“Not a chance,” I said. “We’re taking him to Aiguebelle.”
“We need to kill him.”
“I’m not going to let that happen.” I grabbed Caleb and steered him back toward the road. “We’re better than that. We’re not murderers.”
“Fuck this shit,” Justin muttered as he began to follow behind. He was pissed.
I was getting used to it. It’s easier to keep track of the precious few who still like me than try to count all the people who want to feed me to the coyotes.
I saw movement from the corner of my eye.
Justin grabbed Caleb’s shoulder and pulled him backward.
I figured he was about to throw a punch. I threw my arm out, trying to grab his left elbow. It wouldn’t stop his right from swinging, but I hoped it’d throw off his aim.
I wasn’t able to stop it. Justin took Caleb down with the first blow. He started kicking him as I tried to pull him off.
“Come on, Justin,” I said. “This is crazy.”
He turned and gave me a shove. “You gonna stop me, Baptiste?”
It was a good question. I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m done with this,” Justin said. He started marching back toward the car.
I knelt down and worked to help Caleb to his feet. He slowly staggered up onto his knees. He was dazed; I’m sure the hood over his head wasn’t helping.
We were far enough from home.
I started to loosen the string that held the bag around his neck.
I heard Justin open his trunk.
I turned around to see the hunting rifle.
He was aiming it at Caleb, who was still on his knees and still blind.
“Don’t do it,” I said, trying to block the shot and hoping that would actually work to dissuade him from pulling the trigger.
He fired once.
Caleb fell back down.
A bullet to the brain.
Blood and grey matter on my pants.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I asked. I pulled my gun and pointed it at Justin’s head.
“I’m the guy who handles shit. You can call me Justin.”
“This isn’t a fucking joke.”
“This whole world is a fucking joke. Just look around you.”
I was angry; I wanted to kill him.
I could say that Caleb got loose somehow, that he’d pulled my gun and shot Justin before I had a chance to react.
“I can’t believe you did that,” I said.
“I told you I was going to do it.”
“You’re a goddamn psychopath.”
“Don’t call me that. I did this to keep my family safe. And to keep you guys safe, too, Baptiste. Don’t you dare treat me like a criminal.”
“Then stop killing people.”
“Do you know the difference between you and me? Aside from the fact that I’ve accepted that I’m an asshole, while you’re still trying to be something else.” He paused for a second. “No, don’t worry... I’ll tell you.”
“Just shut the hell up.”
“No. This is important. The difference between us. When I get home tonight I’ll tuck my kids into bed and then I’ll fuck my wife up the poop chute. When you get home you’ll start thinking about how your wife and daughter are dead, and how you don’t even know where they’re buried or even how they died. How is that anything but the biggest goddamn joke in the whole fucking universe?”
“Fuck you.”
“You’ll change your mind about this,” he said. “It was him or us, Baptiste. That’s how it goes these days.”
“I don’t see how I can trust you after this.”
“You’re going to have to trust me. With that gimp heart of yours, it won’t be long before you’re dead and buried beside Ant and I’m the only one left to take care of things. Sara’s going to depend on me. You realize that, right? Kayla and Fiona, too. Shit, Baptiste... I’m all you’ve got.”
I lowered the gun. I wasn’t about to use it.
I still needed him.
I didn’t tell anyone the truth about tonight.
Once we got back to McCartney Lake, I waited in the car outside the Porters’ cottage.
Justin lent me a pair of clean pants and dropped me off at home.
Fiona was waiting downstairs, goofing around on her tablet. She asked me if I’d talked to anyone from Aigubelle at the gate at Eades Junction, if I’d had a chance to ask if they had any of those artisan breadmakers to trade; I told her that there were two constables at the gate but that they said they didn’t have time to talk. Even if we’d gotten all the way there, I still wouldn’t have asked about a goddamn breadmaker. It’s not like Aiguebelle trades with people like us anyway.
“I was worried about Justin at first,” she told me. “That he wasn’t good for us. But I’m glad there’s another person around who has enough training to... you know... back you up or whatever.”
I smiled and nodded; I was tempted to tell her the truth, to let her know that her instincts had been right, but I didn’t.
It’s enough for me to know what he’s capable of.
And I didn’t want anyone to know that I’d done nothing to stop him.
That I don’t really have a handle on Justin Porter.
There’s no good that can come from telling people that.
2
Today is Saturday, December 8th.
Since Graham had a rabbit’s foot and four leaf clover shoved somewhere between his close-cropped hipster asscheeks, we decided this morning to cross the river to find more batteries. Because we weren’t going to be getting too close to Cochrane, it was a tough call whether we should take the truck or the horses.
In the end, my Scottish half won out and we hitched up the cart.
After passing through the gate and putting on our vests and helmets, we turned and headed south on Comel Road, just in from the banks of the Abitibi. There never was much of anything down there, just one house and an old rail siding; this part of the district emptied out long before the fires came, and now the only people who use that road use it to access the old rail bed that leads across the river to New Post.
“This place always creeps me out,” Graham said as we passed a large expanse of burnt forest.
“You should be used to seeing this kind of stuff,” I said.
“I’m not talking about the fires... these empty gravel roads. Every square inch of Ontario looks like the setting for a horror movie.”
“You don’t have gravel roads in Illinois?”
“Not like these, no.” He grinned at me. “I come from a more civilized part of the world, you know.”
“I come from the centre of the universe,” I said. “We pave our roads in Toronto, too.”
Graham shook his head. “It’s hard to believe we ended up here... talk about some crappy luck.”
“It’s not all bad... lots of girls.”
His face hardened again.
“What happened this time?” I asked. “You guys should try cutting out the fighting and move right into the make-up sex.”
“It’s not funny, Baptiste.”
“Not funny to you, maybe...” I laughed.
He just shook his head again.
“Seriously...” I said. “What did Lisa do?”
“She’s cheating on me again.”
My mind went straight to Ant. But obviously it wasn’t him this time. “Are you sure?”
“I’m pretty sure, yeah.”
“So not really. Do you really think she’d be interested in Matt? The guy would lose a battle of wits with a watering can.”
“Not Matt.”
“Then who?” For a second, I wondered if he was about to accuse me. That would be ridiculous, obviously; it’s hard enough to believe that Sara lets me touch her.
“I don’t know...”
“So let me understand this,” I said. “You are upset with Lisa because you think she’s cheating with someone, only you don’t know who.”
<
br /> “It’s not Ant this time. At least I know that.”
“That’s not funny.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize... you sound like a goddamn Canadian.”
He smiled. “I need to confront her.”
“You need to be sure first. You’re actually pretty lucky, Graham.”
“How’s that? You mean because I got stranded up here? Or because I now have to hang around with you?”
“Yes... and yes... but mostly you’re one lucky asshole because you’ve managed to hold onto Lisa for almost a year now. But once you start making accusations that you can’t back up...”
“Yeah... I get it.”
“If she really is cheating, you’ll find out eventually. Trust me... I know all about this stuff.” For some reason, I wanted to say more, almost like I wanted to brag about some of the things I’d done to Alanna... that when I’d come back from my last rotation I’d almost been obsessed with hurting her...
“I just want her to talk to me, you know?”
“I know. Lisa’s not an easy person to get close to.”
“There’s nothing easy about her.”
“She’s not for beginners.”
“Well, if she’s not lucky I’ll find someone of my own to cheat with.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Very funny.”
“Well I don’t think Kayla’s into the whole facial hair thing you got going on. And I don’t know who else is left.”
“Suzanne Tremblay is interested in me,” he said.
“You really are an idiot. Only you would pick a woman who’ll get you killed. I can’t imagine what Marc Tremblay would do to you if you banged his wife.”
“I’ll just make sure I wear my riot gear. I’ll cut a little whole in the crotch area for easy access.”
We both laughed at that.
A few minutes later we came upon a little two-door sitting alongside the road, not that far north of the gravel bed that led to the rail bridge at New Post; I wasn’t sure I remembered seeing it that last time we’d come down here, sometime during the summer, but it looked like it had been there awhile, with a flat tire and no other sign of damage. Graham hopped down and pried open the hood.
“Bingo,” he said. He pulled out his wrench and got to work on disconnecting it. I realized that he was already getting faster since yesterday; sometimes Graham doesn’t always seem all that mechanically inclined, which isn’t what you’d expect from an electrical engineer. I guess there’s a reason India’s winning the tech race.
He pulled out the battery and started back to it with a whistle, but then something made him stop. He was frozen, his gaze locked on something in the ditch.
“Baptiste,” he said slowly. “Come here.”
I climbed down from the cart and jogged over.
Graham nodded toward a clump of orange and yellow flowers.
“Very pretty,” I said. “Did you want me to pick some for you?”
“There’s a body over there.”
“Okay... so what’s so special about that?”
I saw two bodies yesterday.
“I don’t think it’s been here very long.”
I walked down into the ditch and saw him. He was young, maybe twelve, and he looked aboriginal to me. He was dressed in a black jacket but he was completely naked below the hips; someone had taken off his pants, his underwear, and even his shoes and socks. I couldn’t see any blood; to be honest, I almost thought he was sleeping, or wished he was. But his eyes were open and his face was cold and pale. I knew he was dead.
And I knew what some goddamn pedo piece of shit had done to him.
I felt it... the anger, the sadness... the anxiety building up inside. It wasn’t like seeing Pauline, who’d been just one more victim, like the charred corpses in Cochrane or the shot-up bodies along Highway 11. This was different.
I knew why.
“Do you remember this car being here before?” Graham asked. I realized that he was now standing only a couple steps behind me.
I thought about it for a moment. “Yeah... I think so.”
“Me, too... I remember reading the bumper sticker. ‘No on C-93.’ So what was this kid doing out here?”
“This may just be where he was dumped,” I said. “He probably came from New Post, whether he walked this far...”
“We should take him back there,” Graham said. “They might be looking for him.”
I shook my head. “If he’s from New Post they’ll find him soon enough.”
“What does that mean?”
“We shouldn’t get involved,” I said. “The last thing we need to do is drive around with a dead kid on our cart. Hell, they might even think we’re the ones who killed him.”
“That’s ridiculous, Baptiste.”
“There’s no upside... he’s already dead.” For a moment I wished that Sara was there to give a prayer or something; some kind of faith ought to surround that boy, and I knew it couldn’t come from me. “Let’s get going before someone from New Post shows up.”
“No...”
I started walking back to the cart, picking up the battery on my way.
“Baptiste...”
I looked back at Graham and watched as he knelt down beside the body.
“Don’t do it,” I said. “I’m not helping you carry him.”
“Then I’ll do it without your help.”
“Goddammit, Graham... I’m not fooling around. We need to go. You need to leave him here.”
I stood by the cart and waited.
“So the coyotes can get him?” he asked.
“What difference does it make?”
I watched him stand up and walk to the back of the car. He took his crowbar and started prying open the trunk.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. “They’re not going to find him if you leave him in the trunk.”
“I’m going to put him in the back seat.”
I walked back over to him. “Stop it... just give me the crowbar.”
I reached out for it. He hesitated, but after a few seconds he handed the crowbar over to me.
“We need to go,” I said.
He nodded, and we both went back to the cart. I took the reins and got us moving again. Graham went through the motions of being on lookout, but I knew he wasn’t really paying attention.
“They’ll find him soon,” I said.
“If they’re looking for him.”
After a few more minutes we reached the concession road and a Ford hatchback that looked good for a battery; I was glad for a bit of work, so after I stopped the cart I put down the reins and hopped off.
“Pass me the tools,” I said.
“That’s my job,” Graham said gruffly.
I nodded and got out of his way.
We made our way down the concession road past the morning and into the afternoon, taking the extra time to run up and down the other roads that led back up to Highway 652.
It was an even better haul than yesterday, with twenty-three batteries including the one from Comel Road where we’d found the dead boy.
We didn’t talk about the kid at all; we didn’t talk about anything. Graham did the pulling and I did the driving, and there wasn’t any need for us to speak. I know that Graham thinks I don’t feel anything, that it meant nothing to me to see that kid lying there. He’s an idiot for thinking that.
Every child makes me think of Cassy.
I felt the anxiety as we worked, and I tried to fight it off by stretching and yawning, an old trick that seems to help even if it makes me look like an idiot.
But all I could do was delay what I knew was coming. I just needed to make it through the day... I knew that was all I could hope to do.
We stopped before we reached Menard Lake Road, since that was getting pretty close to the Girards; it doesn’t seem right to scavenge in someone else’s backyard. Plus it was late enough that we had to start thinking about gett
ing home for dinner, since there’s nothing worse than getting back a little late and seeing that disappointed look in Fiona’s eyes. For whatever reason she cooks a full dinner almost every night, and it’s a terrible idea to be that asshole who doesn’t show up on time.
Graham took over the driving as we headed back up to 652 and started toward the Abitibi. That made me take lookout, which seemed like a good idea.
“Pretty good day,” I said. “I didn’t think we’d find this many batteries.”
“And a dead kid.”
I ignored that. “Do you think we have enough?”
“We can never have too many batteries.”
We were almost at the bridge when I saw a cloud of gravel dust coming up from Comel Road. I swung the shotgun toward it.
“A cargo van,” I said as it came into view.
“I see it.”
“Electric motor... could be the Walkers.”
“Could be.”
Graham kept driving us along at the same pace as I kept my eyes on the oncoming vehicle. It was one of those white cargo vans from China, the large ones that contractors use to carry things like power tools and a work table. There never were more than a handful of those electric vans around Cochrane, and I think the Walkers have the only one that's left. The fact that they can still run it means they must have a decent power supply to rely on and a battery bank that’s bigger than what we’ve set up so far.
Maybe that’s what happened to the car batteries around town. While we’d been wasting time on setting up the Porters and the Tremblays, the Walkers had been building their operation for the future.
Probably a future that leaves us long behind.
“They’re a long way from home,” I said. “I wonder what they’re doing out here.”
“Does it matter?”
“Come on, Graham... don’t you think it’s strange?”
“Yeah... it’s strange.”
“Maybe they’re giving us a push... stealing supplies from our territory... to see if we’ll push back.”
“Forget it, Baptiste.”
“It’s some kind of test.”
“I don’t think this is about us... they’re not looking for some kind of fight.”
“Well either way... they’ve found it.” My pulse quickened and I could feel the surge of sling juice in my blood; it felt good to have somewhere to aim it.
After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) Page 7
