After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) (55 page)

Today is Friday, January 4th.

I got up to pee in the middle of the night. It happens more and more these days, but I’m just relieved that I still wake up before I let it rip. I won’t need to start scavenging for adult diapers just yet.

I noticed a light from downstairs as I walked toward the bathroom. It wasn’t from the overheads; it was more like a glare from a tablet.

I took my piss and washed my hands, and then I found my way downstairs.

You’re never too old to be nosy.

I expected it to be Fiona, actually, like she’d been struck with some kind of rage-induced insomnia, and I almost changed my mind and headed back to bed.

But it wasn’t Fiona. In the living room, on the couch with no light but the shine of a small tablet screen, was Gwyneth.

I walked over to the couch and waited, but she didn’t seem to notice me. Then I realized that she had earclips on.

I waited a little longer.

She saw me and gasped.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Please go,” she said. She sounded more frightened than angry.

“I don’t understand this,” I said. “But if you need to be mad at someone, I’m okay with it being me.”

She was shaking.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said.

“I... I don’t believe you. Please go...”

“This is silly.”

“I’ll scream...”

“You know that Fiona is my friend, right? That we’ve known each other for almost two years?”

Gwyneth started shrieking. She was calling out for help, calling out for Fiona, and making more noise than I’d heard since Cassy was teething.

I didn’t know what to do; if I ran, I’d look... guilty?

Fiona and Sara came running down the stairs, one after the other.

Fiona sat down beside Gwyneth and gave her a hug.

Sara marched right up to me.

“What the hell are you doing, Baptiste?” she asked.

“I scared her,” I said.

“Why are you down here? Why are you bothering her?”

“I was just checking on her.”

“Who told you to do that?” Fiona asked.

“Just get him away from me,” Gwyneth said. “Please...”

“Fuck this,” I said.

I went back to my room, passing Graham and Lisa on my way. I just threw up my hands as I went by.

I laid back down in bed, but I couldn’t sleep.

I was too busy wondering how many enemies I’d racked up this week.

Graham, Lisa and I skipped the meeting this morning, the first one with the Marchands, partly because we wanted to get the special “supply run” completed, but also because when I asked Sara if she’d be upset if we missed, she told me she’d prefer that I found somewhere else to be for a while.

I don’t think Fiona told her what happened with Kayla.

I think she just hates me for a few other good reasons.

I felt uneasy leaving the cottage in the hands of Matt and one of the Mossbergs, but I dealt with the worry by telling Fiona to go with Sara; they’d be with Justin, which as of today means they should be safe.

Kayla would have to trust in Matt. I feel for her.

We took the cart down toward Helena, our first stop, and on the way I couldn’t help but ask them about Gwyneth.

“Have you guys talked to her at all?” I asked.

“I have,” Lisa said. “She seems nice... a little shy.”

“She wouldn’t talk to me,” Graham said. “I came into the room once with Lisa, and she went mute until I left.”

“Did she ask you to leave?” I asked.

“Why? Do I smell that bad?”

“She’s scared of me. She thought I was going to hurt her.”

“I think she’s terrified of both of you,” Lisa said.

“Terrified?” Graham said. “That seems a little unwarranted.”

“That’s why she’s been hiding from you, eating her meals upstairs. She doesn’t have to stay up there all day if she’s feeling strong enough to walk. And I think she feels strong enough... she was down on the couch last night.”

“I remember...” I said.

“What did you say to her?” Graham asked

“Nothing much.”

“Don’t worry,” Lisa said, “there’s probably nothing you could have done to make her comfortable around you. She’s traumatized.”

“So what does that mean? How long is she going to avoid us?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a psychiatrist. We just need to give her some time. She was held captive for months, maybe longer. I can’t imagine what that would do to a person.”

“Has she talked about it?”

“Not to me. Maybe to Fiona. She’s the one Gwyneth trusts.”

“Fiona’s pretty awesome.”

I wanted to tell Fiona I was sorry. I should have told her I was sorry.

“So tell me something, Baptiste,” Graham said.

“Yeah?”

“Why do we want to keep these drugs? Why don’t we just dump them?”

“They might come in handy,” I said. “For barter... or in case someone’s ever in need.”

“In need of narcotics?” Lisa said. “Good luck.”

“MDMA is legal when prescribed. Some people need it to function.”

“Like who?” Graham asked.

“Like you, Baptiste?” Lisa said.

“You never know when we might need them,” I said. “Maybe Gwyneth could use a little bit of medicating.”

“Sure,” Graham said. “I’ll hold her down while you force it down her throat. That should fix her fear of men.”

“That’s not funny,” Lisa said. “This isn’t a joke.”

“It’s a little funny,” I said.

“No. It’s not funny at all, asshole. You guys have no idea what it’s like. Goddamn male privilege.”

“Easy, Lisa,” Graham said.

“Fuck you, Graham. You have no clue. You don’t live in a world where every second person thinks of you as an object to be used and abused, where you’re expected to just accept that men will treat you like garbage day in and day out.”

“That’s a little harsh,” I said. “Last time I checked people try to kill Graham and I all the freaking time.”

“Oh, they want to kill us, too. After they beat us up a little, and rape the shit out of us, and make sure we’re broken. Then they kill us. Believe me, that’s worse.”

“You’re not exactly a damsel in distress, Lisa. You’re the toughest woman I’ve ever met.”

“Case in point, jackass. I’m a tough ‘woman’ to you... not a tough person. We’re all women first to you. Women... as in pretty little pussies for you to take whenever you want.”

“What the hell? I don’t deserve this shit from you.”

“No, you’re right. You deserve this shit from Sara and you deserve this shit from Kayla, since you’re playing them both against each other. And you deserve it from Fiona, for boxing her into that sick little daddy-daughter fantasy of yours. But none of them have the balls to give it to you.”

“So you’re giving it to me?”

“I’m doing you a favour, Baptiste.”

“By ripping me a new one?”

“I’m helping you hide your drugs. So as payment you need to listen to me yell at you. I think that’s fair.”

She started to laugh.

Graham started laughing, too.

And for some reason I decided to join them.

We packed up supplies from Helena.

I went around the back to where I’d shot Rashad; his body was lying in the snow like it had just happened.

I didn’t regret it.

We had to go all the way around the string of lakes, skirting around New Post, and back past Nelson Road up to 652, then through the gate to Murphy Road.

Nothing had changed in the buried school bus, the LED lights still running and no sign of any new visitors. We took the bags of meth and ecstasy and mixed them in with the tubs of supplies from Helena.

When we reached McCartney Lake, Fiona was walking back to the cottage from the barn. She wasn’t wearing a jacket.

“Little cold out for that,” Lisa said.

“Gwyneth is... she’s missing,” Fiona said.

“Missing?”

“It looks like she took some of Kayla’s and my clothes and left.”

“But where would she go?” I asked.

“I was hoping she was headed back to Helena. But then you guys would have run into her, right?”

That was if we weren’t sneaking around picking up drugs.

“Not if she tried going through New Post,” I said.

“New Post hasn’t seen her.”

“You went down there?”

“No,” she said, “I messaged them.”

“But we disabled their access.”

“Matt turned it on for me.”

“Did he turn it back off afterwards?”

“Does it matter right now?”

“There’s no guarantee she stuck to the roads,” Lisa said. “If she’s trying to run away, she may have kept out of sight.”

Fiona climbed up and started lifting a bag of flour.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“What does it look like?,” she said. “I’m getting this cart unloaded. We need to get out there and find her.”

“You need to get your coat on,” I said. “And a hat and some mitts. We’ll unload the cart while you get ready.”

Fiona went inside.

“Do you really think that girl just started walking back to Helena?” Graham asked. “That would take like four of five hours, at least.”

“At least,” Lisa said. “But she’s obviously not thinking straight.”

“She might be dead already,” I said.

Fiona and I took the cart back toward Helena, while Lisa and Graham took the snowmobiles up to the Abitibi. Gwyneth had told Fiona she grew up in Timmins, so that meant she should know the area well enough to pick one way or the other. I doubted she was going to try and hoof it over a hundred klicks to Quebec.

We didn’t see any obvious footprints in the snow, but that didn’t mean much; we may have wiped them with the horses and the cart, or Gwyneth may have walked in the woods and out of sight.

We wouldn’t know until we found her.

“This is my fault,” Fiona said. “I shouldn’t have gone to the meeting.”

“So Matt and Kayla didn’t notice her leaving?”

“Matt and Kayla probably don’t care either way.”

“They both care,” I said. “Kayla because she likes you a lot more than she lets on, and Matt because... well, same story.”

“Whatever.”

“We’ll find her, Fiona.”

I just hoped we’d find her alive.

We turned onto Birchill Road to avoid the gate at New Post, like she may have done, and by then we still hadn’t found any sign of Gwyneth.