Page 22 of So Far Gone

“Not sure yet,” Kinnick said. They quickly descended the forested part of the hill, insistent pines seeming to close in and

crowd the road on both sides, scraping the side mirrors, until, finally, they came out into a clearing where the dirt road

met the two-lane highway. He let out a deep breath.

“Okay,” Kinnick said, “okay,” thinking maybe they were safe now.

“Your black eye is turning green,” Asher said.

Kinnick looked over at his grandson. “Is it?”

And that’s when Kinnick heard what sounded like the pop of a distant gunshot, echoing in the forest behind them.

He looked back over his shoulder, at the dirt road disappearing like smoke into the trees.

Shit! Should he go back? Try to help? He looked over at his grandkids.

Closed his eyes: think! What was the best course of action in a situation like this?

But, of course, he’d never been in a situation like this. Nothing

even remotely close.

Then came another pop , maybe a minute after the first, then another pop right after that, possibly from different guns.

He opened his eyes. Leah was staring at him. “Are those—”

“Gunshots,” Asher said authoritatively. It was quiet, all of them listening, and then Asher said, “They do target practice

sometimes.”

“Right,” Kinnick said, “they’re probably doing target practice.” He and Leah kept their eye contact.

Decision time. He could not go back. Not with the kids. Should he turn north, toward Canada? Go to Sheriff Glen Campbell’s

office, ten miles away? Or go south, toward Spokane, and escape? Kinnick wished for the fiftieth time in the last two days

that he had a cell phone. He could call for help. Or call Chuck and ask if he needed to come back and get him.

And just as he thought this, he noticed, in a cupholder between the seats, Chuck Littlefield’s iPhone. Wait. So... Chuck

had stood alone against those militia nutjobs, with only his glove box handgun and no phone?

Kinnick grabbed the phone. He touched the screen and saw the date and time above a photo of Lucy and Chuck, cuddled in front

of a fire. Each of them held a glass of red wine. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Lucy look that happy before.

He tapped the screen, then tapped it again. He tried to remember how these things worked. He turned it over, like a caveman with a garage door opener .

“Do you know his password?” Leah asked.

Kinnick slammed the phone back in the cupholder. Of course he didn’t know the man’s password! Chuck’s last word to him had

been: Go!

So... he needed to go. Kinnick stepped on the gas, spinning tires in the dirt. He turned the truck to the south, toward

Spokane, civilization, escape.

As he drove, Kinnick kept checking the rearview mirror, but the only vehicle behind him was a big logging truck. How long

would it be safe to stay on this highway? And if he turned, where would he go? With National Forest land on either side, there

weren’t any cutoffs until Sandpoint. At least twenty miles away.

On a long straightaway he checked the rearview mirror again. A pickup had emerged behind the logging truck. He wished he could

recall the models and colors of the trucks at the Rampart, but he’d been too nervous to take note. This pickup didn’t seem

to be gaining on the logging truck, though. So, it was probably okay. Or was it?

Great, so now he was going to be afraid—

—of every pickup he saw—

—in North Idaho!

“You’re driving pretty fast,” Asher said.

Kinnick looked down. He was going eighty-four miles per hour.

“I guess I am,” Kinnick said. He eased off the gas.

“I wonder,” Asher said, “how long are we going to be with you?”

Kinnick looked over at the boy. “What?”

“I was just wondering how long we’re going to be with you.”

“I don’t think we know yet.”

“Like a week? Or just a few days? Or a month?”

The calendar usually meant so little to Kinnick that he had to concentrate, to visualize the flow of days.

Seasons were what mattered to him now. So, let’s see: Bethany had apparently left on Saturday.

The kids had shown up at his place yesterday, which was a Monday.

It was Tuesday afternoon. Would he still have them in six days? Ten? Thirty?

“I don’t know, Asher, why do you ask?”

“Because I was just wondering—”

“Asher—” Leah said her brother’s name not with irritation, but with fatigue.

He spoke louder. “I was just wondering! If we could go back and tell that minister that I want to sign up for the youth tournament?

Make sure I get a spot?”

Kinnick took a deep breath. “We’ll do that. Don’t worry, Asher. We’ll have you playing chess soon. And I’ll get a board up

at my place. You can practice by beating me.”

“Okay, but you can’t let me win. Or I won’t get better.”

“Asher,” Leah said again. “Enough.”

After that, the kids were quiet. Asher leaned against Kinnick and closed his eyes, while Leah mostly looked out her window.

They made it to the outskirts of Sandpoint—motels and stores and turnoffs to the ski resort—without anyone from the Rampart

coming up behind them. But still Kinnick’s mind was racing. (Should he stop and call someone? Where? Who? How? Did they even

have pay phones anymore? Was Chuck okay back there? What were those gunshots? What if Shane had already called the police

and reported his children kidnapped by their grandfather?) He could feel the adrenaline coursing—a tingle in his arms, an

occasional buzzing sound in his ears.

“You’re not going to answer that?” Leah asked.

“What?”

“The phone? Do you want me to get it next time?”

Kinnick reached down to the cupholder, where, over the picture of Chuck and Lucy, the screen read: 4 Phone Notifications . He had forgotten what a buzzing phone sounded like. “Shit!”

Asher stirred.

“Sorry about that,” Kinnick said.

“It’s okay,” Asher said. “The S -word isn’t taking the Lord’s name in vain, so it’s not blaspheming. Mom and Dad even say it sometimes, but I’m not supposed

to.”

“I shouldn’t, either,” Kinnick said. He pulled the truck into a gas station parking lot and let out a deep breath. They were

finally at a junction. Two highways converged here, each leading back to Spokane. They could come in from either the north

or from the east, and with countless backroads, whichever route Kinnick took, it would be easier to avoid the Pickups of the

Lord from this point on. Kinnick turned to the kids. “I’m not used to the sound of a buzzing phone. Leah, if you hear it again,

could you—”

And then, as if demonstrating what he was about to say, the phone began buzzing again. Kinnick picked it up and saw the smile

of Lucy Park, her eyes behind a large pair of sunglasses. At first, he thought this was some kind of futuristic video call—he

knew those existed—but, no, apparently, this was simply how Lucy was identified when she called Chuck’s phone. That was new.

Kinnick held the phone out in his open palm, afraid he’d do something wrong—

Leah reached over and swiped the little green telephone receiver image from right to left. She pointed to her own ear, smiled,

and mouthed, You can talk now.

“Uh. Hello?” Funny, he hadn’t spoken into a phone in seven years.

Lucy sounded frantic. “Kinnick! Where the fuck are you?”

“Oh. We’re... uh... in Sandpoint.”

“Why didn’t you answer earlier? I was worried sick!”

“I forgot how to use this thing,” Kinnick said.

“Christ, you stupid fu—” But she caught herself. “I can’t believe you guys went up there! What were you thinking?”

I was thinking about raccoons , Kinnick thought, but he didn’t say it.

“Listen,” Lucy said, “Chuck’s on his way to Spokane in a helicopter. Meet us at Sacred Heart.”

“The hospital?” The gunshots— “Jesus, what happened to Chuck?”