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

by Wolfrom, Regan

  “Shake it,” Matt said.

  “You shake it.”

  We did it together.

  It made a happy little rattling noise.

  “You can pick the lock?” Matt asked.

  I didn’t feel like it. “Just bring me the crowbar.”

  Once he had, I pulled the drawers open.

  I pulled out three boxes of drugs.

  All three were Laneradine.

  “Gerald had a heart problem like yours?” Matt asked.

  “These aren’t even open. He was hoarding them... waiting for me to die.”

  “Joke’s on him. You’re still alive.”

  “Yes, Matt. I know.”

  I tossed the boxes into my canvas goody bag.

  I’d be alive for a good while longer.

  Once we’d finished gathering what supplies were left, we headed back toward the gate.

  “Now Stems controls both bridges,” Matt said.

  “He doesn’t need two,” I said.

  And I knew Stems wasn’t stupid.

  “Head up the rail bed,” I said.

  Matt took us up the gravel trail, curving around to the Abitibi River.

  The bridge had been destroyed. The piers demolished with charges.

  “Better job than got done at Iroquois Falls,” I said.

  “One less bridge to watch.”

  “Yes, Matt... I know.”

  He just laughed. I think he’s starting to like the way I treat him.

  We were back to McCartney Lake before sunset, so a little too early for dinner.

  “Let me off here,” I said as we reached the cottage.

  “What about the horses?”

  “You drove ‘em... you can stow them.”

  He stopped the cart and I climbed out.

  He continued on toward the barn.

  I walked in hoping to get a chance to help Fiona with dinner. It’s definitely become a thing with me.

  I saw Livingston on the floor.

  There was blood.

  Then I saw Justin Porter, sitting on the couch with his boots on the wicker coffee table, with Livingston’s little .380 lying next to his socked feet.

  Sitting on the floor were all four girls, in a semicircle around the coffee table. They looked terrified, but they were okay.

  I reached for my SIG.

  “Put it on the floor,” Justin said.

  “How ‘bout I just kill you?” I said. I pulled out the gun and pointed it at his head.

  He didn’t reach for the .380. “Look under the coffee table.”

  I saw one of Ant’s nail grenades. At least a hundred nails bundled together and ready to shred anything within its reach. And the fuse cord ran up to a plastic tip in Justin’s hand.

  “It reminds me of that shit the rebels used in Burma,” he said. “I pull the ring wrapped around my finger and your girls won’t be looking so hot.”

  “That coffee table won’t do much to shield you.”

  “I have nowhere to go, Baptiste. Detour Lake wouldn’t take me without some way of paying my way in.”

  “And now that you got so many of their guys killed...”

  “Yeah... they’d probably just shoot me if I showed up there. Thanks in large part to Kayla’s fucking ex-boyfriend, Bren the Wonder-Shit.”

  “So you’ve been hiding around here?”

  “That new army of Stems isn’t very good at what they do. They didn’t even bother checking the crawlspace. But that’s not important right now, Baptiste. What’s important is that I’m going to ignite this blasting cap, and then there’s gonna be a whole lot of nails fucking up your living room.”

  “So there’s no point in not shooting you?”

  “My wife is dead. So are my children.”

  “Yeah... I know that feel, bro.”

  “You get to come home every night and you get to take your pick. You can fuck the curvy brunette, or the slutty blonde... now you even have one in redhead... and once you come up with the right occasion, you’ve even got little Fiona’s cherry to pop...”

  “I’m not feeling less inclined to shoot you in the head.”

  “So take your pick, Baptiste. Choose which one of your girls you’re going to cover from the blast. I know you won’t pick the redhead...”

  “Take the redhead,” I said. “Take her and go.”

  “You can’t let him do that,” Fiona said.

  “Don’t worry, Fiona,” Justin said. “He won’t let me take her. And I don’t want her anyway. All I want to do is restore a little bit of balance in the universe. I swear... if there’s a god in this fucking reality, he’ll take this all away from you. Because you don’t deserve them, Baptiste. Yeah... I don’t, either... I get that now. But this isn’t about me.”

  I could shoot him. One shot and he’d be dead. But his finger was on the pull-ring; that bullet was just as likely to start the fuse than not.

  That would kill all four of them.

  If I made the choice... I could shield one of my girls. If I was lucky enough...

  I heard the door open.

  Matt stepped inside. He was still in full gear, even his helmet.

  “Sit down, Matt,” Justin said.

  “Let’s just kill Baptiste,” Matt said. “We can take the girls. Two each... that’ll get us into Detour Lake...”

  “Not gonna work, Matt.”

  “Just pass me your gun and I’ll kill him myself.”

  Matt stepped toward the coffee table.

  “Back off, Matt,” I said.

  He dived at the coffee table.

  Justin pulled the ring and lit the fuse.

  I took my shot. I sent a bullet into Justin’s forehead.

  I started to move toward the coffee table. If I could reach her in time...

  The nail grenade exploded under Matt’s chest; it sounded more like a pop than a boom.

  I couldn’t see any nails.

  “It didn’t go,” Kayla said.

  I stopped to look.

  “It didn’t ignite the explosives,” she said.

  Matt rolled over onto his back. “What the heck just happened?” he asked.

  “You didn’t get blown up,” I said.

  “You could have died,” Fiona said.

  “It would have been worth it,” Matt said.

  I realized I was too proud of him to vomit.

  I walked over to Justin.

  He was dead. At long fucking last.

  Sara had gone to check Livingston.

  “He’s breathing,” she said.

  “Then let’s get him to the couch,” Kayla said.

  I grabbed Justin Porter by the feet and dragged him out through the front porch and left him lying next to the driveway.

  I knew Stems would want his men to confirm it.

  Sara came to my room tonight.

  She didn’t say a word.

  She climbed onto my bed and burrowed into my arms.

  She kissed my left wrist.

  I kissed her, gently, on her shoulder.

  She craned her neck and kissed me on the lips.

  “I love you,” I said.

  She kissed me again.

  I laid her down.

  And I made love to her.

  Today is Wednesday, January 30th.

  Sara always knows when I’m homesick.

  She knows a lot about me.

  “You’re thinking about your family,” she’d said gently as we’d laid together, the day after Ant had died.

  She turned over to face me, wrapping her arm around my side.

  I kissed her lightly on the mouth and turned my head into my pillow. I was sure she could still see the tears on my cheek.

  “I don’t think it’s gotten any better,” I said. “I thought it would slowly get better.”

  Sara started drawing her fingers up and down my back. I could feel her breasts pressing against me. Lying beside her and feeling her softness and feeling her warmth, I knew that I shouldn’t have felt so numb.
<
br />   It always comes and go, but that night the numbness clawed at my throat and made it hard for me to breathe.

  “I know it’s not the same,” Sara said, “but it is starting to get better for me.”

  I turned my head to look at her. “It isn’t the same.” I ran my hand along the side of her face, trying to show her that I wasn’t angry, that I was used to feeling that way. “Losing Cassy was like losing a limb. No... that’s not enough. It’s more like I lost everything else, and all that’s left is a couple of dismembered toes.”

  I reached up and kissed her on her lips.

  “I can’t drink a glass of water without remembering when Cassy used to fish out the ice cubes with her fingers, long after she was old enough to know better. I miss her all the fucking time, and it’s torn most of me away.”

  “But there’s enough of you left to love me.” She didn’t sound unsure.

  “I guess so. I do love you.”

  “And I love you. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but maybe someday you’ll decide that you want to be with me all the way.”

  “All the way? You’re lying naked in my bed. That’s pretty far along.”

  She smiled. “You know what I mean. I’d like to start a family with you... if that’s what you want.”

  “I’d like that,” I said. I didn’t know what else I could say.

  “You’re just telling me what you think I want to hear. I like that you care so much about me. But you’re not ready to talk about this.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to talk about this.”

  “That’s fine.” She kissed me a couple of times, finding her way down my left cheek. “I’ll be here.”

  Back then I hadn’t really considered the possibility.

  But now I think I might be ready someday. I’d love to try it all again.

  My whole family died from cholera. I’m not a doctor, but I think that means they literally shat themselves to death.

  Cholera makes me think of Sherlock Holmes for some reason, though I guess Sherlock should probably make me think of syphilis or something.

  When things got bad my mother asked me to come home to Iroquois Falls. But I had two months left of practicum, and they’d said they’d keep me on for the duration if I wanted. So I stayed.

  If I’d gone, I wouldn’t have been able to save them. I would have gotten to know firsthand what it’s like to die on the toilet.

  I don’t feel guilty... there’s no survivor’s guilt on me. I’m sure if Eduard had been the one to escape the shitpocalypse, he’d be doing his best to eat pussy and take names. In honour of me, of course.

  “I claim this tasty pink taco in memory of Antoine Lagace.”

  Baptiste wears his guilt like a chastity belt. He’s afraid that if he starts living again, like really living, that he’s doing his wife and daughter some kind of disservice.

  It doesn’t matter what you could have done or should have done... you can’t let it ruin your life.

  Because ruining your life doesn’t do anything for anybody.

  It just makes you less fun to be around.

  We were pretty sure that Livingston had a concussion, but he seemed otherwise okay. If anyone could stand to lose some brain cells and somehow become more likeable, he’d be the guy.

  It seemed a good two weeks too early to me, but today Fiona decided that she wanted to prep the spiles and the drill and the ATVs, and try her hand at sugaring off one of the maple trees. She invited Fisher Livingston first, and he said yes; I guess he likes the idea of someone wanting him around.

  Sara and Gwyneth decided to go with them, and naturally Matt chose to tag along, too; it was a good idea for him to be there, and he took the Mossberg to keep them safe.

  They also took a serious amount of liquor to stay warm; I had a feeling that they weren’t actually too concerned about whether or not the sap had started to run.

  With all of them gone, Kayla and I were alone in the cottage, and for the first time since Sara had come home.

  And she didn’t waste any time.

  “I want you to come upstairs with me,” she said.

  I was confused. “You do still hate me, right?”

  “I don’t hate you, Baptiste. Come upstairs. Actually... give me five minutes, then come upstairs.”

  It’s not like I didn’t know the right choice. No matter what you want to do, you know what you ought to be doing.

  I watched the clock for the longest five minutes of my life.

  Then I went upstairs.

  I checked my room first, out of habit, but she wasn’t there.

  Then I heard the shower.

  I went back to my room and sat on the bed.

  I stuck my right hand below the waist of my boxers.

  I didn’t really want the wait, the anticipation... she didn’t need to get all spic and span for me.

  The water stopped, and after a minute or so the door opened, and she started walking down the hallway.

  She continued down the hallway, past my open door.

  She was on her way to her room.

  I got up and followed.

  “One more minute,” she said.

  “Come on...”

  “Count it down, Baptiste.”

  I managed to wait a full twenty seconds.

  I found her lying on her bed with the covers thrown off onto the floor. She’d even pulled the bottom sheet off the mattress.

  She was wearing a white t-shirt and nothing else. Then I recognized the shirt, ripped and dirty with the faded maple leaf. It was the shirt that Sara had been wearing in Livingston’s trunk.

  The roll of silver duct tape was there, beside her vibrating egg, and so was a dirty bunch of cloth, lying on the bare mattress.

  “You’re wearing her shirt,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “That’s a little fucked up.”

  “Don’t ruin it. Just tape me up. Tape me up and have your way with me.”

  “Have my way with you?”

  “Shut... the fuck... up.”

  I grabbed the rag. It was the same one from Livingston’s trunk. I stuffed it into Kayla’s mouth.

  I wrapped the tape around her head, trying to match how Livingston had done it to Sara.

  It felt wrong.

  But Kayla wanted it so badly.

  I rolled her onto her back. Her skin was freezing.

  I pinned her wrists.

  I thought I heard footsteps.

  I stopped.

  “Someone’s here,” I said.

  Kayla just moaned.

  I got up to close the bedroom door.

  And then I saw Sara, standing in the hallway with a handheld in her hand and her mouth wide open.

  She was looking at me, but then she looked at Kayla.

  She dropped the handheld.

  It hit the floor and broke into several pieces.

  There was no longer a reason to close the door.

  At first she’d just seemed angry, but not all that surprised, like she’d known it would just be a matter of time before I ended up with Kayla again.

  Then she saw the duct tape wrapped around Kayla’s mouth.

  And then she saw the t-shirt.

  Her face changed. It wasn’t anger.

  She began to sob.

  “This is what you wanted? You wanted to force me?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “You already had me...”

  “Sara... I’m sorry...”

  She turned and ran toward the stairs.

  Kayla was muttering through her gag.

  I pulled off the tape.

  “Fucking fuck that hurts,” she said.

  “Do you not get what just happened?”

  “Relax. It’s fine.”

  “What?”

  “I’m willing to share, Baptiste. This is news to you?”

  “I just broke her heart.”

  “She’ll get over it. She loves you. And you love her.”
r />   “I need to go after her.”

  “No... you need to finish what you’ve started.”

  “This isn’t funny, Kayla.”

  “Neither is taping a girl up and not fucking her.”

  I stuffed the wad of cloth back into her mouth. I rewrapped the tape around her head. Then I rolled her back onto her front and taped her wrists.

  “Is that nice and tight? All done?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Now I’m going after her.”

  I stood up to leave.

  She moaned.

  I took another look at her.

  She moaned again.

  I climbed back onto the bed.

  I picked up the vibrating egg and I finished what I’d started.

  The maple syrup crew came home a little later.

  Sara wasn’t with them.

  “She didn’t come find you?” I asked Matt.

  “We haven’t seen her,” he said. “Kayla called her on the handheld and told her to head back.”

  “Kayla called her?”

  “Yeah. Said the two of you’d arranged a bit of a surprise for her. What was it, anyway?”

  “Oh, shit...”

  I threw on my boots and grabbed my SIG.

  I had no idea which way Sara had gone.

  I went up to the junction with Nelson Road, to check for fresh footprints in the snow; she’d gone that way before.

  But there weren’t any footprints there.

  I saw some tracks heading up the trail to Ant’s sugar maples, so I followed them. All footprints, no ATVs... but as it hadn’t snowed in three days it could have been from some other time.

  As I neared the graves, I saw sharp paw prints in the snow. Two sets of them. Two coyotes.

  They were headed up the trail, following the various bootprints.

  I passed by the burial plots and the sugar maples; one set of bootprints had kept on across the frozen stream, and the coyotes had crossed, too.

  The trail moved north, out of the clearing and back into the trees, the last batch of trees before the highway and the burnt forest beyond.

  I reached the firebreak.

  And then I found her.

  She was lying in the snow, on her back.

  The coyotes were hovering over her.

  I pulled my SIG and shot them both.