Evan didn’t want to think about this so instead he said, “Help me over on this end,” and walked carefully to the far corner, where they positioned the winter’s first fatalities. He stopped at Jenna Jones’s feet to face Tyler, who stood at her head. Tyler grimaced and shrugged. They squatted and Evan patted the sides of the young woman’s stiff, frozen legs to find a good grip. His gloves and the few blankets around her buffered his hands from her dead limbs. This is only her body, he thought. Her spirit is gone. We will return her to Mother Earth as soon as we can. He cupped his hands under her Achilles tendons and nodded to Tyler, who shoved his hands under her shoulders. They heaved her frozen frame off the floor. It seemed lighter than when they had put her here.
Evan told himself it was like lifting a few sheets of drywall: long, heavy, and unbending. He tried to chase the memories of the night of her death from his mind. He couldn’t. He felt her petite heels — the flesh of her feet now hard as stones — on the outsides of his palms, and remembered her face as he stared down into the dark cloth that wrapped her legs.
Jenna had been beautiful. Her high cheekbones accentuated the natural tan of her face and her almond-shaped eyes were nearly black. She had exuded a confident intelligence. As they set her down lightly just a foot from where she had originally lain, Evan wondered who she would have become.
“Next one?” Tyler asked. Her cousin Tara was next. They picked her up, stiff and heavy as ice, and moved her the same distance, turning quickly to the next one. The lingering misery of the community’s tragedies was suffocating.
They moved down the line methodically, trying not to acknowledge or remember the people they rearranged and the subsequent dead that were still to come. They finished squeezing together the corpses in the first row, leaving space on the end for another.
Then they hoisted the corpse closest to them and moved it into the cleared spot at the end of the first row. The young men went through the three rows, squeezing the rest of the bodies tightly together. They stood back to look at their work before moving Aileen into place.
“Wait a second,” Evan said. He did a quick count. “Weren’t there twenty-one here before?”
Tyler counted. “. . . nineteen, twenty. Yeah, there’s twenty there.”
“Yeah, remember? Johnny Meegis was the twenty-first.”
“Fuck, I don’t remember.”
“Someone’s missing.”
Tyler stepped back and counted again. He took off his cap and pulled on a braid. “So what do you think?”
Evan lowered his head and took a deep breath. “I think it was Scott.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Scott took a body.”
“Come on, man. That’s crazy. What for?”
Evan paused. There was a heavy stillness in the big room. “To eat.”
Tyler stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t, and he left it agape. He finally whispered, “How are we gonna prove that?”
Evan turned to his friend. “We’re gonna have to go search his house.”
“What? If we show up at his place, that crazy fucker is gonna shoot us.”
“That’s what he meant in the food lineup when he said we were going to need him. I think he knows we have stories and stuff that say we can’t do that, so he has to start it. Shit.” He didn’t want to think about the dream he had at the tipi.
“What?”
“Let’s make sure Auntie Aileen is in place here first. Then let’s go find whoever we can and go over there.”
Evan stepped over to Aileen’s body and waited for Tyler to follow. His mind swirled as they fitted her into place at the end of the row. She blended in, already anonymous. It didn’t feel right to either of them to just leave her there.
Where’s her spirit? Evan thought. Is she on her way to the spirit world? Is she stuck here? She needs to be on her journey. This isn’t right. His throat tightened and his eyes watered.
He shook off grief, and anger returned. “Let’s go see Scott,” he said.
“Shouldn’t we go talk to Walter or someone?” asked Tyler.
“No, they won’t listen to us. They’ll just call another damn meeting and do nothing. This is up to us.”
Thirty
The smell of wood burning reached them as they approached the row of duplexes. The snow swelled through their snowshoes with each step. Evan was focused on the patterns his snowshoes made. Anything not to think about what lay ahead.
“Whatever you do,” he said to Isaiah and Tyler, who had come with him, “keep your gun on your shoulder. Don’t walk in pointing it at him. He’s a shoot-first kinda guy.”
“He’s a fuckin’ psycho,” said Isaiah. “We don’t know how fast he can draw a gun.”
“As long as there isn’t one in his hands, we’ll be one step ahead.”
“Goddamn it,” Isaiah sighed and turned his head away. Tyler glanced at Evan, whose gaze went cold.
Evan cocked his head toward the duplex that Scott and his cronies occupied. “See that smoke? It looks like there’s a fire out back.”
“Shit, yeah. They must be working on something back there,” said Isaiah.
“Alright, well let’s just go around and make like we just wanna talk,” said Evan.
“Isn’t that what we want to do?” asked Isaiah. His voice cracked at the end of his question.
“Yeah . . . it is.”
The plan was to confront Scott about the missing body. When they had found Isaiah at his house to tell him, he hadn’t needed much convincing and had agreed with Evan. So Tyler had come along reluctantly. Over the course of this terrible winter, they had become an unbreakable alliance.
Anxiety hummed in Evan’s ears as he walked towards the house. Isaiah followed, watching for an ambush. In the rear, Tyler scanned the windows of the building for any sign of the people who lived there. There was no activity.
They walked around the corner of the building and the smell of smoke grew stronger. Their hearts beat faster as they neared the back. They didn’t feel the freezing temperatures stinging their bare hands, cracked and calloused after the long winter.
Evan heard the fire crackle as he rounded the duplex and entered the backyard, which was sheltered by green pine and spruce trees. Three snowmobiles were parked along the back wall of the building. Scott, Brad Connor, and Alex Richer stood around a large firepit made from an old oil drum. A large black pot rested on top of the rusty makeshift grill. Scott’s back was to them but Connor stiffened and Richer raised an eyebrow as he saw the three men approach. Scott continued to stare into the fire without turning around.
“Is that my buddy Evan?” he said, almost asking the flames themselves.
“How ya doin’, Justin?” Evan responded, knowing any hesitation would reveal nervousness. He called him by his first name in an attempt to play a deceptive friendly hand. Scott wore only a grey hooded sweatshirt and faded jeans. Evan couldn’t see a gun on or near him. To the left, Richer also appeared unarmed in a blue plaid jack shirt. To the right of Scott, Connor stood expressionless. Evan didn’t notice a gun on him either, but both men could have them concealed under their bulky jackets.
“I’m good, thanks, friend,” Scott replied, slowly turning around. His hands were tucked in the pouch of his hoodie. Scott studied the three of them with a smirk. He noticed the guns over their shoulders. “You boys out huntin’ or something?”
Evan smiled faintly and shrugged. “We haven’t gotten anything. We must be gettin’ rusty!”
“Good thing we showed up! You guys woulda been wasting away up here by now. Eh boys?” Scott cocked his head back to the men behind him, who said nothing. “White man always saves the day!” He erupted in boisterous laughter, keeping his eyes trained on the three Anishinaabe men in front of him. Without missing a beat, he abruptly stopped laughing and spoke again, this time calml
y and seriously. “Alright, enough bullshit. What do you want?”
“We gotta ask you about something.”
“Go on.”
“Were you down at the garage lately?” Evan kept his voice steady and low.
“What garage?”
“The one down by the band office. On the other side of the building where you used to stay.”
“Oh, the morgue?”
The word stung. Evan’s rifle felt heavy on his shoulder. He noticed he was gritting his teeth. He was starting to lose his cool, and he knew it.
“What the hell would I want down there?” Scott shot back without taking his hands out of the front pocket of his sweatshirt. Isaiah kept his eyes on Scott’s concealed fists.
“That day you were at the handout. You said something about knowing what to eat when the food runs out. Is that what you meant?”
“Oh, come on now, Ev. Why would I say something like that?”
“I heard you.”
“I was probably just joking. I know how you people have all kinds of ceremonies and voodoo and shit about your dead.”
Evan felt the blood rush into his face. “What’s in that pot?”
Scott kept his boots planted in the snow and lowered his voice. “That? That’s just a little experiment. Don’t worry about it.”
“It looks like you’re boiling something.”
Tyler breathed in, trying to smell what was in the pot but all he could sense was the woodsmoke.
Scott lowered his chin and his eyes hardened. Evan’s gut fluttered.
“Do you boys remember when I came here?” said Scott.
The pair behind him squared up to face them as Scott continued. “I came here by myself. I survived for days out in the bush after everything in the city went to shit. And it was easy for me. I coulda been out there for weeks, no problem. When I got here, you people barely had your shit together. There was no plan. People were going hungry already. And your solution? Give them handouts. Now those are running out, and there’ll be goddamn chaos here soon. If some of these freeloaders even survive this winter.” Scott’s voice rose and his eyes grew wide. “Most of them don’t even know how to trap! When I took some of those kids out there, they didn’t know what the fuck they were doing. If that’s your future, then . . . huh.” He shook his head.
Evan exhaled forcefully and let his own shoulders settle, as if he were about to squeeze a trigger with a moose in sight. “We were okay without you. And we’ll be okay without you. We been up here longer than you been.”
Scott squinted. “Is that a threat, Ev?”
“We don’t need you, Scott.”
“Bullshit.”
“We know this land.”
“I doubt that. Maybe you guys do. Not the rest of the deadbeats here.”
“It’s in all of them. They know it.”
“Don’t get all Indian on me now.”
Evan softened his tone and bared his palms in Scott’s direction. “Why did you come here, anyway?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
“What are you running from?”
“Your boys saw what was happening down there.”
“Why’d you think it’d be better here?”
The door at the back porch clicked and creaked open, and Cam emerged from inside. As he closed the door behind him and came into plain sight, Evan noticed his little brother’s bare arms and the front of his overalls covered in blood. Cam’s gaze was locked on the firepit. Evan felt his stomach drop. “Cam!” he blurted, his voice cracking.
Cam looked at his brother and his friends standing off against the white men. His eyes cleared as he recognized the familiar faces, almost as if he were emerging from a deep spell. He looked down at his bloody hands and began to sob.
“What in the holy fuck is going on here?” shouted Isaiah.
Evan shook off the sickening feeling in his gut and asked Scott outright, “Did you steal a body?”
Scott rolled his eyes. “Fuck sakes, man. Who cares?”
“We care. Those are our relatives!”
“It doesn’t matter if I did. This is a matter of survival, boys.”
Evan felt Tyler tense beside him. “You’re a fuckin’ murderer and a fuckin’ cannibal!” Tyler shouted. He made to move towards Cam, who stood frozen, but Evan held out his arm to stop him.
“Alright, everyone, calm the fuck down.” Evan fought to regain control of the situation.
“Let’s just have a look at what’s on the fire there, Scott.” He took a step towards the pot.
Scott pulled a pistol from the sweatshirt’s pouch and pointed it at Evan. “Now you just hold up there, boy,” he ordered. Evan stopped walking and slowly raised his hands. Tyler and Isaiah unshouldered their guns. “You both calm the fuck down too.” Scott waved the barrel at them. “You’ve seen me use this.”
“All of you, chill out,” said Evan as he raised his open palms. “Let’s just take a step back . . .”
Scott fired three shots, and Evan crumpled to the ground. As Scott turned to fire on Tyler and Isaiah, his head burst open above his left eye in a spray of blood, bone, and brain. He fell forward.
Meghan Connor stood on the back porch with the rifle sight up to her eye. Cam cowered on the wooden deck beside her. Her light brown hair draped over her shoulder and the butt of the gun. Her body heaved with shock. Scott lay face down, motionless, as blood leaked from his head into the snow, spreading crimson across the white.
Evan grunted, and Tyler scrambled to help him. Isaiah fixed his gun on the other two men, who put their hands up in surrender. He looked to Meghan on the porch, still holding her rifle. She nodded, and trained her gun on her husband and his friend, who froze in place. She muttered something to Cam, who remained crouched, crying into his bloody hands.
Isaiah turned his gaze back to the other men, and he knew there was nothing left to fear. Richer and Brad Connor were defeated without Scott. They were now outnumbered and outgunned. They would likely be banished from the territory for the part they had played, but that was the community’s decision. The water in the pot continued to bubble as the fire crackled beneath it. Isaiah took a few cautious steps towards it to look inside.
Thirty-One
The sun broke through the clouds, striking the snow as they dragged the sled past the abandoned Northern. Months had passed since anyone had walked this way, so Tyler and Isaiah were forging a new trail in the heavy snow. Their arms burned as they dragged the body behind them and sweat dripped from their noses. They said nothing, listening only to the sound their snowshoes made and the steady shushing of the plastic sled.
No signs of life remained at this end of the community. The portal to the South was dormant and barren. The store itself lay in ruin with the door agape and the windows smashed. Isaiah squinted to look inside but couldn’t make out the empty shelves or anything else in the darkness. He turned his attention back to the path in front of him and saw the small white ridge that led to the old service road just beyond it.
Isaiah and Tyler reached the incline. Neither looked back to the body behind them. Their skin was ashen and dark bags hung under their brown eyes. Tyler wiped his brow on the arm of his jacket and tucked the straggling strands of long black hair behind his ear. Isaiah adjusted the beak of his ball cap. His ears were catching a bit of a chill. He nodded at Tyler, and they summoned the strength to lift Scott’s body to the top of the ridge.
The snow was soft and would soon melt, so it was easy for them to dig it in slightly and bring it to rest. They could no longer ignore the corpse. They had grown to loathe the man in his short time in their community but they pitied him in death. No one would ever know what had driven him or what had brought him to their town. Now they felt only relief that he would be gone, a blip in the communal memory of this terrible winter.
The frien
ds looked at each other one more time, and Tyler gave the body a heavy shove. It slid slowly down the other side of the ridge. He looked away before it stopped, and both men turned to walk towards the community, the light sled skimming behind them.
Scott’s body slid over where Mark Phillips’s still-frozen corpse lay under a thick blanket of snow. It came to a rest in a slight dip in the snow. It was left to freeze in the waning weeks of winter, and when the melt came, the crows and wolves would arrive for a taste of flesh.
Epilogue
* * *
ZIIGWAAN
SPRING
Nicole lifted her sunglasses and rested them on her head as she turned back into the house for one last pass-through. The frames rested in the weave of the braid tied tightly against her scalp. She stood in the living room and gazed at the stripped-down surroundings.
The pictures were gone from the walls. The cushions had been pulled from the couch and the chairs. Anything wooden, such as a coffee or side tables, had long been removed. The large black rectangle of a television remained on the wall but it had been two winters now since it flickered.
She walked through the living room and into the kitchen where the absent cupboard doors exposed a small stack of dishes. The essentials had been moved out weeks before. All the kitchen furniture was also gone, taken out and stored for fire fuel.
Nicole had done her best to ignore any nostalgia for this home she and Evan had created for their family. The children were still young. They would forget. But the memories in this place were strong and lasting for her. She didn’t know if they would ever return, but she had stored a small collection of mementos in a corner of the basement in case they could someday come back for them.
Nicole started towards the door to the basement to go down and sort through the pile one last time, but she stopped and shook her head. She had already packed two photo albums and made bundles for both Maiingan and Nangohns to carry on their journeys to remind them of how their life once was.
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