Free The Cast Stone by Harold Johnson Page B

the driver of the older Ford pickup.
    Ben walked over to the ferry edge to watch the flow of beige water slip away down the river valley. He stood looking out downstream, felt the moisture rise from the water, and wondered about the others. Was anyone still there when whoever was coming arrived?
    A lone gull tilted wings and glided beside the ferry, flashed white in the sun as it banked away and turned to follow the river. There’s a shortage of birds, Ben thought.
    Even though he was only a few kilometres from the university, Ben had never been here before. The river rippled far below its high-water marks. Willow and a coarse grass that he did not know had begun to grow on the dark mud flats abandoned by the shrunken river. But, it was green. The valley was lush in contrast to the burnt prairie it cut through. Comforting to see trees, green trees. Ben wanted to be home, the lake still blue, and evergreens.
    Monica wanted to be anywhere but here, exposed, dependent, trapped. Any minute and Homeland Security would appear on that far landing that was taking forever to arrive and they had no way out. Jump into the river and swim back? If she had to. Could Ben make it? Probably not. Too old for that. But, maybe. Ben was strong. Built like a bear. Her mind tumbled as it raced.
    Off the ferry the truck spun gravel as Monica turned sharply to the right, away from the main road onto a track that led into the aspen and willow, over a rise, down again, a curve then the truck was pointed at the steep wall of the river valley. The track ran at an unbelievable angle upwards. She pushed the four-wheel drive button and eased the truck into the climb. It pointed its hood at the cloudless sky and began the ascent.
    â€œHey, just a second.” Ben was reaching around for his seat belt.
    â€œNot to worry. I’ve done this before. Well, I haven’t actually driven up here. I had a boyfriend when I was in school who used to bring me here to show off his truck. It’s okay. Really. We just have to take it real slow and steady. These Toyotas are incredible here. Watch.”
    The engine changed tone as it began to work, a deeper sound, a grumble. It climbed the impossible bank upwards, pushed Ben back into the seat until all he could see was the blue of a hot, dry sky.

    Ed Trembley ran hard for the green fringe at the edge of the dusty summerfallow. He found a strength that rose from somewhere, maybe from fear, felt it first in his chest, then in his legs as he increased his stride, stretched new legs and ran. The Hummer’s engine grew louder behind him. The last vehicle of the convoy had turned as it passed the smouldering foam to give chase.
    The river valley dropped quickly away from the prairie, a near vertical drop of a dozen metres where the cut bank had crumbled, hid at its top by a bramble of chokecherry and thistles. Ed charged through this brush, dropped suddenly and slid feet first down the steep decline. The roar of the Hummer and the sound of smashed brush behind him became the sound of an airplane over top of him. The driver of the heavy truck must have intended to run Ed over and now it was too late. The Hummer dropped grill first, slammed into the valley wall where the cliff bottom became a steep slope. It flipped end over end through the aspen, bounced incredibly high after each crash landing and ended on its roof in the swirl of the river bend.
    Ed slid down the slope, caught a broken tree trunk, put his feet under himself and quickly worked his way to the vehicle. Two Homeland Security officers looked to be dead, hopefully dead. They were not breathing. Another black shirt gasped unconscious, twitched in the back seat. A fourth, opened his eyes when Ed pulled at him. Ed slammed a fist between the eyes and they shut.
    The river current made canoeing tricky. The added weight of two bound black-uniformed officers in the small canoe helped to balance the craft fore and aft but made the canoe ride deeper in the