Dawn has yet to break when my eyes flutter open; another dreamless-- and at times sleepless night-- draws to an end. Slowly I become aware of the pervasive ache running from my feet to my neck, a soreness I cannot stretch out nor ignore. Yesterday I toiled fourteen long hours of back-breaking labour, from sun-up to night fall, in the garden. Today I'm paying for it, today is an ibuprofen kind of day.

I'm excessively proud of the garden, it's green and flourishing with hardly a weed to be found. I've hand-raised numerous crops in dozens of tidy rows, no small feat for me. The only issue I have at present is something is chewing at some of the leaves on a few varieties of plants and without pesticides I'm concerned it could become an issue. Hence today, despite my protesting body, I'll ride out to Kate's parents' farm for some sage agricultural advice. I have no delusions, for certain Earl will have me hoeing weeds by the end of the day. The up side is that my mouth is already watering thinking about the dinner they'll force upon me, which I will graciously accept.

It is also an opportunity to haul some gear out to the farm that I intend to bury as an emergency cache of sorts. An old .30-30 rifle, a couple boxes of ammunition, a few rations, a knife and other such items--just in case. I'm fairly certain Earl has some large diameter ABS pipe I can seal up and if his garden backhoe is still running, digging down below the frost line should be a breeze.

There's a downside to visiting my in-laws though, I have no good news to give them about Kate and my recent infidelity weighs on me like an anchor. I've got the impression that word has got out about my tryst, I confessed to Jake and something about his reaction told me he already knew. Of course, he said not to sweat it. Easy for him to say.

I've had limited interactions with Sung-Mi since that night however when I have run into her she's been perfectly cordial and entirely unfazed. Perhaps I did have something she needed, but it's become obvious to me that it wasn't something I could afford to dispense. To make matters worse, I harbour a lingering attraction to her and I hate myself for that.

Breakfast is a lonely affair, Heath spent the night at Raven's leaving me alone with Merida. I combine instant coffee, instant oatmeal, and chocoloate-flavoured instant breakfast in the same bowl and mix it with boiling water. That is what passes for breakfast these days. I chase it all down with gulps of water--hydration is going to be important if it's anywhere near as hellaciously hot as it was yesterday. Best to get on the road early before the day heats up.

I ride away leaving Merida outside loose, left to her own devices. There's little worry about car traffic and she mostly just lays about in whatever cool, shady spot she can find. She'll go swim with the kids in the lake if she needs to, she's pretty self-sufficient. On occasion she'll wander over to Jake's for one of Ranger's treats, which Jake held onto for one reason or other. But she always comes back and between her and Freddie, vermin and feral cats steer clear of the yard. Checking back over my shoulder I see she's already blended into the darkness no doubt curled up on the porch fast asleep, not quite ready for the day.

On the way out of the neighbourhood I pass a family packing up an RV in their driveway by the light of a hissing pressure lamp. The Kirkland's had mostly kept to themselves over the years, even before things went to shit, but we were on decent terms. Heath had attended the same school, we used to make small talk at the bus stop and Kate and Amber were part of a book club for a while. It all seems so very long ago. They're one of the few families left, but by the looks of things even that is about to change.

"Trent," I say coasting to a stop. "Neighbourhood won't be the same without you. Sad to see you go."

"Oh, hey Connor," he replies. "Bit early for a bike ride, isn't it."

"Yeah, well not if you want to beat the heat," I reply. "So what's your game plan?"

"Heading north, away from here. I've got a bad feeling about things around here. I mean, no offense, but I think things are going to get worse before they get better... if they ever get better."

"I hear ya," I reply. And I do understand, if you're associated with me or the Harbour Guard, or even this neighbourhood things are tough these days, and I'd be first to admit the light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel seems far too distant and depressingly dim.

"I want you to know, we appreciate everything you've done, that's why we stayed as long as we have. Don't stop doing what you're doing. I'm not just saying that, I do believe you're on the right side of things. It's just that everything seems to be coming apart at the seams, I want to get my family out of here before it does. I gotta do what's best for them."

I nod in agreement. "You need anything for the trip? You have a gun? The armoury won't miss a rifle or two."

"Thanks Connor, but we're set, got pretty much everything we need."

"Gas?"

"Truck is full and I have another hundred liters in cans. I should be able to make it to camp and have three-quarters of a tank when all is said and done."

"Is that enough to get back home if you need to?"

Trent shrugs and lifts another box into the bed of his truck.

"Well, I wish you and your family a safe journey," I say. "I hope things up north work out for you."

"Yeah, thanks. Take care of yourself man. I've left some totes in the garage, stuff we don't need, you're welcome to it. I'd appreciate if you could keep an eye on the house, it's still home, you know, and I'd hate to think that it's getting ransacked."

"You think you'll be back?"

"I honestly don't know, maybe if the power comes back on and things get back to normal, but we intend to stay away for as long as required. Maybe indefinitely."

He extends his hand and I shake it, there are no more words, only the actions of men doing what they believe is best for the people they care most about.

* * * * *

Despite my desire to get to the farm as soon as possible, I also want to take advantage of my day on the road to scope out a few things. First up is a circuitous loop around the Pelex facility. I can feel the glare of many eyes from the various lookouts as I pedal slowly past. It's a bit of a risky move considering I'm barred from the city proper, but it's dark enough that I'm probably not easy to identify, my hat is pulled low obscuring my face and I have no visible weapons.

They have a far more formidable perimeter than we do. The site has always been surrounded by a mixed wall, 8-feet high in some places, 6-feet in others, and other spots are comprised of the outer wall of various structures rising three of four stories high. The wall was in parts brick, here and there, at times corrugated sheet metal and even sections of barbed-wire topped chain-link. To enhance this further they have annexed the surrounding sidewalks encircling the entire complex with an outer chain-link fence, the space between regularly patrolled by armed security. The only thing missing now is a moat.

The Pelex fortress is only a passing interest and I carry-on to my first real destination--my former workplace. Upon arriving I realize how silly it was to bring a key, the glass doors have long ago been smashed. Stashing the bike and trailer amongst some overgrown junipers I hope it remains inconspicuous as day breaks. I enter the building through a smashed door, flashlight in hand. Donning my headlamp I move quickly through the building and as expected it has been thoroughly ransacked.

I check the kitchen and the storage closet where the water was kept, but that appears to be long gone along with any foodstuffs. There are plenty of signs that animals have since taken up residence in the building, it smells like an unkempt barn. I rifle through a number of desk drawers and score some hot sauce packets, nail clippers and some feminine hygiene products, the latter which has decent barter value. For the most part the place seems to have been quite thoroughly searched.

Turning down a hallway, I startle as a cat-sized animal of some kind that quickly scurries away from my light. I search a couple offices without result before heading to the far end of the building where my office was. My former door is closed still, as I had left it. The heavy, solid wood door is covered in deep gouges and appears to have taken a number of blows from an axe or similar tool. There is a large, dark stain on the floor right where I stand and I weigh the possibility that it may be blood. A shiver runs down my spine as I try the door.

Locked.

I guess bringing my keys wasn't a terrible idea after all.

The lock clicks with an easy turn of the key, but the door holds fast. I give it a good shove to no avail and then press my shoulder to the door and try a couple more times. The door, swollen from the humidity is wedged shut, or it's somehow been barred from the other side. I start thinking that the guy with the axe was onto something. I didn't bring an axe.

I take a moment to hash out my options. First, I want to get this done quickly and quietly and be back on the road while it is still reasonably dark outside. Second, I desperately want to get into my office.

"Fuck it!" I say.

Taking two steps back I lunge at the door with the hardest front-kick I can muster and plant my boot, full-force right next to the doorknob with a solid thud that shakes the walls. A couple ceiling tiles tumble down and something in the plenum space above noisily runs for cover.

For a moment I'm near certain I've shattered by heel as I hop around cursing my own stupidity along with that goddamn door. I'm about to hobble away when I notice that door, while not blasted open by my less-than-super-human kick, has indeed been forced part way open. A few more solid hits with my shoulder and the door gives way, I half fall into my office.

The stark light from my headlamp highlights the dust that has settled on everything. The office looks exactly like it did the day I left, I half-expect my computer to still be on and the message-waiting indicator on the phone to be lit up telling me Beth has left yet another pointless message.

I dive into my desk drawers, numerous packets from fast-food lunch runs: salt, pepper, sugar, soy sauce, along with another set of nail clippers, a small first aid kit and a bottle of ibuprofen--I pop two pills immediately. The second drawer yields more: a can of pop, three packets of oatmeal, a full box of Pop-Tarts and two of those tiny cereal boxes. Under my desk I find three 500ml bottles of water.

I stuff it all into my pack and check my watch, I've stayed far too long and it's definitely getting light out. As I go to leave I remember something. I grab the corner of the desk and reef on it as hard as I can, the violent motion sends the monitor and keyboard clattering to the floor as the desk lurches away from the wall. Reaching in behind the desk my hand falls on a bit of glass and wood, a picture frame. I pull it up, tear the backing away and remove the photograph. It's a picture of Kate & I near a mountain lake in Banff taken on our honeymoon, we both look happy.

I have forgotten what happy looked like.

* * * * *

No one shoots me on my way out of town and despite my throbbing foot, I'm feeling pretty content about the day so far. I celebrate by eating a surprisingly fresh Pop-Tart and drinking a bottle of water as I ride north. It's overcast and already sticky, I've already had to stop and remove my shirt at which point I took the opportunity to strap the .45 to my hip and put my carbine in a more accessible spot on the trailer.

I'm not the only person up early, I pass a number of fields where scores of people are at work, hoeing and weeding and otherwise tending the crops. I even spot a tractor on the move at one point, pulling a sprayer misting the crops with fertilizer or pesticide. The tractor is a good indicator that it's a Pelex-operated farm--they still have fuel. I pedal a bit faster.

The wind picks up and while the breeze is nice, the headwind is not appreciated by my legs. The trailer tows easy enough on shorter trips, but on longer journeys it starts to make its presence known and I have it loaded down pretty good today. I break east down a concession road to take a less traveled path prone to fewer observers and get some relief from the headwind. It might be a bit less direct but that shouldn't be a problem, I have lots of time.

When I reach what I consider to be the halfway point, I pull off the road by a copse of quaking aspens. A small stream flows through a wide culvert under the road. I crawl down the steep embankment, perch on a log and soak my bare feet in the clear cool water. I picnic right there on the log watching tiny minnows dart about in the eddies, a heron lands twenty-five meters downstream and begins stalking, its slender legs making barely a ripple as it gracefully hunts for lunch.

My swollen foot protests getting shoved back into my boot, but soon enough I'm riding again. My route zig-zags a bit before I'm northbound again. The Sun is breaking through the clouds at times and the breeze has shifted to the northeast. For a moment there is a hint of smoke in the air, but then it's gone. I'm reminded of that burnt out church Jake and I came upon but as I cross an intersection I notice some grain elevators down the road to the east and decide to take another detour and check them out.

Before I reach the elevators, I notice the surrounding fields are all green with crops and peppered with hat-covered people tending them. I have second thoughts about stopping since it could be another Pelex farm and I try to remember the maps on the wall that Denton showed me. It's clear I should pay closer attention to details, as they might be important at a later date.

I take a chance and pedal on, turn into the gravel parking lot and up to the front door of what clearly used to be an office. It would seem this use to be a farmer's cooperative of some kind.

"Hello, can I help you?" A lady asks as she steps out from the office, followed by a pair of blond-haired young men.

"Hi," I reply. "Is this a Pelex farm?" I ask, taking a chance.

"No, it certainly is not, these are private lands and I am going to have to ask you to leave."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to trepass," I apologize. "I just thought I'd stop and see if there was anyone here who would be interested in a relationship, like a trading partner."

"We welcome trade, from some people, and you are welcome here, but your guns are not."

Gravel crunches behind me and I turn to find another two men approaching from the field nearby, one is carrying a scythe with a gleaming edge I'm in not interest of getting a closer look at.

"So, if I leave my gun and trailer across the road?" I say, backing away slowly.

"You're welcome to do so, and come back and we can talk trade. Who do you represent?"

"Well, not Pelex, if that's what you're asking," I reply. "Just a small group of folks from town."

They watch me closely as I push the bike and trailer back across the road. I leave the guns in the trailer, hidden as well as they can be. Along with the other guns and ammunition I had brought out to bury at my in-laws as a backup cache. I uproot some wild plants to conceal my property but when I glance back as I cross the road I realize just how ridiculously obvious the "hidden" bike is.

"We're about to eat," the lady announces in a surprisingly friendly manner as I return. "Come, join us and we can talk."

The rapid switch in hospitality nearly gives me whiplash. But it's free food and an opportunity to build a relationship, so I don't decline.

"I'm Connor Killoren," I say, extending my hand as I take a seat. There are at least ten picnic tables lined up end-to-end atop the scales where they used to fill the tractor trailers with grain. High over our heads is a galvanized steel roof providing shade. Droves of men, women and children are pouring out of the surrounding fields and taking seats.

"I know who you are," she says. "I'm Becca Westerwick. These are my sons, Isaac and William," she adds, indicating the two blond boys that came out of the office with her. Their young, teenage faces seem strangely mismatch with their farm-labour hardened bodies.

By all appearances the boys are twins, long faces, blue eyes, wide shoulders. Their worn and dirty jeans are patched at the knees, though their white t-shirts are bright and clean. They all take a seat across from me. The tables fill up quickly, all except for mine.

Becca eyes me, sizing me up I think while a young lady in a headscarf fills a cup with water and places it in from of me. She eyes me warily as she does so and hurries off as soon as my cup is full. The same process is happening at every table as a dozen young, predominantly blond, women in flowing floral print dresses wait on the host. I only notice now that other than Becca, there are only men at the tables, save the two tables set aside for kids.

What I haven't missed is that is has not gone unnoticed that there is a stranger at a table. I get glances from every table and the men mutter amongst themselves--I'm sure the topic of discussion isn't dandelions.

"It must have been a long ride for you," Becca says, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yeah, I guess."

"What brings you out this far Mr. Killoren? Surely you didn't come all this way just to come calling in Fairmill?"

I'd half-forgotten this little hamlet had a name, people never really used it before. "I came out to visit someone I haven't seen in a while," I answer honestly with divulging too much information. These people seem harmless enough, but I've grown increasingly paranoid and trust isn't easily established.

"Anyone we might know?" she presses. "Our little community out here is a a bit of a trading post for the surrounding homesteaders."

Apparently I'm not the only paranoid in present company, Becca's pursed lips and furrowed brow communicate much more to me than her words. I look up and down the tables, partly assessing threats and also noting my novelty has not worn off as I garner much scrutiny. I'm relieved to see that the hoes, pitchforks and most especially the scythes are all hanging neatly on pegs, far out of reach.

"My in-laws have a farm a couple concessions to the north, truth be told, I pedaled all this way for a slice of blueberry cobler," I say, opting for a vague truth. In all honesty, Vivian probably made the best cobbler in the entire county. Her cobbler had a wondrous reputation all to itself. A much better reputation than I have.

Becca's eyes go wide and her mouth drops open and hangs there for a moment before she collects herself, "Abe!" she yells. The previous scythe-armed gentleman seated at the next table turns abruptly at Becca's call and is half out of his seat in an instant. My hand reflexively goes to my hip, but there is nothing there.

"What is is Becca?" he asks, now standing.

She turns back to me, "Who are you out here to visit?" she asks again, her voice shaking, the tone demanding an honest answer.

"Uh, Earl... Earl Kavanagh," I reply in a voice laced with uncertainty.

Becca and Abe exchange glances before Earl turns to me and says, "come with me."

He strides from the tables in quick, purposeful steps and I