Rye Washington, along the Rideau somewhere beyond the city
It’s troublesome to carry on and think about living in a different time. He leaves it at that and gets back to work. He races about the cottage franticly, ripping siding off the garage to build makeshift barricade across the narrow lane coming off to main road. Traps of fishing wire and hooks are already tangled across the bush, along with bear snares and smaller traps meant for a fox.
They know that I know that they know where I am.
He isn’t sure about this. Among stacks of canned food and reserved water are jugs of gasoline and other equipment like ropes and hammers. He only has one weapon, a shotgun that was one of his parents who took it home from the army. He doesn’t think he will use it. No use in it, it’s just desperate thinking. The best thing to do will always be to get on his little boat and take it as far down the river as the little motor will take it. Get to the lakes, ride the narrow watershed all the way north.
The chase has started and he knows this. He can hide in this cottage as long as he wants but eventually they will find him. When he closes his eyes the only pictures that appear are the words Chartered Professional Accountants of Canada. He continues scrambling around and checking his traps, checking and double checking.