Bridger: a Dystopian Serial

Taylor Bay

It was at least four hours before dawn when Char left her room. Seth had called her on the comm and told her it was minus forty degrees outside, and his snowmobile, parked inside an unheated shed, wouldn't start.

"I'll have it running in half an hour," he said. "Stay inside where it's warm."

For once she'd taken his advice and curled up under the covers for another ten minutes.

When she marched out into the yard, the fort was still conserving power by keeping all unnecessary lights off. The headlight of Seth's sled illuminated her path. Seth stood beside the snowmobile, every inch covered with thermal gear. He handed her a helmet.

"Are you re-thinking the snowmobile?" Char asked.

"Yes," Seth said dryly. "You can tether your comm with the helmet so we can talk if we need."

"We won't," Char said. "It's five in the morning and I have nothing to say to you."

Char slid behind Seth on the seat and considered if she could get away without hanging onto him. She really didn't want to hang onto him, but she kind of did.

"Ready?" Seth's voice crackled through her helmet.

Char nodded.

Seth called over the comm for someone to open the gate and cracked the throttle. She had to grip his waist to not be thrown backward. The snowmobile spit snow behind them as they left Fort Situk behind.

Seth carved the snowmobile up through the passes through the treeless mountains by the light of the headlight. Every time they reached a high point, the bluish glow in the east grew brighter. Finally, as they approached the valley rim where the village of Taylor Bay was, the rim of the sun peeked over the horizon.

The wind had shifted again to the west. The sun rose red-tinted, suspended in smoky air.

They'd been travelling through a barren wasteland of rock and snow for an hour. Suddenly there were trees. Mostly small, waist-height trees with the odd, gnarled, tall pine protruding from the crowd like an adult among kindergarteners.

The town was a loosely arranged group of small houses and mobile homes with packed snow paths between them. Char scanned the edge of town for Seth's parents' cozy timber-frame house she remembered so well. Where she was certain it should stand, there was only an empty space. He drove right past it, over a small rise and toward a square house, surrounded by scrubby evergreens, clad with deep red siding and smoke rising from the chimney.

Seth's uncle's house. Char tucked her head behind Seth again.

The door opened, and a dark-haired man with a flashing smile stood in the entry, waving.

Char released Seth's waist and fumbled with cold fingers to undo her helmet. Seth swung off the snowmobile and pulled off his helmet.

"I brought a guest, Uncle Will," he called.

"Good. Come in and have some coffee." Uncle Will disappeared into the house and shut the door.

Inside the house, Seth pulled off his toque and his braid fell out. "Uncle Will," he said, gesturing to Char, who was climbing out of her snowmobile suit. "You remember Charlane?"

"Yeah." Uncle Will eyed her with the faintest crease between his eyes. "You still like coffee, Charlane?"

"Sure do."

"It's the real deal," Will said, turned and hobbling to the two-burner stove to poke at the tin percolator. "I've been shepherding along the stuff you brought me, Seth. Tastes so good compared to the synthetic stuff."