Across the waste of waters she calls and calls to me.

Her sword is girded at her side, her helmet on her head,

And round her feet are lying the dying and the dead.

I hear the noise of battle, the thunder of her guns,

I haste to thee my mother, a son among thy sons.

—From “I Vow to Thee, My Country,” a British patriotic hymn, based on a poem by Sir Cecil Spring-Rice, set to a theme from Gustav Holst’s “Jupiter,” a movement in The Planets suite

Tavares, Florida—March, the Eleventh Year

The Jeffordses arrived in a chartered Super Osprey amphibian plane. The plane touched down on Lake Dora and taxied to the city of Tavares Seaplane Base. The breezy day made the water choppy. The Altmillers were waiting for them. Janelle Altmiller and Rhiannon Jeffords had arranged this meeting, primarily to discuss their parents in British Columbia. The sisters were worried that they had been out of contact for so long.

Lance Altmiller was now twenty-two years old. He had found part-time work in the local thrift store, moving and sorting boxes of donated household goods. He still lived in his parents’ home. Sarah Jeffords was eighteen, and had recently begun arguing with her mother about wearing eye makeup. She now spoke with an acquired Australian accent.

The Jeffordses were home in America, to stay.

The first thing that Rhiannon said when she saw her sister was, “Uggggh. You got old.”

Janelle replied, “You’ve got wrinkles too, sis.”

“Well, we can count our blessings. At least you never got fat, and I got skinny and I stayed that way. And we all have our health.”

Janelle nodded. “Yes, God is good.”

Unloading their luggage took a while, and was tricky, even with the amphibian plane tied up to the pier. The swells caused the plane to oscillate, making for hesitant footing at the cargo door. The Jeffordses had brought seven suitcases, two Pelican pistol cases, and four Kolpin long gun cases. The six people and luggage were a tight squeeze in the two vehicles that the Altmillers had driven to the seaplane base.

The conversations on the short drive to the Altmillers’ home focused on the Jeffordses’ lengthy flights on an Airbus A380 and a Boeing 747-8 to Miami, and then the charter in the smaller amphibian to Tavares. The men were in one vehicle, and the ladies in the other.

When they reached the house, they were ushered in by the day guard. Their housekeeper, Elena, already had lunch ready for them. The Habana sandwiches and mojito salad were served with coffee and iced tea.

Over lunch, the conversation soon turned to their family in British Columbia. Jake said emphatically, “There’s been outright resistance in Canada. Almost everyone has wanted the foreign troops out for years.”

“I’ve already been praying about this. I suppose we’ll have to do something about Canada,” Peter said.

“Do you suggest that we support the resistance or join it?” Jake asked.

Peter sighed. “If not now, then when? And if not us, then who?”

“I agree,” Rhiannon said.

“I think we’re all in agreement that we need to take action,” Jake said. “So let’s summarize: The first wave of invasion, the French, was pushed out after a few years, but the second wave, the Chinese PLA with a bunch of technocrats in tow, came in force, and they’re practically terraforming the place. They have the nerve to call themselves UN forces as well. They’re expanding mines and building a whole new city from scratch, east of Vancouver—between Surrey and Abbotsford—that’s been nicknamed New Shanghai. It is laid out in a grid of streets that will connect Surrey and Abbotsford. It’s huge.”

“We know the essentials of what the Chinese are now doing, but we’re out of touch with Mom and Dad,” Janelle said. “I only got one message relayed via ham radio from Mom and Dad shortly after the French capitulated, but before the Chinese landed.”

She passed a handwritten transcription to Rhiannon and Peter. Rhiannon read it aloud, twice:

“Greetings! Good riddance to the French. We were with the NLR, as was Ray, his friend Phil, and Phil’s wife. We will be rebuilding our herd. We are all healthy here. Can you come up to visit after things go back to normal?—A & C McG.”

“Well, obviously the Chinese occupation changed everything, after that was written,” Rhiannon said. “Their occupation has gone on for five years.”

Jake jumped in. “The Chinese have a news blackout about their occupation of western Canada. The happenings up there are sketchy—just a few things that the news media hear from border crossers. The Ottawa government is sitting on their hands, endlessly parlaying with the Chinese about the details of the border between the former Saskatchewan and Manitoba, when they should be demanding an immediate withdrawal.

“Meanwhile, since there is a nuclear stalemate between the U.S. and China, the RCG is only providing some covert aid. It is analogous to what they did to support the mujahideen in Afghanistan, back when the Soviets were there in the 1980s. That means no direct military support, no air support. Nothing.”

“So we have no way of knowing the current situation for Mom and Dad,” Janelle said. “Ray is there. They mentioned plans to build the cattle herd back up. But what is really going on? Are they still healthy? Do they need help getting out of the country? Or do they need help fighting the Chinese? It’s not even clear whether there is a functioning local economy. We really won’t know until we get up there to see what we can do to help.”

Peter gave Jacob a look and they both nodded. Then Peter said, “I suggest that Jake and I infiltrate British Columbia by ourselves, and then after we get there and fully ascertain—”

“No way!” Janelle interrupted. “Alan and Claire are our parents, not yours. It sounds all noble and chivalrous of you, but Rhi and I are both very good shooters and we know our way around those woods a lot better than you do.”

In the end, they decided that the Jeffordses would leave their daughter, Sarah, at the recently reopened Lake Mary Prep School, and that she would spend her summers “house sitting” with Elena and working as a sales clerk at the Altmillers’ hardware store. Meanwhile, the Altmillers would leave their son, Lance, in the care of Elena. Lance—who had the intellect of a five-year-old—needed constant supervision. The store would be in good hands in their absence. Their old accountant, Lisa Schoonover, had recently returned from Tennessee, and Tomas Marichal (the store manager) was running the store full-time and was planning to buy it, allowing Jake and Janelle to retire.

They spent the next twenty minutes discussing potential strategies for sneaking across the Canadian border, and the risks of minefields—both French and Chinese.

Peter, who had been quiet for most of this conversation, spoke up. “Okay, it’s a calculated risk, but here is what I propose. I say that we spend a few months stocking up on supplies that we know the resistance can use. Then we charter a seaplane to take the four of us up there and drop off us and the gear at a very remote lake. We make sure that everything that we bring is compatible with packhorse saddles, and we even bring nine saddles with us—six packsaddles and three riding saddles.”

“You’re kidding, right? I haven’t ridden a horse in ten years,” Jake said.

“Neither have I, but I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.”

Rhiannon glanced at her sister, and they both started nodding.

“I actually think it’s a great plan,” Janelle said. “Even if the Chinese have any sort of air defense up there—which I seriously doubt—if they track us and we drop off the radar, it will probably be at least twelve hours before they’ll get anyone up there to check it out. By then, we can have all our gear tucked back in the woods. Then we hike out, borrow a pack string, and pick our way down to Anahim Lake on cattle trails, conspicuously staying off the roads.”