I am no stranger to surreal situations, anymore than a skunk is a stranger to bad smells. So now I find myself shaking hands, perhaps reluctantly, with Dennis St. John and his brother Danny as they enter the foyer. Dennis, true-to-form, is casually dressed in Bermuda shorts and a golf shirt. He kicks his birkenstocks off at the door and continues on barefoot. He has brought along a putter, his favourite I assume, as if this were nothing more than a prelude to a visit to the local links. Carlos is along for the ride complete with his nickel-plated revolver tucked ever-so-surreptitiously into his waistband. He eyes my thigh rig as he steps over the threshold.

We migrate to the front room where Ari and Raven are seated, there are quick, informal introductions and soon enough everyone is seated. Glances and hard stares are cast about the room as everyone tries to size up the other side. Ari and Raven make up the remainder of my contingent, for this I needed level-headed people and Hartt is busy. Ari is easily my most trusted advisor and Raven, despite his youth has a rare gift for thinking before he speaks. More importantly, neither of them are easy to rattle.

I take a quick peek out the front window where I spot the noisy burgundy Accord parked in the driveway. We could hear it a full thirty seconds before it even came into view. Tinted windows, white twenty-inch rims and just enough stickers to tell everyone it's loaded with aftermarket parts.

I catch Danny taking a furtive look into the Great Room, plainly visible from our location thanks to the open concept architecture. We lock eyes for a moment, the only thing in that room worth looking at is Heath who is playing quietly with a pile of Lego.

Danny looks away sheepishly, then turns back, "Can I speak with your son?" he asks. This immediately elicits an elbow from his brother at which point he adds, "please?"

It takes a few moments to process this request because initially I have to refrain from crossing the room at a run and knocking him on his ass. I can feel everyone's eyes on me as I mull the request over. Realizing I have to push aside all my emotions and decide, in the end, what might be best for Heath, I ruminate on the request for a few moments. Presently Heath has no idea that the young man who nearly killed him is sitting in the front room. Is this an opportunity for Heath?

"Okay," I answer still not entirely certain if I'm making a good decision. "Keep it short."

Danny moves toward the Great Room, hesitant foot steps bringing him closer and closer to Heath and some form of reckoning.

"Hi," Danny says.

Heath looks up just as he runs over a couple mini Lego men with a big wheeled contraption bristling with what are clearly guns. "Hi," he says back.

"My name is Danny, what's yours?"

"Heath."

"How is your arm Heath?" Danny asks.

"It's okay. Hurts sometimes. I have to do stretches."

"Heath," Danny says and then crouches. "Look, I'm really sorry about your arm. I'm the guy who shot the arrow and I'm really, really sorry that you got hurt."

Although I find it difficult to admit, Danny's apology sounds wholeheartedly sincere.

"It's okay," Heath replies. Immediately I'm stunned silent by my child's capacity to forgive.

"It's not okay Heath. I did an awful thing and it's not okay."

"It's okay cause you didn't hurt my Dad."

The pang of emotion hits me hard in the chest and I'm not prepared for it. I turn on my heel and head to the kitchen to find something to do. I rattle some drawers and open and close some cupboards while I try to regain my composure. Taking a deep breath I grab a pitcher of water and a stack of plastic cups before returning to the front room careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

"Self-serve," I say placing the water and cups on the glass-topped table in the middle of the room.

"Thanks for that," Dennis says nodding toward the Great Room. "It's been eating Danny up. The last thing he needs are more demons, self-inflicted or otherwise."

I shrug, not knowing how to respond to that. Thankfully I seen the first of three large, black, SUVs pull up outside. They don't bother using the driveway and just line up along the curb blocking driveways in the process. The doors are emblazoned with the Frost Security logo, which leaves no guesswork as to who just arrived.

The first person to the door is Mr. Beck.

"Sir Beck," I say as I open the door. The epithet is made partially in jest, but he does strike me as a kind of knight in a way, maybe a black knight. He gives me that hint of a wry smile as he takes a big step into the foyer. Immediately, he scans the place, always wary of ambushes and booby traps no doubt. He finds none.

Merida in a display of reckless aggression trots up and licks his pant leg all the while wagging madly. So much for my attack dog. I half-expect him to reach down with one hand and crush her skull, but instead he gives her a single solid pat to the ribs and goes about his business.

Mr. Beck and I walk to the front room where he places a large briefcase on the table next to the water and opens it revealing an empty case.

"Your sidearm," he says to me.

I comply because Mr. Beck isn't too flexible when it comes to these sort of things. What follows is a thorough frisking and then the procedure is repeated for everyone else, including Heath, which seems a bit ridiculous. The briefcase is then snapped shut and moved to the door.

"Do I get to frisk you now?" Carlos asks with no small amount of sass.

"You can try," Mr. Beck responds coolly.

Inside, I would very much like to see Carlos try, I've been there and there is no try. Just pain.

Mr. Beck produces a small radio and keys the mic. "All clear," he announces. Outside SUV doors open wide and a small cadre of men, Denton Frost included, proceed to the house.

Merida greets Denton in much the same way, which quickly elicits a very different response. "Get this fucking mutt outta here!" he demands.

A second later Mr. Beck has Merida by the scruff of her neck as he drags her roughly across the room.

"Easy man," I say, intervening. "I got it, no need to be an asshole about it." I take Merida and put her out the back where she can bask in the Sun until her black fur is nearly too hot to touch.

"You should probably get your kid out of here too," Denton advises.

"Don't think for one second you can come into my house and dismiss my kid, you're starting this off on the wrong foot already Denny."

"That's mister Fr--" Mr. Beck begins.

"The hell it is," I say cutting off Mr. Beck. He shifts his weight, but doesn't react otherwise. The arrival of Frost and his entourage has increased the tension in the room by an order of magnitude. "Look, before this all goes to hell in a handbasket, let's get things back on track. Let's sit down like we intended and hash some things out."

There's a bit of grumbling, but eventually we get down to business.

Dennis is the first to speak. Leaning on his putter like a cane, he addresses the group.

"We have a quantity of health-related products that we are willing to trade," he begins.

"Products you stole," Denton adds.

"Liberated," Dennis corrects him. "And not from you, for the record. Good thing we did too, before you organized your small army and started seizing everything."

"Yeah, what is with that?" Raven speaks up. "Everywhere we look, we find Frost Security people. Every gas station, any solar project with more than a couple panels, all the greenhouses. You guys are everywhere."

"We're just keeping the looters at bay."

"Looters? They're not looters, it's just people trying to survive."

"If they want to survive, they are welcome to come see us. We have plenty of accommodations, food, power and soon water."

"Water?" I say.

"Yep." Denton replies. "We'll have the water treatment facilities back online in the next two to four weeks. At a smaller scale of course, so don't expect to have fresh water spouting from your taps."

"So let me guess, fresh, clean water at the Pelex facility only."

"I'm not a monster Connor. The hospital and the accommodation center will be getting water too."

"But not us."

"Sadly, not you. Nor the Fairview Towers."

"Sadly--right."

"So if we can't get fresh water, what deal can we make?" Dennis asks.

"The original deal, well, the fuel part maybe. As you can understand, we are reluctant to provide your little marauding band of thugs any more ammunition that you already have."

"We're not the one's burning down churches." Dennis counters and while the thought has crossed my mind that Frost might be involved in such nefarious activities, I wonder if Dennis has some solid intel that I'm not privy to.

"I hope you are not insinuating that we have anything to do with those atrocities. I can assure you the safety of all the citizens in the Grey Harbour area is our number one priority. Our top people from the former police force are diligently investigating those fires."

"Any leads?" Raven asks.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation." Denton deflects.

"Convenient." Raven replies.

"Let's just get down to numbers then." I encourage as I reach out to Dennis, he hands over a small piece of yellowed paper. I glance at it briefly and hand it to Denton. "I guess you can just ignore the lines requesting ammunition."

"Yeah, I'll do that, thanks," he snorts. "Propane, kerosene, diesel and gasoline? Looks like this list has some new additions. Perhaps you'll consider trading the solar panels from the Tower rooftops?"

"Not a chance," Dennis says. "That's the only power we have."

"No good to you it's tied into the grid, and the grid isn't really there anymore."

"We're working on it. Like you said, guess we should just stick to the list."

"Have it your way," Denton replies. "Well, this has been a big waste of my time. Good work Connor, can hardly wait for our next meeting." With that the Frost delegation rises to their feet and promptly exits the house, leaving the door wide open in their wake. Mr. Beck has followed them out with the briefcase held fast in his meaty hand.

"Hey, Billy, you have my gun." I call after him. Without turning he dumps the contents from the case onto the front lawn before entering the lead vehicle and driving off.

"Bunch of assholes." Dennis says, and I can't disagree with his assessment.

"Maybe not the most productive meeting, time will tell. Maybe you and I can come to an agreement on some other arrangements."

"Such as?"

"Well, you have a great view from those towers, you keep your eyes peeled and we'll see what we can drum up to trade for good intelligence. Will have to hash that out, I need to confer with my people first."

"Let me know, CB channel 36 if you can get your hands on one. Saves you from sending a runner."

"I'm sure we have one kicking around somewhere."

We shake hands and Dennis calls Danny from the foyer. Danny spent the entire time on the floor playing Lego with Heath. I want to hate the guy, I want to ignore that he's a kid caught up in the same insane circumstance I am and just hate him, but he's making it hard.

"Can I drop off some Lego for Heath?" Danny asks point-blank.

"Sure." I say, because I'm not a monster either although most days I feel like one.

Once Danny is gone I turn to Heath, "how do you feel about meeting that guy? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Dad, he's not so scary."

"Yeah, I suppose he's not."

* * * * *

I hand the binoculars to Ari who raises them to his eyes and peers out across the lake. There is only a slight breeze out of the southwest; the water undulates gently as we watch the rowboat reach a point about a thousand, maybe fifteen hundred meters offshore. I'm not good at judging distances like that. The rowboat joins a small flotilla of other craft at varying distances from the shoreline, most hand or sail powered and nearly all under twenty feet. Every one of them trying to pull food from the water.

"Swims good?" Ari asks, his grandfatherly concern showing.

"Oh Heath? Like a fish, he's still wearing a PFD though."

"Would Kate let him go out on lake?"

"Hell no Ari, not a chance. But he absolutely begged to go fishing with Pierre. I look at it this way, he got shot with an arrow in the safety of his own home with me standing right there. He's not gonna be in any more danger out there than he would be by my side."

"I guess you're right."

"So what do you think?"

"About what?"

"About our meeting this morning, you hardly said a word."

"I think Mr. Beck is a dangerous man and you should avoid taunting him." It's quite something to hear Ari assess someone as dangerous, because according to him I've barely left the fat-beagle category despite my surviving a handful of life-or-death experiences. There was a curious moment when Mr. Beck frisked Ari, as they stood there toe-to-toe at nearly the same height there was a quiet acknowledgement between the two. Like a pair of alpha wolves passing each other and resisting the opportunity to fight.

"Is that all?"

"Denton is hiding something, maybe many somethings."

"Exactly."

"But," Ari adds, "he is a necessary piece to the puzzle. You have to acknowledge what he is doing and that there would be much more misery without the food and shelter and healthcare he has helped provide. This fresh water project is also important."

"I was afraid you'd say that." I hate it when Ari paints Denton in a positive light. I also hate it when I have to concede that Denton isn't pure evil. Maybe just two-thirds.

I turn to watch Fred who is overseeing a group of men launching a rigid-hull inflatable with a small outboard engine. They are making a run to Harkstead, another small port town about twenty kilometers to the west, as the crow flies. The group gets underway and Fred comes back our way.

"Who's ready for a beer?" he says.

"You're kidding right?"

"No."

"Isn't it kind of warm?"

"I'll let you be the judge of that." Fred works his way delicately among the rocks of the break well and retrieves a yellow polypropylene rope and begins to gather it in. Soon he has pulled from the rippling waters a 2 litre brown jug. "Back to the patio gentlemen."

Before turning back to the house I raise the riflescope to my eye to give the rowboat a quick look. I make out three occupants. Satisfied, I join the men on the patio.

The beer is indeed cold, unexpectedly so and delicious. Fred has put out a plate of hard cheeses, smoked meats and some borderline stale crackers, but three out of four ain't bad.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Fred says jumping back up. He walks over to a flimsy looking metal shed and begins to rummage inside. After a time, during which I polished off my beer and refilled my glass, he emerges with a coffee tin in one hand and a pellet gun in the other. "For your boy!" he declares. "If he's not too young."

"He's not too young to learn." I say taking the old break-barrel air rifle from Fred. It has a fair bit of surface rust, but that's easy enough to address. Inside the coffee tin I find hundreds, if not more, .177 calibre pellets. I crack open the rifle, pop a pellet in the chamber, close it and fire it off into the air. It seems to work just fine, certainly good enough for learning some basics and thwacking the odd vermin if the chance presents itself. "Thanks Fred."

"You're welcome."

"So how many jugs of beer you got sitting on the lake bottom?"

"Just the one. Until those guys get back from Harkstead."

"Oh yeah."

"Remember the microbrewery there?"

"Yeah -- you can't tell me that is still running."

"No, not exactly, but some of the guys from there are still producing small batches and trading."

"I can only guess what you have to trade."

Fred winks. "Free market economy."

After a couple beers and snacks I find a rickety chaise that appears to be more rust than metal, but it takes my weight without collapsing, to my relief. Soon I'm half asleep with my hat pulled over my eyes. Fred and Ari are deep into a game of chess. Fred pulled out a marvelously sculpted marble chess set, but the black king was missing, in it's place Ari is using a 7mm Remington Magnum cartridge I gave him.

I must have drifted off because Ari is giving me a good shake, "you better get up," he says.

I rise from the chaise to find Fred peering out at the lake through a spotting scope that wasn't there earlier. The old fart has an endless supply of stuff it seems. Likewise, Ari has the binoculars up.

Reaching for my rifle I ask, "what are we looking at?"

"Sloop a couple miles offshore." Fred advises.

"What is sloop?" Ari asks.

"Sailboat." I say.

"Yes, sailboat."

"So what is up with the sail boat?"

"No sure," Fred replies. "I thought I heard something."

"Did you hear something?" I ask Ari.

"Too many grenades," Ari says pointing to his ear. "I did not hear."

I dial up the riflescope's magnification to nine, its maximum setting and squint as I point it out across the sparkling waters, my eye quickly dazzled by the reflected glare of the bright afternoon sun. After nearly burning my retina out I give up.

"I can't make anything out--what do you see?"

"The sailboat has pulled up next to another small boat," Ari informs me.

"Use mine," Fred says. His spotting scope, mounted on a tripod and good for up to sixty power should give me a much better picture. I step up and peer through. Unfortunately the glass is of much lower quality than that of the Swarovski binoculars Ari has, but what it lacks in absolute clarity it makes up for in magnification, the sailboat jumps at me through the lens. I can easily make out three armed men pointing weapons at the hapless crew of the small fishing boat. Immediately I grab for the radio.

"Pierre, its Connor," I say, swinging the scope to put Pierre's boat in view. "Time to bring it in."

Another report echoes over the waters, this time I hear it too. I swing the scope back to the sloop, just in time to see them fire another round at someone in the smaller vessel.

"What was that?" Pierre radios back.

"There is something going on with that sailboat south of you, you need to get back to shore now Pierre." By the time I have the glass back on Pierre he's already rowing. Cursing out loud, I swing back to the sloop. Its coming about, the white sails filling as it catches the southwest wind. The mast heels slightly to starboard as she comes to bear north, directly toward Pierre.

I grab my pack and rifle and dash to the break wall, using the pack as an improvised rest I kneel and try to site in the sailboat. Soon Ari joins me.

"Too far," he says, confirming my fears. It's both too far for me to engage the sailboat with anything approaching effective fire and I have a very limited number of shots. In addition, Pierre is too far from shore and the distance between the sloop and Pierre is shrinking faster than the distance between Pierre and us.

"Can you range?" I ask Ari.

"Not well," he replies. "Say two-thousand meter to sailboat, twelve-hundred to little boat."

"The one with Heath in it?"

"Yes, twelve-hundred, maybe more."