After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series)

by Wolfrom, Regan

  A second man walked over to the line and took his pick. A little young and a little chubby, but he seemed happy.

  Four of the other men picked out their trophy.

  One man did not. He shook his head, his helmet painted with orange and black tiger stripes.

  Coyote took off his helmet.

  It was Justin.

  “We’re waiting,” Justin said to the man in the tiger striped helmet.

  “I don’t want one,” the man said.

  Justin laughed. “Whatever. We take shifts. You, you, and you... stay here and watch for the rest of ‘em. Don’t touch anything yet.”

  They were taking orders from him; there was no denying that.

  Justin had always been the coyote.

  He was the one who’d been so worried that Natalie and Tabitha would recognize him as he raped them. That’s probably why he’d made sure they wouldn’t get another chance to realize who he was, and tell us the truth about him; for all I knew, he’d snuck off to meet his real crew at the Girards, so he’d get a chance to torture those young girls himself.

  And he’d wanted me to know that I was to blame.

  And Justin Porter was the one who’d shot Ant. He’d killed Ant and then he’d tried to tell me it was Ryan Stems.

  He’d done his best to start a war.

  This was his last kick at the can.

  He and three of the men walked off to two of the houses to the left, pushing their chosen women in front of them. Justin took my C12 with him.

  The men who stayed behind were still in full gear, two armed with assault rifles, the other with the shotgun. Tiger stripe was one of them.

  I couldn’t take them out.

  Not like that.

  I crawled through the ditch, moving away from the gunmen and their captives.

  I reached a culvert at a driveway and I quickly darted up and over.

  Most good soldiers would have spotted me.

  Those guys didn’t.

  I kept moving back until I reached the end of the ditch, right next to the hockey arena.

  I ran along the south side of the building, covered from their view. I’d have to cross a field to get to the next bit of cover, a stand of trees behind the houses that Justin and his fellow Spirit Animals had commandeered.

  I took the risk.

  They didn’t see me.

  I reached the first house, where the two of the men had gone with their prisoners. The back door was unlocked; I opened it and stepped inside.

  I followed the sound of a man laughing. He hadn’t bothered to close the door.

  He was naked aside from his socks. He had the woman on the twin bed, still clothed, lying on top of an afghan with squares of playful moose and deer.

  He was trying to pull down her pants, and he seemed to be enjoying the fight.

  I reached for a stuffed bear sitting on a forest-green dresser.

  I stuffed the barrel of my SIG into the belly of the little brown bear. I shoved it against the back of the man’s head and fired.

  The woman screamed.

  “Stay here,” I told her.

  I heard footsteps in the next room. He’d heard something... but I doubt he knew what.

  I heard the door open.

  I started moaning. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah...”

  I heard the door close.

  Footsteps. The bed started to squeak.

  I ran out to the hall and over to the next room. I had the bear to his scalp before he could turn around.

  The second woman didn’t scream when I pulled the trigger; she covered herself with a blanket and just waited for something.

  I tossed the bloodied teddy bear on the floor. Then I nodded and left the room. I checked out the front window.

  No one had noticed.

  I went out the back door.

  I reached the second house.

  The back door was locked.

  As bad as those gunmen were at their job... they’d see me if I tried to get around to the front.

  I’d have to be quick.

  I shot out the lock. It took two rounds to get the door open. I had six left.

  In the first bedroom I found a man who wasn’t Justin, still wearing a bullet resistant vest but not his helmet. He was pointing his assault rifle at the woman in his room, trying to get her to take her clothes off.

  “Just shoot me,” she said.

  “I’ll do worse than that,” he said.

  I shot him just below his left ear.

  I heard footsteps from the next room.

  I swung around to meet them.

  But Justin didn’t come for me. I saw him run right out the front door.

  He’d taken off his armour. And he didn’t have my gun.

  “Shoot the goddamn house!” he screamed.

  The gunmen opened up on the door.

  I fell to the floor.

  “Get under the beds,” I said. “Stay down until the shooting stops.”

  I crawled to the second bedroom just as the firing ended.

  I found the fourth woman. And the C12.

  She was doing her best to point it at me.

  I was still on my hands and knees.

  “I’m a friend,” I said. “Robert Jeanbaptiste, from McCartney Lake. I’m here to kill these men.”

  “You’re dressed just like them,” she said.

  “I just shot three of them. That should count for something.”

  “Just go.”

  “I can’t. I need that weapon.”

  “You have one,” she said, nodding to the SIG in my right hand.

  “Only three bullets left. Not enough.”

  “I don’t trust you. I can’t.”

  “Do you see what I’m wearing? It’s body armour. Bulletproof. You can’t hurt me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Please...”

  “You’re here to help us? Swear to God?”

  I took off my helmet. “I swear on my daughter’s life.”

  She looked into my eyes. “Okay.”

  I stood up slowly.

  I took the C12 away from her.

  “Now please get low,” I said. “Under the bed if you can.”

  She did as I asked.

  I went out the back door.

  I walked around the side. I looked around the corner.

  The three gunmen were there.

  But I couldn’t see Justin. And one of the trucks was gone.

  I saw movement from the south.

  Five men. With rifles.

  Men from New Post. One was Gerald Archibald.

  I lowered my C12. To show I wasn’t a threat.

  They ran up to the building, taking cover beside me.

  “All three are in armour,” I said. “Aim for their kidneys.”

  “They have hostages,” Gerald said.

  “Those aren’t hostages, Gerald... anyone who’s still alive just hasn’t been killed yet. We need to get this done before they finish the job.”

  He was hesitating.

  I had no time for that.

  I swung around the corner. I looked down the sights and took aim.

  The first target went down.

  I pulled back behind the house as they fired back.

  I swung around again.

  The second target fell.

  The third took off running toward the cargo truck. The man with the tiger stripes.

  I took shots at his legs, trying to cut him down.

  I couldn’t pin him. He reached the truck.

  I fired on it. But those trucks are built to take some heat.

  He drove right past; I was lucky he didn’t try to run me down.

  He turned the corner onto Archibald Road and disappeared.

  I ran to the two wounded gunmen.

  “Hands on your heads,” I said.

  They complied.

  Gerald Archibald came up beside me.

  “Stay back,” I said. “This area may not be clear.”

 
; Gerald ignored me. He walked right up to the men on the ground.

  “Take off your helmets,” he said.

  They did as they were told.

  He turned to his men. “Do it out of sight,” he said.

  The other four men from New Post took the two prisoners away.

  “You’re going to kill them,” I said.

  “Put down your guns, Baptiste.”

  “Not until we’ve secured the area.”

  “Put them down. I’m placing you under arrest.”

  I looked around. Gerald had one rifle slung over his shoulder. The only four men he could count on had just dragged two prisoners off for execution.

  I could take that rifle from him.

  I wouldn’t have to fire a shot.

  “Justin Porter got away,” I said. “And one other. I need to find them.”

  “You’re responsible for this. You let this happen.”

  “I put a stop to it. I saved dozens of your people.”

  “I count thirty-two of my people dead. Someone needs to pay.”

  I heard two shots in the distance.

  “Put down your guns,” Gerald said.

  I could take that rifle...

  The four men were on their way back. I could see them.

  I stepped toward Gerald.

  “Baptiste...”

  I took his rifle.

  And then I ran.

  I ran to the gate on New Post Road. The horses were still there and still hitched.

  I didn’t want to ask those horses to drive, not after how many hours with the yoke on, but my snowmobile was nowhere in sight.

  The gelding seemed shaken, but the mare calmed him down.

  We made our way back toward Nelson Road.

  Not that I could take them all the way.

  I’d taken the horses down Blackwell Road until we reached the abandoned houses by Sheen Lake. I unhitched them there and left them. I’d come back for them if I was still around.

  I headed as close to due north as I could get, along the edge of the marsh, following the creek up to Couple Lake. From there I knew the path that could take me up to the trail, the one that led around the south end of McCartney Lake. I’d be able to come up from behind to see what had happened.

  I heard a truck engine before I reached McCartney Lake. Diesel and heavy, like the trucks we used to have. We didn’t have those anymore.

  It was possible that it was New Post, or even Stems, but that didn’t feel right.

  I knew it was Justin.

  I had the feeling it would be smarter to head east toward the burnt-out cottage where the Porters once lived; he wouldn’t be expecting me to come from that side.

  I pulled out my tablet. Still no access. It wasn’t a problem with a hop; he’d made Matt cut me off.

  I turned right and headed toward the Porters.

  There was no sign of life at the Tremblays’ or the Marchands’.

  If Kayla and Matt had listened, they’d gone to the Williams’ to hold up with Fiona and Gwyneth.

  Justin would know where to look.

  I reached the Williams’. There was no truck out front.

  I went inside.

  I started downstairs and swept upstairs, and then I even checked the crawlspace.

  No one was there.

  But nothing was taken. The kitchen was still stocked and the lights were still on.

  That made me hopeful that he hadn’t searched the shed.

  I grabbed a backpack hanging from a hook by the door.

  I went outside and grabbed the axe from the splitting stump.

  I walked over to the shed and smashed the padlock.

  I found the tackle boxes. Kayla had rewrapped the pipe grenades and put them back inside.

  She hadn’t come back to get them.

  I took six grenades and put them in my pack. I tried not to envision what would happen if I jostled them a little too hard.

  I walked down to the lake and started heading toward our cottage.

  I could hear a truck, on the move, but I couldn’t see it.

  It was leaving.

  I’d missed him.

  If I couldn’t find anyone... he’d either taken them, or...

  I reached our dock and turned toward the cottage, trying to stay concealed behind the trees that stood between the lake and the porch.

  The lights were on. But I couldn’t see anything else.

  I reached the porch and I waited, trying to listen for any sounds.

  There was nothing. Just the howl of the wind.

  I opened the door to the porch and crept along it, hoping to miss the familiar squeaks of the wood panels. I opened the inner door and stepped inside.

  I didn’t see or hear anyone.

  I walked into the dining room and saw seven half-eaten bowls of oatmeal, along with glasses of orange juice and cups of coffee.

  Someone had stopped in for breakfast.

  Justin wouldn’t have had time for that.

  I went upstairs, checking each bedroom.

  There was no trace of Kayla or Matt, no sign that Fiona or Gwyneth had come here to hide.

  Someone had taken them and tried to eat a leisurely breakfast.

  And then they’d been called away.

  It wasn’t the seven gunmen who’d attacked with Justin? That didn’t seem right to me; they’d reached New Post before I did.

  In all likelihood... there were seven more.

  Maybe they’d come to stop me from heading to New Post; but if that had been the plan, they would have followed me out there.

  They’d known I would go to New Post; they’d come to McCartney Lake for the girls.

  And I’d left those girls there to be taken.

  There’d been no signs of struggle; to me, that meant that the men from Detour Lake had convinced Matt not to fight. Kayla might have tried to resist, but in the end she’d have known there was no point, and she’d have done what she could to keep Fiona and Gwyneth safe as they were loaded into the back of a truck, like cattle.

  They’d take them back to Detour Lake, the girls, at least.

  I’d never see them again.

  I had promised that I’d keep Fiona safe.

  I’d failed.

  But there was still one chance.

  Kayla’s not stupid.

  She knows I wouldn’t give up on them. And she had just the right offer to stall their captors.

  I grabbed my snowshoes and headed north, past Ant’s sugar maples and our makeshift graveyard. I walked across the firebreak, which still seemed too narrow to me.

  I kept in the trees and followed the highway east, until I reached Murphy Road. There I crossed the highway, into a stretch of burnt forest. There wasn’t much cover to be had, but that was the only way to reach the little pond, the one that smells like gasoline.

  I saw three cargo trucks, with canvas tops, parked on Murphy Road by the water.

  And five men in armour standing watch.

  Three were looking down the road; they hadn’t seen me yet.

  The other two were watching the cargo area of one the trucks.

  I saw who they were watching.

  Gwyneth was sitting in the truck with her head in her hands. Just her. No Kayla, no Matt... and no Fiona.

  I could throw one of my grenades, but with Gwyneth so close...

  I heard a branch snap behind me.

  I turned to see Matt.

  Matt and a hunting rifle.

  He was pointing it right at my vest.

  “Hands up, Baptiste.”

  “Give me the goddamn rifle,” I said.

  “They won’t hurt us. That’s the deal.”

  “You think there’s a deal in place? You really are the dumbest man on Earth.”

  “Hey... Justin trusted me enough to give me a rifle.”

  “Yeah... an empty rifle.”

  “What?” He lowered the rifle to check.

  I grabbed it from him.

  “Dumbest,” I said.
“On Earth.”

  “It really is empty,” one of the men said. His helmet screamed “bald eagle”.

  I pointed the rifle at his left kidney and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  The man chuckled. “Take off the helmet and the vest.”

  I was out of ideas.

  I needed Kayla for it to work.

  I took off the helmet first, then the vest.

  “Now both of you... get in the truck.”

  I climbed into the truck and sat across from Gwyneth.

  “You tried,” she said. That was as friendly as I’d ever gotten from her.

  Matt sat down beside me.

  “They’re going to kill us,” I told him. “Because of you.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Where’s my shotgun?”

  “Justin took it.”

  “And gave you a rifle. Does that make any sense?”

  “It’s over and done with... just drop it, okay?”

  “Fuck.”

  It was less than a minute before I heard footsteps crunching in the snow.

  Kayla was in front, her hands on her head.

  Justin was behind, holding the Mossberg.

  Three more men with armour and assault rifles were following behind.

  I couldn’t see Fiona.

  “Excellent work, Matt,” he said as he reached the truck.

  “You tricked me.”

  “Yeah... it was super hard to pull off, too.” He turned to me. “What did you do with my drugs, Baptiste?”

  “So now they’re your drugs?” I asked.

  “You moved them. And you didn’t even tell your girlfriend.” He gave Kayla a shove.

  Her head slammed against the side of the truck. She fell onto her knees.

  “You be careful with her,” the man with the eagle helmet said.

  Kayla glared at him.

  “I’m going to kill you, Justin,” I said.

  “Yeah, okay. Later, though... right now I need my goddamn drugs.”

  “I dumped them.”

  “Bullshit. You’re a fucking tabber, Baptiste. Matt told me about you and Kayla and your little mini raves. You’ve got them hidden somewhere.”

  “And you want them, do you?”

  “Tell me where they are.”

  “Or what? You’ll have Matt pretend to shoot me?”

  “I’ll kill them, Baptiste. All of them.” He grabbed Kayla by her hair and pulled her to her feet. “Starting with her.”