Regan Wolfrom - After The Fires Went Out - Coyote

“Maybe they’re down here,” he said. “Keeping down, below the smoke.”

“Maybe…”

He started down the stairs.

I followed him. It was possible; at thirteen or so, the girl was old enough to try.

Justin called for them, his voice uneven.

I called for them, too.

We each took a side and circled around the entire basement. I peered around the stacks of supplies, even opened an old armoire that was probably too small anyway.

“They’re not here,” he said. “We need to get upstairs.”

I heard the sound of an ATV headed up the road.

I didn’t think there was much they could do to help us.

“I don’t see a way upstairs,” I said. “Is there anything? A hatch or something?”

“God…I don’t know…”

“The axe. Find me the best spot and something to lift me up.”

I ran back up the cellar stairs.

I pulled the axe off of the splitting stump.

I came back down.

Justin snatched the axe from me.

He climbed onto a plastic crate and started hacking at a joist in the ceiling.

I stood back and held my hands over my eyes to keep the splinters of wood from blinding me.

“Try knocking the boards upward,” I said. “Prying them…”

He used the handle to push through the floor.

I climbed up onto the crate beside him, trying to balance on one foot. I cupped my hands together to make a step.

He dropped his leg into my hands and I brought my rear foot forward to steady myself. I threw my arms up, boosting him through the floor.

He didn’t wait to help me up.

I took my best jump. I wasn’t getting far.

I hopped down and grabbed a second crate.

I piled it on top and climbed to the top. I had just enough reach to boost myself up.

I couldn’t stand the heat. It felt like putting my entire face on a stove element. But what the hell else was I supposed to do?

I couldn’t find the fire; the heat was there, but the flames weren’t. I tried to remember how backdrafts work.

“They’re not here,” Justin called out from somewhere behind me. “They must be upstairs.”

“Or they got out,” I said.

“I’m going up.”

“Shit, Justin…be careful.”

I found my way to where the stairs ought to be.

They were there, but each step was charred and probably not far from full-on charcoal. I wasn’t sure they’d support Justin’s weight.

But he didn’t waste any time, and he bounded up the stairs, his feet crumbling the wood like he was pushing through heavy snow.

He made it to the top, and he disappeared down the hall.

I wasn’t sure the stairs would hold me. I didn’t want to damage them more; Justin needed to get back down.

It’s times like that when you forget all of the shit. When the guy who’s caused you more trouble than genital warts is just a guy you’ve known for a while, a guy who might be on the verge of losing everything…

I heard a scream. At first I thought it was one of the kids, high-pitched and hysteric.

But it was Justin.

I knew what that meant.

I don’t think those kids ever woke up.

I helped Justin carry the children’s bodies outside and place them gently in the snow.

I saw that Fiona and Matt were carrying Rihanna over to the Tremblays’.

Kayla was standing between the house and the stand of tamaracks. She was wearing a large plastic tank strapped over her shoulders. She was spraying suppressant foam on the remaining flames.

I’m glad Ant had taken the time to find that gear. We’d lost one cottage, and one family, I guess…but we could have lost a whole lot more.

Fiona and Matt did their best with Rihanna, but without Lisa it was mostly two frightened amateurs digging through first aid articles and an old dog-eared book we still had on a bookshelf in the living room.

She was burned…almost everywhere.

Her skin went from pink all the way to a charred white.

We didn’t dare attempt to pull off her clothes; we knew we might pull off her skin along with them.

“I don’t think she’s going to make it,” Fiona told me. “Even if we can figure out how to bandage her…the risk of infection…”

“She needs a tetanus shot,” Matt said. He held up the first aid book. “Do we have that?”

“We have syringes somewhere,” I said.

“I’ve got them,” Fiona said, nodding to an open kit. “I’m nervous to do it.”

“You can do it, Fiona. Just…just do it.”

“So inspiring,” she said.

“Where’s Justin?” Matt asked.

“Kayla’s with him,” I said.

“You should be there,” Fiona said. “You’re his best friend.”

Matt seemed a little offended.

“He needs you,” she said.

I didn’t argue.

I found Kayla and Justin sitting on a couple of wicker chairs in the front porch of the Tremblays’ cottage. Justin was staring at the charred house. Kayla was sitting silently on his right, holding his hand.

“She’s gone, too,” Justin said.

“She’s still fighting,” I said.

“I should have gone for the kids…I should have left Rihanna.”

“You did your best, Justin.”

He started to weep.

I knelt down to his left. I held the other hand.

There wasn’t much else to do.

Today is Tuesday, January 22nd.

Rihanna gave up the fight not long after midnight.

Justin had fallen asleep in the wicker chair.

I told Kayla to let him sleep.

I didn’t know where to put Justin’s children. I didn’t want to leave them out in the snow, but I couldn’t bring them into the Tremblays’.

And I didn’t have the right to bury them.

I wandered a little along Nelson Road. We’d never planned for burials; we didn’t have any caskets.

We did have a lake.

I went back home and dug out my snowshoes. I walked along the frozen lake until I found what I needed. I dragged a small fiberglass canoe up from behind one of the cottages near the Porters, right up to where we’d laid the children down.

I placed them inside and covered them with leftover blankets from the Tremblays’. Justin would decide if he wanted to bury them with the smoke-logged sheets they’d slept with.

Then I went back to the porch and waited with Kayla for Justin to wake up.

Justin made a choice when he awoke. Between two lives, one of grief and one of anger, he picked what came natural to him. He let the rage fill his head until it frightened everyone but me away.

“I will kill every last one of them,” he said as he slammed his cold shovel against the frozen ground. “Those fucking indians are going to pay.”

I was still setting up the portable stove. I’d decided against lighting a fire to warm the shovels.

“You’ll help me, right?” he asked me.

“I’m just getting the stove ready. We’ll heat the shovels ―”

“You’re going to help me fuck them up.”

“We’ll figure it out…”

He stopped trying to break the soil. “No, that’s not what I’m asking, Baptiste. Those pieces of shit set my goddamn house on fire. We need to deal with that.”

I didn’t want a fight. I couldn’t expect him to be reasonable.

But I couldn’t make a promise he’d force me to keep.

“Let’s put your family to rest,” I said.