Brian Freeman - Thief River Falls

The police car was on the other side. If she was lucky, the only thing he would see was the truck, not the car in the lane next to it. The truck rumbled onto the flat span, going slowly. Lisa slowed, too. Slush poured from the truck’s tires and assaulted her windshield, and she had to run her wipers. On the other side of the concrete barrier, she could see the dark river water below them. She kept an eye on her mirror, expecting to see the flashing lights of the police car heading her way. But the ruse kept them out of sight.

The bridge wasn’t wide. In a few seconds, they made it to the other side. The truck wanted to turn right, and the driver sounded his horn loudly, because Lisa was blocking him from the turn lane. She accelerated, shooting ahead of him and spinning around the turn onto Pennington Avenue. The truck followed, keeping her invisible to anyone behind them.

This area of town was so familiar to her. She knew every block like the back of her hand. And yet it felt foreign. Thief River Falls was her enemy now, and she had to find a way out. She drove past the landmarks of her childhood, past the houses of people she knew, heading out into nothingness again. The buildings disappeared. So did the trees. Fields took over, stretching to the dark horizon. She drove and drove. South of town, the lights of the airport runways showed up on her right, and she saw a FedEx plane waiting for takeoff. It was always strange, seeing large planes here in this small corner of the world. She heard thunder as the plane slowly gathered speed, aiming for the snow and the sky.

And still she drove, leaving everything behind. There wasn’t a light to be seen anywhere, just her own headlights illuminating a small section of white pavement in front of her. She was out of town. They were free. Somehow she’d run the gauntlet and come out on the other side, and she could take the boy anywhere now. The sense of exhilaration filled her with joy.

But her relief didn’t last long.

A cross street loomed ahead of her. She knew where she was, County Highway 57, a misnomer for a little dirt road dropped down between the farm fields. She didn’t see the police car until it was too late. Its lights were off; it was nothing but a shadow parked on the shoulder. But he saw her. He couldn’t miss her. Lisa slammed hard on the brakes, and as she did, the flashing lights of the squad car came to life. The Camaro skidded on the slippery pavement, and when it came to a stop, it was facing east down the dirt road. She accelerated, kicking up snow and gravel, staying in the middle of the rural highway. The police car followed. It was right on her tail.

“What’s going on?” Purdue asked, sensing her panic.

“I think we’re getting to the end of the line,” Lisa said softly.

She sped due east. Her world was narrowed to the white light in front of the Camaro. Everything else was dark. The police car stayed behind her, not trying to stop her or force her off the road, but she knew he was on his radio, calling in backup from every direction.

The car thudded over railroad tracks, pushing her out of her seat. She spotted lights far off in the distance and heard the faint mournful cry of a whistle. A train was coming, only a few minutes away from the crossing. A train was heading north. To Canada.

“You were on your way to Canada,” she said. “That’s why you came here.”

“Yes.”

“Do you still want to see it?”

“Sure, I do.”

“Okay then.”

That was her plan. Get the boy on the train. Let him jump on board, let him travel with the night to faraway places, let him be free. All she needed to do was buy him time. And really, there was no other plan available to her anymore, because as she approached the next crossroad not even a quarter mile away, she saw more red lights. Police cars had slanted across the highway, forming a barricade. She was blocked from the back and blocked from the front.

Her headlights lit up a lonely building at the intersection. She saw a white tower and realized it was the steeple of a century-old Lutheran church, dropped down miles from anywhere. Her family had worshipped there. She remembered sitting in the wooden pews as a child and watching the light in the eyes of the people who stared at the altar. She remembered the minister talking about eternal life and wondering how anyone could really live forever.

It wasn’t a large building, just the steeple and the slanted gray roof and a trio of windows on the walls of the small sanctuary. Evergreens made a U around the back of the building, creating a little grove that separated the church from the cornfield that butted up against it. There were no lights on inside. She had the strange thought that God wasn’t home.

The police had the cross street blocked in front of the church, so Lisa spun the wheel hard. The Camaro swerved onto the shoulder and took flight across a shallow ravine where dead weeds grew out of the snow. The bumper hit the other slope, jarring their bodies with the impact, and then the wheels chewed into the ground and climbed from the valley with a roar. She turned the wheel again, feeling the car spin. She hit the brakes and jerked the Camaro to a stop just outside the church’s white front doors.

“Inside,” she shouted to Purdue. “Get inside right now!”

The boy ran for the church door. Lisa popped the release on the trunk and bolted from the car with the pistol in her hand. She pointed into the sky and fired. The noise of the gunshot froze everything around her. The police car that had been chasing her slammed to a stop, jerking across the highway. She saw the doors of two other police cars opening on the other side of the intersection. Spotlights swung her way, bathing her in white light.

“Stay there!” she screamed into the wind. “Don’t come any closer!”

She could hear other sirens. More cars were coming. And somewhere out there she heard the whistle of the train again. The back door of the church led toward the evergreens and from there into the cornfield and from there to the railroad tracks. All she needed to do was give Purdue a chance. A chance to run. A chance to disappear like one small shadow into the night, where the police would never find him. Get on the train. Go to a new life.

It was an escape he had to make alone. Without her.

She would stay here, giving him cover. She would hold off the police until he was gone. Then they could do what they wanted with her. Nothing mattered once the boy was safe.

Lisa ran to the trunk and threw it open. She gathered up everything that was inside into her arms.

The assault rifle. The ammunition. An arsenal to hold them at bay.

She took it all with her and followed Purdue into the church.

Almost two dozen police cars staked out the two roads that made an L at the lonely corner outside the church. A handful of cops with guns drawn roamed the barren cornfields behind the trees. Intersecting lights from two sides erased the shadows and turned the black night to day. The evergreens bent as the wind blew, and waves of snow continued to pour through the light.

Denis Farrell was at the scene. So was the sheriff, who was on the front line with his officers. The media had heard the overlapping calls on the police radios, and they were on the other side of a perimeter a hundred yards away. Gawkers had begun to show up in the fields as rumors of the standoff went viral around town.

The mayor of Thief River Falls was there, too.

“Have we tried calling the church phone?” he asked Denis in a reedy voice. The mayor was a genial man in his sixties, with two little flaps of gray hair on his balding head. His black glasses were coated in snow. He kept taking them off and wiping them and shaking his head in disbelief at what was going on around him. “I mean, has anyone been able to reach her?”