Fire and Steel

Peter Schofield

Fire and Steel

Copyright © 2019 by Peter Schofield

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-1248-7 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-1247-0 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-1249-4 (eBook)

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

To my brother - i n -l aw , David Farris, who was the first person to read the book and give me his thoughts and opinions abou t it.

To my close friend, Martina Ball, who was the second person to read the book and give me her thoughts and opinions about it, from a woman’s prospective.

To my sister Michelle, who did the first edit for me … and to all those who encouraged me and convinced me to publish it.

Introduction

Frank woke with a dull ache in his head. Something had hit him, but he had no idea what had happened. Trying to roll over to sit up, he realized he was staked to the ground, naked. He struggled to free himself, but with no luck. All that did was make his head hurt more. He heard a fire crackling, and looked around. A man sat cross -l egged on the ground beside it. He looked at Frank for several minutes before rising and approaching him. From the way his face and body were painted with lines and circles, Frank figured he was some sort of Indian. Frank didn’t know who the man was until he squatted beside him. It was then that fear gripped him. The man was Jed.

You shouldn’t have tried to rape her, Jed said.

"I … I didn’t," Frank stammered as he lied.

"Lie all you want, it won’t save you. You tried, and when she fought back you beat her almost to death. When I left camp, she was still unconscious. I don’t know if she is alive or dead. Either way, it’s not going to make a difference to you. But if she’s dead, I’m going to follow you to hell, just so I can do this again.

At that, Jed held up a knife up for Frank to see. It looked razor-sharp. Then Jed reached out and cut him lightly on his thigh. The knife was so sharp that all he felt was a slight burning sensation.

It was what Jed did a few minutes later that caused Frank to scream in agony.

Chapter 1

Jed woke an hour before dawn and stared into the dim blackness above him. The fire was down to a few hot coals. Getting up, he added shavings, then some bigger pieces and went back to bed until his one -r oom cabin warmed up. He knew what had awakened him, and it was not the cold. He lay there thinking about it, trying to fathom the meaning of it. Most would simply call it a recurring dream and forget about it. Others might call it a premonition, a glimpse into something that was going to happen. The Indians who had raised him would call it a vision, an important one that must not be ignored. They would say it should be interpreted correctly and acted upon. They would tell him it was a window into his future, the future the Creator had set out for him to fo llow.

There wasn’t much to it, yet it was disturbing. In his vision, he was on a plane heading north; but he had no reason to go north, his home was here, at the west end of Lupin Lakes, and he was content. Then the vision jumped forward in time, and now he was kneeling, holding someone who was hurt … but in that fuzzy way of dreams, he couldn’t see who the person was. The dream jumped again, and now he was on the hunt, tracking someone—not an animal, as he knew so well how to do—but a person … and for what reason, he didn’t know.

It was then he always awoke to contemplate the vision. What did these images mean? What was the Creator trying to tell him? What did the future hold in store?

He didn’t know; he only knew he was supposed to be on a plane going north in four days. His dream-vision was cloudy, but it was clear about that.

It was late spring and time to take the winter’s catch of furs to town. The snow had receded back up the mountain and the ice was gone in the lake. Once he had sold his furs, he would have the money to go on this journey that the Creator was so insistent he take. He had reservations about it. He had questions about it … but when the Creator calls, you go.

The room had warmed, and he dressed quickly, then added some bigger chunks to the fire. How long would he be gone? Then again, why am I even going? He quickly dismissed that thought. He was going because he had furs to sell—and because his vision told him he must. His grandmother, the tribe medicine woman, had taught him about visions and how to interpret them and he never questioned her wisdom.

Jed had been an only child, as had his father. Perhaps Jed would have had had brothers and sisters, but fate decided otherwise and took both his parents when he was not yet three. Jed’s mother had been white while his father was of the Secwepemc First Nation people, though he referred to himself as ‘Indian’. Both Jed’s mother’s parents had passed away before Jed was born, so with no white relatives, his father’s parents took him in and raised him. It didn’t matter that he was only half-blood Indian; they accepted him as their own. In turn, he embraced the teachings, ways and beliefs of not only his grandparents, but of other elders as well. Much traditional knowledge had been lost with the coming of the white man, but Jed wanted to know the old ways. As he grew up, he talked endlessly with the elders, soaking up their stories, handed down from their memories in the traditional way. He valued learning what their lives had been like.

Of course, growing up part Indian and part white wasn’t easy. At school, he was different than the other boys and was picked on a lot, especially when he was younger. In the many fights he was part of, he got knocked down much of the time, but he always got back up, determined to do better. As he grew and got older, he got stronger and smarter, learning each time he got knocked down. Before long he was the one doing the knocking down. Then it was two, or three, or four guys who would jump him. He took some beatings but soon learned to read their behavior, and before long he could deal with that type of fight as well.

Then there was the night of the high school prom. Four of them confronted him and the girl he was escorting. They surrounded them in the parking lot and told the young lady that he wouldn’t be taking her to the dance and that she could go with one of them. Before Jed could say anything, one of them grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away. Whether it was an accident or not, Jed never knew, but she fell. Scuffing her elbow on the pavement she cried out in pain … and he lost it. Not waiting for them to make the first move as he usually did, he stepped forward and drove a straight right to the jaw of the boy in front of him.

That was it; the fight was on. The guy behind Jed grabbed him, pinning his arms to his side. Jed brought his head back quickly, driving it on to the bridge of the boy’s nose. He let go, stepping back and reaching for his face. Jed stepped back with him and drove an elbow into his already broken nose. Jed took a punch in the ribs while doing so, but he was seeing red and he barely felt it. Turning to his left, he ducked under a right fist and planted one of his own just above another guy’s belt. That boy started to fold over as the air left him, but Jed had other ideas and hooked a vicious left to his kidney that straightened him back up. Then, stepping sideways, Jed drove his heel into the side of the boy’s knee, breaking it. The guy couldn’t even scream in pain, as he still had no wind from the belly punch. Turning towards the last guy, Jed took a left jab in the mouth that split his lip. But when the guy went for another hit, Jed hooked his right arm over the guy’s arm and, pinning it to his side, turned quickly sideways. The arm broke, the bone jutting all the way through the skin, and the guy screamed in agony. Jed let go of his arm and then knocked the wind out of him with a left to the stomach. As he doubled over, Jed brought a knee up to meet his face. Turning, Jed took a quick look around, ready to take on whoever was next. There was no threat, they were all down and out. A dislocated jaw, two shattered noses, a busted knee and a broken arm and it all had taken less than a minute. He never had any more trouble after that.

Mercifully, public school didn’t last that long. When it was over, Jed left behind all of himself that was white and made a choice to be Indian. Now, at 30 years of age, he lived in the old ways, the Indian ways. High up in the mountains in his cabin, he was a loner, hunting and trapping and living off the land. He didn’t want or need any of the modern-day conveniences. Those he still kept in touch with said he was a relic from the past, but his grandfather told him he was wise beyond his years and would have been a great chief if he’d been born a few hundred years earlier.

The upcoming trip to sell his furs was an exciting yearly event for Jed, though he hoped he wouldn’t be gone long. It was spring, and he had much to do. Mostly, he survived from hunting and foraging, but he did plant a garden each spring and it would soon be time to do it. As well, his yearly supply of firewood needed to be cut and dried before the coming winter. He had traps to repair, maintenance he needed to do to the cabin, nuts and roots to collect and dry, berries to pick, meat to hunt … and dozens of other things that needed his attention before the too-short growing season ended and snow arrived again. It all took time. If he was gone too long, it would be a tough winter.

Usually, he just went to the trading post and back, but now he had a plane trip to think about, which meant he must go to the city, to Kamloops, and figure out what his vision was about. The worst part of the trip was not knowing what the vision meant. He knew it was not warning him to stay home; it was telling him to prepare. But for what? He decided it was important to prepare well; but even on a day trip, he always prepared well. This part of Canada was wild and unforgiving; one must always be alert and travel with care. In the mountains, people were not at the top of the food chain. Bears, wolves, cougars and other predators, though normally shy of man, will kill and eat you if they find you in their territory and unable to defend yourself. In the winter when he was trapping if he slipped on the ice and broke an ankle, that might mean freezing to death, or if you encountered a hungry bear in the spring or got between a mother bear and her cub that might mean getting torn limb from limb. The dangers of the wild were far different than those of the city. Out here, you had to know what you were up against.

He peeled and sliced a couple of potatoes into a frying pan and put them to cook on his wood stove. Then he sliced a steak from a quarter of venison that was hanging in the small storeroom outside his back door and put that in the pan with the potatoes.

Getting his backpack from under his bed, he sat it on the table and emptied it. Now what to put in it? He was going on an airplane, but the vision indicated that he might not make it to his destination. What was going to happen? Would it crash? Would he have to hike out? Feed fellow travelers?

He scratched his head as he thought about it. If he was in one place any length of time, he would make soup or stew so as not to have to cook every day, so he needed a pot. Getting the pot, he placed it on the table and he also retrieved a ladle that was hanging by the fireplace and the small chain he used to suspend it from a tripod over a fire. He decided to also clean and take his frying pan when he was done breakfast, as well as the coffee pot. His bedroll and ground sheet were already rolled and tied to the bottom of the pack frame. His splitting axe he would not need, but he decided to take the shorter-handled camp axe with its protective sheath. He fastened it to the side of the pack. Then he packed his folding bowsaw in its cylinder, along with a couple of spare blades and a telescopic fishing rod, tying them beside the axe. He laid a spare reel, line and a packet of hooks on the table beside the pot for packing later.

The water was hot for coffee and he made a cup. He sipped it as he flipped the potato slices and the meat and went back to his packing. A pouch on the top flap of his backpack was home to his first aid kit. Removing it, he checked the contents. The basics were there; suturing thread and needles, some packets of gauze along with a couple of rolls of bandaging and a small bottle of disinfectant. Not much, he thought. Something told him he needed more.

He opened the bigger kit he kept in the cabin and took the suturing thread and needles out, adding them to his travel pack. He couldn’t explain why and didn’t question it. He further got a piece of tanned skin and cut a hundred feet of rawhide thongs from it, then he hung a fifty-foot length of braided rawhide rope on the front of the pack. He made the rawhide rope by soaking the thongs in water, stretching them and braiding them tight while still wet. As they dried, they shrank, making them tighter and as strong, if not stronger than, store-bought rope.

On the opposite side of the pack he added another cylinder containing his bow, a two-piece recurve that he had hand-crafted himself. Retrieving it from the wall he took it apart and placed it in the cylinder. It disassembled easily. He’d built it so the handles of fitted together snugly, one sliding into the other. A half-turn locked them together and lined up the holes and then two pins slid through the holes. It was then wrapped in strips of soft leather for an easy grip.

When the bow was packed, he removed arrows from his quiver and checked each one carefully. All his arrows were also hand-made. They were crafted of cedar and fletched with goose feathers. The arrowheads made from antler. He had two dozen of them and he packed them all. Then, again without a concrete reason, he got another dozen from his spare arrows and added them as well. Then he secured the protective cover over the feather fletching and securely tied the quiver to his pack beside the bow.

It was time to eat, and as he packed away his breakfast, he put together a list in his head of what else to take. Surely with three dozen arrows I won’t need to repair any of them, he thought, but I should put together a pack of materials to do so if needed. Then he rounded up some cooking supplies: Salt and pepper, a few of last year’s dried plants for flavoring things, coffee, sugar, a spoon and fork, a notebook and some pencils ...

Jed had a good memory, but he liked to take notes about the things he saw and learned when he traveled. If the vision he’d been gifted with was accurate, he might need these things more than ever.

At home at the cabin, he usually wore buckskins he’d made himself. He decided to change into a shirt and jeans when he got to his friend Jack’s place at the trading post. He wondered if he should pack his new buckskins; the ones he wore were getting worn so he’d made a new set during the winter, as well as new moccasins. He decided not to; it would take up a lot of room.

Cleaning the frying pan and his tin cup, he carefully packed everything he’d laid out on the table. Then, he took down his belt that hung by the door, slung it about his hips and tied it. A buck knife with an eight-inch blade hung on the left, tilted slightly forward to be easily grasped with his right hand and a tomahawk hung on the right. To people who don’t know the difference, a tomahawk looks like a hatchet. However, while the hatchet is a white man’s tool made for chopping, the Indian tomahawk is used for lighter work, like butchering and skinning big game, or it can be thrown as a weapon. Also, while a hatchet’s handle curves at the end so not to slip from the hand while chopping, a tomahawk has a straight handle and a more rounded head. The tomahawk was a traditional Indian tool, and Jed was proud of it.

He did one final assessment of his packing. A set of compact binoculars hung on the belt at the small of his back; a pouch containing his flint and steel for fire starting hung around his neck; extra bow strings and a small bone awl had been added to his kit, and his first aid kit were easily accessible …

It was time to go. How could he not? His Creator had laid out a path before him that he must follow and he could not refuse. He stepped outside the cabin he hoisted the canoe to his shoulders and carried to the shore of the lake that was nestled on the mountain near his small home. He put the canoe in the water at a secluded little cove not 30 feet wide that wound inland about 50 feet. The small stream that flowed past his cabin entered the lake here, with a ten-foot gravel beach to one side.

His furs had been bundled in readiness for some weeks now, and all he had to do was make a few trips back and forth to get them loaded into the canoe. The ashes in the woodstove were still warm when he stirred them, but the fire was out. Taking one last look around the cabin, he couldn’t help but think it was going to be awhile before he was back here again. Then without a backwards glance, he pushed off, stepped into the canoe, sat and slowly paddled out his cove.

Chapter 2

The morning was serene, the lake surface like a mirror. It was mornings like these that Jed loved and this was a huge part of the reason he’d stayed living in his cabin on the mountain. Though the harsh brutality of winter in the Rockies was that it could kill him—and nearly had more than once—this was the life he had chosen, the life he wanted, and he would have it no other way.

The sun was just peeking over the peaks to the east in front of him and would soon burn off the early morning mist that hung over the water. A loon called from somewhere across the lake, the only sound other than the soft gurgle of water around his paddle as he dipped it into the lake. He stayed a distance from the lakeshore to avoid any hidden obstacles just beneath the surface of the water, his steady, powerful strokes propelling him eastward.

Several times Jed saw wildlife; deer were in abundance, a cow moose and her calf stood watching him glide past, not sure if he was a threat, keeping a watchful eye on him. A few miles further along, a big silvertip grizzly came to the shore to drink. Sensing something, it stood on its hind legs, nose skyward, testing the air for a clue as to what. It was a magnificent breast, lord of its domain and afraid of nothing. The grizzly was king of the wilderness and everything here knew it.

There wasn’t much danger here on the lake, other than floating logs and woody debris, and Jed could let his mind wander as he glided along. It was at times like this he thought about the changing seasons and made plans as to what needed to be done in each of them. There were never any idle moments, living as he did. He alone was responsible for his survival. He depended on no one else, and what needed to be done he must do himself. The money from the furs he trapped each winter was enough to buy the few things that mother nature couldn’t supply, things he could do without but allowed himself to indulge in, such as coffee and sugar. Although he did make some sugar from the boiled down sap of maple trees, it took a lot of sap to make a little sugar, and he usually only boiled it down into syrup. The syrup could also be used as a sweetener for many dishes, but naturally it was best topping for pancakes.

He also bought salt and flour. He just didn’t have time enough to collect and dry the number of tubers and nuts required to pound down into flour as his grandmother had taught him how to. Besides, it was a task done mostly by the women; the men hunted and provided meat, and the women gathered. He sighed as he thought about it … that was in times long since passed. Much of the knowledge of how things was being lost to the younger generation. It was so much easier just to go to town and buy what you needed.

There were other things besides food essentials he bought as well. He used modern steel traps because they were quicker to work with and easier to set than making deadfalls and snares; occasionally they would break and needed to be replaced, so he always picked up a few when he was in ‘civilization’.

It had been a good year for furs, and Jed expected he would get a good price for what he had. Of course, the plane ticket north was going to take a great deal of it, but it was necessary. First, he had to go to Barriere to sell them to make money before continuing to Kamloops and getting the plane ticket, and second, it was his destiny. He would not ignore a vision from his Creator. Again, he pondered the vision and wondered at its meaning.

The lake he paddled was long and narrow, never a mile wide at the widest point. The lake system was actually three lakes, not one, though it was hard to tell from a map. Shortly before noon he approached the head of the one he was on and went down through a narrow gorge—a quarter-mile of swift, flowing water that dropped several hundred feet before dumping into the second lake that he called ‘the split’. Jed maneuvered the canoe expertly through it and continued east under the midday sun.

A couple of hours before dark he trailed out a line behind him and before long had a nice trout for supper. He cleaned it, packed it into the canoe and carried on. Within a half an hour he approached the entrance to the third lake. It was impossible to put the canoe through the rapids there, so he prepared to portage a half mile to the next lake, where he would camp for the night. He would cook his trout once he was settled.

Emptying the canoe, he slid into his backpack, lifted the canoe, settled the yoke on to his shoulders and started off. Twenty minutes later he was at his usual campsite. Knowing it would be dark, he laid a fire before returning for his furs. It took four trips in total, and darkness had settled by the time he was done. Then he skewered the trout on a stick and hung it over the fire as he stripped and swam in the lake, washing the sweat of the day from him as it cooked.

Jed woke with the first grey streaks of dawn, ate the remainder of the fish and packed the canoe. He didn’t bother to start a fire. Dipping the paddle into the water, he started eastward once more. The morning was cool and invigorating and Jed put his strong shoulders into each stroke of the paddle, warming himself as he seemingly effortlessly glided over the water. The lake was shaped like boomerang and at midmorning he rounded the elbow at Pine Point and headed almost due north. By noon he neared the end of the lake and saw Jack’s Trading Post a half mile away.

Jack and his wife Linda saw him a few minutes after he rounded the point. They were waiting for him on the beach when he arrived.

Looks like you had a good winter, Jack commented, eyeing the furs as Jed let the nose of the canoe slide up on the beach.

It was. One of my best, Jed replied as he stepped from the canoe.

Linda gave him a hug and he handed her a string of a half dozen trout he’d caught on his morning journey. She thanked him and started towards the house, yelling over her shoulder that lunch would be ready in an hour.

When are you heading into town? Jed asked.

I was just waiting for you, Jack said. I figured you would be along about now, and we were in no hurry. We got our stuff ready, so we’ll go tomorrow. Is that okay with you?

Sounds good, replied Jed. I got to be in the city the morning after.

Jack stopped in his tracks and looked at him. You are going to Kamloops? I can’t believe it. You wouldn’t even come to town if you didn’t have to. Must be something mighty important for you to make that trip.

Like Jed, Jack was mostly Native and the thought of asking why Jed was going to the city never entered his mind. If Jed wanted him to know, he would tell him. Jed didn’t. Instead, he started unloading his furs, and Jack followed him to the shed where they put the bundled furs. Another trip brought everything up, including the canoe.

Jack ran a successful guiding business and had a nice setup. Forty miles from town at the end of the dirt road, his closest neighbor was half-way to town. Like Jed, he liked to be away from people, except for clients.

The main house wasn’t overly big, but dining room could sit twelve when needed and that’s where Linda fed the hunters they guided. Two separate cabins slept six people each. Other outbuildings included a meat cooler, a couple of storage sheds and a barn for horses. The hunters flew in by float plane, and Jack had a dock in the lake. Jack’s two brothers were his extra guides and helping hands.

Jed and Jack had known each other since they were boys. As Jed was a close friend, Linda insisted he stay in the spare bedroom when instead of in one of the cabins. She kept a change or two of clothes there for him and so after washing he changed from his buckskins and moccasins to jeans, shirt and sneakers.

Linda liked to spoil him with her cooking and he knew there would be a big meal for supper so he ate sparingly when lunch was served, and she noticed it.

Don’t like my cooking anymore? she teased. You’re hardly eating anything.

That’s because I know you and what’s going to happen. You will cook a feast for supper, thinking I don’t eat enough or eat right when I’m home, he grinned.

And probably you don’t, although I must say you look healthy enough. All you need is a good woman up there to cook for you. I got some single friends in town. Maybe I’ll invite one of them for a visit before you leave, she said with a big smile.

They teased and picked on each other over lunch as they usually did, Linda continuing to mention that Jed needed a wife and Jed politely telling her to mind her own business. It was all in fun and neither took offence.

When lunch was finished she kicked Jed and Jack out of the kitchen while she cleaned up and did the dishes. She joined them on the veranda a short time later.

We hardly get to see you, Jed, Linda said. You always leave and go back to your place as soon as you sell your furs. Why don’t you stay for a few days? We can take a trail ride to one of the high meadows, have a picnic and find a stream to catch some of those brook trout I like. Jack likes doing that occasionally, and it’ll be fun. Besides, a few days won’t stop you from getting your work done. What do you say.? Linda asked.

Jed looked at Jack and winked. I think she wants me to stay so she can invite one of her lady friends to come out.

Linda laughed and said, "That wasn’t my intention, but I can do that if you would like. But seriously, Jed. You are a good friend and we would like to see you more. You spend too much time alone up there. I do think you need a woman in your life, but that is for you to decide, not me. Will you think about? We would love to have you stay for a few days."

Maybe when I come back. I’m going away for a while, Jed said.

What do you mean, you are going away for a while. Where are you going? she asked.

Linda, that’s none of our business. We don’t ask questions like that, Jack said, a little annoyed.

"I know you don’t ask questions like that, but I’m not Native and I do. So where are you going?" she asked again, looking at Jed.

To be honest, I don’t know, Jed said, and then proceeded to tell them about his vision.

Jack understood completely how important a vision is to First Nations people, but Linda thought it foolish to leave just because he had a dream. She knew he had been raised by his Native grandparents, but didn’t know just how much he believed in their ways until now. Even though her husband had taught her about his culture and heritage, there were some things she couldn’t understand, or maybe just couldn’t believe. To her, it was just a dream.

I don’t understand why it’s so important for you to follow it, she said. But the more Jack and Jed tried to explain it to her, the more confused she became. Finally, she gave up trying to figure it out. If it was something Jed believed in so strongly, then who was she to argue. Leaving the men to themselves, she went inside to start supper.

Linda cooked up a storm. There was venison roast, moose steak, vegetables, mashed potatoes with gravy and warm apple pie for desert. Jed ate until he could eat no more. Her cooking was so much better than his own, and he thought, maybe I should have a woman in my life, then quickly dismissed the thought. He could survive on his own cooking just fine without a woman around to complicate things.

Up with first daylight, Linda had breakfast cooking when Jed walked into the kitchen: Fried potatoes, thick slices of bacon and fresh eggs from the chicken coop along with strong coffee. Most work days for Jack and Linda were 12 to 14 hours long—and it took a lot of energy to stay going. Meals were always big and good. Everyone ate well at Jack and Linda’s.

Having packed the truck for the trip the previous evening, Jack, Linda and Jed were on the road as soon as everything was cleaned up from breakfast. The road was rough, full of potholes and ruts and, since this was the first trip of the year, several times they had to stop to cut trees that had blown down across the road. Other than that, it was a normal trip and they arrived in Barriere around mid-morning. Linda dropped the men off at the warehouse with their furs and then went about her business.

Logan Meyers was the name of the man who had been buying their furs for years. Both Jack and Jed both trusted him to give them a fair price for what they had. Naturally, there was some friendly dickering over quality and prices, but that was to be expected. After handshakes all around, the deals were done, Logan knowing Jack and Jed provided him with some of his best quality furs, and Jack and Jed knowing they got probably a better than average price from him. As Jed pocketed his money, he thought, that’s how it goes when you take the extra time to properly prepare the fur for market.

With several thousand dollars in his pocket, Jed bought a few items he thought he might need before Linda met up with them for supper.

How are you getting to the city? Linda inquired as they sat in a local café waiting for their meals to arrive.

I’ll grab the bus in the morning, Jed answered.

Why don’t we take him, honey? Linda asked, turning to her husband. We haven’t been there in almost a year and I could surprise my sister with a visit. What do you say? It will only be an extra day. Please?

Jed knew what the answer was going to be even before Jack gave her one. She didn’t ask for much and he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to his wife. He knew he had a ride to the airport. However, having only seen a flight number in his vision, Jed had no idea what airline he was to look for, what time it was leaving or where it was going.

As Kamloops was only about an hour drive away, they decided to make the trip that evening. Jed had only been to Kamloops a few times and hated it. He wondered, how can anyone live in such a place? So much noise, everyone in a rush to get places … and the smell. No wonder people had breathing problems. Even without knowing where he was going, he would be glad to be out of that city.

When they arrived at Linda’s sister’s house, she was surprised and glad to see them and happily provided a place to sleep for everyone, just as Linda had promised. Jed and she had met a few times up at the lake and so he was warmly welcomed.

That night as Jed slept, the vision visited him again. This time it left him with three numbers … 243.

I think I know the flight number, he told Jack over coffee. Linda called the airport for him and found that a flight 243 with Air Canada to Whitehorse was scheduled to depart at 9:30 p.m. the following evening, May 22. A whole day in this foul-smelling, noisy city, thought Jed. He thought he might go mad before he got out of here.

Kamloops was big to Jed, but by urban standards it was quite small. It had a population of about 90,000 people and was situated along the shore of the Thompson River. Jed spent most of the next day down by the river where the air seemed much cleaner.

Given the small size of the airport, things were rather informal and so he was able to purchase a ticket right at the airport for flight 243 the next morning. Waving good-bye to Jack and Linda, he boarded the plane at the designated time. The flight stopped briefly on the coast of the province to drop off and pick up some passengers. Jed didn’t know anything about flying but it seemed strange to him they would first fly to Vancouver instead of going straight to Whitehorse. From Vancouver they would proceeded north on what was to be a two and a half hour flight to Whitehorse. What was there waiting for him there, he did not know … but he would soon find out.

The flight to the coast was uneventful, and most of the passenger disembarked there. A few others boarded, and the plane took off less than half-full. Jed took advantage of the emptiness of the plane to stretch out a little.

As they flew north up the coast of B.C., an hour before midnight and an hour into the flight they encountered a severe thunderstorm that had not been forecast. The seasoned pilot flew on unconcerned, knowing it was not uncommon for these storms to blow up over the Pacific Ocean in late spring and blow themselves out as quickly as they formed. It was typical weather for this coast. However, this storm increased in intensity, which became worrying. As lightning streaked downward, illuminating the sky, and deafening thunder followed, passengers and crew both became nervous. Strong winds rocked the plane, while heavy rains pounded it relentlessly as if trying to drive it to the ground.

The pilot carried on, however, confident it would not last long and that they would fly out safely; in fact, the thought of turning back never entered his mind… until they a lightning strike took out most of the control panel including the compass, the altimeter and the radio. That concerned the pilot. It was still a couple of hours to their destination and they had no way to contact anyone. Visibility was nil, and their radar was gone. The only thing that was working was the fuel gauge, which told him what he already knew, that the tanks were mostly full.

The pilot pondered what to do. With the compass gone, there would be no turning back because if he started to turn, he wouldn’t know what direction they were heading. At this point, he thought they were still heading north, though the plane had been quartering into the wind so he wasn’t certain. Experience told him they had probably been blown inland, right into the heart of the Rocky Mountains. It also told him they were going to crash; this he was certain of. When, he didn’t know.

The passengers hadn’t raised any commotion; they were white-knuckling the ride and expecting the best. In the interest of keeping everyone calm, the pilot talked it over with his copilot and they decided not to alert them until they had to. The radio seemed dead, but someone might be able to hear them; the copilot stayed on it, calling out a ‘mayday’. They say ignorance is bliss and in this case, for the passengers, it was.

The heavy rain pelted against the windshield and the pilot could see only blackness ahead and nothing below. It was a bad situation and unless the storm blew itself out in the next little while, the chances of everything turning out okay were slim to none. They would probably end up plowing into the side of a mountain. At least it would be all over in a few seconds. He would keep them in the air as long as he could and hope for the best; after all, that was the only thing he could do.

Jed sat toward the rear of the plane, a few seats behind the wing, watching the people in front of him. The window seat beside him was vacant, as was the seat in front of him. Forty-one people were on board and at least half of them were airsick from the motion of the plane being buffeted by the strong winds. A few passengers were nervous and talked in hushed tones. One young girl near the front was frightened and cried while the elderly woman next to her did her best to comfort her.

A young woman in the window seat a row in front of him glanced nervously over her shoulder at him, as she had done a few times now. Her raven black hair was tied back in a pony tail that hung below her shoulders and from the brief look he’d had of her, he knew she was at least part First Nations. Her cheekbones were high and her skin dark, as though well-tanned, and her eyes were so dark they looked almost black. He could see she was worried. Leaning forward, he touched her on the shoulder.

Mind if I sit beside you? he asked as she turned towards him at the touch.

No. Please do.

Bracing himself against the motion of the plane, he moved up and settled into the seat beside her.

My name is Jedediah Hawken, he said as he buckled up. Jed for short.

I’m Angie Redsky, she responded.

Angie. Is that short for Angela? he asked.

Angelina, she told him.

Nice to meet you, Angie. You looked a bit nervous when you glanced back. Thought maybe you could use someone to talk to.

Thank you, I appreciate it, she said. "Nervous doesn’t really describe how I feel. Terrified would be more appropriate. Sitting here by myself I keep thinking, nothing but the worst is going to happen. I’m glad you offered to move forward."

My pleasure. I always enjoy talking to a pretty lady, he said, smiling.

Thank you, she acknowledged the compliment. She looked away and, despite her dark skin, Jed knew she was blushing. There was something familiar about her, even though he knew he’d never seen her before. She reminded him of someone but couldn’t place who.

Where are you headed? he asked her.

To visit my parents up in the Yukon. I didn’t get the opportunity to get there at Christmas, as I usually do, she replied.

Jed was about to reply when they suddenly hit an air pocket and dropped a thousand feet in a few seconds. A few things loose items flew to the ceiling as they dropped, and people screamed in terror. They flew out of it almost before the screams were heard.

I take it things aren’t always like this when flying, he said, looking at her.

She sat there, eyes closed and knuckles white from clutching the arms of the seat then took a couple of deep breaths before turning to look at him. Are you telling me this is your first flight? she asked.

It is.

How can you be so calm?

My Creator put me on this plane for a reason and I don’t think it was to die … but if it is, then it is what he has planned for me, he told her.

Your Creator? That’s Indian talk and you don’t look like any Indian I ever met, she said.

I’m half-blood, Secwepemc. But I was raised by my Indian grandparents since I was three, he explained to her. I am Indian. I guess the white shows some, though. He chuckled, and she loosened up a bit.

You seem so calm. How do you do it?

He looked at her, assessing her. I’m guessing you are Native, or part, he said. I assume you had similar teachings to those I had … that the Creator has laid out a path for us all? Even though Jed called himself an Indian he knew most Native people didn’t like to be called so and preferred the word Native or First Nations, he called her so, wanting to offend her.

I am half Native and I had those same teachings, she said. Still, it doesn’t help me from being terrified right now. For all I know, maybe crashing and dying is my path.

I don’t think so, Jed said, trying to reassure her.

But if it is, it may be my path too. Then he asked, Was your father Native?

My mother, she said.

But your last name …? he let the question tail off. ‘Redsky’ sounded like a First Nations name to him.

I’m proud of my Indian heritage, so I took her name, Angie said.

Jed continued to talk quietly with Angie, trying to keep her mind from the storm outside, but it was difficult with the way the plane was being tossed around.

Little did they know that it was only a matter of time before they went down. But the pilot knew; they should have arrived at their destination by now but he could not see the familiar lights of an airport on the ground below. The storm still raged on around them and now he was certain they were off course. He and the co-pilot were fighting a losing battle. He knew their chances were slim and that the fierce winds were blowing them right into the mountains. Without visibility, that was a bad place to be. Still, he flew on, knowing that if the storm didn’t subside, they would certainly go down sooner or later.

It was another hour before the passenger started to question where they were. By now, they were almost an hour overdue. It was at this time that disaster struck.

His eyes tired from straining to see, for a few moments the pilot laid his head back and closed them. The co-pilot, busy with the radio, didn’t see the ridge less than a hundred feet below them, even when lightning flashed on it. Barely missing the ridge, they flew up the east side of a long valley, dropping in altitude. The pilot opened his eyes and could still see nothing. He felt a bit optimistic because the storm was letting up; the lightning was less intense, and the wind was subsiding.

Maybe, just maybe the pilot thought, they would be alright. He had no idea where they were, but if he could see some lights, there was a chance he could figure it out.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the tops of trees as the wings clipped them. Jed had looked out the starboard window as the lightning flashed and saw the treetops out the window. Someone else must have seen the same thing he’d just seen, as he heard multiple screams a second before they crashed.

In the cockpit, the pilot pulled back hard on the controls, trying to climb, but he overreacted. As the nose of the plane lifted suddenly, the tail dipped down, catching the trees and the drag from the trees pulled them down. The plane started to go down, shearing off multiple treetops as they dropped. The starboard wing caught on the high side of the slope and was torn from the plane. Seats with passengers still in them were pulled through the hole, screams fading into the night as they were pulled out.

The drag from the wing rolled the plane onto its side as it dropped down through trees, snapping off foot-thick trees like matchsticks as it did so. The broken trunks ripped through the side of the fuselage. The horizontal stabilizer got caught, and the tail section tore free, slowing them down. Dropping to the forest floor, the plane shot along the rough ground, its side opened from the loss of the wing and the broken trees. As the whole starboard side of the fuselage was peeled away, the seats and passengers were as well. Finally, the plane’s nose plowed into a large spruce, three feet in diameter. It crumpled on impact and came to an abrupt stop.

Chapter 3

Because the plane lay on a slight angle, the weight of the port side wing rolled the plane back up on its belly. Several minutes passed before people started to regain their senses and realized they were still a live.

Slowly straightening up, Jed could see nothing in the blackness. Everything was quiet except a few low moans coming from some of the passengers. He didn’t try to move; he just sat there, looked around in the blackness and took in the situation. His hips were sore from the seat belt grabbing him when the plane came to such a sudden stop, but other than that he seemed to be fine. Angie stirred beside him.

You okay? he asked her.

I … I think so. Just shaken up, I think.

It was pitch black where he sat, outside the wreckage it was a bit lighter. As his eyes adapted, he could see the whole side of the plane was gone, as though they had been cut in half. Turning slowly, he realized the tail was gone as well. He was shocked. There was no reason any of them were still alive. They shouldn’t be, but they were.

His mind kicked into gear. They should move in case of fire, but where? He had no idea what the terrain was like where they were and there was little light to see. He was relieved that he could see no wires sparking and could smell no fuel. Maybe they were best to stay where they were.

Outside, the storm winds had diminished, but it was raining quite hard. At least they would be dry if they stayed put. However, Jed was worried about the cold. There was still a week left in May, and up high in the mountains, the temperature would not be far above freezing at night. Jed wore no watch, but judged it to be a few hours past midnight, maybe a little more. It was going to get colder as morning came.

Unbuckling his seat belt, he slowly got to his feet. He tested his balance and felt for movement of the plane beneath his feet. Then, moving back to his original seat, he opened the overhead bin and got his jacket. It was only thin denim, but it would help. He could already feel the coldness of the night air. He remembered seeing Angie put her coat in the bin above her seat. He found it and gave it to her.

Thank you. I was going to ask if you would get that for me.

Are you sure you are alright? he asked again.

I’m okay, she told him.

Good. Sit tight for a now. I’ll be back.

His eyes had become used to the darkness now and he could dimly see objects in what was left of the plane. No one was in the seats in front of them, so he moved forward to the next row. An elderly couple sat there; they were still alive.

Are you guys alright? he asked.

I’m fine, but I think my wife has a broken arm, the man said.

Sorry. Nothing I can do about that right now. But it’s going to get colder. You have coats to put on?

Up in the overhead bin, the man said.

Jed got them for them and continued up