“The stories I’ve read on the Internet about people seeking refuge in Canada are sketchy, but there have been some reports of entire families being granted entrance. Either way, we have to risk it. It’s not like we can stay here.”
He was right. Here we would be ripped apart, our baby stolen, and we would never see one another again. I wouldn’t let that happen.
I stood once my shoes were tied. “I’m ready.”
Instead of moving for the door, Marc pulled a small knife from his pocket. “There’s just one more thing we have to do before we go.”
He took my left hand and slid the blade under the wristband. It fell to the ground with a quiet but satisfying thud, and like aprisoner who’d just had handcuffs removed, I rubbed my wrist. It was a relief to have the thing gone.
I hadn’t left the room in ten weeks, and stepping over the threshold felt like getting out of prison. Which was technically true. Marc locked the door behind us so it wouldn’t be obvious that I’d left, then led the way through the house, which was quiet and dark with the exception of a light in the kitchen. There was supposed to be someone on duty at all times, and I briefly wondered where they were, but pushed the thought aside when we reached the front door and Marc shoved it open.
The night air was cool but welcoming since I hadn’t been outside in weeks. The snowdrifts had been huge at the time, but were now well on their way to melting, and the ground was slushy and wet. It squished under my shoes as Marc led me toward the road where a car sat waiting.
“Get in,” Marc said when we reached it.
He released my hand, waved to the passenger side, then hurried around the front while I climbed in. The headlights were off even though the engine was on, and the interior was nice and toasty. It was a relief because my thin sweatshirt hadn’t been enough to protect me from the frigid night air and I was chilled to the bone.
Marc slammed the door once he was behind the wheel.
“Are the roads clear?” I asked as he threw the car into drive.
“Yes,” he said, accelerating without flipping on the headlights. “I would have had you out earlier, but winter has been longer than usual, and I had to wait. They’re finally okay, though.”
Thank God.
It wasn’t until he started driving that I noticed the orange glow in the distance.
“What’s that?”
“The distraction,” was Marc’s reply.
I didn’t know what that meant until we got closer to the main building. It was only then that I realized the glow was coming from the other side, which was when it hit me what it was.
“It’s on fire,” I whispered, terrified by the thought.
The building was full of women and even some babies –although like Bette, most mothers were moved shortly after they gave birth. Were the people inside safe? Would they be able to get out? What had Marc been thinking?
“Don’t worry,” he said as we neared the building, “it’s the shed at the side. It’s far enough away from the main building that no one should be in danger.”
I turned in my seat as we passed the hotel, craning my neck. The shed Marc was referring to was now visible, as were dozens of people. Flames poured from the windows and doors of the small structure while soldiers rushed around, carrying buckets. It even looked like some were tossing snow onto the flames, while others were dragging hoses toward the fire. Everyone was so intent on putting it out that no one noticed the dark car driving away from the hotel.
I turned to face the front after a few seconds. “Your friend set the fire?”
“He did.” Marc glanced my way, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “He’s a good friend.”
“He must be.”
“His job gave him access to the cars, so he got me the keys and told me when to go. He even gave me his credit card so we could get gas.”
“But won’t that implicate him?”
“He’s going to say it was stolen.” Marc grinned, deepening the dimple in his left cheek. “He even ransacked his room to make it look like I’d broken in.”
“Wow.”
Marc sobered. “He’s risking a lot.”
“A lot,” I repeated.
