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I saw him. The shadows fluttered ever so slightly and my eyes flew open wide as I reached for my snub nose special.

"Drop it," he said in a quiet, firm voice.

I obeyed, dropping the gun and easing my leg down at the same time.

"Get rid of the knife too," he commanded in a harsh low voice.

I slid the knife in his direction.

"That's a good girl," the voice continued.

He lit a cigarette and I caught a glimpse of his face in the flickering light. His eyes were dark set in bronzed tight skin, and his hair was long and shaggy from what I was able to see. If I hadn't been exhausted from lack of sleep, I would have lunged at his legs and knocked him down.

"Then what would I do?"

"You're fugitives," he said in that same quiet measured tone.

"And you're the killer patrol," I answered.

He chuckled gently, then he told me to get some sleep and we'd talk in the morning.

I didn't argue. I didn't fear assault. I went and lay down in the corner and dreamt.

My dreams were false starts with one beginning scene drifting and fading into another. I saw myself running from one abandoned building to the next dragging two bundles behind.

I caught a glimpse of my parent's haggard faces laced with exhaustion and sightless eyes staring straight ahead. I heard the hunger rumbling in their stomachs, and all the while, a clock kept ticking off the minutes as I ran from one frame to another.

My legs felt wooden and heavy as I gasped for breath. I managed barely to stay ahead of the dragons that were stalking me through the dark wet night. Finally, I wept bitterly looking for an escape. If only my mother was here. I called to her from the deep.

Far in the distance I heard my mother saying, "Hush now Ginny, it will be all right." In my dreams, my mother caressed my hair while I slept and the dreams slowed their assault.

I awoke to the smell of coffee. As I sat up, I saw my mom and dad sitting on the floor with the stranger drinking coffee and nodding quietly. They were eating bread. I smiled sadly and my heart ached for them. It would be soon now.

Tears welled in my eyes as the stranger walked toward me with bread and a cup of coffee in his hand. I was angry and grateful all at once and my raging hunger would not allow me to refuse the gift of bread.

Though I wanted the nightmare to end, this isn't how I envisioned it.

The stranger frowned then brushed my tears away with his bandanna.

He put his face close to mine and looked straight in to my eyes and said gently, "I hope you'll like it on the reservation. We don't have much in the way of fine homes and cars, but we have hot showers and we still have our sovereignty."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means we have retained our own governing laws so far. It means we respect our elders as we have for centuries, and we take care of them," he answered.
We live deep in the recesses of Canadian wilderness. The government doesn't care how we exist as long as we don't place a burden on them.

I didn't hear much of what he was saying after that, but I wanted to get there quickly and embrace the warmth of a safe community. I sipped my coffee as my dad and the stranger planned our trip and talked about hurting in the wild. Mom and I exchanged glances. She was right.

Learn more about this author, Mona Gallagher.
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