Terry woke late, feeling good, happy for the extra sleep. She sat on the burgundy chair in her motel room making a mental list, then picked up her phone, checking her favorites screen, which now included several RCMP contact numbers and a few contacts relating to her new job. The simple act of changing names and numbers on a digital list seemed to change her from the person she had been several weeks before. She groaned as she stretched and contemplated getting ready for the day. She was going shopping and wanted to look good. Driving had its benefits; no makeup required, so the weekdays started much faster.
As she put on makeup, did her hair, and chose an outfit from the meager supply of clothing that wasn’t packed in her stack of storage bins, she tried to contact her brother. No answer. Well, it was Sunday morning; she couldn’t remember if he worked on weekends.
Before leaving the room, she checked the full-length mirror on the door. The cheap mirror had a curve, making her appear taller. Shaking her head, she went to the stack of storage bins and found her high heeled leather boots. She went back to the mirror. Now she really looked tall. She smiled, Not bad Terry, not bad at all. Her brother used to tell her, “You clean up real well, Terry, real well!”
She activated the remote starter and heard the Dodge engine rumble awake outside her room. It did not seem as cold here as in Alberta, but after shivering in the trunk of the car, Terry wanted her vehicle warm by the time she was ready to leave.
She said hello to the maid who was pushing a wheeled cart across the snowy courtyard and took the time to introduce herself and let the maid know her schedule for the week.
She ordered breakfast at a drive-through window and headed east toward Prince George.
Spanning Highway 16, the town of Vanderhoof seemed vibrant, busier than she expected. She had not yet driven through the whole town, but she liked the Hallmark-movie streetlights and young trees lining Burrard Avenue. Highway 16 served as 1st Street, and was industrial, not as friendly in appearance. She guessed many travelers passing through would have been surprised at the welcoming center of town between the highway and the Nechako River.
So far, though, she had not spent time in Vanderhoof during regular business hours and was now on the way to Prince George where she could purchase some new work gear. Driving log truck had many challenges that differed from her highway driving experience, and earlier in the eventful week she realized the need for some different work clothes.
She had learned some details about Vanderhoof at the party yesterday. The picture she had pieced together was of a small town which served a large rural area. It seemed that many people lived outside of the town limits in small communities, or on their own farms or ranches. She had been surprised to see so many fields, and the amount of farm-related business and equipment visible even in the early winter.
Terry had seen many young families, and due to the high proportion of jacked-up diesel pickups, she supposed the local bankers and vehicle dealerships believed in the economy as well. Her three-year-old pickup disappeared in local traffic like a family van at Disneyland.
The motel was busy, with high-school basketball, volleyball, and minor hockey teams filling all available rooms on the two weekends she had been in Vanderhoof. In fact, when she called from Alberta checking on accommodations, the helpful woman at the desk had recommended she book a whole month, as finding an apartment could take some time, and the local motels were generally booked all winter for sports and industry.
Besides the athletic tournaments happening, Terry had seen handmade signs for a Seniors Bazaar, a ski club fundraising outside a grocery store, and the local news sheet on the tables of the motel restaurant included notices of a farm association meeting, a fundraising banquet for a kid’s camp, a Ducks Unlimited event, cattle auction, a local theater production, a snowmobile poker ride, a community Carol Sing, a barrel racing clinic, and more. A real variety for a small town.
It seemed like a nice place, but she wondered what the downsides were in a small northern community. Crime? Drugs? Racial issues? She wondered if she would like it here, if she stayed.
Outside town limits with coffee in hand, Terry accelerated to speed on the snow-covered highway. What a surreal week! She’d moved to Vanderhoof last Saturday and driven truck on unfamiliar roads for four days. After work on Thursday she’d been abducted and been to Jasper and back to Prince George on Friday. She’d spent Saturday morning with the RCMP, Saturday evening with a nice group of people, and now it was Sunday, and back to work tomorrow.
Well, she was glad to be safe, and suddenly wished for company on the quick trip to Prince George. It would be nice to spend the day with one of her brothers, or one of the cousins she had been close to as a kid. She sipped more coffee, blinking back tears. Sure, on the day she wore mascara! Just great.
The sun was bright, and a pair of sunglasses helped her eyes stop watering. Seeing several deer feeding in a field, she slowed back to speed limit, in case there were more.
There were snowmobile tracks in the wide cleared area between the highway and the trees. She passed several machines going west, a couple out with their children, the parents each with a small child riding double, little helmets bobbing, the swirl of snow behind the snowmobiles sparkling like diamond chips in the low morning sun.
Terry began looking for the side road leading to the lake where her captors had planned to drown her. She felt alone. For the first time she decided her upcoming meeting with a post-trauma counsellor was a good idea. “Get back on the horse, Terry!” she said aloud, and kept looking for a likely road to the south.
What she saw instead was a large cloud of snow, settling like dust, on the trail ahead. She was slowly catching up to a snowmobile. The guy was really moving! As she pulled alongside, she saw an older machine that had to be from the nineties with its vibrant purple and yellow graphics. The rider was wearing a matching jacket, and she could see it was as well worn as the machine, torn and grease-shiny. The rider glanced her way, then did a double take, lifting his left arm to wave.
She waved back. She saw the skis lift and heard the two-stroke motor wail as the rider pinned the throttle and left her behind. Within a minute, the sled was completely obscured by a cloud of snow, far ahead of her.
For sure it was a man, she smiled, or a large boy. She slowed. The snow machine was parked on a side road, steam rising from the tunnel, and the rider was waving her to stop, helmet in hand. She slowed, and as she passed the side road, she recognized Isaac La Crosse, the mechanic from work. She laughed out loud and reversed her pickup, then pulled forward off the highway.
He pulled a toque from his coat pocket and put it over his helmet hair.
“I thought it was your Dodge when I saw the license plate taped in the window. Figured I would flag you down.” He was breathing hard, high on the speed.
“You are crazy!” she said. “How fast is that thing?” She got out of the pickup, walking over to the snowmobile, loud even at idle.
“These old triples are amazing, when they’re not seized up,” he said. “Speedometer doesn’t work, no clue how fast she goes. Sure leaves the new mountain sleds in the dust though. Shorter track spins easy.”
He was speaking another language, and she laughed at him.
“No clue what you’re saying, but I know it’s fast. How old is it?”
“Well, the motor’s out of a ‘97 I got from…”
Oops. She realized she deserved the five-minute history lesson on the lineage of the machine and would be more careful in the future to avoid questions regarding snowmobiles or anything else the mechanic was passionate about.
“So, where are you going?” he asked her, switching off the noisy engine. The relative silence was a relief, and the two-stroke exhaust smell blew away in the slight breeze.
Terry waited for a string of traffic to pass and explained she was shopping for some work gear and wouldn’t be in Prince George too long. She told Isaac she was also looking for the road to the lake.
“Want some company?” he said, tipping his head slightly.
“What about your snowmobile?” She nodded at the purple machine, strangely animal-like as it crouched on the side of the road.
“Let’s load ‘er up, follow me.” Then he yanked the starter cord and disappeared around a corner in the road, the loud engine prompting Terry to cover her ears with gloved hands.
Shaking her head, she followed him up the side road. He was interesting, could be good-looking if he would lose the big metal-framed glasses and got a haircut. His intelligent gray eyes were magnified by his lenses. He looked like a... she thought about it… scientist? A doctor from an old movie? She giggled when she imagined him in a white lab coat.
Rounding a corner, she saw Isaac in a pullout next to half a dozen deserted pickups, some hitched to trailers, others with decks high above the ground. Isaac was pulling a loading ramp off one of the trailers and motioned for her to park.
She dropped the tailgate on her short box pickup as he walked across, dragging the aluminum ramp. Securing the straps, he loaded the purple beast, Terry cringing as the carbide runners on each ski scoured a furrow in the unblemished paint on the bed of her truck. Isaac returned the borrowed ramp.
“Guys park here all the time. If they have a security cam, all the better.” He made an obscene gesture in the direction of the parked vehicles, then walked over to an old red Ford, and reaching under the bumper, came out with a magnetic key holder.
“What are you doing!” Terry looked around worriedly. What if there were cameras! “Are you nuts?”
He grinned as he unlocked the driver’s door and reached behind the front seat, dragging out a tangle of ratchet straps.
“Just need to borrow something to tie down the sled. Can’t have it sliding out the back.”
“Whose truck is that? How did you know where the key is? You can’t just steal stuff!”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s my ex’s truck.”
“What!” Terry was horrified. She wished she hadn’t stopped. This guy was crazy. “Will she mind?”
“We won’t tell her, she hates my guts.”
Terry climbed back in the Dodge, and when Isaac had secured the machine with the straps and climbed in the cab, wiping his hands on his jacket, she beat a hasty retreat to the highway. What the heck!