Marianne Keeshig — Point of View
The rear doors of the transport groaned as Marianne pulled them open, the metal stiff with cold. Her breath fogged in the air. Her pulse hammered in her ears. She braced herself. In case there were children. Regarding bodies. Concerning anything.
But the van was empty. Not clean. Not unused. But empty.
Her stomach dropped. “No… no, no…”
She climbed inside, boots crunching on the thin layer of frost that had formed on the metal floor. The air was frosty. Too cold. She ran her gloved hand along the interior wall. The temperature is cold enough to preserve things. The cold suffices for transport.
The cold is enough to hide anything. But there were no children. Not anymore.
###
The First Clue
A faint smell lingered in the air. Not chemical. Not fuel. Something softer. Fabric softener. Marianne’s throat tightened. She crouched and found it — a small scrap of fleece caught in the seam where the wall met the floor. Pink. Frayed. Child‑sized. She closed her eyes.
“Damn it…” She slipped the scrap into an evidence bag.
###
The Second Clue
She moved deeper into the van, scanning the floor. Scratches. Scuffs. Marks from something heavy being dragged. And—
She froze. A small handprint on the inside of the door. Faint. Smudged. Pressed into the condensation. A child’s hand.
She reached out, hovering her fingers over it without touching. Her breath shook. “They were here,” she whispered. “Recently.”
###
Unit Two Arrives
A second set of headlights cut through the trees. Unit Two’s truck skidded to a stop.
Constable Renaud jogged over, breath steaming in the cold. “Keeshig! You okay?”
Marianne stepped out of the van, jaw tight. “They moved them.”
Renaud frowned. “Where?”
Marianne shook her head. “Not here. Not in this vehicle.”
Renaud peered inside. "Someone used it."
“It was,” Marianne said. “But not for the last transport.”
Renaud looked at her. “You think this was a relay?”
Marianne nodded. “Yes. They transferred the children to another vehicle.”
Renaud swore under his breath. “Any idea which direction?”
Marianne looked back at the marsh, the fire road, the maze of trails. “No,” she said. “Not yet.”
But she had a feeling. A cold, sinking feeling.
###
The Third Clue
Renaud stepped inside the van, scanning with his flashlight. “Hey,” he said. “You need to see this.”
Marianne joined him. He pointed at the floor. A faint imprint in the frost. A boot tread. Large. Distinctive. Not RCMP. Not a civilian.
Marianne crouched. Her breath caught. She knew that tread. She’d seen it in photos from the U.S. side. From atop the ridge. It came from the shed. Through the quiet man’s route. Solstice contractor boots.
She whispered: “They were here.”
Renaud frowned. “Who?”
Marianne stood slowly. “The same men who run BR‑12.”
Renaud’s eyes widened. “You’re saying they crossed the border.”
Marianne nodded. “Yes.” She stepped out of the van, scanning the tree line.
“And they’re still out here.”
###
The Fourth Clue
Something glinted near the snowbank where the transport had crashed. Marianne walked toward it. A small object half‑buried in the snow. She kneeled and brushed the snow aside. A plastic wristband. White. Numbered. Child‑sized.
Her breath hitched. She turned it over. On the inside, written in faint marker:
S‑4
Her stomach twisted. South Four. The room where they had held the older girl. The room that the team had just breached. That was the room where someone had left a child behind. She whispered: “Maker No...”
###
The Realization
She stood slowly, the wristband in her hand. The van wasn’t empty because the children had never been there. It was empty because they moved them. Minutes ago.
Maybe less. She looked at the maze of trails disappearing into the dark. They could be anywhere. But not far. Not yet.
She whispered into the radio: “Dispatch, this is Keeshig. I need air support. Thermal, if possible. We have an active child transport in progress.”
Static. Then: “Keeshig, we’ll try, but the nearest unit is forty minutes out.”
Marianne closed her eyes. Forty minutes. Too long. She opened them again.
Her voice was steady. “Then we do this on the ground.”
###
The Last Detail
As she turned back toward her truck, something caught her eye: a faint set of smaller footprints leading away from the crash site. Not an adult. Not a contractor. A child.
One child. Running. Alone. Marianne’s breath froze in her chest. She whispered: “Someone got out.”
Renaud looked at her sharply. “Alive?”
Marianne nodded. “Yes.” She stepped toward the footprints. “And I’m going to find them.”