Chapter 2 | HITCHHIKING

The timber lorry driver ends up stopping the large semi at the last second. The high pitched screeching of tires fills my ears, causing me to cringe at the intolerable sound.

I look up at the enormous white truck from my spot on the side of the road and slowly retract my arm from where I was holding out my thumb in the typical hitchhiker stance.

I had been standing there with my thumb up and out for about 40 minutes, having only three cars pass by me until the big logging truck in front of me had appeared, almost taking my arm off in the process.

From my spot on the white, snowy ground, I look up and peer through the windshield of the semi as a person's silhouette leans over the seats, disappearing from my view until the door nearest to me swings open.

I'm met with a woman who looks to be in her early forties, making me hopeful that I probably won't have to punch someone who likes me a bit too much. But then again, can you really judge or trust anyone based on their age and gender? Anyone can do bad things, and anyone can be a creepy lowlife who never showers.

The woman's oily, shoulder-length hair frames her cold, weather-beaten face, while her red hair itself is mostly covered by the furry trapper hat she wears.

I can't hold myself back from stupidly thinking, 'What if she stopped because we're wearing matching hats?'

Her thin, reddish-brown eyebrows furrow together as she looks down at me, and her hard, questioning eyes sweep over my tall figure as I meet her gaze.

Trying my best to be polite, I ask, "Hi, may I bother you for a ride?"

She looks at me, pursing her thin, narrow lips, while her eyes scan over my bag and worn-out appearance. The wrinkles on her forehead become more and more prominent as she finally looks me in the eyes again. I can't tell what color hers are from down here, but they look cold.

That honestly doesn't surprise me, though.

Everything here is cold.

She thankfully doesn't mention the fact that I was standing dangerously close to the road, probably because she's relieved that I didn't mention how she almost took off my arm.

"I don't like being bothered." She says, barely managing to raise an eyebrow.

If you know you're unable to raise an eyebrow, why try? Is she not aware that the tiny little thing barely moved a quarter of a millimeter?

I'm about to answer nicely, contrary to my thinking, when I'm interrupted by the redhead continuing on.

"But, I suppose it all depends on if I'm going to the same place as you, girl." She says, her voice tight.

I smile, immediately brightening up.

This is it.

I straighten, putting my shoulders back and lifting my chin up, locking away all my insecurities with the key of confidence.

After all, confidence is key.

"Alaska," I say vaguely, my words hanging in the cold air as I remember all of uncle John's letters and the replies I had sent to them. My hands twitch inside my warm, wool choppers as I resist the urge to take out his handwritten messages that are in my bag.

Not yet. There will be plenty of time for that later, whether you're on the road or in a jail cell.

She raises her chin as I did, giving me a contemplative gaze, and I instantly figure out that she's also headed in that direction.

It's her choice, and both she and I know that she has to choose soon. The semi is still running as she's only put it in park, and the large vehicle is waiting to get on the road again. Its thick, gray smoke comes from the exhaust, while the passenger door is still open to the cab, letting the cold air inside on the driver in front of me.

Seconds pass by, and then a minute.

The doubt is getting to me, but I somehow manage to hold myself together.

Finally, she opens her mouth and roughly says the words that will change my reckless life from here on out.

"Hop in."

I do as she says instantly, climbing up into the semi without a second thought.

This is dangerous. This could end badly. However, it's the only option that I have, next to walking into the police station asking for a lawyer.

If I had stayed, if I had stood there in the cold and watched the house burn to ashes, if I had waited for the cops to show up then and there, then I would've been caught.

Here, any driver I hitch a ride with has access to the radio, which probably will have a lot to say about me. Hence the driver could also put me into the possession of the police.

Either way could have me imprisoned. At least this option grants me the hope of being free.

Kill, or be killed.

I've chosen neither.

Literally.

I close the passenger door quickly, somehow managing to put my large duffle bag on my lap. Then, I proceed to buckle up as the truck driver to my left takes the logging truck out of park, pressing on the gas.

We start moving, and I watch as we go down the road, all the trees passing by quickly.

I love this feeling.

Not only the feeling of being in such a powerful vehicle but also the feeling of being free.

Freedom.

Everybody wants freedom, and everyone wants to be free.

However, not everyone can attain it, and some risk their lives for it. Others end lives for it. Freedom is such a crucial part of life that some center their entire lives around it. Lawyers fighting for wrongfully imprisoned ones, little girls expectantly waiting for their eighteenth birthday because of their home life, minorities not getting the justice they deserve. Ask anyone for their honest thoughts on freedom, and you'll learn so much about them.

"What's your name, girl?" The woman next to me asks as she continues to drive down the road.

I keep my eyes up ahead, debating whether or not I should give her my real name. My gut is telling me to trust her, however distant she seems to be, but in my experience, I've learned that people who seem to open up the quickest are usually the ones with darker secrets to hide.

An honest mayor, truthful public figures, sincere adoptive parents, and so forth.

Still, it's either trust anybody and most likely hurt yourself, or trust nobody and protect yourself.

"Sarah," I lie, "Sarah Smith."

The woman grunts, putting an image of a lazy black bear into my mind at the sound of it.

I wait for her reply or for her to introduce herself, but all I'm answered with is silence from the woman, and the continuous blowing of the loud heater, warming up the cab. I really am not at all interested in conversation, but it would still be nice to know her name.

"What's your name?" I question in return, turning my head to the side to look at her.

"You can call me Grace." She answers after a few beats. "Just Grace."

I nod faintly, turning away to face the never-ending highway again.

"So how far can you take me?" I inquire kindly.

"I can take you all the way to Beaver Creek in the Yukon Territory." She answers. "That's as far as I go."

I nod, taking the political map I had gotten of North America out of my duffle bag.

It's hard to see as it's almost completely dark out by now, but I look on the map until I find the road we're traveling down, then find a route to Beaver Creek. With my thumb, I use the scale at the bottom of the map to get an idea of how far we'll be going.

"You know, you could just look at Google Maps on my phone," Grace says, pointing to her phone on the dashboard.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess that'd be better."

I pick up her Samsung phone carefully, unlocking it quickly as she doesn't have a passcode. Pulling up Google Maps, I type in 'Spokane WA to Beaver Creek Yukon Territory'.

Fastest route. 1,967 miles. 36 hours.

Well, I do suppose there are worse people to be stuck with for a day and a half. She's kind enough to let me hitch a ride, and she's quiet.

"Thank you," I tell her, putting her phone back where it was.

She grunts again as her answer.

Even though we both don't want to have a conversation, I have questions about how crossing the border of Canada will go.

"How does crossing the border work?"

"We have to go through customs and inspections. But it usually doesn't take very long if you have your papers with you."

Oh, good. I have those, thankfully.

"They'll search through my bag, right?"

"Yes."

So, they'll see my few clothes, water bottles, letters, identification papers, license, passport, money, pocket knife-

"What if I have a knife on me?"

She looks at me almost uneasily. "Well, do you?"

"Yes. But it's small, and only for protection."

I'm waiting for her reply when the window next to me suddenly rolls down.

"Throw it out."

I turn to her, knitting my eyebrows together.

"That's littering."

"And trying to bring a knife into Canada is better?"

Well, I mean, she's not wrong.

I open my bag, and upon finding the knife, I chuck it out of the window, silently apologizing to the Earth as I do so.

The window rolls up again, and I'm hit with the thought of how much effort it takes to get to Alaska.

Alaska...

I feel the dizzy confusion rush through me as I remember the last letter my uncle had sent to me years ago, and what had been written.

Go to where I had gone for my last photography assignment. Chickaloon, Alaska. My good friend that I had mentioned will not only let you stay there, but he will also keep you safe.

So, 'go to Alaska and find my friend.'

I put away the map, feeling thoroughly exhausted. I know that I need to sleep, but I don't know if it's safe. I could be sleeping one second and the next I could be waking up as I'm being hauled to jail.

I put the torn up map back into my bag and take off my choppers, trying to not let the darkness and warmth affect me. Knowing full well what could happen if I do, I try my best to fight off sleep, keeping my eyes open as wide as they can be.

But, the past few days are getting to me as gravity tries to pull my eyelids together. The countless nights of getting no rest are roughly tugging on my mind. I try to keep my eyes open, but pretty soon, I slowly feel myself drifting away to sleep I shouldn't risk.

When I wake up, I'm leaning on the passenger door, my right cheek pressed against the cold glass of the window.

Ignoring my frozen face, I'm instantly aware of the fact that I'm no longer in a moving vehicle.

I'm in a vehicle, sure, but the truck isn't moving.

Slowly and carefully, I open my eyes to a dark, empty cab, and I hold my breath as I realize Grace is gone.

Feeling the warm air come out of the heaters, I then look around, exhaling a sigh of relief at seeing that the large semi is just at a truck stop.

I look out to the gas station to see a familiar redhead coming out of it, holding a couple of plastic bags in one hand. Turning back to the cab I'm in, I glance around for any sign of what time it currently is.

A few moments pass as I look out the window for a clock before Grace opens the driver door and gets in, putting the bags in the back of the cab.

I look around the back, taking it in.

There's not much room back there, maybe just a small width of about twelve inches. Barely enough room for the few gallons of water Grace has on a green plastic bin.

"Ah, you're awake."

I nod absentmindedly as I then look at the plastic bags, my mind drooling a little when I see there's some food in one of them, along with four plastic bottles of water.

You can never have too much water.

My hands go to my army green duffle bag, feeling the rough canvas texture under my fingertips.

"Can I put this back there?" I ask Grace, referring to my full bag. Even though there's not much room back there, it should still fit. I have beef jerky and a few cans of beans in it, as they're two of the easiest and best foods to pack. However, I've been saving them for emergencies as with the six bottles of water. I also have my savings in a plastic zip-lock bag.

"Soon as you tell me what's in it," she replies.

I look at her face, but she doesn't make eye contact.

"Why?"

"We're about to cross the border. You already had a knife in there, I need to know what else you might have."

"Fair point."

I open up my bag and tell her the objects as I go through them.

"Clothes, a map and some notebooks, pencils and pens, beef jerky, a few cans of beans, some water bottles, personal letters, identification papers and passport stuff, license, my phone, my tablet, earbuds, electronics chargers, a hairbrush, shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste, matches, period stuff, skincare stuff, and money."

She nods. "Visiting someone, then?"

"Yes."

I mean, it's not technically a lie.

"Take out the matches, map, and food and put them in the back; otherwise, it will look like you're running away. And, we want to avoid suspicion, don't we?"

"Yes, that would waste too much time."

I do as she says, then I put my bag in the back after, near the plastic bin.

When I turn around, I see Grace holding a Clif Bar out to me.

"Want one?" She questions gruffly.

I eye it carefully, then look up to meet her eyes. "What do you want for it?"

She sighs, shoving it to me.

"Can't someone give someone else something without the other person thinking that they want something in return?" She questions, offended.

"No," I answer truthfully.

"Well, I am right now." She huffs. "Just eat it, girl."

I do as she says after muttering thanks, and I try to eat it slowly, so I fill up faster.

She starts up the truck again, twisting the key she left in the ignition, and we hit the road, headlights displaying the darkened world around us as we go.

When I'm done eating the Clif Bar, I look over at the redhead next to me, who's entirely focused on the road ahead.

"How long have we been driving?" I ask her.

She doesn't look at me as she gives her answer, "I've been driving for about 2 hours and 45 minutes. We're almost to Eastport, Idaho, which is where we'll cross the border into Canada."

I nod, turning back to look out of the window to my right.

All I see are dark, blurry shapes flying in and out of my sight.

I can't help but worry that I won't be able to get into Canada.

I know that kind of thinking is implausible. The fire was only today, and he fled the scene, too. It will take a while for the police to analyze the scene after the fire is put out. Then, they'll have to track both of us down. By then, I should be in Canada or even Alaska if I'm lucky. 

But, to actually be prevented from entering the country, I'd probably have to be convicted of the crime. Or at the very least have a lot of suspicion on my name. I should have a few days, which is enough time to reach Chickaloon.

Then, hopefully, as uncle John said, I should be safe.