Mike

The name on the phone screen was Dave's. I practically threw myself at it, fumbling to answer, and shouted into the receiver before a single sound had come through.

"Dave!"

"Hey, Chan."

"God— seriously. What the hell happened?"

Static crackled across the line, and then Dave's voice came through at last, worn thin with exhaustion.

"Chan... don't even start. If I tried to tell you everything, I'd still be talking tomorrow."

Relief hit me so hard I poured every ounce of pent-up worry straight into the phone.

"Just tell me what happened. The border—did you make it across?"

"Yeah. We just rolled into Shelby. Finally catching our breath."

Shelby. The first town I'd stopped in after crossing onto American soil.

"Why couldn't I reach you? I thought something had happened to you."

"I was going out of my mind too. I don't know the cause, but the second you leave a big city like Calgary, the cell phones just go dead. Like the whole network's starting to fall apart... I called you the instant we got a signal in Shelby."

That, at least, explained the silence. I let out a long breath and pressed him.

"Fine, but you're way behind schedule. You're only just now crossing the border? Talk to me. What happened?"

Dave's voice dropped lower.

"It's a long story."

"Tell me anyway."

"Alright, alright."

He drew a breath, steadying himself, and went on.

"So. We saw the border was completely sealed, and we took that back road you told us about. Finding it wasn't hard... the problem was what was waiting on it."

"Problem?"

"We ran into a bunch of guys in the middle of that trail who looked like a militia. Said we weren't getting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠through without paying a toll."

"I told you. The American side is no joke right now."

"No, Chan. Those guys weren't Americans."

"Then who?"

"Canadians. They were shaking down other Canadians trying to sneak across the border, same as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠us."

"You're kidding."

"If the American vigilantes had caught us, we'd have been handed over to ICE or dumped back at a border checkpoint."

I said nothing.

"But it was our own people... blocking the road, trying to squeeze a profit out of this mess."

For a moment I had nothing to say. The enemy wasn't waiting only on the other side of a line on a map. Despair turned men into beasts, and beasts always drank first from the blood nearest to them.

"Jesus. I never saw that coming. So what did you do?"

"What could we do? We haggled, paid five hundred bucks ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a head, and they let us through."

"Good. Money's the least of our problems. What about Frank and Mike? Is your mother alright?"

"Yeah, everyone's fine. They're all okay."

With that answer, I could finally set down one of the stones that had been crushing my chest. There were still more than six hundred miles between us, but the fact that he'd made it across the border was enough.

"Still, you're way too late. It's been over a week. What were you doing out there?"

Worry had my voice climbing, the accumulated fear spilling out as irritation.

"If that had been the end of it, I wouldn't still be talking. After the Canadians shook us down for the toll, we were crossing into the States when Frank's camper sank a wheel in a sandbank."

"Ah, hell."

"We got it out, but a little further on my pickup broke down..."

"Did you fix it?"

"Thankfully Frank had packed spare parts and tools before we left."

The ordeal was still sitting in his voice.

"Yeah, Frank can fix just about anything. And after that?"

"And then came the real problem."

"There's more?"

"We'd just started to relax, thinking we were finally on American soil, when we ran into the real thing — those Border Watchers you warned us about. These guys weren't like the Canadians. You couldn't talk to them. They had guns in our faces before a word was said. We came this close to a disaster."

"How'd you get out of it?"

"It was a now-or-never moment. That's when Mike, who'd been sitting quiet the whole time, stepped forward."

Dave's voice lifted with a spark of excitement.

"He pulled an American flag and a wad of beat-up documents out of his van. A faded US birth certificate and an American passport."

"An American passport?"

"Yeah. Then he dug a photo out of his pocket — himself in uniform, young — and told them he was a US Marine."

"Mike?"

I couldn't believe it. The man who was always cracking jokes had a past like that?

"I had no idea either. But the vigilantes said they'd only let Mike through. The rest of us were supposed to turn around and go back to Canada."

"And then?"

"That's when Mike blew up."

"The charisma on that man was something else. It took the wind right out of them... but they still weren't about to open the road."

Dave paused to catch his breath, then went on.

"That's when Frank stepped up. He walked right up to their leader, pulled out a stash of US dollars he'd been hiding, and started talking like the slickest operator you've ever heard."

"'Listen, our friend Mike here is a real patriot who fought for this country. And decent citizens ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like us, we respect men like you who are out here serving the nation. If you help us through, I'd be more than happy to make a donation to your patriotic efforts.'"

"Haha. Once a salesman, always a salesman."

"Right? The way he flashed that wad of cash, it looked like a drug deal."

"I can picture it. That's Frank, all right."

"Anyway, you could see their eyes light up the second they saw the money. In the end it was Mike's legitimacy and Frank's cash — those two things together — that got us through. I was shaking the whole time."

"So... Mike had dual citizenship?"

"First I heard of it. Apparently he lived in the States as a kid with his American father, then went back to Canada with his Canadian mother. The old man really came through."

As I listened, I could see Mike's solid, dependable face and Frank's sly expression at the same time. You really couldn't judge a person by the surface. In a world going mad, everyone carried a hidden weapon of their own.

"Alright, Dave. You did good. Rest up in Shelby and get yourselves sorted. I'll keep waiting in Boise — don't rush. Get here safe."

"Got it. We're close now. See you soon, friend."

We confirmed the rendezvous one more time and hung up. I set the phone down and let out a long, long breath.

My friends were coming. Through every kind of hell, they were finally on their way.

A faint smile found my face, and Wolf, who'd been lying at my feet, seemed to catch the shift in my mood. He tilted his head and looked up at me. Those clear eyes seemed to ask, Something good happen?

I scratched his big head.

"Wolf. Our friends are coming."

He sprang to his feet as if he understood the joy in it, spun a full circle right where he stood, and barked twice at me, bright and happy.

Awooo! Awooo!

I laughed out loud at him.

That's right. I'm not alone anymore.

At the end of this long, lonely road, I could see my little pack gathering again. That night I went to bed with a rare sense of ease, of fullness. The feeling of not being alone. It was a sturdier shield than any fortress, any weapon.

The next morning I woke without an alarm. I unrolled a mat to stretch, and Wolf, who'd been sleeping beside me, got up and stretched too. When I reached my arms out, he stretched his front legs. When I bent at the waist, he stuck his rear in the air and clumsily mirrored me.

It was so strange and so endearing I couldn't help laughing. This solitary ritual I'd performed alone my entire life had acquired an unlikely partner.

After the workout I filled his bowl with kibble and got ready for our morning walk. Walking Wolf had already become a new piece of my morning routine. When he'd finished eating, I asked,

"Want to go for a walk?"

He'd been waiting for it. He came trotting over with last night's leash in his mouth, pressed himself against my leg, and whined.

Walking Wolf was interval training in all but name. A leisurely stroll didn't suit my constitution, and Wolf had more energy than he knew what to do with. We ran, walked, ran again.

After that lively morning, I headed to the truck stop diner with Wolf. A few truckers nodded as I came in.

"Morning, Polar Bear."

The waitress behind the counter lit up at the sight of Wolf.

"Hi, Wolf! Looking even handsomer today!"

I sat down, ordered breakfast, and glanced at the TV by the table. The news was covering the mobile communication failures that had been cropping up more and more often.

Already, the world beyond the cities had become a place where a phone was useless. Bit by bit, we're going back to the basics. There was a strange comfort, at least, in knowing the reason why.

The communications segment ended, and the anchor's face hardened.

Two feelings hit me at once. One was a measure of relief — that the way people looked at what I'd done to those thugs was being pointed somewhere else. But another kind of worry settled in right behind it.

The difficulty level of this game had just gone up. This was no longer a matter of a few wolves on the highway.

A raid boss with a real organization had just spawned on the field. And the stage they were operating on was the very highway Dave and the others were traveling right now.

The Road Warriors would keep raiding their way south along those roads — that much was certain. But neither I nor Dave could get off those roads.