After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) (35 page)

“I’m fine,” I said. “Where is Sara?”

Kayla shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

“Thanks for the help.”

I saw a series of footsteps heading over to the barn, so I followed them.

Sara and Fiona were in the barn, Fiona sitting on a small step ladder while Sara brushed the mare.

“Hey Baptiste,” Fiona said as I walked inside.

Sara didn’t turn to look at me.

“What are you guys doing?” I asked.

“Sometimes it’s nice to get outside. You feeling better?”

“I’m fine.”

“You should take a shower,” Sara said, still giving the horse her full attention.

“What?” I said.

“Whenever I’m starting to get better I make sure I wash up. It helps.”

“I don’t need a shower.”

She put down the brush. “I’ll take you back,” she said.

She walked right past me and out the door.

“I think you’re supposed to go with her,” Fiona said with a grin.

“I know.”

I followed Sara back to the cottage, then up the stairs, and into the bathroom.

She closed and locked the door behind me.

She started to undress.

“Aren’t you angry with me?” I asked.

“I want to strangle you. Take off your clothes.”

I hesitated.

“Get naked,” she said.

I did as she told me.

She motioned for me to step into the bathtub, and she followed me in, standing between me and the tap. She turned on the water to the lower faucet and got it to her favoured temperature before she pulled the knob to bring it up to the showerhead.

Like always, the water was too hot. Just like Sara liked it.

Alanna had liked it hot, too.

She handed me a bar of soap. “Do my back,” she said.

I started lathering her shoulders.

“You need to talk to Alain about his brother,” she said. “And you need to make a call to Dave Walker, offer your condolences for his son.”

“You know I’m not ready for either of those.”

“I don’t care. Make yourself ready. We need you to be ready.”

“I’m not good right now, Sara.”

I finished with the soap on her back and she turned to rinse herself off. Sara really is a beautiful woman. Too beautiful to be there with me.

“I need you, Baptiste,” she said. “I can’t hold this family together without you.”

“I’m the problem... I’m the reason things are falling apart. If I hadn’t got it in my head that I could take those guys out... if I hadn’t gone up to Silver Queen with the Porters... if I hadn’t killed Marc Tremblay... if I hadn’t left Ant to be murdered on the road...”

My legs felt weak.

I sat down in the tub.

“This isn’t you,” Sara said. “This isn’t the man I fell in love with. You’re stronger than this, Baptiste. You’re not the type of man to let bad luck and a few accidents stop you in your tracks.”

“You know what the worst part of this is?”

“What?”

“The way you all still delude yourselves into thinking that I’m some kind of leader.”

“I’m not listening to this crap.” She stuck her head under the stream of hot water.

It was probably the most wasteful shower she’s ever taken.

“Katie Walker called Justin this morning,” she said. “There’s a memorial for Zach tomorrow. They expect you to be there.”

“We can’t all just take off for a funeral.”

She pointed at her ears. “Hold on.”

She pulled her head out from the water.

“I couldn’t hear you,” she said, “but I’m sure I can make an educated guess. And the answer is that you’re going. You and me, Baptiste.”

“Just us?”

“Just us. I doubt they’d want to see Justin and Graham, and I’m not sure anyone else had ever met Zach.”

“Kayla knew him,” I said. And regretted. “Like an acquaintance or something.”

“Oh. No surprise there. He did have a pulse and a penis, right?”

“I don’t think she’d want to go.”

“Good. And when we get back, we’ll stop off at the Tremblays’.”

“Isn’t that enough for one day?”

“Be a man, Baptiste. You’re acting like Alain’s going to bite your head off because you couldn’t save his brother from slipping on some ice.”

“Fuck, Sara... you don’t know what happened out there. He didn’t slip... I hit him.”

“What do you mean? You got into a fight with him?”

“He was drunk... he was angry... I just wanted to stop him from going at Graham. I hit him the wrong way. Obviously I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“
Mon dieu,
Baptiste...”

She looked down at her hands.

I wanted to reach out and touch them, but it didn’t feel like the right moment.

She shook her head. “I can’t believe you lied to me.”

“I’m sorry, Sara. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“That doesn’t matter. You can’t be keeping secrets from me. That’s not allowed.”

“Not allowed?”

“I won’t accept that from you. Do you understand me?”

“I understand.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

She wrapped her arm around me. “Does Alain know what really happened?”

“No... and I don’t think there’s a reason to tell him.”

I gritted my teeth and waited for the argument.

“You’re right,” she said. “There’s no reason. As long as you’re okay with him not knowing.”

I nodded. “There’s a lot about Marc that I’ll bet he doesn’t know.”

“Like what?”

“I think Marc and Justin were at it again. They took supplies from the Lamarches.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“How did they know the Lamarches had left? How come they didn’t tell us?”

“We all had a feeling they’d left.”

“But Fiona’s had that breadmaker for how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“They didn’t tell us about the Lamarches because they were involved.”

“You think they made a deal.”

“Those assholes cornered the market. The only guys north of Timmins who could sneak people across our territory. They were just using us.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“How can I give Alain my sympathy when his brother deserved what he got?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know.”

“You will.” She leaned in and gave me a kiss.

Then she turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

5

Today is Sunday, December 23rd.

Zach Walker’s memorial service was today.

Sara and I went, with our body armour stowed and my SIG and belt on; Fiona had wanted to go, but I told her it wasn’t worth the risk. She gave me a full dose of teenage indignation, but she eventually stormed off and let it drop.

We took the gravel truck, even though we have less than a quarter tank left; I know there are three crews out there who want me dead, and their Toyotas would be tough to handle with a wooden cart and two tired horses.

Sara and I arrived at the Walker’s rail bridge around a half hour early, which was later than she’d wanted and earlier than I’d hoped for; the last thing I need is awkward conversations with grieving Walkers.

We parked the truck and got out, the two men at the bridgehead nodding as we walked by. I didn’t recognize either of them, and I was surprised that they hadn’t said anything about the gunbelt.

“You’ll do the talking,” I said to Sara as we crossed the frozen Frederickhouse river; we’d never been allowed to cross the river before.

“This isn’t that hard,” she said. “Just look sad and nod and be prepared to hug people you’d never hug in real life.”

I groaned.

“This is important,” she said.

“I know.”

There was a white tent set up on the West bank of the river, one of those tents you’d use for a wedding.

Livingston was standing by the white plastic door. Sad country music was floating out from inside.

“Ms. Vachon,” he said. “Baptiste...”

“I’m sorry, Fisher,” Sara said. She reached out and gave him a hug.

“Thank you.”

“How are they?”

“Not bad.”

“That’s good.”

Livingston turned to me and offered his hand.

I shook it and gave my best sad and sympathetic face.

“I appreciate you guys coming,” he said.

I nodded.

He motioned for us to walk inside.

Sara took me by the hand and led me in.

There were dozens of chairs set up, maybe over a hundred, and most were taken. Over half of the Marchands were there, as were Gerald Archibald and what looked like over a dozen people from New Post.