When Cassie's eyes tore open, as if only minutes later, she was startled by something unusual to her. And clearly a significant amount of time had passed because a natural source of light was peeking through the vehicle's windows. She hadn't seen the sun in such a long time that she stood and reached for it.
Cassie dropped her hand when Chris's eyes flicked over to her.
"You didn't have to sleep on the floor. We would have made room on a seat somewhere."
He leaned over and offered his hand to her. She climbed on. And he lifted her up in his open palm and held her tentatively below shoulder level as if unable to decide what to do with her from there.
His hand wasn't exactly a stable surface. Even so, she stood on her tiptoes so she could see through the front window.
"It's spectacular!" she gushed, nearly losing her balance.
"What is?" Chris pinched her feet to provide stability and lifted her higher. "Oh, the sun. Yeah, it's nice today. I haven't seen a sunrise like that in years," he replied pleasantly, but not with the same degree of enthrallment.
Chris's lift soon wilted and before he had the chance to abandon her on the passenger seat or some other uninteresting location, she slid down his forearm and climbed to his shoulder.
"That's better." She stood on the tip of her toes again so she could see over the dashboard.
"Um, I guess that works," Chris said. "Make yourself comfortable."
She sat on his shoulder, delighted with the view. There was something magical about the snow-laden forest and the way the sun made everything sparkle.
But its beauty was deceiving. For the moment she forgot, she was almost happy. Winter was cruel, though, and it always would be. Even if they escaped the cold, it was like a disease. It would cling to them . . . in their hearts and minds . . . and spread through to the bone . . . if they were weak and didn't do enough to stop it. With the forces they were fighting against, perhaps there was no escape.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
Later that morning, Chris was driving through the streets of Montreal. He pulled into a hotel parking garage and with Joe's help, he started watching cars and people. Since they intended to find some Americans and hitch a ride across the border, he parked in an area where there were many American license plates nearby.
"So we've got two New Yorks, one New Jersey, one Massachusetts, and a random New Mexico," Joe announced.
And then they waited, and waited some more. The cars remained dormant. It was still early, only just past eight. The car owners were probably sleeping off their Christmas vacation hangovers.
"Look!" Joe eventually said. "Sleep-deprived American youth with a duffel bag walking toward us."
Chris looked over and then contorted his face with disgust. "Joe, you obviously don't have your glasses on. He's wearing a Yankees cap."
Joe gave him an are-you-serious look. "The curse is dead, dude."
"Yeah, but it's a matter of principle," he replied with his head held high. Any other proud and loyal fan would have said exactly the same thing. "What are you? A Dodgers fan now? Traitor!"
"No, I don't follow sports anymore."
"Traitor by default."
"You've lost me," Cassie announced from her vigilant spot on the dashboard. She was apparently people-watching, too, or at least trying to absorb the nuances of the human world.
"Chris wanted to play for the Boston Red Sox," Joe explained. "He was the best catcher our school ever had."
"Awww, Joe, that's so sweet," Chris said in a sappy voice.
"No, you just pay me well to say nice things."
Cassie looked even more lost than before, so Joe tried to elaborate. "Baseball . . . you've heard of it, right?"
"Yes, men—and sometimes women—hit a ball with a stick for purely recreational purposes," Cassie said with surprising accuracy. "So why can't we choose that vehicle? It has four wheels and an engine."
"It would be incredibly unlucky," Chris said with a chopping hand gesture.
"Yeah, but when we steal his car in a few hours, you won't feel that bad," Joe said.
They all watched the New Yorker open the hatch of his Toyota 4Runner. He threw the duffel bag into the cargo hold, locked the SUV with his clicker, and walked back to the hotel.
"That's a good point," Chris replied.
Joe threw one hand up in agreement with himself.
"Fine," Chris succumbed, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Let's get going before Mr. Yankee comes back with friends."
Since Joe was better at Modifying quickly if he had to, the tentative plan they hatched called for Joe to stay in human form for the time being. From there they'd have to improvise.
Chris steadied himself in the Silverado and let his mind go blank. As usual, it took a few minutes, but once he had shrunk to fairy size again, he and Cassie joined the children in Joe's pocket.
Joe then exited the truck, walked over to the 4Runner, and unloaded everyone onto the back bumper.
"What are we doing?" Chris asked as Joe crouched between cars beside the back wheel, for the most part hidden from pedestrian view.
"We're waiting until the guy comes back and unlocks—"
They all jolted when the locks clicked. The rear lights flashed. Luckily, the driver had no other baggage and didn't notice the small forms on his bumper or Joe, who must've hidden somewhere.
The young man walked by, turned the corner, opened and closed the driver-side door. He started the engine and cranked up his gangsta rap on the sound system.
Joe's head popped out from behind the next car over. He crawled back toward them and cracked open the hatch. Chris and Cassie ducked inside, the kids in tow. Then Joe disappeared and his clothes fell into a pile beside the 4Runner.
"Cass, throw me the rope! Then take the kids and hide," Chris said in an urgent whisper.
He caught the coil that Cassie threw and lowered one end to the ground underneath the hatch.
The driver rolled down a window and called to someone in the depths of the parking garage. "It should be open."
Chris panicked. He assumed the other person was on his way to the back of the SUV. Just then, Joe tugged on the rope.
Instead of the hatch, already open to a sliver—not just unlocked—the back passenger-side door clicked at the man's pull.
Taking the backseat, the vehicle bobbing from the weight of him and his bag, added to the trunk from the inside, Chris heaved and Joe climbed as if both of their lives depended on it. The door slammed shut just as Joe crested the bumper.
Chris and Joe scurried deeper into the cargo hold just as the hatch fully lifted. Luckily, the MacRae brothers were behind the first duffel bag by the time the third bag fell.
The hatch closed, the third passenger got in, and the 4Runner pulled out, music blaring. Neatly hidden away from the clueless New Yorkers, the five fairy-sized figures sat in a circle and Cassie pulled some much-needed nourishment from her knapsack—a loaf of bread and some jam.
Chris took a knife out of his pocket and gave it a toss. It flipped in a neat circle and he caught it by the handle. In the process he also caught Cassie's eye. His trick made her smile. Increasing the level of difficulty, he tossed the knife in three quick consecutive circles. He changed the direction of rotation each time. Then he sliced the bread before Joe, drinking heartily from the canteen, had a chance to notice.
Chris handed Cassie the first piece and the knife; she spread the jam and gave the slice to Ryan.
Once breakfast was distributed, Chris felt much better about their circumstances. They had survived a few of the most trying days of their lives. Although they had all been—to varying degrees—battered, shocked, frightened, livid, and exhausted, their mood was surprisingly light, as if the us-versus-them scoreboard was finally in their favor.