An old Volkswagen trundled north on interstate five, where the highway narrowed to two lanes. Flanked on either side were evergreen trees that rolled with the hills. 

Candace sucked on a Marlboro until the ember reached the filter and cursed when the car struggled at top speed. The radio fizzed in and out as she wound through the valleys of the North Cascade Mountains. 

She was amazed at how isolated she felt after only driving an hour and a half from Seattle. It was as if up here, nature was left unrestricted.

Her destination was a pocket of township among the trees known as Bellingham—the closest city to the Canadian border worth anything, so said Felix. 

With its bay opening to the Salish Sea, civilization had established an outpost in the rugged terrain. What was once a logging enclave evolved into a far-north hideout for those inclined to isolation. 

Maybe she would like such a place, Candace thought, as she lit another cigarette. 

By Money

The elevator doors opened into a serene restaurant; tuxedoed waiters carried food and wine to well-groomed patrons. 

Candace saw Felix waving her over from his small table. 

“Nice of you to dress up,” he said, smirking as she sat down.

“I didn’t come here to eat,” Candace replied. “What’s the job?”

Felix sighed. He reached into a bag at his side and placed a bulging envelope on the table between them. 

“Five thousand to intercept a mule from YKO coming down from Vancouver. I want what they’re carrying.”

“YKO? You’re about to start a war, Felix. Five won’t cut it.”

He reached into the bag again and held up another envelope. 

“I need this one, Candy. If YKO floods Seattle with their own fenty, I’m done.” His tone grew serious.

Candace thought of all her problems that money could solve.

“Fine,” she said and grabbed the envelope on the table. 

“Good. You’ll get this one on delivery.” He put the other envelope back in his bag. “Now, you’ll need to drive north to catch the Amtrak coming south from Vancouver—the mule will be on board. My fixer, Hernia, will be waiting for you in Bellingham.”

“Hernia? Really?”

Felix chuckled. “It’s a joke Candy, lighten up. The fixer’s name is Donnie—he’s a pain in my ass.” He wore a shit-eating grin. “Get it?”

Candace stood and tucked the money into her jacket. 

“Oh and Candy, I’ll see you when you’re back in town.”

Candace sat drinking a pint of Rainier, exhausted from her drive. A balding middle-aged man sat down next to her. 

“Has the cavalry arrived?” he asked, looking her up and down.

“Literally. Ex 19-Delta, Cav Scout,” she replied. “You Hernia?”

“Fuck, not you too. It’s Donnie—not Hernia.”

Candace smiled as she finished her beer. He seemed like a soft man, and she liked him already. 

“I’m Candace—not Candy.” She tilted her head to the front door. “Care for a smoke?” 

“Sure, Sugar, but they’re on me.” As he stood from the bar stool, he took out a bag of loose tobacco. They walked outside and Donnie deftly rolled two impeccable cigarettes.

“You know you can buy pre-rolls these days,” Candace said as she lit hers. 

“Those factory sticks are full of rat poison,” Donnie said. “Mine are artisanal.”

Candace laughed through a cloud of smoke.

“So, what are the details?”

Donnie inhaled deep. “I know a train is coming tomorrow at four-thirty, that you need to be on board when it continues down to Seattle, and that I need to get you whatever you need.”

Candace nodded. “I don’t need much. A nine mil with clean serial numbers, a suitcase with two sandbags, and rope.”

This time Donnie laughed. “I’ll have them for you by noon. Anything else?”

“A bit of luck, if you can spare it.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The next morning Candace scoped out the Amtrak station and then waited for Donnie at a nearby cafe. He arrived at noon, wheeling in a suitcase and sitting across from her, huffing. 

“Alright there, Don?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved a hand. “Just hauling sandbags all day.”

“And the other thing?”

“It’s in there, don’t worry. This ain’t the type of town to be flashing heat, Sugar.”

Candace sipped her coffee. Donnie regained his breath and wiped a sheen of sweat away from his forehead. 

“So, you’re all ready then?”

She shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

Donnie avoided eye contact. He took out his tobacco and tried to roll a cigarette, but it fell onto the table as his hands shook.

Candace watched him struggle. “Everything alright?”

“No—I mean yes.” He wiped his sweaty forehead again. 

“Spit it out.” Candace’s voice was stern.

Donnie glanced up, then back down to his shaking hands. “Drop it, will ya?”

Candace wouldn’t—not if her life was on the line. And she sensed it might be. Donnie was soft, and slow. Before he could react she grabbed his collar.

By Leverage

Candace was lost in thought as she finished her meal. After five long years, tomorrow she was out. She should be fucking thrilled, but she wasn’t.

What waited on the other side of that double-layered concertina-wire fence? The walls would be gone, sure, but the sentence would follow her. 

She finished her cornbread and returned the tray to the rack, then made her way to the mailroom. 

“Anything for me, Carla?”

Carla smiled from the other side of the reinforced glass. “Matter of fact, there is, sweet thing.” She slid a small white envelope into the drawer and pushed it to Candace’s side. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks.” 

Candace took the letter. Her name was written by hand and addressed to Mission Creek Corrections Center for Women. There was no return address.

Once back in her cell she tore it open and read the letter:

Candy,

We could use someone with your military training in our organization. It pays well. Much better than anything else a felon can find, I assure you. 

Call me, 

Felix

A number was written at the bottom.

“What the fuck do you mean?” Candace said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice down. 

“Felix wants your car dumped—gone,” Donnie said, staring back with eyes that said more. 

She got up and rolled the suitcase out of the cafe. Donnie followed.

“So you mean to say I won’t be coming back to get it? Ever?”

“Look, Candy, I never should’ve told—”

“Don’t fucking call me Candy!” She turned on him. “What else did he say?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. That was it.”

Candace sat down on a bench overlooking a small park. “So this is it then, eh? I go through with it, I’m fucked. I don’t, he’ll just send someone like me.” She shook her head in her hands. 

Donnie sat next to her and offered her a freshly rolled cigarette. “You need a bit of luck.”

Candace looked up. 

“What if—and this is crazy—but what if we both get on that train.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What are you saying, Don? This is my problem.”

He lit the cigarette and took a deep draw. “It could be ours, if you let me help. I’m sure whatever it is you’re being asked to deliver is more than enough for a new life.” The smoke wandered out of his mouth. “Fixers never make it out of this game clean, Sugar.”

She thought for a moment. “Neither does the muscle.” She grabbed his cigarette and inhaled. “Okay.”

Candace and Donnie boarded the Amtrak bound for Seattle at four-thirty that afternoon.

By Entitlement

The shot of whisky slid down her throat, followed by a quick gulp of beer.

“Jesus, I ain’t never seen a bitch drink like that,” a man said from the corner of the bar. He wore a trucker hat with a convertible car on the panel with the words, ‘Everything is better topless.’

Candace ignored him. She tapped her knuckles nervously on the wood grain. A woman sat down next to her and she smiled. 

“Trisha, I think this place is infested with vermin.”

The bartender set a pair of beers in front of them. “We got cleared by the health inspector, Candy. Don’t go spreadin’ rumors.”

“They missed one, Buck.” Candace pointed down to Trucker Hat. He gave her the bird.

Trisha took the beer and drank half in one go. “Look Candace, this has been fun, really.”

Candace coughed mid-drink as she listened.

“You’re just…too intense for me.”

“Trisha, you don’t mean that. C’mon, we can work this out.”

“Not this time.” Trisha finished and set down a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. “Thanks, Buck.”

As Candace watched her leave she absently fished for a loose Marlboro in her pack, then stumbled out the back door of the bar into the alley. 

She didn’t hear the door open behind her as she lit her cigarette. 

“You need to lighten up, bitch.” Trucker Hat’s voice came from somewhere behind her—his hands gripped her shoulders. 

Her mind flashed to the bombed-out building and rusty bed frame. Before she realized what she was doing, she was on one knee with her concealed knife in her hand. She swung it around in a wide arc and caught the man’s exposed neck. 

She was still covered in his blood when the police arrived.

Using the blurry photo Felix sent as reference, Candace and Donnie found the mule near the back of the train. She sat alone, wore a set of wireless headphones, and gazed out the window—a perfectly normal passenger.

But to the pair, she carried their ticket to salvation. 

Candace sat down nearby while Donnie made his way to the front of the train and into one of the bathrooms. He lit one of his cigarettes and held it near the fire alarm—within seconds it blared.

The attendants in the train raced to the front, leaving the rear carriages isolated. Candace withdrew the pistol.

“Get up, now,” she said, pointing the gun at the woman. 

She looked up and took off her headphones. Her head trembled back and forth. “Please. They made me do it.”

“Shut up, and go.” She pointed down the aisle to the back of the carriage. “Everyone else, stay where you are and no one gets hurt,” she said louder. The other passengers avoided her gaze.

The woman got up and started walking. She slung a backpack over her shoulder. Candace jammed the gun in her back and rolled the suitcase behind her. They left the seating area and entered the boarding hallway. 

“Open the door.” Candace pointed at the large red handle that opened the sealed door to the outside. As soon as she turned it, a much louder alarm was triggered and the train lurched forward as the emergency brakes engaged. 

By Command

Captain Peterson sat alone in the bombed-out room looking up from a smattering of documents in front of him. “It’s always nice to see you, Corporal.” He smiled, his weathered face wrinkling. 

“Thank you, Sir.” Candace stood at attention in the doorway. 

“Your unit is to receive a commendation for that recon. You Scouts saved many lives.”

“Just following orders, Sir.” 

Captain Peterson stood up and loosened the top button of his uniform. “Drop the formalities, Candy. Let’s just you and I talk, yeah?”

Candace shifted in place. “What topic did you have in mind, Sir?”

“I said quit it with the ‘Sir’ shit, Candy.” His tone grew harsh. “Now, I think you need to lighten up.” He walked around his desk. 

“I really should be getting back to my unit, Sir.”

The slap came fast and stung immediately. She refused to cry out, but held her face.

“That’s an order, Corporal.” Captain Peterson closed the door behind Candace. “Now get your pretty ass on there.” He pointed at the rusty framed bed. 

The door opened and a rush of salty air blew into the train. The Salish Sea stretched out before them. 

Candace and the woman hopped to the gravel track and made their way down the embankment toward the water. Once near, Candace shoved the heavy suitcase toward the woman. 

“Tie these to your feet.”

She unzipped the suitcase, revealing the two sandbags and rope, then fell to her knees. 

“Don’t do this. I had to.”

“Sorry hun, no loose ends.”

The woman’s head shook wildly. Her eyes wide with fear. 

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.” She cried. “What they did to me.”

Candace met her gaze and became lost in memory—of prison, the bar alley, the rusty bed. She had an idea of what the woman had gone through.

“Yo, Sugar!” Donnie’s voice came from the embankment above. “We need to go now.”

Candace saw herself in the woman’s frantic and helpless eyes—saw what led them both to this point. The muscle, the fixer, the mule—none made it out clean. She put the pistol away and reached into her jacket, withdrawing the bulging envelope. She tossed it to her. 

“Disappear.”

The woman sat dumbfounded. Her eyes teared as she gaped up at Candace. She took the backpack and made her way up the embankment. 

“You’re not killing her?” Donnie said.

“What’s the use? C’mon.” 

Candace led Donnie around the train, across the tracks, and into the wall of evergreen trees on the other side. They disappeared into the rugged terrain. 

By Men

Candace and Donnie hiked for three hours. At times they thought they heard helicopters above, but weren’t sure. Eventually, Donnie asked for a break and sat on a rotting log. 

“We need to keep distancing ourselves from that fucking train.” 

Donnie nodded. “I know. Just give me a minute.” He huffed and rolled a cigarette. “So, what’s the take?”

Candace sat, set the pistol on the log, and opened the backpack. Inside, she found a plastic-wrapped brick concealed in clothes. Donnie whistled as she took it out. 

“It doesn’t look like much.”

“If that’s pure Chinese-made fentanyl, we are set, Sugar.” 

A question came to Candace as she looked at it: this brick might be an escape, but an escape from what? No matter what it solved, it also brought on a new set of restrictions for her life—running from the law, YKO, Felix. 

Candace knew about restrictions. She wasn’t sure she wanted more. 

Her rumination was interrupted by the cold touch of steel against her temple. 

“Give it here, Sugar.”

There was no time to think. Donnie was soft and slow—too slow. Candace drove her elbow up into his extended arm. The pistol fired, just above her head, and before Donnie realized he missed, her knife was lodged into his jaw. 

Candace knew about restrictions. They had been forced upon her life in many forms—by money, by leverage, by entitlement, by command. And at the root of them all, her restrictions were forced by men. 

But no longer. 

Candace left Donnie’s gurgling body next to the rotting log and the brick of fentanyl. She disappeared into the forest—into nature unrestricted.