Page 102 of Longing for Liberty
“I was told to give you these,” the boatman said, handing us each a paper bag. “This isn’t the most comfortable transportation, but it’ll get us north. We’re exiting the Chesapeake Bay and going around the peninsula, up the Atlantic coast to Nova Scotia.”
Canada.
How ironic that six years ago I’d booked us flights from Canada to Italy, and now it was happening. I couldn’t help the flutter of delight despite our circumstances. I looked around the boat. The plastic flooring was dingy but thankfully not wet. The only two seats were the captain’s seat and the one beside it, which the driver and guard took. I let myself slide to the floor at the front, and Jeremy did the same a few feet away from me. It was an easy ride at first as we left the bay, but when we got to the ocean, where it was a little rockier, sea sickness came over me. The men ate sandwiches and apples from their bags, but I had to lie down on the disgusting floor. Now and then we’d hit a jarring wave that cracked my ankles and elbows against the hard plastic, but at least I didn’t vomit.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jeremy watching me from the corner of his own eye. I was low enough that the other men couldn’t see me. I gave a small thumbs up, and my husband faintly smiled to himself.
At some point I fell asleep, though I wasn’t sure how. Hours must have passed because when I finally cracked my eyes open, I saw Jeremy staring out over the side of the boat at the sky as the sun set in layers of orange, peach, and pink. When he saw that I was awake, he nudged my paper bag with his foot, telling me to eat. I wished I could give the food to him, because my stomach was not ready for it, but I also knew I needed to keep up my strength.
I pulled out the peanut butter and jam sandwich and literally gagged when I started chewing. There was nothing wrong with it, but my body rejected the feel of food in my mouth. I pressed a knuckle to my lips and forced myself to swallow. After three bites, I leaned my head back and hoped the sensations would pass soon. On top of my stomach aching, a chill had taken to the air. Thankfully I’d had the forethought to pack a sweater, which I pulled out of my bag and tugged on, hugging it tightly to my body as I clutched the paper bag.
“You’re not eating that?” the guard asked. As much as I didn’t want to eat the food, there was an even bigger part of me that didn’t want him to have it either. I would have happily given it to the captain or Jeremy, but not him.
I held the bag tighter. “I am.”
His eyes narrowed on me, but I looked away, pulling out the apple and forcing a bite.
Ugh, a soft apple. My body shivered as I pretended to like it.
Chew, chew, chew, swallow.
I took a few sips of water from my metal bottle. My nose was getting cold. I curled my legs inward to store body heat, while keeping my knees together in the skirt.
It felt like hours more before the boat finally began to slow. Dusk had dimmed to early night, but lights shone from the docks ahead. Was this Nova Scotia? It certainly felt cold enough to be Canada. I watched in surprise as the State Force guard took off his helmet and police gear, changing into a button-up shirt and sports jacket. But his gun was still holstered underneath. As we pulled up to the dock, the guard pulled a small box from his bag and set it on the captain’s seat.
“Your payment.”
The worker gave him a nod as he got us to the dock and told Jeremy to grab the rope. I wondered what the man had been given to do a secret run to Canada. Cigarettes? Liquor? Chocolate? Medicine? He must have been doing well with bribes to stay in the State and not flee to Canada himself. Maybe he stayed for his family.
My legs were gelatinous as I climbed onto the dock, still swaying internally. Another car awaited us. Were we going to the airport? My God…we were in civilization! Out of the State! I climbed in and stared out of the window at the dimly lit buildings and houses that we passed. If Jeremy weren’t here, I could fling myself out of the moving car and run. My heart raced as if I were actually sprinting away from the State Force guard. In my mind I would be flying, and he’d never be able to catch me, though I was sure the reality would be much grimmer.
To my dismay and disappointment, we pulled into the lot of what appeared to be a tiny airstrip. As far as I could tell, there wasn’t even a building to walk into. Was this place private? I knew Amos would probably fly private, but I’d hoped we’d be on a commercial plane surrounded by the safety of other people.
We stopped beside another black car, and its driver got out to open the back door. I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the man standing there.
“Get out,” our guard ordered us.
Jeremy and I obeyed, climbing out with our bags and standing very still while the guard shook hands with the well-dressed man. I couldn’t believe it. We were standing feet from one of the richest men in the world—the first human to become a trillionaire. Ronald Hempshire was the owner of the world’s largest private equity firm. He’d bought up everything from hotel chains and resorts to banks to electricity and oil companies. He’d had a hand in everything, and he heavily backed Wright’s party. It was because of Hempshire and his government affiliations under Wright that the U.S. had financially tanked, causing the largest homelessness epidemic in U.S. history.
The apple mush churned in my stomach as I heard him say, “Anything for Fitzhugh. The plane is stocked and ready.”
We definitely weren’t flying commercial. I wouldn’t be able to corner a flight attendant by the bathrooms like I’d been hoping, to pick someone’s brain about what was happening in the world. No chance of losing the guard in a busy airport or getting to a phone.
To my surprise and disgust, Ronald Hempshire, with his lumpy bald head, looked me over and gave me an amused chuckle. I raised my chin.
“Enjoy,” he said to me.
I didn’t know what Amos had told him, but at risk of ruining everything, I gave a simple nod and said, “Thank you.”
One of Hempshire’s men led us through a gate onto the tarmac where a private plane sat with its stairs down. The three of us climbed on. Jeremy and I stood stupidly staring around at the lush, white leather cabin.
“Hurry and sit down,” the guard said. “Front row. Separate windows.”
I rushed to one window and tucked my bag away. A blanket and pillow were awaiting me. The guard sat on the aisle seat behind me. My heart jumped when a woman in a red beret and fitted navy dress came out with a tray. Our own flight attendant? She carried a tray of what appeared to be mimosas.
“No alcohol on this flight,” the guard told her. The woman’s eyes widened, but she nodded and hurried away. He leaned forward and warned us, “Don’t try to talk to her or the pilots. They’ve been ordered not to speak to you. There are cameras.” He pointed to at least three of them. “Understand?”
“Yes,” I said, and heard Jeremy murmur his understanding.
