Alaska's Illicit

III

Chapter 3 | BRAVE LITTLE BUTTERFLY

Crossing through to Canada went way smoother than what my fears were expecting. It was quick; the custom's agents and border patrol had us step out while the cab and my bag were checked. They asked us questions, including why we were traveling to Canada, read over our identification papers, and ran our data through a computer. Then, they gave us instructions and told us mandatory information, and we were free to continue.

However, that still didn't stop my fears. Images of rushed Mounties and angry Canadian mobs chasing after me filled my mind, keeping me awake.

Only after we've been driving through for a couple of hours do I allow myself to relax. I snuggle back into the seat and curl up into the most comfortable position possible, given the circumstances.

Then, I manage to drift off to sleep again.

I wake up aware of the large, cold hands shaking my shoulders, and a name filling my ears as I open my eyes painstakingly slow. Not because I'm doing it on purpose, but because it physically feels like my eyelids are glued together.

Once I get them open, though, I'm met with the faint outline of a broad-shouldered Grace. Her eyebrows are in a seemingly permanent furrowed position, and her deep scowl is the most prominent thing seen in the low light.

"You need to sleep more, girl." She tells me as I sit up, rubbing my eyes.

"What time is it?" I ask, confused.

"It's ten. I've been driving for almost 7 hours, and there are 30 more hours left to go. I just thought you'd like to use the restroom or something. I know I did."

"We're at a gas station?" I question, already knowing the answer. "Oh!"

I quickly grab my bag and open up the door beside me, about to hop out when she says, "Hurry up, cause I'm hitting the road again in five minutes. With or without you."

I nod and instantly make my way out the door and onto the ground, the cold air hitting my face.

A few minutes later I come racing out of the gas station door, searching through the cold air for a glimpse of Grace's truck.

Once I find it, I quickly run back to the semi, yanking open the passenger door and getting in. I put my duffle bag in the back again and buckle up, turning to face Grace.

"You almost took five minutes." She grumbles, starting the truck after I shut the door behind me.

"But, I didn't."

She's silent for a few seconds, and I'm expecting a remark like, "Shut your trap, girl!" but what she says instead, or rather asks, makes me freeze like a tongue on an icy metal pole.

"You're a runaway, aren't you?" She questions calmly, putting the semi out of park and pulling away from the gas station.

Well, I thought that part was quite manifest.