Flight of Aquavit (45 page)

vehicle it could tell me a lot. I could gauge how

fast we were going, in what direction, and on

what type of surface we were driving: pavement

358 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

or gravel, snow covered or clear.

Judging from the starts and stops from the first

part of the trip I’d guessed that we’d left the city

heading east. We’d then driven only a short dis-

tance, maybe a few kilometres, before stopping

again and making a left turn. Then we drove for

about twenty minutes before we slowed down to

make a right hand turn. The best I could figure it,

that put us smack in the middle of…nowhere.

We were in the middle nowhere and I couldn’t

even be certain this whole thing was even related to

the blackmail case at all. But why else would some-

one want to kidnap me? Or…could this be about

Jared? Had he really just come along at the wrong

time? Just as darkness filled the back of the truck, it

now coloured my thoughts. Horrible thoughts.

Maybe this
was
about Jared. Jared
and
me. Maybe

Anthony was Loverboy and I was too close to find-

ing him out. So he was getting rid of me—and

Jared, the cuckolded lover—at the same time.

Shit, no! What a load of hooey! I was letting my

imagination run amok. I was allowing fear and

anxiety to eat away at reason and logic. First I

accused my friend of being a blackmailer and now

a murderer? Preposterous! I knew him. I knew his

character. I knew he wasn’t capable of any of this.

It had to be something else, someone else, I told

myself. Maybe it had nothing to do with the

Daniel Guest case at all. Maybe it had something

to do with Jane Cross—a woman who’d

ambushed me, sprayed me in the face with Herbal

Essences hairspray and attacked me in my hotel

room. I really knew nothing about her. Who was

Anthony Bidulka — 359

she working for? What did they want from me?

Maybe I’d made a mistake in judgement. Or what

about the man driving the truck? How did he tie

in? Who was he? Was he the second driver during

the landfill chase? Obviously he’d lied about

being a neighbour. If not, then I was living in a

pretty rough area and would have to seriously

consider a move as soon as…if…we got out of this

mess. And at the least, under no circumstances

would he be getting an invitation to my Christmas

party!

It had been close to an hour since we’d turned

off the highway. We seemed to be on a series of

country roads that twisted and turned and rose up

and then down. After about fifteen minutes more

of this the truck finally came to a halt.

“Thank God,” Jared exclaimed.

“I wouldn’t do that just yet,” I said, all my

senses (except sight) on high alert.

For a moment we sat in dead silence except for

the sound of whooshing gusts of wind slamming

the truck broadside, buffeting the huge vehicle

from side to side.

“Now what?” Jared whispered as if worried

our captor could hear us.

“I don’t know,” I hated to say.

Then came the sound of metal against metal. It

lasted maybe two seconds, then stopped.

“What was that?”

I began to rise to my feet but immediately fell

back down. The cold had settled into my bones

and rendered me arthritic and ancient. “I think it

may have been the lock on the tailgate doors.” I

360 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

tried again to stand, more carefully this time, gin-

gerly straightening myself up. I held out a hand

towards Jared. “Come on, let’s check it out.”

Jared, in runway model shape, had an easier

time getting up, but I knew he was colder than I.

Not only were his clothes less protective against

the elements, but he had less than one percent

body fat and that couldn’t be good in these condi-

tions. Finally, eating my mother’s cooking was

paying off! After bumping into the desk, we

inched our way towards the tailgate. When we

reached it, I held out my gloved hands and

applied pressure against one of the doors. As it

swung out, it was grabbed by the wind and flung

wildly away from me. A shattering bang followed

as the door slammed against the side of the truck.

And then another as the other door was also

thrown open. We both jumped back from the

precipice created by the opening, startled by the

sound, startled by being let free, startled by the

raging elements before us. Outside was Mother

Nature gone wild. Billions of pinpricks of snow

danced crazily before our eyes. The wind was a

violent force, and sounded like a howling pack of

starving wolves looking for prey. The storm had

arrived.

“Is he letting us go?” Jared asked. “What’s hap-

pening? Are we supposed to get out?”

A fear colder than ice shot through me.

That was exactly what he wanted us to do.

“Get back!” I yelled at him, grabbing the sleeve

of his jacket. But it was too late. I heard the sound.

The sound of our doom. The hoist. Imperceptibly

Anthony Bidulka — 361

at first we felt the floor beneath us quiver. “Shit!”

I screamed. “Get back, Jared, get to the back of the

box!”

“What is it?” he yelled. I could hear fear in his

voice.

I kept a viselike grip on Jared’s jacket as I

pulled him towards the rear of the truck bed. But

it was no use. I could feel the upward motion,

slow but steady. “He’s using the hydraulics! He’s

emptying the box!”

“Emptying the box? Why is h…” He stopped

there, the sickening answer all too obvious. We

were being dumped like a load of garbage.

It didn’t take long. As the end of the box nearest

the cab rose higher and higher it became increas-

ingly difficult for us to stay upright. We desperate-

ly searched for anything we might hold on to that

would keep us from sliding out of the truck’s box

and into the blizzard nightmare. But there was

nothing. Only the desk. And it was the first to go.

We watched it slide, at first jerkily, then with

increasing speed, towards the end of the box, then

disappear over the edge. It landed with a thump

on the frozen, snow-covered ground, waiting for

us to join it. My eyes darted about the floor, ceil-

ing and walls of the box, hoping against hope to

locate something, anything, that we could attach

ourselves to. If not, we’d end up outside

and…well, I didn’t want to think about that

option. But eventually, like the icy fingertips of a

cold and lifeless hand, the wind found us. It

reached into the tilting truck bed, grasping at us,

pulling at us like an evil accomplice, howling its

362 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

laughter at the hopelessness of our plight.

And finally, with no other choice, we gave in.

Unable to resist gravity we fell to our backs. We

looked at each other, saying nothing. We reached

out and held hands as we slid down the length of

the box and finally over its edge. We landed first

on the desk and then toppled painfully over it

onto a crusty bank of snow. I was definitely back

to stage two: anger. Despite a jabbing pain in my

right side where I’d hit that damn desk, I jumped

to my feet, intent on running to the door of the

cab, tearing it open and pulling Neighbour Guy

From Hell out into the snow with us. Although I

didn’t know his real name, I had a few others I

wanted to try him on for size.

But I was too late. As soon as we’d landed on

the ground, the truck began its escape, the box still

elevated on its hydraulic lift. I tried to catch the

lumbering beast but, disoriented and trying to run

against the wicked wind on slippery, fresh snow,

the truck proved too fast for me. I watched in hor-

ror as the truck disappeared from sight behind a

curtain of snow. After a brief moment of self-pity,

I looked back to where I’d left Jared and the desk,

two grey lumps in an otherwise black and white

landscape. Neither was moving. Despite exhaus-

tion and paralyzing cold, I ran back, worried that

Jared might be hurt. When I reached him I fell to

my knees next to where he was splayed against

the desk.

“Jared! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He looked up at me and I saw that a patch of

his copper hair was matted against his forehead

Anthony Bidulka — 363

with red. A stab of fear jolted me. Blood. His gold-

en eyes looked brown and his olive skin was drab.

“I’m okay,” he croaked. “But I think I may have

hit my head kind of hard on a corner of the desk

when we fell out of the truck.” For a moment I

thought I saw his eyes roll up into his head, but

then he recovered, seemingly alert. “How about

you?”

“I’m okay,” I assured him as I gently tried to

clear away some of the hair around his wound to

see how bad it was. “Just hold still if you can.”

The cut wasn’t big but it had bled a lot, though

it seemed to have stopped. Still I was worried he

might faint from the loss of blood, and being this

cold would not help. Any type of trauma can easily

contribute to faster onset of hypothermia. Living

in Saskatchewan I am well acquainted with the

dangers of being caught outdoors in the winter

without

appropriate

protective

clothing.

Normally I’m careful to avoid that happening, but

neither of us had expected this and we were poor-

ly prepared to deal with it. I knew we had to get

out of our miserable situation as soon as possible

or we were in for a nasty case of frostbite or worse.

With an injury and poor clothing, Jared was even

more at risk than I was.

For the first time since we’d been dumped, I

closely studied our surroundings. But other than

dark, snow and the desk, there was nothing to see.

I assessed our situation with the little information

I had. It was night, we were on a deserted gravel

road, over an hour away from Saskatoon during a

raging winter storm. The temperature was drop-

364 — F l i g h t o f A q u av i t

ping fast and I couldn’t decide which way was

north and which was south. We were definitely

lost. We were definitely in trouble.

“What can we do?” Jared asked, still in his prone

position. I could tell from his voice that he was push-

ing the limits of his energy to speak. “What about the

desk? Can we use that for shelter?”

I looked at the crappy piece of furniture. I

should have known it was too much of a piece of

garbage to be a Christmas gift for someone’s

daughter. Cherry wood my ass. It was nothing

better than a Salvation Army reject. “It’s too small

to get under and one of the sides broke off in the

fall,” I told Jared. I should have known I was

being set up! There was something about him…I

was mad at myself, but I’d have time to admonish

myself later—if there was a later. “You didn’t hap-

pen to bring a cell phone with you, did you?”

“I left it in the Jeep,” he said. “Sorry. Can you

see any lights? There must be a farm or town

somewhere nearby.”

I had already scanned the horizon, which,

under these conditions was a lot closer than usual.

I’d seen nothing but more swirling snow and the

oblivion of a full-blown Saskatchewan blizzard. I

shook my head.

“So what do we do?” Jared said. “Don’t they

say if you’re stuck in a snowstorm you should

stay where you are and wait for someone to come

for you?”

Unfortunately that advice was only good if you

were stuck within the relatively safe confines of a

vehicle or other protective covering. We didn’t

Anthony Bidulka — 365

have that luxury and I didn’t know of any other

rules meant for this particular predicament. Should

we just wait here and hope for a passing car? Or

should we pick a direction and start walking?

Should one of us go for help and the other stay?

Should we separate or stay together? How was one

to decide? At least we had options. None of them

good, but at least we had some.

“I think we have to try to find help, Jared,” I

said to him, assessing the wound on his forehead

again. “We should keep moving. If we stay here

we’ll freeze to the spot. It’s gotta be minus twenty