks be to god for places like Greenwood.”

“Yes,” Adili nodded, “Namshukuru mungu.”

A rustling noise in the bushes startled them. Adili jumped to his feet and grabbed a stick while Pasha darted behind the tree and circled the brush. Adili remained motionless, his stick poised should Pasha flush out an intruder. Just then, the branches shook and a wiry-framed young woman stepped out of the shadows. She wore a plaid shirt with torn-off sleeves and faded jeans. “Heya’ boys, what’s up?”

“Ooligan! When did you get back?” Pasha exclaimed as he came from behind.

“We just got here—Asa’s back at the landing, camouflaging our tlúu. That boat’s a real dog in the currents, y’know?” She tossed her oar and pack on the ground. “We should leave them at Kitkatla and make some faster ones for paddling through the inlets.”

“Did you find any drop-offs?” Adili asked.

“Not a one. I’m starting to think those snakeheads messed up their dates.”

“This is not so good. Too much risk for us if coyote boats make mistake,” Pasha grumbled.

Asa appeared from the bushes and threw his gear down next to Ooligan’s. “What’s this—a welcoming committee? That’s awfully swell of you guys. I didn’t realize we were that special.”

“Ha—you’re special alright! Every single time I had to switch sides because you can’t steer a straight course, I’d end up sayin’ to myself, ‘That Asa’s so gosh durned special’.”

Asa grinned, shaking his head. “Oolie, I can’t wait to get back to the Greenwood. Four days in a tlúu with you is more than a man can handle. You need your regular partner back again.”

“For once we agree.” Ooligan bent down to pick up her gear and asked, “Are you two the only search party out lookin’ for us?”

Adili replied, “No, Kai and Ernesto are on the other side of Cosine Island.”

Ooligan pulled a square of fabric from her pack. “Pasha—head down to the bank and leave this on the boulder where we put in. That way they’ll know you’ve found us.” Pasha took the flag and raced toward the launch site.

“I’m starving and it’s a helluva trek back to the Greenwood,” Asa announced. “Let’s head for home.”

 

The Greenwood wasn’t so much an encampment as a small village. Hidden among the winding inlets and narrow passages of British Columbia’s coastal islands, their realm was well protected. The nearest settlement was over two-hundred miles away with countless mountains and lakes between them. The dense rainforests offered abundant food, building materials and most of all, secrecy. Not even the HSA’s prying Mossies could penetrate the heavy fog and undergrowth of their region.

Since the millennium, the Greenwood had been home to a few dozen or so families and wandering adventurers. Most of the people who lived in the village were from local Salish tribes: Tsimshian, Haida, Gitsan, Tlingit and Kitkatla. Although by the early ‘20s, as HighTower’s interference with nomadic and indigenous people had increased, more people sought the hidden woods. Currently their population was near 400 and included immigrants from Kenya, Syria, Somalia, Russia and Guatemala. Members from other international tribes such as Maoris, Inuit’s—even a Scotsman had joined Greenwood’s community. A hierarchy evolved over the decades: The Greenwood’s chief saw to the safety and preservation of the settlement and made big decisions by consulting the council of elders—the k'iigáay. All the citizens had a say in matters that affected their community, but in the end, the chief had the final word.

To keep the unconventional society from detection, the inhabitants of the Greenwood built their houses in and under the giant trees. An old mining camp—abandoned almost a century before—provided a variety of salvageable materials. Some residents even burrowed into the ground, using the forest’s bountiful mosses for roofing material and insulation. As the years passed, the forest’s growth encompassed the structures, hiding them effectively. The residents had no electricity, nor indoor plumbing and their main source of food was what they caught on water or land. The sustenance lifestyle suited them well and kept interfering eyes away from their borders.

As the earth’s temperatures continued to rise, millions of people were uprooted. Societies collapsed as wars ravaged portions of the world. “Climately hospitable” regions became a Mecca for displaced immigrants—and the Tyee quake victims from 2022 only added to the growing crisis. As the world’s population began its largest scale migration in over sixty-thousand years, Canada and the United States locked their doors, and HighTower was their ruthless gatekeeper. But as always, when dire situations occur, desperate people look for ways to cope. Migrants attempted to permeate the porous island borders with the help of coyotes. The Chinese called them snakeheads, but their jobs were all the same: mercenaries. The smugglers cared only for profit, with little concern for ideology or welfare. Thousands of refugees died each year attempting to reach a life that they could only dream of. The Greenwood had begun to provide a home for these refugees.

Reba Marti had been Greenwood’s chief for seven years. Her people called her Skaukw—the mythical Raven from Salish lore. Reba and Greenwood’s elders believed that as original peoples of North America, they had the right and obligation to offer sanctuary to others in need. “For after all,” the elders had decreed, “aren’t these governments immigrants to all of us?”

To avoid detection, smugglers often left their human cargo scattered along the island shores and remote mainland coast. Ill-equipped to deal with the rugged terrain and harsh weather of the North Pacific wilderness, many refugees suffered and perished. The Greenwood developed a system to rescue the abandoned people. Long canoes, carved from cedar logs were employed and the strongest paddlers were trained to search for castaways. Skilled kayakers used the lighter, faster boats as scouts. They worked in teams to retrieve the refugees and help them find shelter and food. Before long, their reputation among the islanders grew and they became known as “fetchers.”

The council eventually devised a method allowing them to send information without exposure: Elders from different tribes created a mixture of their vernacular. Most of the Coast Salish languages had become extinct—only a handful of elders now remained who could speak fluently. By combining the complex Native dialects, they created an unbreakable lexicon. Code speakers living on various islands and in townships along the BC interior freely relayed their messages to and fro. It didn’t take long before the snakeheads learned that their deliveries were being cared for by others, at no expense. They began to forge a “relationship of necessity” with the islanders. The boats sent information in short-burst transmissions to the code speakers and the Greenwood was notified of drop-offs. Some of the smugglers even left provisions such as fuel and kerosene at drop-off locations in exchange. The smuggling operations did not escape HighTower’s notice however. HSA trackers and Mossies patrolled the coastline to search for the coyote boats and sent spies to search for signs of a mysterious support network. But so far, their efforts had yielded nothing.

 

By mid-afternoon, the fetchers had reached the outskirts of the Greenwood. Short chirps from trees above were repeated by other bird-like noises as look-outs announced the group’s arrival. Ooligan responded with several low whistles. As they neared the heart of the village, Adili waved a greeting to several of the elders sitting on the porch of their bungalow. Ruby Aw’aa called after him, “Adeeeleee—when you bringing me a deer? I’ll smoke you some k'áad ki'íi for sure.”

“Yes, yes, Ruby Aw’aa, I will go hunting again tomorrow, I promise.”

They walked down the causeway, nodding at their neighbors as they carried the gear to the council house. Villagers smiled and waved back, happy to see their fetchers return. A series of excited yelps broke out as a shaggy grey dog ran towards them. Pasha knelt to rub his ears. “Karl, you smelly boy! Where is your master, huh?”

A young girl ran into Adili’s arms, squealing with delight. “You found them!” Taking the big man’s hand in hers, she said, “Skaukw and Kay are waiting for you, I saw them by the arches just a bit ago.”

“We are heading to the council house right now, Lilu-ye,” Adili replied.

Ooligan tugged at Lilu-ye’s pigtails and said, “Hiya’ kwa’tel, what’s for lunch? I could eat a whole caribou about now.”

“Ooligan, stop calling me a mouse—I’m not a little girl anymore!”

“Oh yeah, right. Sorry, kiddo.”

When they reached the council house entryway, the teams parted. Adili and Ooligan handed their gear to Asa. “We’ll catch up with you for lunch after we report in,” Ooligan said before following Adili through the arched entrance.

 

The entrance to Greenwood’s council chamber was through a long passage of intertwined vines that opened into a rounded structure—big enough for many people to gather comfortably. The chamber was empty, save for two individuals: A silver-haired man and a tall slender woman. Although the man supported his weight with a cane, there was a hidden strength to his stance. He spoke quietly with the chief standing beside him. Reba was strikingly handsome, her aquiline features leant an exotic quality to her appearance and her demeanor conveyed authority. Long black hair fell loosely around broad shoulders that were toned from years of paddling. The fetchers bowed their heads as they entered and Reba motioned for them to approach. Adili led the way. As he addressed her, he placed his hand upon his chest and lowered his head. “Skaukw, the teams have returned.” Ooligan smiled, repeating Adili’s gesture.

Skaukw nodded at them both before turning her attention to Ooligan. “I’m glad to hear you and Asa are safely back. Tell me, what did you find—any sight of the drop-offs?”

Ooligan cleared her throat. “No Skaukw, there were no boats or any sign of people. We stayed out an extra day—just in case they’d been delayed, but nobody turned up. My guess is the snakehead either got his information wrong or they were lost in last week’s big storm.”

Reba frowned and her chiseled features took on a formidable expression. “The Russian snakeheads broadcast a message six days ago, saying that this cargo was one of some significance. We don’t understand what it meant—perhaps they had simply been paid more to deliver it—maybe they have a different meaning for that word. Either way, I’m not happy that it remains a mystery. I don’t like mysteries—not when it comes to coyotes.”

“Have the speakers been able to contact the boat again?” Adili asked.

“No, they haven’t. And it’s unwise to radio a specific boat too often—we risk catching the attention of HSA.” Reba sighed and looked over at the old man. “Kay, what do you think—should we send out another team?”

The old man shifted his weight and replied, “You are the problem-solver Skaukw, and because you must be decisive and act quickly at times, you do not like to wait. But the great spirits move at a pace of their own choosing. I think that this time, it is you who must adapt.” Ooligan shot a sideways glance at Adili who continued to stare straight ahead.

Reba sighed. “Very well.” She placed her hand on Kay’s shoulder. “The fetchers will remain here for now. We must wait and see what becomes of this significant delivery.”