AN: Never was there a tale of more research than that of Orion and Amish country, Pennsylvania. Not to mention the Hershey family and how aristocracy hated them for making chocolate affordable to the masses.

All that to say, I'm sure I inevitably got something wrong. My humblest apologies to anyone who lives there and knows the back roads better than my Google Maps/historical archives sources! I did my best.


'Out there's a land that time don't command,
Wanna be the first to arrive.
No time for ponderin' why I'm a-wanderin',
Not while we're both still alive.'

"Ends of the Earth" ~ Lord Huron

"I can't believe that farmer sold this to us for only six hundred bucks." Sam pats the dashboard.

"Oh really?" Jules gestures like Vanna White to the broken radio and clock, cigarette butts still caked to the lighter and cup holder. "Really, sweetie?"

It's a blue, wood panelled van old enough to be considered vintage in Jules' high school days. It stinks to high heaven.

Dean has already named it.

Right on cue, his head appears between the front seats. "Geraldine is a beauty, Jules. Don't insult her."

"Yeah," says Sam. He's been egging the boy on all afternoon, probably with the intent to cheer him up. "She helped us lose the helicopter and the roadblocks! We're just a normal family going on a road trip now. Show Geraldine a little respect."

Greg, sandwiched between Dean and Hartford in the back, grins. He's still busy bandaging Dean's hands, the cuts of which are deeper than they expected and worryingly refuse to clot. "The van's got a full tank of gas and four-by-four tires. It's a win in my book."

Jules looks away from the road to meet Hartford's eye in the rear view. "Thanks for helping us out, Director. What other tricks have you got up your sleeve?"

"A cheque book is hardly a trick." Hartford is busy doing something complicated with Dean's map and a compass. "And I can't believe you're leaving your cellphones on."

Jules and Greg share an indulgent grin. It's familiar, an expression often shared when out on a call.

"We're going to get caught," Hartford insists.

Greg finally tapes off the gauze. "That's the plan, Director. We just have to play our cards right for when we get caught."

"Are all Canadians this gutsy?"

"Nah." Dean rests his head on his father's shoulder. He's tired and mentally drained, though trying to hide it. "These guys are just nuts."

"Nuts, huh?" Greg musses Dean's hair. "You're following in my footsteps, then."

The others have a laugh about that and Jules can pretend, just for a bit, that this isn't a life or death race to find her mentor and little brother before they're flown out of the country. It almost feels like the old days, all of them working a case together as Team One.

They go through a few toll stations, and Jules watches her Canadian quarters pass the test. The caribou heads roll away, along with the miles.

After a few strategic, hidden turns, thanks to Dean's stellar navigation skills and Hartford's knowledge of backroad pathways, they follow the hundred-and-fifty-year-old map from New York into Pennsylvania.

The landscape changes from highway and gas stations to farm fields and forests. She drives for over two hours, off the main artery roads, until the old highway turns to dirt. The road gets narrower, narrower.

And suddenly the power lines stop.

Jules knows, looking at how poorly marked this section of backwoods Pennsylvania is—as in, not marked at all—that they're in the right place. That even with law enforcement probably out raking the east coast for them, they're hidden for the foreseeable future. Even the chopper, the scant few times they've spotted it looking for them, would be hard pressed to spot them through all this foliage.

She can see it in her mind's eye, how easy it would be for the paint van to find a secret way through the Niagara Falls border, to creep through the forgotten roads still lying in these dense woods.

The one they're currently in is actually part of a national park. Two ruts lay concealed in the bushes, a forgotten trail for when vehicles were horse driven.

Here, they still are.

Passing along the park's edge, they finally come across exactly what they're looking for:

A young man in suspenders and a straw hat.

He tips it to them when they pull over next to his wheat field. A chestnut draft horse is stopped for a break from scything, with the work day almost over, munching on oats and a bucket of water. One back hoof is cocked in preparation for a nap.

Jules puts the van in park and turns the engine off. "I'll take this one. You guys look suspicious with all the bruises, no offence."

"Will he talk to a woman who's not his wife?" Sam asks.

Dean snorts. "It's Amish country, not the dark ages. Get with the times, Sam."

Jules smiles at their antics. She's immediately glad she's not wearing her police uniform, but rather the less intimidating ensemble of a purple button up blouse and jeans. She does up the button over her sternum and rolls the sleeves down to her wrists.

"Stay sharp," she says, squeezing Sam's hand before hopping out.

Even the air smells clearer here, much better than smoggy, downtown Toronto.

"Can I help you, miss?" the farmer asks.

"Yes, thank you." She smiles. "I'm Jules."

He shakes her offered hand without a moment's hesitation. "Thomas. Not many tourists pass through this part of our village, especially with the frost coming."

"No…and that's actually what I want to ask you about." Jules removes a crinkled photo of the paint van from her pocket. "Have you seen any other vehicles passing through here, like this one?"

Thomas takes the photo and squints at it. Then he removes a pair of wire frame glasses from his breast pocket, glued and repaired many times.

"Ah," he says, when he can see the picture properly. "Yes, I have. I remember it because we haven't seen automobiles in my part of town for almost a year and this one was going too fast, at night no less. Dangerous, if you ask me."

Jules nods, tone wry. "I agree. And there may have been a reason for that. Do you know where they went?"

A regretful grimace on his face, Thomas shakes his head. Jules sighs.

On the Prairies, quiet is a part of life. Lack of cars, rarely any airplanes. The assurance that if someone were to sneak onto your property, you'd see them coming from half a kilometer away.

But this. It takes that to a whole new level.

No engine noise. No rumble in the earth, under one's feet, of far away traffic. There's no humming from streetlamps or the static zing of someone's old rabbit eared TV playing.

Jules has never known this kind of stillness.

The loudest sound is the car popping and the horse, his giant teeth crunching away on a carrot. A fat carrot.

Though Jules grew up in farm country, it was never hushed enough to hear wind through the wheat stalks, like it is now. The sound of a million snakes all hissing at once, or like the wheat is whispering secrets.

"Would you like to come into town?" Thomas asks. "We have food and someone can direct you back to the interstate."

"No, that's fine, thank you." Jules wrings her hands, feeling her professional persona melt away in painful droplets. "That van, see…someone I love was in there."

Thomas's brow knits. He puts it together in a blink. "They took them by force."

"My little brother," says Jules. "They abducted him and my friend. So please, if you can think of anywhere the men might hide in these woods, it would be a huge help."

"I know not." Thomas looks disturbed having to say it, his mouth in a crooked, pensive line. "Our township has no hiding places of that sort, especially to hide a vehicle. Granted, this is the very outskirts. Most of our people have moved closer to town but I wanted to stay in the old farmstead."

He points up the road, to the tippy top of attic eaves that Jules can just see if she squints.

Another sound grows louder, the jingle of a harness. An older man driving a buggy, more white in his beard than blonde, rolls up to Thomas and calls "whoooaa!" to his pony.

After climbing down, he leads his horse over to share the water. "Thomas, here's that hand lathe you asked for."

"Ah! You finally remembered." Thomas smiles, teasing, at his friend. He takes the tool with a wink.

"Upstart youth." But the old man's eyes are grinning too. He spots Jules and tips his hat. "Good afternoon to you."

"They're asking about the van, Ben," Thomas explains. "The one with the paint brush on it."

Jules feels their chances dwindling away. Short of knocking on every door in this village, she'll never find Spike and Ed before they're an ocean away.

"There's got to be a hideout around here." Jules scratches her nails through her hair. She's overheated, and she knows it's from adrenaline. "We can't just…just go home."

"A hideout?" Ben asks. "Like a secluded property?"

Jules' eyes snap to him. "Yes. Somewhere they might hide something illegal. Or someone."

Ben loses his humour at once. He scowls. "I told Jonah—our town elder—he should tear that factory down but he refused. Now look at what's happened."

Jules lurches forward, drunk on a thimble's worth of hope. She looks him dead in the eye, not blinking. "Please. Please tell me."

"We're near Hershey, you understand?"

Jules doesn't but she nods at Ben.

Ben looks uncomfortable and his eyes darken. "Back when the Hershey family's business took off, chocolate was all the rage. Many would have liked to see his company taken down, especially upper classmen who could afford to have it shipped from overseas."

"Okay…" Jules frowns. "What does chocolate have to do with a secret property?"

"Rival companies couldn't figure out his recipe." Ben shifts and Thomas nods at him to continue. "So they took to bribing factory workers there and attempting to recreate the process. Built a secret facility just west of here, with the hopes of opening up a shop, about fifteen miles. Nobody uses the old service road anymore due to coyotes in the area. It's overgrown too much anyway."

"Where?" Jules waves behind her and Sam starts the van. "Tell me where."

"Are you sure?" Thomas asks. "Nobody's been there in almost a century. It's rat infested and a dangerous part of the forest."

Jules presses her palms together so they're steepled. She fights to keep her tone level, calm. "This might be my only chance to save two honourable men before they die. Before an evil can't be stopped."

Thomas looks at Ben, and the older man takes off his hat.

"Are your tires thick?" Ben asks.

"What?" Jules blinks. "Why?"

"You'll have to go through a dense bank of trees where there is no road to, well…" Ben circles a hand in a distinctly Greg Parker gesture. "Get to the service road."

"I think we're good," says Jules. "I'll march there in my bare feet if I have to."

This seems to be what Ben needs to hear. He begins a rambling explanation. Jules pulls out her notepad and scribbles furious directions, though they're landmark driven by things like 'gnarled oak' and 'broken flag pole.'

She looks up when she feels the heavy weight of Ben's hand on her shoulder. He peers intently into her face. "You have a fighter's heart. A hard thing to find."

"Lots of people are ready for violence," she counters, riled that she hasn't found her family yet, the perpetual clock ticking onwards to greater shame if she can't save them. What good is she if she can't get the job done when it counts?

"True." Ben smiles. "Yours, however, is powered by the need for justice, just like Thomas' is powered by the need to see things grow or mine is powered by turning trees into beautiful things. But yours, yearning for what's right? That's a rare gem, ma'am."

Jules stares at him a moment. She comes from a culture that doesn't speak such earnest things without some caution and reserve. There's something guileless in Ben's tone, a child's freedom paired with a mature outlook.

"Thank you." She shakes their hands again. "You have no idea how much this means to us."

Thomas waves when she walks away. "I hope you find your family, and let us know if you run into any trouble. Godspeed!"

Jules leaves feeling lighter and more wound up all at the same time.

When she hops back in the van, the passenger's side this time, Sam just looks at her.

"I'm alright." She answers the unspoken question in Sam's eyes without letting him see hers. Sam cranks the van into reverse so they can get back to the 'road.' Greg leans forward to squeeze her shoulder. "We have a location. Sort of."

"Sort of?" Dean asks.

Jules buckles up and pokes at Sam until he does the same. She squares her shoulders. "You may want to say goodbye to Geraldine."