Marianne Keeshig — Point of View
Location: RCMP Detachment, Northern Ontario
Marianne stood in the narrow hallway of the small RCMP detachment, the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead matching the tension in her shoulders. She’d been awake for twenty hours, but adrenaline kept her sharp. The constable on night duty handed her a steaming cup of tea.
“You’re sure you don’t want to sit?” he asked.
Marianne shook her head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
She wasn’t fine. But she didn’t need to be. She needed to be ready. She stepped into the operations room — a cramped space with a single map of the border pinned to the wall, dotted with handwritten notes and colored pins.
She added a new one:
BR‑12 — Exit Route.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Eliza:
We’re moving soon.
If they run, they’ll run north.
Be ready.
Marianne exhaled slowly. She already was.
###
Marianne started with the border.
Marianne picked up the secure line and dialed the CBSA liaison she trusted most.
“Sergeant Keeshig,” the woman answered. “You’re calling late.”
“Something’s happening,” Marianne said. “I need soft screening on all crossings from Boundary Ridge to Sault Ste. Marie. No alerts. No flags. Just eyes.”
The liaison didn’t ask why.
“Done.”
###
Then she moved to the unofficial crossings.
Marianne pulled up the satellite map of the shoreline — the places where the border was nothing more than a line across water or a stretch of forest.
She marked:
- the old logging road
- the snowmobile trail
- the fishing access point
- the abandoned ranger station
These were the places traffickers used when they didn’t want to be seen. She sent the coordinates to two Indigenous community patrols she trusted. Keep watch. Quietly. If you see unfamiliar vehicles, call me. No one asked questions. They knew the stakes.
###
Next: the missing‑persons database.
Marianne opened the RCMP system and typed in the parameters:
- Indigenous female
- Ages 8–16
- Missing within the last 18 months
- Last seen within 200 km of the border
The list is populated. Too many names. Too many faces. She swallowed hard and forced herself to keep going. One file caught her eye. A girl from Manitoulin Island. Age 14. Missing for nine months. Last seen near a Solstice subcontractor site.
Marianne’s pulse quickened. She printed the file and slid it into a folder labeled: POTENTIAL SOUTH FOUR.
###
Finally: the escape routes.
She traced the likely path a fleeing Solstice vehicle would take: BR‑12 → Boundary Ridge → North Access Road → Highway 17 → Border.
The desperate chose the back roads. Those who were clever slipped across the water. The frightened vanished into the forest. Marianne prepared for all three. She radioed the night shift.
“If any unfamiliar vehicles head north from the ridge, I want to know immediately.”
“Copy that,” the constable said. “Expecting trouble?”
Marianne stared at the map. “Expecting movement.”
###
She paused only once.
She stepped into the cold; the night air biting at her skin. Her breath hung in front of her as she stared at the hard, bright stars above the pines. Aiyana's face surfaced first. Then the older girl. Then the quiet man with the limp. One by one, the missing children followed. Some had names. Some had only case numbers. Too many never made it home. She whispered into the dark: “You’re not getting into Canada. Not this time.”
Her phone buzzed again. A message from Eliza:
We have a signal.
He’s moving.
Stand by.
Marianne straightened. “Good,” she murmured.
Because she wasn’t just waiting. She was building a wall. A wall the traffickers would never see until it closed around them.