on 631. We had to keep going north, as far as the roads would take us, deep into the heart of Ontario.
“I’m gonna try home again,” Vinnie said. “See if he showed up.”
“Wouldn’t that be something,” I said. “We’re way the hell up here and he walks through the front door back on the rez.”
“Right now I’ll take it.”
He punched the numbers and waited for the answer. “It’s Vinnie,” he said. “Just checking in.”
He listened for a while. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll be there in a couple more hours. I’ll call you back.”
He hung up and sat there looking at the phone.
“No sign of him,” I said.
He shook his head.
“Everybody okay back home?”
“They want to call the police.”
I didn’t say anything. I kept driving.
Another hour and a half passed. We went through more trees, and then the trees would open up to a wide meadow, or a marsh thick with tall grass and the cold remnants of cattails. We’d see another vehicle maybe once every thirty minutes. My eyes were getting tired.
Vinnie tried calling Albright’s number again. No answer. He left a message this time, letting him know that we were in Canada. He left my cell phone number and told him to call the second he got in.
“I hope that went through,” he said as he hung up. “The signal’s getting pretty weak up here.”
We finally came to a small town called Hornepayne, where another railroad crossed, this time the Canadian National. The train had just passed as we came to the crossing. As we bumped over the tracks, we could see the last car disappearing into the west.
“This line goes all the way to Vancouver, doesn’t it?” I said.
“I believe it does.”
“Hell of a long trip.”
He let out a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For dragging you all the way up here.”
“You’re not. I always wanted to visit Hornepayne, Ontario.”
He laughed. “I think that was it already.”
He was right. The road was empty again. It was another hour north, past a lonely lake called Nagagamisis, until we finally reached the end of the line, which in this case was the Trans-Canada Highway. We could turn left and head west to Longlac and then Geraldton, or we could turn right and head east to Hearst and then Kapuskasing. After eight hours of driving, we had gone as far north as we could go. From here it was nothing but wilderness, all the way up past the Albany River, then the Attawapiskat, then the Ekwan, through the Polar Bear Provincial Park, to the shores of Hudson Bay. There were small outposts here and there, but from this point on they were accessible only by plane.
“Which way?” I said.
“I think left.”
“You think?”
“I know it’s not too far,” he said. “Either way. That much I remember. And I’m pretty sure Tom said west.”
“So how were you supposed to find this place?” I said. “I mean, if you were with these guys-”
“If I was with them, they’d know exactly where to go. I’m sure Albright had the exact directions.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I get it. Let’s give it a shot.”
I took the left and drove west down the Trans-Canada. There were lots more trees. This was officially the most goddamned trees I’d ever seen in one day. About twenty minutes later, we saw a gravel road heading off to the right.
“Think that’s it?” I said.
“There’s no sign,” he said. “Don’t you think there’d be a sign?”
“I can keep going.”
“Go a little while more. If we don’t see something soon, we’ll come back.”
We drove ten more minutes. There was nothing but a sign telling us that Longlac was a hundred miles away. I stopped in the empty road, did a three-point turn, and headed back the other way.
“Let’s try it this time,” he said when we came back to the road. “If it’s not this one, then it must have been east instead of west.”
I took the gravel road, and held on tight as it twisted its way through the forest. It was one blind turn after another as I fishtailed the truck on the loose gravel.
“Take it easy, Alex.”
“Who are we gonna hit?” I said, turning the wheel hard.
“Look out!”
I slammed on the brakes, and felt the truck start to slide.
“Son of a bitch!”
We came to rest with all four wheels in half-frozen mud. The moose stood there in the middle of the road, all gangly legs and long nose, looking at us with mild interest.
“That would have been great,” I said, as I put the truck in reverse. “We come all the way up here and get killed by a moose.”
“Can you get out of this?”
I gave it some gas. The wheels spun. I tried putting it back in drive, to see if I could rock our way out. The wheels spun again. I turned the key, and we sat there for a while, listening to the engine cool off.
“Now what?” he finally said.
“Try the phone.”
He turned it on. “It’s not getting a signal now.”
“I was afraid of that. We’re too far north.”
“We’ll have to walk,” he said. “Maybe the lodge is right up this road.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said as I opened my door. “The Lone Ranger never got lost when Tonto was around.”
Chapter Four
As we got out of the truck, the moose stepped slowly off the road and into the woods.
“That’s a big one,” I said. “For a female.”
“Yep. I’m glad you missed her.”
“Which way you think? North to the lodge, or south back to the highway?”
“Let’s try north first.”
We started walking north. The air was a hell of a lot colder up here. I zipped up my coat.
“What’s the Ojibwa word for moose?” I said.
“Moozo.”
I nodded. “Wawa and moozo. So far, it’s a pretty silly-sounding language, Vinnie.”
“I just realized what your Ojibwa name should be,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Madawayash.”
“What’s it mean?”
He smiled. “I’ll tell you later.”
We walked. The road twisted its way through more trees and more marshland with grass growing eight feet tall.
“Tire tracks,” Vinnie said, kicking at the ground.
“Recent?”
