The Hunting (10 page)

T
hey waited by the Lougheed Highway. Renée despaired of anyone ever stopping. Moucher whined as cars and trucks drove by, and all the time Genie fretted that the Fortress would find them. They were so exposed by the side of the road and everyone eyed them suspiciously. With good reason, she supposed. They looked pretty beat up. It was Renée’s turn to stick her thumb out. If they didn’t stop for her, then there was no chance at all, Genie reasoned. Men slowed and looked, but maybe because she was a teen, probably because they were scabby and covered in blood stains, they all drove on.

‘We’re going to have to sleep out here,’ Rian said after a while. ‘We should try finding a safe place off the highway.’

‘We can’t give up yet,’ Renée protested.

‘It’ll be dark soon. No one will stop for us in the dark.’

Genie didn’t want to admit it, but Ri was right. She didn’t like the idea of hitching at night either; no way to tell what kind of crazy person might stop with bad ideas.

‘OK. Let’s find someplace safe. Ri’s right, Renée. Whilst we can still see.’

Reluctantly she agreed and began to follow them as Rian walked back towards the riverbank.

Moments later a truck stopped some twenty metres or so past them. Genie hadn’t been sure it was going to stop at all, but it did and they ran after it. Moucher got there first, barking a couple of times to the driver, who threw a biscuit down to him, which he gobbled real fast before Genie could stop him.

Rian and Genie arrived, breathless, Renée taking up the rear. They looked up at the East Indian driver with keen expressions. What he made of them all, covered in scratches, dried blood and messed-up hair was anyone’s guess. He just shook his head.

‘You crashed your car? You kids look very sad.’

Genie nodded. ‘In the river,’ she told him. After all, it was true.

‘You driving?’ he asked Genie, frowning.

Genie pointed at Rian. ‘Him. He’s the world’s worst driver.’

Rian looked at her with astonishment. ‘Am not.’

The truck driver laughed, revealing huge brilliant-white teeth.

‘I myself have been in the river,’ he told them. ‘Twice. This is a very tricky road, very tricky. Especially in winter. Climb up in the back. Don’t touch the fruit. Keep the dog still.’ He looked at Moucher a moment. ‘I give you fifty dollars for the dog. That is a very pretty dog you have there.’

‘Not for sale.’ She grabbed Mouch and picked him up, holding him close. ‘Mouch is my guard-dog.’

The driver grinned. ‘You getting in?’

Genie looked at Ri and Renée and shrugged. He’d driven into the river twice! Well, it had to be third time lucky or something.

‘Thanks,’ Rian told him.

‘Where you headed?’

‘Vancouver.’

‘Must be terrific fate,’ the driver said with a big grin. ‘That is exactly where I am taking these apples.’

‘Really?’ Renée asked, always suspicious of coincidences.

‘Oh yes, really. Best price for organic apples in B.C. Come on, get in, I am already running late.’

They clambered aboard and found themselves in a truck filled with boxed apples, all carefully placed on layers of tissue to protect them. Guranji Farms – Penticton. They were separated from the driver by stacks of boxes. There was just enough room for them to squeeze in at the back.

‘Familiar, anyone?’ Renée asked, laughing. ‘He’s come a long way.’

‘Can’t believe it’s an apple truck,’ Genie said. ‘They look …’

‘Perfect. Better than Marshall’s apples.’ Rian declared.

All three of them vividly remembered spending a week picking Marshall’s apples back at the farm. Had that really been such a short time ago?

The truck set off with a jerk and they went flying into each other, Moucher sliding all the way down.

‘Ow,’ Genie complained.

‘Wedge yourself between boxes,’ Renée suggested. ‘Safer.’

‘Especially when he drives into the river,’ Genie said.

‘Hey,’ Rian complained. ‘How come you said I was driving?’

Genie just grinned. She was happy they were moving again. She felt more confident that they would escape now and it was sheer luck (or Grandma Munby) that had guided this East Indian driver to stop for them,
and
he was going to Vancouver. She really believed they would get there now.

‘Checklist,’ Rian was saying. ‘I’ve got three hundred and five bucks left. Genie, the keys? Please tell me you’ve still got the keys to the yacht.’

Genie fished into her ever-damp jeans and her fingers closed over the precious two keys she’d ‘borrowed’ from Reverend Schneider and sewn into her waistband – Marshall’s idea to make sure she didn’t lose them.

‘Still here.’

‘We have to get in, find the yacht and move off real fast,’ Rian said. ‘The moment anyone sees us, they’ll get suspicious and call the cops.’

‘Marshall said it was moored either in a place called Stamps Landing or the Granville Island Marina. Trouble is I’ve got no idea what it looks like.’

‘We have a number. Yachts have numbers,’ Rian reassured her.

‘We have to stop for a latté first,’ Renée declared. ‘I just can’t spend another day without. Please tell me there’s a coffee shop there.’

Rian and Genie exchanged glances, then smiled. Renée was impossible.

R
everend Schneider stared at the row of keys in his office and swore. He, like many others, was totally unable to remember which key was which or where he last put them, which is why he had a spare set made up of all of them and hung with names and numbers on their respective hooks. So he was surprised to see his yacht keys were missing. He tried to recall if he had forgotten to replace them. Then he remembered that he didn’t bring them back from his last trip, but left them with the marina office. It was safer. But that only accounted for one set. Where was the spare set? It wasn’t here, that was for sure.

It wasn’t so much he wanted to go sailing but, given the hostility of Strindberg at the Fortress and the threats to take back everything he owned, he wanted to safeguard certain possessions he was particularly fond of. And all this because of Genie Magee. He felt hatred rising for the child and tried to control it. Her mother had no idea where she might be or where she might go. But she had to be found, dead or alive. Everything he had ever worked for depended upon it.

The yacht keys. Why weren’t they here? He needed that yacht. No one knew he owned one, as far as he knew. Except Dan Pickard, the cider man he’d bought it off. He wasn’t likely to say anything. The man was fairly friendless in Spurlake. The yacht was important now, might be a useful escape route.

He went through the drawers again. The spare set had to be somewhere. He made a note to call the marina people in Vancouver who looked after it for him and occasionally chartered it out for him. He’d have them check how many sets of keys there were there and get the boat ready. In case he had to disappear himself. Just in case.

T
he store was Korean – small, but seemed to have everything and the vegetables looked really fresh. They stocked up on rice and pasta and stuff that might last.

‘You like wholegrain or honey and oats?’ Renée asked reaching for a loaf.

‘We’re not allowed bread, we’re girls,’ Genie said.

Renée looked at her with raised eyebrows, then realized she was joking.

‘What else do we need?’ Genie asked.

‘Some sauces for the pasta and chips.’

Genie grinned. ‘Chips?’

‘Chips,’ Renée insisted. ‘We’re going out to sea. I’m not going without potato chips.’

Genie sighed. She looked back at the busy avenue as an immaculate sixties Chevy pick-up slowly drove by, posing. Two young guys walked past, covered in tattoos and holding hands, laughing at something. She realized that everyone was just doing their own thing here. No judgements.

‘It’s so different to Spurlake.’

Renée smiled and leaned forward so their foreheads touched. ‘We’re never going back, hon.’

Genie screwed up her face. ‘I’ll get some water. We’ll need water.’

‘Twenty-one dollar,’ the Korean woman barked. ‘Cash only.’

Twenty minutes later they arrived at Stamps Landing on the waterfront.

‘So where is it?’

Now they felt really stupid. Here they were, standing with arms laden with groceries, staring at a space on a jetty where a yacht was supposed to be.

Above them people were eating and drinking in Monk McQueen’s, a swanky restaurant built out over the water. All around them were yachts of all sizes and across the water even more yachts, but bigger. There was no shortage of boats in Vancouver, that was for sure.

Rian examined the tag on the key again.

‘It definitely says Stamps Landing.’

A guy carrying a gas canister was coming towards them.

‘You guys look like trouble.’

Renée tried to smile, but all the hope in her had gone with the boat that was most definitely not where it should be.

‘We were going to sail in
Lord’s Business
,’ Rian pointed out.

The guy shrugged. ‘Not tonight you weren’t. Saw it being moved a couple of days ago. Try Granville Marina.’

‘That’s that way?’ Genie asked, looking west.

The guy looked at her as if she were crazy. ‘You aren’t from around here, are you? Yeah, just follow the path by the water and you’ll get there. Won’t be anyone there though to talk to, not at this time of night.’

They nodded and watched him walk towards his yacht.

‘We are so screwed,’ Renée declared.

Genie shook her head. ‘Come on, let’s go to the next place. Must have been taken there for a reason, right? Don’t give up, Renée, we’ve come so far.’

Rian took Genie’s hand. ‘Gen’s right. May have gone there for all kinds of reasons. Get something fixed maybe. We have keys. If it’s there at least we got someplace to sleep, right?’

Renée looked at him and sighed. ‘I guess.’

Mouch was already off and running. Didn’t like standing near water at all.

They walked back towards the ramp.

Genie looked back across the water at the city glittering like Christmas beyond. Made Spurlake seem like nothing, absolutely nothing at all.

Renée was looking too. ‘I can’t believe how many people live here. I mean, these apartments all look into each other. Don’t these people want privacy? It’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?’

‘That’s how people live in cities,’ Rian said. ‘They like it.’

‘Smell that? Someone is grilling fish. Mmm, I’m starving,’ Genie said.

They walked away from the smell of good cooking with much regret.

An hour later they finally found the yacht moored in Granville Island harbour. Some of the yachts there could sleep twenty people or more they were so big. Rian hardly even noticed Reverend Schneider’s
Lord’s Business
it was so small, but never mind, it was in the water and there was no one to stop them when they unlocked the gate to the tiny marina and made their way on board.

‘It’s smaller than I expected,’ Renée said quietly, trying to hide her disappointment.

Rian opened up the cabin and they quickly entered. Moucher stood on the walkway, scared to make the leap.

‘On board, Mouch. Now!’ Genie ordered.

He wasn’t budging, however. He whined and looked at her with a big question on his face. Clearly he wasn’t going to jump. Genie had to scoop him up and carry him over. This was one dog that didn’t have sea-legs.

‘Get used to it,’ Renée told him. ‘This is your new home.’

Rian checked the instrumentation on deck. The keys fitted fine.

‘We’re only half full,’ he told them annoyed. ‘Probably enough to get us out of here to the next fuelling place. Water tank is full, but who knows how fresh it is? Good for showers though.’

‘Showers?’ Renée squealed. ‘We can have showers?’

‘Quick showers,’ Rian told her. ‘I’ve been on these kind of yachts before. Hot water lasts about five minutes. You will have to wait for the tank to heat up, though.’

The battery, however, was very low. It would have to be charged.

Rian hooked it up, but it meant they couldn’t leave straight away and every delay exposed them to risk.

‘Great, I can clean my teeth at last,’ Genie exclaimed.

He looked down at the girls in the cabin. They were both brushing their teeth and looked happy.

‘You realize this is my first ever vacation?’ Genie stated looking up at him.

‘We’re on the run, Gen.’

‘Well, we’re going out to sea. Feels like a vacation to me.’

‘Me too,’ Renée chipped in.

Moucher stood nervously on the floor, his legs slightly splayed. He didn’t like this one bit. The floor moved. Floors shouldn’t move.

‘Moucher’s unhappy,’ Genie declared, giving him a sympathetic look. ‘Poor baby.’

‘Feed him,’ Rian told her. ‘He has to be hungry. Better he gets used to it and goes sick here than out there.’

‘Eww, don’t get sick, little doggie,’ Renée cooed. ‘Can a dog eat Tums? I found some Tums.’

‘Check to see if they are sugar-free, otherwise he’ll get the shits,’ Rian answered.

‘Eww. Sorry, dog, I’m not risking it.’

Rian grinned and continued to check the yacht over. He wanted to know where everything was situated: lifesavers, flares, you name it. You could never be too careful.

‘You’ll need to flush the water tank,’ a voice suddenly announced from behind Rian.

Rian turned, his heart missing a beat. A deeply tanned man was standing on the walkway watching him. He wore a blue sweatshirt and shorts and old scruffy sneakers on the end of hairy legs.

‘Oh, hi … er, really?’

‘Yeah. It’s been standing for a while. You got the power hooked up?’ He looked down at the connection. ‘Oh yeah, you have. Turn the pump on, it’s the second switch from the left. There. Turn the handle to E and flush it out and we’ll get you hooked up to a fresh supply.’

‘Thanks.’ Rian got the pump on and heard it start to flush out the tanks. The man bent down to hook up the water supply from a recessed connection Rian had failed to notice.