Forgotten

Chapter 26

            THE TRUCK LURCHES AS SOMEONE CLIMBS INSIDE on booted feet, and then someone heavier follows, probably Joel. I close my eyes, fervently hoping against hope that we'll make it through this. If that guard finds us, it won't be just me and Hayley that will have to pay the price for our dangerous escape attempt. Rowan will be arrested, maybe killed, for being our guide, and Joel will, too. The risk that they're taking for us fills my heart with a gratefulness that is soon overtaken by fear for their safety.

            "Not too full, is it?" the guard says skeptically.

            "Right you are," Joel replies. To his credit, he doesn't even sound nervous—just a bit irritated, as if this whole thing is simply a waste of his time. "Not allowed to carry more than a couple thousand pounds over the border, are we?"

            There is a silence, and I imagine the guard eyeing Joel coldly. "Clothes and blankets," he says, "do not weigh a couple thousand pounds."

            Joel sighs heavily. "Look, d'you want to see my papers or not? If ya told me what I'm missing, I could probably find it for ya up front."

            "Missing..." The guard trails off, as if the Joel's confirmation papers are the last thing on his mind, and I envision him taking a good look all around the truck. Finally, he seems to recover himself. "I'll need to search your truck before I do anything else."

            Joel snorts. "Feel free," he replies casually. "Nothin' you'll find in here that ain't supposed to be."

            "I'll decide that for myself," the guard mutters, and I feel the vibrations through the truck bed as he begins to pace the floor. After a few moments, I hear a knife slash through one of the cardboard boxes and the soft noises of cloth hitting the floor as the guard sifts through it, discarding items as he goes.

            "Would ya mind not messing with the packaging?" Joel says crossly, and I hear him take a step forward. "I'll get charged if anything's damaged."

            "That'll be the price you'll pay for your mistakes, then," the guard snaps back. "According to your papers, your truck's low weight has caused other border stations to have reason to be suspicious. Lots of smugglers have trucks that are just a bit too...light." He pauses to let that sink in. "You're from the south, you said? Where exactly would that be?"

            "My job's to drive from a factory in Arizona, through California to pick up from another factory, and then northward to deliver the stuff to Canada," Joel explains. "I still don't understand what th' problem is."

            "Arizona? That's sixteen hundred miles. You're telling me that you drove sixteen hundred miles in a full-size cargo truck to deliver this crap? You're barely halfway full!"

            "I don't see that it's any of your business how much the factory tells me to take," Joel retorts. "It wasn't me that decided what the damn truck should weigh. No one told me there were any rules about it, either."

            "That's not all," the guard continues, ignoring Joel. "At this station, your truck weighed in a good two or three hundred pounds heavier than it was at the Oregon-Washington station, according to your papers. Do you want to explain why?"

            My heart nearly stops. That's our weight—mine, and Rowan's and Hayley's. There is no possible way we can get away with that. Is this it? I wonder. Are we going to get arrested, here and now? Was all that, everything we've been through, for nothing?

            Joel, however, doesn't miss a beat. He sighs in exasperation, and I imagine him throwing his hands up in the air. "Fine! Fine, ya got me, all right? I ran into another truck driver from my company right after I crossed the Oregon border. He told me he had orders or somethin' to give me extra cargo—a half a dozen boxes or so from his truck, to deliver over the border to Canada. They knew I was leavin' the country, see—that's my job, drivin' stuff up to Delta. I didn't tell ya because the other driver told me that it might just be sort of against the rules or somethin' like that. That everythin' had to be checked and regulated, and these boxes weren't—not for international delivery, at least." Joel snorts. "Feel free to check through every box in my truck, if that's what ya want. But I get th' feeling that's not your thing."

            The guard pauses, and for a horrible moment I feel sure that he'll agree, that he'll want to paw through every single box to make sure there's nothing illegal hidden away inside them. Like us.

            Finally, he says, "Those six gray boxes, over there. They're a different color from the rest of them. Are those the ones you got from that other driver?"

            "Yep. The very same," Joel says.

            I've no idea what color box I'm in right now. What if I'm in a gray one? What if Joel's pointing the guard straight towards us?

             "I'll be checking those, if you don't mind." The guard's tone, however, makes it obvious that he couldn't care less what Joel's opinion is.

            "Nothin' I can do to stop you, now, is there?" Joel replies dryly.

            The guard doesn't respond. I feel his footsteps as he crosses the floor, and the tearing of cardboard as he slashes through another box, only a few feet away from me. I feel the soft clunks of cloth falling down to the ground again. After a minute or so, the guard is apparently satisfied that there are no unauthorized items inside, and moves onto the next one.

            Slash. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Silence.

            Slash. Clunk.

            The search seems endless, as I hold onto a last, desperate hope that Rowan, Hayley and I will remain safely hidden. The guard cuts through three boxes. Then four, then five. Joel doesn't make any more complaints.

            Finally, the guard finishes up with the fifth and pauses, getting ready to tear open the sixth, and final, box. The moments seem to stretch out into hours as I wait for him to make his move, wondering where his next footsteps will move. Please, not my box. Not Hayley's, not Rowan's...

            His boots begin moving again, the leather heels tapping softly against the metal floor. And, to my horror, I realize that they are moving towards me.

            They get closer, and closer, and closer, and finally stop. I can hear his breathing above me, and I know that his feet are just inches away from my face, the thin cardboard of my box the only thing shielding me from his gaze.

            This is it. It's over.

            I shut my eyes tight and bury my face in my knees, hoping that Rowan will have the good sense to grab Hayley and run as soon as I cry out. Maybe they'll make it. They, at least, have a chance at escape.

            I'm sorry, Joel. After everything he's done for us...

            Then, suddenly, miraculously, though I'm too terrified to process it at first, I feel the guard's weight lean forward, and his hands close around the box behind me.

            He lifts it, and I can hear him grunt as he heaves it over my box and sets it on the ground just in front of me. He tears it open, and I hear more clothes and blankets slide out.

            Joel lets out a chuckle. "See? What did I tell you? Nothing in here that ain't supposed to be."

            The guard stands up and walks away from me, towards Joel. "Watch your tone," he hisses, sounding even angrier than before. "Say one more word out of line, and I could arrest you."

            Apparently, he has nothing else to say. I feel the truck floor creak and vibrate as he marches to the entrance, jumps out, and lands neatly on the pavement outside. Joel follows, the truck lurching as he steps outside.

            The truck door closes again with a bang, and the feet move away, towards the front of the truck. I let out a long exhale of blissful relief. They didn't catch us. My heart is still racing in my chest, the terror only just beginning to subside.

             "Come on, then!" I hear the guard yell crossly from the front. Joel's door slams, and the truck begins to roll away. We drive past the border station and into Canada, leaving the Federation, the only place I've ever known, far behind.