After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) (17 page)

“What the fuck do you know?”

“That’s how it is with everyone else, too. Fiona’s like your long lost daughter, and you treat Graham like he can do no wrong. And since you’re banging Sara we all know how you feel about her...”

“God, Matt... I need you to understand something here. I'm not your father, okay?”

“Screw you, Baptiste. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“That is what you’re saying, asshole. And I’ll tell you... I don’t owe you some kind of fatherly affection. I’m not going to play catch with you out in the backyard, or teach you how to manscape your pubes. I don’t owe you shit. If you can’t contribute to the team, we’re better off without you.”

“Too bad Ant’s dead and I’m still alive.”

“Yeah, you know what? That is too bad. You’re damn right about that.”

I didn’t bother to wait for Matt to find his comeback; I did want to make it home before next week. I turned the engine back on and drove on a couple hundred meters. And then I stopped to wait. I couldn’t leave him out there no matter how I felt about him.

I couldn’t leave that piece of total uselessness behind. Fuck.

I had to wait a few minutes before he finally started up again.

We didn’t say anything else to each other for the rest of the trip, and when we arrived at the cottage I decided to make my way over to the amber rum. Fiona was close to having dinner ready, so that saved me from having to tell anyone about my day. I made it all the way to dinner without talking and when we all sat down I listened quietly to Graham as he talked about the goats, as he does most days if you don’t tell him to shut up. Matt was quiet, too, and because of our combined silence Graham was at least ten minutes into it before Lisa finally closed down the topic with a cheery “I fucking hate those goddamn goats.”

Then it was mostly silence.

Today is Wednesday, December 12th.

The supply meeting this month was being hosted by the Marchands, so Justin Porter and Alain Tremblay joined Sara and I in our grain truck for the trip to the airport.

Cochrane’s airport is pretty much the opposite of Pearson in Toronto, one single strip of runway and a terminal building that kind of looks like a small town radio station.

They used that airstrip mostly for the fire crews, the water bombers and the helicopters that would take the FireRangers to forward bases to fight the forest fires that would flare up every spring and summer. Last year when the whole district was on fire or about to be, Graham and I came up here with a pile of other people, trying to keep one of the wildfires from reaching the airport by turning the concession road into a proper firebreak. Somehow we managed to save it, or rather Graham and the rest of them did, after I got cut off and surrounded with the lake at my back. In the end, there wasn’t much point to saving the airport since nothing’s taken off or landed there since. We should have spend our time working to protect the town of Cochrane itself.

We only have three sets of protective gear, but that didn’t cause any arguments since Sara almost always refuses to wear it. If she hadn’t been chosen to chair the meeting I’d have told her to stay home.

In the truck it’s not that bad; we don’t usually bother with the helmets in the cab, and I make sure we stuff Sara in the middle, with Alain driving and Justin on her right. I took a place in the back with the Mossberg, fully armoured and sitting in pretty much the same spot Ant had been sitting when those three bullets landed in his unprotected chest.

We got to the Marchands’ roadblock around forty minutes early, which was just what I wanted. The two Marchand boys waved us through without bothering to ask any questions; I guess they know us well enough by now.

The parking lot was almost empty when we pulled in; I could see the Walker’s white van and a couple of trucks. I knew Dave Walker was going to be a huge pain in the ass, and for some reason I was almost looking forward to it.

I hopped out of the box with the Mossberg, motioning for the others to stay in the cab.

I found Fisher Livingston standing by the door beside a tall, skinny kid with a hunting rifle. Livingston wasn’t armed, which didn’t surprise me; I’d never seen him shoot off anything other than his big mouth.

“You can’t bring your guns inside,” Livingston said.

“Fuck you, Livingston,” I said.

“He’s right,” the skinny kid said; I don’t think he was older than sixteen. “No guns allowed inside, Mr. Jeanbaptiste. Same as always.”

“I brought them in with me last time,” I said. “And every time.”

“They shouldn’t have allowed that.”

I sighed. I knew the rules and I’d never followed them. No one had ever called me on it before. “Well, I’m not comfortable leaving my guns outside.”

“Then you can’t come in,” Livingston said.

I was about to tell Livingston once more to fuck himself when Sara joined us by the door.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“They won’t let me in.”

“It’s the shotgun,” the skinny kid said. “It’s not allowed.”

“Or the handgun,” Livingston said.

“So leave them in the truck,” Sara said.

I glared at her. “You know I can’t do that,” I said.

“Why not?”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t get into an argument with her in front of everyone, in front of Livingston...

“Just leave the guns outside,” Livingston said. “It’s pretty simple, Baptiste.”

“He’s not leaving them outside,” Justin called out from behind us. He had his rifle in his right hand. “And I’m bringing mine in, too.”

“Hold on,” the skinny kid said as he ducked into the building.

Another truck pulled up and I watched as a couple of the Girards climbed out, two of the brothers in their late forties, both with poorly concealed holsters slipped into their belts.

I’ve never seen any of the Girards carrying handguns before.

“Sorry about Antoine,” Denis Girard said to me. “He was a good kid.” I know that Denis had always liked him.

“Thanks,” I said. I nodded to his waist. “I see you guys aren’t taking any chances.”

“Things are getting bad out there... we ran into some trouble of our own.”

“I heard...”

“It wasn’t Stems, I don’t think.
Dieu merci.
But we’re not going to let it happen again.”

The skinny kid came back out with Eva Marchand, the head of the family. She gave me a smile but I knew it wasn’t a happy one.

“You can’t bring the guns inside,” she said.

“This was never a problem before.”

“Look... everyone wants to bring in a gun now. We can’t bend the rules for anyone.”

“I’m not leaving my gun outside,” Denis said. “We don’t go anywhere now without protection.”

“What are you all so worried about?” Livingston asked. “There are two men with guns blocking the road in. And there’s this young man posted at the door.”

“Not good enough,” I said. “I need to know that I can keep my people safe.”

“You’re wearing a bulletproof vest.”

“Sara isn’t,” Justin said. “And we’re not going to risk her life over this.”

“Justin will leave his gun outside,” I said. “One of the Girards will keep a gun, and one won’t. Maybe you can borrow one, Livingston, so you won’t feel left out.”

“We didn’t agree to that,” Denis said.

“That’s the compromise,” I said. “Take it or leave it.”

“No,” Eva Marchand said. “We’re not allowing guns inside the building. That is the rule.”

“Then we won’t have a meeting.”

“We don’t need you, Baptiste,” Livingston said. “You and Sara Vachon only get one vote anyway. And we’ll just elect a provisional chair if Sara won’t come inside.”

“I don’t give a fuck about voting. If we’re not in there, there’s no meeting.”

Other families had arrived by that point, and they’d all gathered outside the door, fanning out behind Sara and I; I’m sure it was clear to everyone but Livingston that I had the crowd on my side.

“Please, Baptiste,” Eva said. “Just leave the guns here and come inside.”

“I’m not going to do that,” I said. “You’re going to need to give in on this, Eva.”

“I won’t do that.”

“Then let’s just have the meeting right here,” Livingston said. “I’ll start.”

“That’s not how it works,” Sara said.

“Where is Dave Walker anyway?” I asked. “Does he know his lap dog has run away from home?”

“I’m representing the Walkers,” Livingston said. “That’s part of my role now.”

“We’ll need that in writing,” Sara said.

Livingston reached into his jacket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He shoved it at Sara with a cocky smirk.

“I need everyone’s attention,” Livingston said in that irritating toastmaster’s tone he always used to trot out at meetings. “I’m here to let everyone know that the Walkers are withdrawing from the Supply Partnership, effective immediately.”

“They can’t just withdraw,” Denis Girard said.

“We aren’t even holding a meeting right now,” Sara said. “Does anyone remember how these things work?”

“We’re out of the partnership,” Livingston said. “Now you know. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“What about your inventory?” Denis asked. “I’ll bet half your supplies need to be redistributed.”

“We’re not redistributing anything. We’re out of the partnership.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Eva Marchand said. “The Walkers were a part of this agreement and they need to honour that. Their last inventory showed that the Walkers have more than their fair share of flour, beans, fuel... and many other things.”

“We have more mouths to feed,” Livingston said. “It would be irresponsible for us to continue handing out food to the rest of you, particularly as supplies are running low.”

“Handing out?” I said. “I think what you’re really looking for is for me to kick your ass.”

“More threats, Baptiste? Is that the only thing you’re capable of these days?”

I switched the shotgun to my left hand and grabbed Livingston by the sleeve of his coat.

“Hey... come on,” he said. “Baptiste... please...”

I shook my head and let go. I wasn’t going to hurt him; I just wanted to see if he still had a habit of groveling when reality shows him up. “You’re a fucking joke, Livingston. You know that?”

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Denis Girard said. “The Walkers owe us supplies. We need to send our people to collect them.”

“The Walkers are more than prepared to defend themselves,” Livingston said.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means what you think it means, Denis. If you attempt to cross the Frederickhouse River with bad intentions, people are going to get hurt.”

“You can’t really mean that,” Sara said.

“What do you think will happen, Ms. Vachon? What would your friend Baptiste do if we showed up at your place threatening to take your supplies?”

“They’re not your supplies,” Denis said. “Those supplies belong to all of us. That’s the deal.”

“I need to go,” Livingston said. “I’m expected back.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” I said.

“You don’t want to make this into something, Baptiste. I told you there would be consequences for your actions.”

“We’re getting those supplies.” I turned to Denis. “Maybe a few of us should head back to Frederick with Livingston and pick up the first instalment.”

Denis nodded.

“I’m coming, too,” Justin said.

I heard the sound of automatic gunfire coming from the North. I grabbed Sara and pushed her toward the open door of the building.

“Take cover!” Justin shouted as he squatted down behind the engine block of the Girards’ truck.

I made sure Sara was inside the air terminal building before I came out to join Justin. He’d already fired a few shots in response.

I couldn’t see who was shooting at us, but I could tell that they were hidden in a line of evergreen trees around forty meters away.

Denis crouched down beside us, as did his brother. Alain Tremblay was trying to clear everyone else out of the parking lot, pushing them into the building. It looked like the skinny kid with the rifle didn’t want to go inside.

“We can use all the guns we can get,” I said.

The boy smiled and I immediately regretted my words.