“Okay, be safe. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He ran out to Isaiah’s truck, threw open the door, and hopped in. They were peeling out of the driveway before he had a chance to shut the door.
“What’s going on?” he huffed as Isaiah tore down the road.
“Fucked up news, man. Jenna and Tara Jones froze to death last night.”
“What?”
“Yeah, Amanda found them in the ditch just down the road from her mom’s place.”
“Holy fuck.”
“Yeah, I know. Terry and Amanda are both there. She went and got him. He got Walter, who came by my place to tell me to get you. Walter’s figuring out what we’re gonna do with the bodies.”
Evan felt like he was sinking into the hard foam of the truck’s seat. It took all his will not to heave up whatever was left in his stomach. “I saw them last night.”
“What?”
“They were drinking at my brother’s place. I stopped in there to check on him.”
“Jesus Christ, man.”
“Scott was there too.”
It was the fastest drive through the rez Evan could remember. Soon they were pulling up to a small cluster of trucks and people on the side of the road. The sun was clearing the horizon, blazing orange light into the grim ditch.
Terry, Amanda, and Walter watched their approach with stricken expressions. Evan wasn’t quite ready to look at the bodies yet, so he put an arm around Amanda, who turned to give him a tight hug, her eyes bloodshot.
Evan steeled himself and stepped to the edge of the road. The two young women lay side by side in the ditch. Their brown faces were frozen blue and white. Tara’s hood concealed most of her head, but Jenna’s was down and her head was nestled into the snow with her long black hair splayed across her cousin’s face. Evan remembered the fruity smell of her hairspray as she walked past him the night before. He looked at Tara and thought of Sydney. His heart broke for her.
“I don’t know what they were doing.” Amanda began to sob, grieving her young neices. “They must have been walking home and just didn’t make it all the way.”
Terry turned to Evan. “It looks like they stuck to the road, wherever they were coming from.”
Evan cleared his throat. “I know where they came from. They were drinking at my brother’s place. I saw them there last night.”
“What?” Amanda yelped.
“Yeah, I was worried about Cam’s boy, so I stopped in to make sure they had food and wood. Except Jordan wasn’t there. He was at Sydney’s mom’s. I guess they decided to have a party.”
“Fuck sakes!” Terry stomped his foot and looked away.
Walter held up a hand. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions yet. They musta got drunk and couldn’t walk all the way home. We can’t argue now. We gotta figure out where to take them before everyone gets up and sees us here.”
The sun cut shadows across the snow. Soon it would shine into the windows of the homes that lined the road, rousing the inhabitants for another day. Amanda began to cry again.
“Amanda, get in my truck,” commanded Walter. “Terry, sit in there with her.” When they were in the cab and out of earshot, he turned to Evan and Isaiah. “Right now, our only option is to take them to the health station. We have no way of getting anyone up here to do a fuckin’ post mortem, and the ground’s too frozen for a proper burial. So we’ll have to keep them locked in the shed there while we sort all this shit out.”
“Walter,” Evan said. “Scott was there too.”
“What?”
“Yeah, he was there drinking with them. You know they say that he’s bootlegging the last of the booze.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
“I know. I tried to get him to leave. But I couldn’t. He wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Fuck. We’ll deal with that later too. Come on, help me get these girls ready.”
Walter had driven to the health station earlier, while Isaiah had gone to get Evan, but he didn’t know where to find the body bags. He had gone back to his own home to get old dark blankets he had stored away. He walked to the back of his truck to grab them and handed Evan and Isaiah three each.
“I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this,” admitted Isaiah, “but we should at least offer some semaa, I think.” He dug a pouch out of his jacket and passed it awkwardly to the other men. They prayed silently and put it down close to where the young women lay. They dug their stiff bodies out of the snow, wrapped them carefully, and carried them one at a time to Isaiah’s truck, placing them gently on the open truck bed. Evan stayed in the back with Tara and Jenna while Isaiah drove to their temporary resting place in the shed behind the health station.
Terry met Walter, Evan, and Isaiah at the shed after driving Amanda home. He stepped out of his red pickup, looking defeated. I gotta tell him right away, thought Evan.
“Hey, Terry, there’s something you should know about last night . . .” The front door of the band office swung open. It was Scott, outfitted in his snowmobile gear, holding his black helmet.
“Good morning, boys,” he bellowed. “To what do I owe this esteemed visit?”
“Not now, Scott,” Terry muttered.
“Oh? What’s up?”
“Please, just give us a few minutes.”
Scott shrugged but stayed where he was.
Evan stepped closer to the chief. “Terry,” he whispered, as close as he could stand to him. “Scott was with them last night.”
Terry squinted his eyes in chagrin. “What? With who?”
“With the girls. He was at my brother’s place last night too.”
“Well, what the fuck happened then?”
“I don’t know.”
Terry looked over Evan’s shoulder at Scott. “Goddamn it, Evan, who else was there?”
“Other than Cam and Syd, Nick and Jacob.”
“Nick Jones?”
“Well, where is he? And Jacob?”
Evan’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t given them a thought. They likely would have left his brother’s place sometime in the night as well, and he had no idea if they made it home.
In the still, frigid air, the faint hum of snowmobiles interrupted them. It had been weeks since anyone had ridden their machines for leisure, so the sound from the south was unmistakable. Now they were used only for hunting or running crisis errands.
Evan peered at Scott. Scott looked at Isaiah, whose eyes darted to Walter. Walter awaited a signal from the chief. “Where’s that coming from?” he thought aloud when it became clear that Terry wasn’t going to do anything.
“I think we have some visitors,” said Scott calmly. “My bet’s on the hydro line.”
“We have to go head them off,” said Walter, wearily taking control. “Isaiah, you stay here with the girls. Scott, get in with me. Evan, jump in Terry’s truck.”
The trucks roared down the hill, took a left, and went straight to the store. Four machines were approaching. They staggered the two trucks to create a makeshift blockade, although anyone looking to bypass it on a snowmobile could easily take the ditch around. Walter and Terry left their trucks running as everyone got out.
The snowmobiles neared the ridge that marked the end of the ploughed road, slowed, and slid down, stopping a safe distance from the men and the trucks. They formed a line. The second rider from the right in a dark red and black suit raised his gloved hands in a peaceful gesture. The others did the same. The man turned off his engine, stepped off his snowmobile, and walked towards the waiting men with his hands still raised.
He looked to be a large man, a little bigger than Walter. He put down his arms, and they swished against his snowmobile jacket. His heavy boots clunked against the hard ground.
The two to the left got off their machines, and the le
ader took off his helmet. His tousled blond hair glowed in the morning sun. His face was pale, with a square jaw and high cheekbones.
“Hello, hi . . .” he began, as his voice cracked. “Where are we?”
“Gaawaandagkoong First Nation. Who are you?” Terry responded.
“We’ve been travelling a long time. We started in Everton Mills. We’re so hungry.”
Everton Mills was a small city farther south than Gibson. Evan surveyed their machines and couldn’t see any sleds attached with any indication of supplies.
“If you came that far,” Walter asked, “then where’s all your gear?”
“We set up camp about an hour’s drive south of here yesterday. We’re desperate to find anyone else. Please, do you have any food?”
He held his helmet in one arm, and Evan noticed his free hand trembling. There was fear, and desperation, in his eyes. The other newcomers started walking towards them.
“We have food,” said Terry, “for our community. You can appreciate that we’re hungry here too.”
“Please,” the man said. “We’re starving.”
The three behind him wobbled where they stood. They looked weak.
“You’ll need to cooperate,” Terry continued. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Phillips.”
“Do you have a first name, Phillips?”
“Mark.”
“Mark, how do we know there aren’t more people on sleds waiting behind you to swarm us?”
“You have my word.”
“I don’t know what your word is worth.”
“I’m begging you,” Phillips pounded his fist against his thigh.
“I’m asking for your patience,” Terry said firmly. “We’re a small community. We’re already stretched thin.”
“Let us by!” Phillips screamed and suddenly charged towards Terry. Four sharp cracks rang out and the stranger crumpled to the ground. The woman screamed and the men rushed forward. Phillips rolled on the road, groaning and bleeding into the snow.
Scott held his handgun tightly with both hands, pointing at the remaining three.
“Stay back! Stay back!” he commanded. Everyone stared at him in disbelief.
“Now you fuckin’ listen to this chief!” Scott ordered. “No quick moves! If you want to come in here, it’s on our terms!” On the ground before them, Phillips stopped moving. The woman retreated back to the snowmobiles and wailed.
Terry took a few steps toward Scott. “Jesus, Scott,” he whispered through his teeth. “What the fuck?”
“There’ll be more coming, Terry,” he responded. “We gotta make a stand.” He kept his pistol pointed at the others.
“You didn’t have to shoot him. You had no right to shoot him. You’re an outsider here, too, remember.”
“He was desperate and crazy. I was protecting us.”
“What are we gonna do with the others now?”
Shit, Terry’s lost control, thought Evan. He just handed it over to Scott.
“We gotta screen them. That Phillips was obviously their leader.”
“And what do we do now with Phillips?”
“Put him at the end of the road there. As a warning.”
Scott holstered his handgun and walked back to the truck. Walter and Evan stared at each other in stunned disbelief. Terry looked at his boots. Phillips bled out on the snow.
Part Two
* * *
BIBOON
WINTER
Twenty-Two
Evan rummaged through the old man’s closet, feeling for heavy winter jackets, or at least thick wool. The dark, damp basement already reeked of mould and, as he reached deeper into the garments, the scent of mothballs danced with the must in his nostrils. He felt a coarse jacket and pulled it out into the faint daylight coming through the small window above his head. It was a formal military blazer. He recognized it from Remembrance Day ceremonies and grand entries at powwows. He remembered the old man looking proud and mighty every time he put it on.
But here, in this lonely, near-empty basement, it looked stiff and rotting. Evan held it higher for a better look. The blue wool had faded and felt thin. He noticed that the buttons on the sleeves and the breast weren’t actually gold as he had always thought as a child. They were brass and tarnished. He ran his calloused fingertip across the three smaller ones on the jacket’s left wrist, feeling the bumps and grooves of the tiny crests. He pictured the old man holding the eagle staff proudly, wearing this military garb. The buttons’ golden charm had seemed to accentuate the flags and feathers on the ceremonial stave.
But they no longer shone. They never did, really. Evan wondered if Remembrance Day would ever happen again.
The wood furnace in the middle of the room blasted heat that dissipated as it reached the unfinished concrete walls. He replaced the jacket and closed the closet door, then fed another five pieces of wood into the furnace. Isaiah would come later in the evening to feed the fire again for the old lady.
Aileen was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from the tea she had promised Evan. She still had an old wood cookstove in her kitchen and she could handle keeping it stoked, but she was too frail now to load the furnace in the basement. The main floor was toasty and it comforted Evan to know that Aileen was okay. He took off his jacket and placed it on the back of the wooden chair across from the elder. She put down her cup and smiled at him through her big glasses. “Everything okay down there?” she asked. Evan looked down at the full cup in front of him, then to hers. She had wrapped her thin, wrinkled fingers around the hot glass for warmth. The sleeves of her pink sweater were fraying at the end.
“Yeah, everything looks good. You got lots of wood still,” he replied. “Izzy will be by tonight to top it up.”
“I really appreciate you boys doing this for me. Chi-miigwech.”
“It’s nothing, Auntie. We’re happy to help.”
Aileen was the last of the generation raised speaking Anishinaabemowin, with little English at all. She was one of only a few dozen left who could speak their language fluently. She remembered the old ways and a lot of the important ceremonies. She had more knowledge than everyone else about the traditional lives of the Anishinaabeg.
“Aaniish ezhebimaadziiyin?” he asked.
“Mino ya. I’m warm. I have lots to eat. I get a lot more company these days.”
“That’s good. We want to make sure everything’s okay around here.”
“How are you doing?”
He paused. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked him that. His pace had been frenetic in the strange darkness of this new era. “I’m, uh, good, I guess.”
“How are the kids?”
“Oh, they’re good. They’ve been spending a lot of time outside. I don’t think they miss school at all!” he chuckled, and she giggled.
“What about your bazgim?”
“Oh, she’s tired, but she’s getting by. She really appreciates all the things you are teaching her about the old medicine ways, but she still gets stuck at home a lot with the kids while I’m out here doing stuff.”
“Well, you make sure you spend some time with her. Go for a walk in the bush. When the spring comes, ask her to show you some of the medicines. She’ll know a lot now, if she remembers all the stuff from when I used to take her and all the young girls out there. It will be important if we don’t get any new supplies in from the hospital down south.”
Evan thought of Nicole at home, trying to prepare herself for the skills they would need if the power was gone for good while struggling to keep the children occupied. He felt a twinge of guilt. She often looked tired these days. She didn’t talk as much as she used to and hardly smiled anymore. No one smiled much this winter.
“That’s a good idea,” he said. “Maybe I’ll take the kids over to my parents’ place tomorrow or
the day after.”
“Your mom will appreciate the kookom time.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
He brought the hot tea to his chapped lips and sipped. The liquid seeped into the cracks and burned, but he showed no reaction. He’d learned to keep his thoughts behind a careful mask. He could not show weakness, especially now. But the old woman could still make him smile.
“Did you find anything down there in Eddie’s closet?” she asked.
“I found one of his old army jackets, but I didn’t wanna take it.”
“The one he wore for ceremonies?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“Ah yes. He loved that one.” She looked out the window.
Her husband had served in the Korean War and had been the last wartime military veteran in the community. He had died four years ago, disappointed that no young people had followed in his path. He had been celebrated as a strong warrior and a respected elder. Evan thought about him now, wondering if he would have been able to help guide the young people through this catastrophe if he were still alive.
Evan sipped the tea slowly. There was no need to fill the silence. If we can make it through this winter, Evan thought, we’ll be okay.
Often, Aileen shared a teaching or an old story with the young men when they came to visit. Once in a while, someone would bring a group of children or teens to hear some old Nanabush stories or her memories of the old days. There had been no electricity in this community when she was a child and parents sometimes brought the young ones to her to remind them that life was possible without the comforts of modern technology. Now it was critical that they learn how the old ones lived on the land.
“You know, when young people come over, sometimes some of them talk about the end of the world,” Aileen said, breaking the silence and snapping Evan out of his woolgathering. He looked up from the plaid pattern on the vinyl tablecloth to the old woman’s face.
“They say that this is the end of the world. The power’s out and we’ve run out of gas and no one’s come up from down south. They say the food is running out and that we’re in danger. There’s a word they say too — ah . . . pock . . . ah . . .”
Moon of the Crusted Snow Page 12
