Campbell_Book One

Chapter 11




February 2002

Fort Macleod, Alberta



“Well, I’m going to call it Campbell,” Bull joked, glancing at Lucy out of the corner of his eye. “It’s a better name than Fort Macleod, anyway. There aren’t any Macleods here, and the fort sucks.”

“I think we should call it something geographical, like they’ve done in the east,” Lucy piped up, looking up from her game of checkers with Angela Duncan. “Like North.”

“Campbell’s better,” Bull said, moving onto the floor beside her, their thighs brushing. “East isn’t going to bring everyone together. Kids in the west aren’t going to want to be part of East. Or kids in the north. If we’re all going to do this, we need to think big.”

“What if we just call ourselves Canada?” Cole replied, looking admirably at Bull, who seemed to be taller and more handsome every time he came to visit.

Lucy didn’t miss the way Cole looked at her boyfriend. She’d called him on it, and he’d confessed to having a crush on him. It had shocked Lucy at first. She didn’t know anyone who was gay, or even what it meant to be gay until Cole had told her he was. She wasn’t surprised that Bull made Cole feel similar to the way he made her feel. They’d shared feelings and emotions, for as long as she could remember. She knew from the amount of kissing that Bull seemed to want to do that he wasn’t going to reciprocate Cole’s feelings but it bugged her a little, the way Cole didn’t care that Bull was hers.

She’d never had someone that was just hers before.

“We’ve got some Americans interested. If you were American, would you want to be Canadian?” Lucy said, staring deadpan at her twin who was fixated on her boyfriend. He quickly looked away, and knew Lucy well enough to know that he could expect a lecture later.

“I don’t know,” Cole mumbled. “Maybe? I think a lot of Americans wanted to be Canadian.”

“Why would you think that?” Lucy countered sharply. “That’s not true at all.”


“Children, children,” Bull tisked, shaking his head and ruffling Lucy’s hair playfully. “I think Campbell is good. It’s not one person, and this town, it’s Campbell anyway.”

“And you really think we’ll all just work together, and everyone will be happy, and that’ll be the end of it?”

“No,” Bull laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a start, and if we don’t start, someone else will.”

“Your kind are going to listen to me?” Lucy shook her head. “Yeah, right.”

“They’ll listen to me. We’ll just work together. You’re right; no one’s going to go for colonialism again, now that we know better.”

“What’s that?” Cole asked, sliding next to Angela around the checkerboard.

Bull sighed. “You know what? Never mind—”

“It’s when all the white people came and took everything from Bull’s people and didn’t give them anything back for it,” Lucy interrupted. “Right?”

“You’ve been reading the books I gave you?” Bull smiled at her.

“Yeah. I kind of hate myself a little more every day,” Lucy said, grinning back at him. “But I guess Mother Nature showed us all.”

Bull chuckled. “She’ll do that.”

Lucy had learned a lot from Bull in the short time they’d known each other. She’d never really understood the imbalance in her world until he’d talked about his family and the stories his grandfather had passed onto him about how his people had once lived. She’d learned a little about it in school, but it was nothing compared to having Bull tell her about life on his reserve or show her things like the place where the Blackfoot had once hunted buffalo by chasing them off a cliff, just a stone’s throw from Fort Macleod. “You want to go up to Head Smashed In again tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he replied, beaming as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Andrew had gone north to visit some of the boys he’d met in foster care the night before, which left an incredibly nervous, but trying to play it cool Lucy alone with an incredibly anxious, but always cool, Bull. Lucy tried to stay up as late as she could, hoping she’d either find some way to explain that even though a few of the twelve-year-olds they both knew were having sex, she wouldn’t be, or that they’d both simply fall asleep and it would never come up.

She had no such luck when Bull followed her into her room much later that night.

“We’re not doing it,” she said, raising her eyebrows at him. “Ever.”

His face dropped. “Ever?”

She shrugged. “I’m…I’m not sure I want to.”

“Well, I don’t think you have to decide at eleven.” He tugged off his heavy wool sweater to reveal his muscular frame. “And I don’t know why you think that’s what I want from you. I’m not sure I’m ready yet either. I’m barely twelve. You’ve seen all the girls around with swollen bellies. Who needs that?”

“What do you want from me?” she asked curiously, changing into her flannel pyjamas behind the bedroom door.

He gave a small shrug and smiled as he climbed into her bed. “I don’t think I have to decide that either.”



September 2012

Somewhere just east of Old Oklahoma



“So you trust this guy that’s sending us to some place called Grove? It’s not some elaborate trap? He’s not the rat?”

“Bull is not the rat. Bull is…” She looked up thoughtfully. “He’s…we share a brain sometimes. He’s an old boyfriend.”

Tal raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t imagined Lucy gushing over anyone. “And here I thought—”

“Oh, you thought right,” Lucy quipped. “And my only boyfriend. We were eleven. Twelve maybe. And then we were friends, and now we’re still friends. Because we don’t sleep together.”

“Right,” Tal nodded. “Because sex makes people—”

“Crazy.”

“I was going to say ‘hate each other’, but crazy works.” He shrugged, leaning against the car where they’d run out of gas, somewhere along the highway. “I guess we walk?”

Lucy gave a dull nod. “I guess so.”

It was a nice day; the sun was shining, and the sky was blue forever. On either side of them, scraggly bushes filled fields that had likely once been wheat.

“It’s like we’re the only two people in the world,” Lucy said, watching one foot move in front of the other. “We could be. Everyone could have died.”

“Why us? Why would we live, if everyone died?” Tal squinted into the sun.

“Fate? Blind luck?”

“How do you stop people wanting…things? If you’re all for your communist—”

“Socialist.”

“Whatever. If you’re a socialist, how do you convince yourself you don’t want to be on top?”

She smiled mischievously. “Oh, I’m always on top. Don’t get mixed up there. The extremes are just less extreme. I make a good salary and I don’t want for anything. ” She looked down at her ratty t-shirt. “Except maybe now. A new bra would be the bee’s knees.”

He smirked at her. “That’s an expression I haven’t heard in a while.”

“I’m old-school, Tal.” She scuffed her foot along the pavement. “There are no gulags in Old Canada. No sad, sad communist faces in line for bread. Shit just works.”

“Campbell: Shit Just Works. It’s like a dream marketing slogan.”

“Tell me more about you,” Lucy said abruptly, changing the subject.

“What do you want to know? We’ve probably got another twelve hours of walking ahead of us, so make it good.”

“What do you like to do, when you’re not ordering kids to do your bidding?”

Tal shook his head. “I just handle the money. I like money. I don’t have anyone doing my bidding. I like to bike. And read mystery novels, and pretend I’m going to law school like my parents did by reading their books. I have a garden—”

“What do you grow?”

“Everything. Every inch of yard that isn’t the pool—”

“Of course you have a pool,” she groaned

“It’s so much work to upkeep,” he tisked. “Anyway, we—”

“Who’s we? Not Connor,” Lucy shook her head. “He’s got that no-fresh-food look that kids get. It’s like extended scurvy.” She shook her head with disgust. “I hate kids like that. You’d think they were still twelve.”

“My cousin, Leah. We do the garden together. She does it mostly, because she’s around more. Anyway, we grow everything. We always had an avocado tree, but we got seeds for a bunch of other stuff early on. A lot of what we eat comes from there. I like real food.”

“See, you’re practically socialist anyway,” Lucy joked. “You should overthrow Connor and start promoting backyard gardening. It could be a whole movement.”

Tal sighed. “Kids are so lazy. I wanted to, in the beginning. I convinced everyone to give tax breaks for gardens and try to trade things, but no one did it.”

The smile on Lucy’s face was infectious. “You did that?”

“Sure,” Tal shrugged, his garden pushing days a distant memory. “But like I said, it didn’t catch on.”


“I think we’re all a little older and wiser now. Maybe it would catch on. California people are pretty laid back, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know. Am I laid back?”

“You’re more laid back than me,” Lucy said, peering down the road. “I really thought someone would have driven by us by now.”

“Do you really want to get in a car with someone around here?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t want to walk to Oklahoma. I think we could fight again if we had to.”

“What happens when it gets dark?”

“I guess we take shelter somewhere and wait for morning.”

Shelter came in the form of an abandoned bungalow by the side of the road with a collection of feral cats in the attached garage. Luckily for Lucy and Tal, whoever had abandoned the house had locked up which had kept the cats out.

“I hate cats,” Tal muttered, as an orange tabby swiped at his leg. “We had a dog when I was really little, but then we never got another one.”

“We’ve got cats around,” Lucy said, hissing at a patchy grey one as she shooed it away. “They serve a purpose. Maybe you just haven’t met a good one.”

They carefully broke a window and went in, the last light of the day providing them with a bit of a view of the space. The power was off, which pointed to the residents having been older and probably not surviving very long, since there would have had to be a functioning power company after their death to disable the service due to unpaid bills. Most households with kids had kept power, although they’d had to figure out some repair techniques over the years.

“This place is dusty and a little creepy,” Lucy whispered, peering around the corner into a bathroom she assumed wasn’t functional. “I hope the old people aren’t still here.”

Tal cringed at the thought of finding anything decomposed. Nothing was more disgusting than the grey, stretched skin and hollow expressions of the dead. “We used to find them all the time when we’d be scavenging.”

“We dumped a lot from our town in a field after that first winter and burned them. The ground was too hard to bury them, and it just seemed like a lot of useless work.”

Nodding in agreement, he picked at some of the old wallpaper in the living room. “I know they burned a lot where we were. We buried our family. I’m glad we could do that.”

Lucy walked into what seemed to be the master bedroom and they both exhaled at the neatly made bed, free of corpses. “Let’s hope they’re not anywhere else,” she muttered, peeking in the closets. “Hey, there are clothes in here. Lots of clothes.”

Tal joined her by the closet. It was full of very neatly folded stuff; pretty dated, lots of plaid and denim, but stuff nonetheless. “Let’s find something that fits.”

“It’s going to be pretty dusty—”

“We’re wearing stuff that doesn’t fit. I’ll take dusty,” Tal replied, reaching for a pile of denim.

In the end, they found new stuff that left them looking like a balance of sixty-five-year-old Midwesterners and seventies rejects along with some candles to cut through the dark. They fished some sheets out of the closet and shook out the blankets, leaving the bed passable for a night.

An awkward moment followed when they both realized that there was only one bed, and it was a double. They both stared at it from its foot as they processed the way forward.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Tal said, clearing his throat. “There were some extra blankets—”

“Thanks,” Lucy mumbled back. “At least my fortunes were at least tied to a gentleman. I guess we’ll eat the rest of the bread in the morning?”

Tal nodded. “I’m not that hungry. I’ll be hungrier in the morning. There might be some canned stuff here too we can eat.”

“Yeah, we’ll check when we have better light,” Lucy nodded. “We should be able to get pretty far tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe no one drove by all day.” Tal reached for the extra blankets and a candle. “Maybe we’ll have better luck in the morning.”

The couch wasn’t bad, Tal thought to himself as he settled in and wrapped himself up like a burrito. It was better to be out there in a lot of ways. He wasn’t going to have the blankets ripped off him, or get berated or punched for the unavoidable morning wood he woke up with every day without fail, no matter what state he’d gone to bed in the night before.

He doubted Lucy Campbell found it as endearing as some of the other women he’d shared a bed with had.

As he lay awake, the silence pounding through his head, he realized something fairly twisted. He was having a good time. A better time than he could remember having in a while. He shouldn’t have been; he’d been kidnapped, practically murdered, had not a cent to his name, and there was a good chance that he’d be mauled to death by feral cats as he slept. All in all, he was enjoying himself.

Some time later, he awoke with a jump to the sound of something mechanical humming in his ear. Open eyes revealed headlights shining in the living room window of the bungalow, and he froze as panic set. When the lights switched off, he darted for the bedroom, where Lucy was gently snoring away, small in the middle of the bed, the blankets pulled tightly around her.

“Someone’s here,” he hissed, jarring Lucy awake with a shove. “Hide.”

She slowly opened her eyes, blinked at him, and then narrowed them. “What are you on about?”

“Someone’s here,” Tal repeated. They both blinked at each other in the grey light, and Tal’s heart leapt into his throat as whoever was there rattled on the back door, likely reaching their hand in the way they’d reached theirs in earlier.

“Closet,” Tal hissed, grabbing her arm.

“But they’ll know we’re—”

Tal shook his head and tugged her towards it. “They may not know we’re here now. Who knows who it is? Grab our shoes,” he whispered, listening to the male voices of those who were still fiddling around with the door. Lucy shook her head, he assumed to orient herself as she was stuffed into the closet. They were thrust entirely into darkness when Tal closed the door behind them.

He pushed at her to move them out of sight if the closet door was opened.

“Lucy…Lucy...” a male voice called, heavy footsteps jarring both of them.

Tal wasn’t prepared for the way her body quivered in fear against his, the way her breathing became shallow. She let out a tiny squeak, and Tal shoved her against his chest in the hopes that it would keep her quiet. He tapped on her shoulder in warning, and she nodded against him in acknowledgement. She let herself be shoved into the far corner, completely covered by his bigger form.

“If they open the door, I’ll say it’s just me,” Tal whispered under his breath into her ear. “Don’t come out.”

“Do you think they’re here?” a second male voice asked. “Maybe they didn’t come this way.”

Light from a flashlight shone under the door.

“Someone’s been here.”

“Could be anyone.”

“Could have been weeks ago.”

“They’ll turn up eventually. Only so many ways to go,” the first voice said.

The knob turned, and Tal pushed them both farther into the excess of dusty clothes, not knowing how visible he would be if the door opened.


It opened, but no light shone in before it slammed shut.

“Shit, it’s like the seventies threw up in here,” the second voice said, chuckling. “I’m surprised this place isn’t crawling with cat shit.”

“Give it time,” the first voice said. “That’s probably why no one took this place on. All the cats would be hard to get rid of.”

“I guess we’ll tell him they might have been here, but they aren’t anymore?”

“Sounds good,” voice one grumbled. “It’s too late to look for them tonight.”

Tal and Lucy stood, frozen, as footsteps moved away from them and doors slammed. The heavy roar of a truck vanished into the distance, and it was only then that Tal relaxed, his body taking on a much less-rigid stance as he inched away from her.

It wasn’t until he slowly opened the door that Lucy exhaled, dragging a sob along with it.

“They’re gone,” Tal said, matter of fact as he peered into the bedroom. “Come on out.”

“I don’t want to,” Lucy whispered, sinking to the ground amidst the shoe boxes. “I don’t want to come out.”

“Okay?” Tal said, sitting on the edge of the bed as he took a deep breath of his own. “Why? They’re gone.”

She was quiet, and Tal lit a candle before wandering off for a minute to make sure the door was closed and locked. It wasn’t, and he shooed a couple of cats out before securing it.

“All clear,” he announced, returning to the bedroom to find her still in the closet. He poked his head in and looked at her curiously in the candlelight. “You all right?”

Her expression was not one that Tal expected. She looked small and fragile, and her eyes looked like they wanted to cry but weren’t allowed, which made them even sadder. He reached his hand in and offered it to her. “Come on out. You’re okay.”

She looked at him for a long minute before taking it and letting him pull her to her feet. She didn’t let go of his hand as he walked her out of the closet.

“They’re gone?” she whispered.

“Yeah. They seem to send amateurs after us, or you, I guess. I don’t quite know what that says.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “Sorry, I know you were asleep—”

“I just…I guess that just felt like something else,” she said cryptically, sitting on the bed, her brow furrowed. “I’m just…I need a minute.”

“Okay,” Tal said carefully, confused by her expression. “Well, I’m going to go—”

“No,” Lucy shook her head firmly, her voice cracking. “Stay here so we can hide if they…” Her breathing increased. “If we need to go back in.”

“Well, if I’m out there, I’ll hear—”

“We can hear them in here.” She slid back and crawled under the covers. “Blow out the candle. I don’t want anyone to see the light.”

Tal did that, and moving at a snail’s pace so he wouldn’t set off the cagey woman who had just insisted they share a bed, he crawled in next to her, as far away as he could get.

Lucy darted under the covers, and from his proximity to her, he could tell that that she’d curled up in a ball.

“They didn’t find us. They didn’t find us,” she whispered to herself. “We’re okay. They didn’t find us.”

Tal let her mumble to herself, realizing that whatever it was that was affecting her had accessed a depth that he’d never experienced in himself. Maybe her cracks were well-spackled and painted over, but the structural damage came out when someone pushed hard enough.

“Lucy?” He whispered, poking his head under the blanket. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“I’m just telling myself that I’m okay,” she muttered. “Sometimes you have to tell yourself.”

“You could tell me, if you wanted to,” Tal whispered, curious. She’d had far less of a reaction to being kidnapped and attacked a few days earlier, which had been more damaging to his psyche than a couple of kids looking for them, not finding them, then leaving. “I’d…I wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

Tal soon learned that he’d earned the right to the answer to his question from the first night they’d met.

“My grandfather…Cole and I used to hide from him, just like that, and even though it was always worse when I hid, we did it anyway. He’d pull me out, and I’d scream and cry, and Cole would stay in there until he finished with me and sent me to bed.” She gave a little shrug that shifted the blanket. “And the truck…it sounded like….”

“Oh,” Tal said, his mind racing as he tried to make sure he understood what she was saying.

“I just…it was a lot like that, what just happened, or it felt like that anyway. I’m…I’m okay.”

She didn’t have to say any more than that. Her face said it all as his eyes adjusted to the light and Tal felt like a fool for not assuming. He was probably the only person in the universe who wouldn’t have guessed at it after hearing the rumors of the way her grandfather met his demise. It was a profound moment, when he realized really and truly how different he and Lucy Campbell were. He furrowed his brow thoughtfully.

“I’m very naive.”

“You’re very lucky,” she said quietly.

“My family was very normal,” he nodded. “I didn’t know things like that happened when I was that age.”

“I don’t think about it much. Not now,” she said, her voice weak. “But once and a while, I’ll get stuffed in a closet, and then it’s all there again.”

“I’m sorry…I shoved you in there. I just didn’t think. I just—”

“You did exactly what you should have,” she chirped, a weak smile on her face. “And I’m fine. I’m…I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t think you were,” he said quietly. “Well, I mean, I think you’re a little off….”

“I just…I guess we all learn different ways to cope.” She rolled onto her side, closer to Tal. “I almost made some snarky comment about how you’d have lots of dirt to take back to West if we survive this, but,” she looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t think you’ll do that.”

“What happens in the Midwest stays in the Midwest?” Tal chuckled awkwardly. “I’m…sorry. I don’t know what to say beyond that.”

“I think you’re a different person than you like people to think you are. I haven’t figured out why yet.” She sighed. “I have to find Cole. I have to get him back.”

So much had gone on that Tal had forgotten about Lucy’s brother. “Maybe they’ll waste all their resources looking for you and leave him be.”

Lucy shook her head. “You’re really isolated over there, huh? East has well over three million kids. I mean, they’re not all part of the system and a lot of them are young, but they’ve got numbers, and they trade a lot with Europe. Like, a lot.” Lucy pulled her head out of the covers and curled up on her side. “We should try to get some sleep. Maybe in shifts.”

“That’s going to be hard without an alarm,” Tal yawned. “I’m sure we’ll sleep light anyway. I always do.”


“Okay, well, I guess if it’s our time to go, it’s our time to go,” Lucy replied quietly. “There’s not enough pillows for a wall.”

“I don’t think we need a wall,” Tal said, smiling at her in the dark. “You keep your hands to yourself though.”

“I’ll try,” she said dryly. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For saying you’d go out and leave me in there. That was big of you.”

“Well, I did run away last time,” Tal joked. “Can’t have you thinking I’m a p-ssy.”

Lucy smiled to herself. “You’ve got chutzpah.”

“How do you know about chutzpah?”

“I know about lots of things, Tal Bauman,” she replied cryptically, a grin on her face. “‘Night.”



***



That night when she finally fell asleep, Lucy dreamt of Bull and an adventure through the Rocky Mountains. It was as though her mind had shut down and not allowed her to think of anything darker or more complex. He caught her hand when she slipped, saving her from falling and they’d shared a smile, the kind that came from half a lifetime of friendship. They’d parted ways when he got into a rowboat on Lake Louise, and blew her a kiss.

“I’ll see you soon, Goose,” he called, his larger-than-life voice echoing across the clear lake.

“I hate when you call me that!” Lucy shouted back. “And we have to grow up eventually.”

“Not here!” He shouted back. “And I’ll call you what I want.”

When she slowly drifted back to consciousness, she was warm, and more comfortable than she could recall being in weeks.

“Leah, go back to your room,” Tal mumbled, rolling away from her. “Not tonight.”

Lucy was jarred awake by the masculine voice and pulled her arm away from his chest like she’d been burned. “Oh…sorry,” she gasped in horror, before realizing where she was.

The unfamiliar voice woke Tal up, and he opened his eyes just in time to see Lucy retreating to her side of the bed. “It’s fine. It’s fine,” he stammered, awkwardly covering what she assumed was his hard on with his pillow. The sun was out, casting a light on the room that made everything look dustier than it had in the dark. “I…sorry.”

“It’s fine. Fine,” Lucy croaked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Sorry.”

“I guess personal space doesn’t matter when you’re supposed to be keeping an eye out. Not that either of us did a very good job of that.”

“Well, we made it,” she mumbled. “So I guess it’s good we both got a good night’s sleep.”

“Right,” Tal nodded, and Lucy could tell he was trying not to look at her breasts, which had been released from their bra after she was certain he’d fallen asleep the night before. She crossed her arms to cover them, but it was cold and she knew he’d already had them shoved up against him in the closet, so there wasn’t much point of pretending they weren’t there.

“I’m going to go see if there are any cans,” she stammered, awkwardly pulling her long hair back in a ponytail so she could busy her hands. “Or anything that can be salvaged. I’m f*cking starving.”

“Yeah. Me too. There’s bread. We have bread left.” Tal moved to get out of the bed, but instead stayed in place. Lucy smugly took credit for his arousal, even if she would never acknowledge it.

There wasn’t anything to eat besides the bread they had left over, and after it was gone, they both silently realized that they were out of food, and money, and smack dab in the middle of the Midwest with nothing but the salvaged clothes on their backs.