Last Christmas Eve we spent seven hours on it, visiting around two dozen families. This year we can’t risk going out and visiting the last few families we still know about.
There were around fifty families left after The Fires went out; that was down from probably three hundred when the shit first slammed into the proverbial fan. At least fifty more had taken Livingston up on his death march to Temiskaming, with just enough setbacks and delays to put them in the middle of the worst place to be, at the worst time, of course.
I’d told them not to go; I knew what would happen.
I should have done more.
When we came to the junction off Menard Lake Road, the Girards’ wood and metal gate was left open, with no one in sight.
The Girards aren’t known for making mistakes like that.
“Do you think they’re okay?” Sara asked.
“I think they’ve left.”
I’ve probably run into Denis Girard and his brothers more than anyone else over the past couple of years, and they’ve always been among the best to talk to. Denis has told me before they’d never leave, and I’d always believed him.
“You want to check?” Sara said.
“I do.”
“Okay.”
We had the twelve gauge and my pistol, but I knew that Sara would never touch a gun. If we ran into trouble, like one or three gray Toyota Tundras with mounted machine guns, I’m pretty sure that trouble would be more than capable of outgunning me.
As much as Sara would support my decision, it wasn’t hard to tell that she was hoping I’d turn the cart around.
“We’ll come back on Boxing Day,” I said. “It’s Christmas Eve and I don’t feel like doing any heavy lifting.”
We rode back home as the sky grew dark, eating and drinking the gifts we no longer expected we'd be giving away.
I’d made sure not to have too much ice wine, which was helped by the taste of it, but Sara was getting pretty drunk.
“I loved Christmas,” she said as we made our way home.
“You don’t anymore?”
“What Christmas?”
“Come on... you can still find something to love about it. Ice wine?”
“I can drink ice wine anytime, Baptiste. We used to sneak it into school.”
“Elementary?”
“High school,” she said with what may have been a little burp. “I used to pour out bottles of apple juice and fill them up with the good stuff... you can’t really tell the difference unless you look really closely.”
“I would have loved to see Sara Vachon in high school.”
“Sure... perky breasts... well... they’re still pretty good.”
I laughed. “I know they are.”
“I wasn’t cool in high school, Baptiste. Not like now.”
I laughed again.
“What’s so funny?” she asked. “Anyway... I’d share the ice wine so people would like me more.”
“I’m sure they liked you enough.”
“They called me tampon.”
“What?”
“Vachon tampon... it rhymes.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I used to stick myself into the middle of things, always trying to keep the peace...”
“Used to?”
“Shut up. Sophie Minot used to tell me that whenever I showed up, I plugged up all the fun.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“She’s a bitch.” She sighed. “She was a bitch. I’m sure she’s dead now... I think she moved to Toronto.”
“Good riddance, I guess.”
“She wasn’t all bad. She had the tightest ass...”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“I’m kidding,” she said. “Now don’t go and plug up all the fun.”
“I like you, Sara the Tampon.”
“That’s Vachon tampon to you.”
We found that everyone at the cottage had been drinking too, even Fiona, though she seemed aloof from the others, sitting at the dining room table and flipping through a magazine about cottages and whatever. Everyone else were carrying on in the living room, making enough noise that it sounded like there were fifty of them.
There was too much drinking. It wasn’t safe.
But I was too tired to be angry.
“Have a drink,” Kayla said as we came inside.
“The Girards are gone,” Sara said.
“They left just before Christmas?” Matt said. “That doesn’t make much sense.”
Sara threw her hands in the air, flopping them left and right before landing them on her hips. “I’m going to bed,” she said.
She started towards the stairs, her steps uneven. I wrapped my arm around her and helped her up the steps. I took her to her bedroom instead of mine, but found that Lisa had converted the second bed to a place to keep her clothes in neat little stacks.
“Looks like you’re bunking with me again,” I said. “I didn’t realize we’d officially moved in together.”
She gave me a sloppy kiss. “You can’t get rid of me, mister,” she said in a yelling whisper.
I laid her down on my bed and pulled the covers over her.
“Good night,” I said before kissing her forehead. She was already asleep.
I came back downstairs for a Christmas toast. I swooped into the dining room and gave Fiona a smile; she followed me out to join everyone in the living room, even though she didn’t seem happy to do it.
The mood had already changed among the drunkies. They still had their drinks in hand but theirs smiles had gone. The only person who even bothered to look up when Fiona and I walked in was Matt, and I know he wasn’t looking at me.
“There’s not many of us left,” Kayla said. She was standing and staring out the window toward the frozen lake.
“There’s still the Walkers and New Post,” I said. “Those are some big numbers right there.”
“With everyone else taking off,” Graham said, “you gotta wonder if they’re onto something.” He was on the couch with his arm around a sleepy-eyed Lisa, who slowly nodded in agreement.
“We’ll need to head back out there and have a look,” I said. “We don’t know anything for sure.”
“Sounds good,” Graham said. “Maybe they left something worth taking.”
“There’s that bright side,” Matt said.
“Then let’s have a toast,” Kayla said, turning around and trying her best smile. “Someone needs to do one.”
“Ant did it last year,” Fiona said. She didn’t need to remind us.
“I’ll do the honours,” I said. “I think I remember some of what Ant taught me.”
“You need a drink,” Kayla said, making her way to the kitchen. She came back with a glass that held a straight shot of something golden.
I took the glass with a nod and held it high. “Here’s a toast to all the pretty ladies. The rest of you motherfuckers can all go to hell. Santé!”
“Santé,” the others said in reply as we all took a drink.
Today is Tuesday, December 25th.
Sara ended up having the bed to herself last night; I woke up Christmas morning on the living room floor. Fiona greeted me with a Merry Christmas, a warm hug, and a cup of black coffee.
My head throbbed a little, but I’ve had worse ways to start the day.
We decided as a group last winter not to exchange gifts; it’s not really fair when Graham and I can find all sorts of useless crap in Cochrane while most everyone else is left to fashion gifts from twigs and frozen dirt.
But Fiona broke the rule last year, giving each of us another homemade card, so I wasn’t surprised when she cornered me again this morning after breakfast.
“Sorry,” she said as she handed me a large envelope.
“We’re getting a divorce?” I asked.
I opened the envelope and pulled out a piece of sketch paper.
“I didn’t frame it yet,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.”
It was a charcoal drawing; I recognized the scene from pretty much the only printed photo I have. Me, Alanna and Cassy, standing together at Niagara Falls. Fiona had taken my little wallet-size and turned it into something beautiful... there was more of my wife and daughter in the faces she’d drawn than in that old wrinkled photo.
“It’s perfect,” I said as I pulled her close to me. “Thank you so much, Fiona. It’s just... perfect.”
“I’ve sprayed it, but I just need to find the right frame.”
“Don’t worry... I can find something the next time I’m in town.” I kissed her on the cheek. “It’s wonderful.”
“I didn’t get anything for anyone else this year.”
“Ah... okay.” I wasn’t sure how to feel.
“Sara’s birthday is coming up in February... I’ll make something for her then. I’ve just been busy lately, you know?”
“I know, Fiona. You do a lot around here.”
“No, you do a lot, Baptiste. I don’t remember me rescuing two stranded girls on the side of the road.”
“Two stranded girls?”
“Now you’ve blocked it from your memory? It’s a damned good thing you found those two before someone else did.”
I’d forgotten the story I’d told. To Fiona and Kayla those girls were lucky; in that version they’d been cold and scared... and that was all they’d felt.
I didn’t regret the lie.
“I guess so,” I said. “I got to say, Fiona... your work has really gone far. You’ve got a real talent.”
She blushed a little. “I always wanted to be an artist. Well, that and a supermodel.”
I chuckled.
She smiled at me. “I figured by the time I was sixteen I’d have run off to join one of those eco-collectives, do the whole off-the-grid artist thing.”
“Off-the-grid artist and supermodel, you mean.”
She laughed. “Yeah. They had a few places like that right around here. I wonder if some of them are still around.”
“Maybe it’s not too late for you to live the dream. But make sure you warn me before you go.” I gave her cheek another peck. “And thank you, again... really.”
“You’re welcome.”
It was nice to feel special.
“I want to show you something,” Fiona said after lunch.
“I know how to find the sink,” I said, “I just choose not to wash dishes.”
“Funny. But seriously... come on a walk with me.”
“Outside? In the snow?”
She smiled. “Yeah... in the snow... you big baby.”
We put on our jackets and boots, and I followed her out the front door.
Des and Juju came along, too. They always will, unless you make it a point to block them on your way out.
“I wasn’t sure I should show this to you,” she said as she led me toward the path that runs around the lake.
“Oooh... a dead body...”
“That’s not funny.”
“Sorry.”
As we walked around the bend, I kept an eye out for any new tracks in the snow. I might as well dampen the day by finding out that the coyotes were back after us.
“This is it,” Fiona said, stretching her arms out in front of her.
“It is...?”
“This.” She tapped her hand against a maple tree.
“A sugar maple. Didn’t know there was one so close to home.”
“Look closer,” she said.
I stuck my face an inch from the bark, sticking my tongue out at the same time.
“See the initials?” she asked.
I did. They were carved deep into the bark.
“RB + FR,” I said. “Who’s that?”
“You don’t know?”
“No. Well, I assume you’re ‘FR’.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not the ‘FR’... just like you’re not the original ‘RB’.”
“My last name’s Jeanbaptiste,” I said. “Remember?”
“Close enough,” she said.
“Okay...”
“It’s supposed to be funny, stupid.”
“It is?”
“Ugh. Someone carved these years ago, and it’s funny because you’re like old enough to be my grandpa.”
“Harsh.”
“Well... it’s biologically possible, isn’t it?”
“There’s a lot that’s biologically possible.”
“So now you’re hitting on me?”
“That’s not funny.”
She laughed. “Yes it is.”
I laughed, too. “There’s no one else who’s as big of a goofball as you.”
“And there’s no one else old enough to use a word like ‘goofball’.”
“Well? What word would you use to describe yourself?”
“Smart... beautiful... sexy...”
“Uhh...”
“I’m getting cold,” she said. “Walk me home, Robert Baptiste.”
“Jeanbaptiste.”
“Who cares?”
“I don’t.”
She leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re blushing.”
“No... I’m freezing to death.”
She laughed.
I wasn’t sure what to feel.
Justin Porter stopped by just before dinner. Since it was just him, I knew that he wasn’t going to be bringing any cheer.
Sara came with me to greet him. Graham was fidgeting with the stove, but he stopped and looked up.
“I knew it,” Justin said as he stepped inside, bringing the snow with him.
“That you’re a douchebag?” I asked.
“Dave Walker just stabbed us in the back. Listen to this...” He held up his phone before he started to read. “‘We’re not interested in continuing arrangement at SQL. We’ve taken on a new partner.’”
“They’re backing out of Silver Queen Lake?”
“He’s telling us to back out.”
“Fuck that. We’re not giving it up.”
“Don’t tell me... tell him.”
“Well... call him.”
“I have. He’s not answering.”
“Then leave a message.”
“I have. I don’t think it’s his phone not getting a signal. I think he’s avoiding us. I guess he’s a little miffed that you got his son killed.”
I wanted to punch him in the mouth. “Is that a joke?”
“There’s no joke here, Baptiste. Just a series of fuck-ups. Believe me... no one’s laughing.”
“Go home, Justin.”
“Why? You going to get me killed, too?”
“I just might. You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?”
“You’re a mess, Baptiste.”
“Get out.”
He gave me a smirk before walking out the door.
“What are you wanting to do?” Sara asked me as she wrapped an arm around my hip.
“Besides shoot him in the head?”
She nodded.
“I want to go to Silver Queen Lake tomorrow to get our supplies.”
“It’s not safe,” Graham said. “It’s not worth it.”
“He’s right,” Sara said. “We’ve had way too many close calls.”
“So we just give up?” I asked. “We let Dave Walker shit all over us and take everything while he’s at it?”
“Yes,” Sara said. “We do. We back off and we stay alive. We have other things to worry about.”
“I’m not scared of Dave Walker. You know that.”
“You have too many enemies,” Graham said. “I... I told you this would happen.”
“You told me?”
“Look... we need to take a breath. Things are getting out of control.”
“Out of control? You mean, more out of control than the end of the fucking world?”
“We can’t risk it,” Sara said. “And what about the Girards? I made a promise to check on them. Aren’t you going to back me up?”
“I like
this new tactic,” I said. “Everyone just piles on to old Baptiste.”
“Is that what you think this is?” Sara asked. “Some kind of personal attack?”
“That’s what it sounds like. Baptiste is an asshole... everyone hates his guts...”
“Dammit, Baptiste... this isn’t about you. Can you just listen for once? The remaining supplies at Silver Queen Lake aren’t worth any of us dying. We have enough to make it...”
“We don’t have enough, Sara. We don’t have nearly enough. We’re short of flour... we’re short of fuel... how the hell are we supposed to plant crops in the spring when we don’t have any of the equipment or even the goddamn seed?”
“There is no farm equipment at Silver Queen Lake,” Sara said. “No fuel, either... just a little bit of food and apparently a whole lot of stolen jewelry. Whatever’s up there isn’t going to save us. We need to look elsewhere. We will look elsewhere. Don’t give up on us, Baptiste.”
“Then you don’t give up on me,” I said.
“I haven’t.”
“No one has,” Graham said. “We’re just scared.”
“So I ustin’s scared, too?”
“Yes,” Sara said. “If Justin honestly thought he could do a better job than you he’d go ahead and do it.”
“So what do you expect me to do?” I asked. “Just let Dave Walker win?”
“If everything we do is based more on winning some undeclared war... my god, Baptiste... then we’re screwed.”
“I can’t let him win.”
“He’s not going to win. It’s a long time before this is over.”
I nodded.
And I gave her a kiss.
“What,” Graham said, “nothing for me?”
“Kiss the stove,” I said. “I heard it’s hot for you.”
Sara groaned.
That was nice to hear.
Today is Wednesday, December 26th.
I know that Justin wants to go back to Silver Queen, with or without me; part of me hopes he won’t come back.
After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) Page 25
