Regan Wolfrom - After The Fires Went Out - Coyote

There was no way I could carry the C12 and the foam pack across the highway.

I wasn’t going to be able to lead them on a chase, to pick them off in pieces.

Whoever was left would come for me, and they’d find me.

So I had to make it count.

The flames from the stand of birch had spread, but not by much, since the ground was cold and wet with snow. I limped over to the edge of the fire, dragging the suppressant pack behind me and hoping that it wasn’t particularly susceptible to exploding from the bumps.

I put the C12 down and threw the suppressant pack over my shoulders.

I pulled the trigger and drew an arc around me with the flames, leaving only two small gaps, one between me and Justin’s men, and the other to my rear.

That was all the fuel I had in that suppressor.

I dropped the pack and picked up my light machine gun.

I waited.

Two men approached, Leopard Spots and what looked like Bee Stripes. Or maybe a wasp.

They walked into the gap.

I opened fire.

I got one in his side.

Leopard Spots fell into the snow.

The other took cover before I could hit him.

I felt a sharp pain in my left shoulder.

I pushed back through the narrowing gap behind me.

I heard one of the men coming after me.

I saw Bee Stripes.

I fired at his right kidney.

He dropped his gun.

I rushed him. I knelt down and pulled off his helmet.

I took out my steak knife and slit his throat.

I fell back farther as the flames started to follow me. The fire was heating up, to the point where I wasn’t sure they’d be able to reach me.

One gunman was dead, one was wounded. Those were the numbers I had so far.

I headed west. I’d sweep that way and then I’d head south to meet anyone taking the highway.

Some might choose to cut through the woods to McCartney Lake.

It wouldn’t matter.

My people were halfway to Helena.

As I moved west I saw another, the man with the Tiger Stripes.

I got low; he hadn’t sighted me.

“Did you see him?” I called out.

No answer.

I tried again. “Porter says he was heading west.”

“Nothing here,” Tiger said. “I bet he caught up to that truck.”

“He’s laid out traps,” I said. “I’m caught on some type of snare.”

“Don’t you have something to cut it?”

“Dropped my knife.”

“Jesus…”

I’d irritated him enough to lower his weapon.

I stood up and started firing.

Tiger Stripes dropped.

I couldn’t tell if I’d hit him.

I heard a radio call.

“Pull back. I repeat…pull back to the rally point.”

Justin was ordering a withdrawal.

I wouldn’t get my shot at him.

I heard more gunfire. I dropped to the ground.

It was probably Tiger Stripe. Covering his exit.

He hadn’t hit me.

But I’d already been shot twice. The leg wasn’t bad; I could find some way to tourniquet it…but the shoulder…the shoulder was going to be a problem.

I was feeling the blood loss. I was weak…I wasn’t sure I could get up.

The flames had caught up to me. It had reached a point where the snow and damp weren’t stopping it anymore. I wasn’t sure if it had enough heat to jump the highway in the middle of winter…but I realized that I wasn’t going to make it to the highway.

I wasn’t going to make it back to being upright.

I heard the handheld.

It was Matt.

“Baptiste…come in.”

I reached into the pack that Matt had given me. I found a handheld tucked inside.

“I won’t be coming in,” I said. “Hopefully I’ll bleed out before I’m burned alive.”

“What’s your twenty?”

“You mean where am I, jackass?”

“I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”

“I’m gone, Matt. And you don’t owe me anything.”

“I’m coming ―”

“You need to get those girls to Aiguebelle. Do whatever it takes to get them across the border. Do not come for me.”

I turned off the handheld.

I didn’t want to give him more of a reason to think he’d find me.

I knew Matt was an idiot…but I hoped for once he’d use his head.

I was slipping…I could feel it…

I closed my eyes.

And wondered if I’d see Cassy again.

I woke up in the backseat of a car.

The car wasn’t moving.

The fabric seats smelled like canned ham.

“Your car stinks,” I said to whoever.

I tried to get up, but it hurt.

So I decided against it.

I saw that my shoulder was bandaged up; not professionally, but better than I could have done at the time. My thigh was bandaged, too.

“Is your place safe?” someone asked me.

I thought I knew the voice. “What?”

“Your place…McCartney Lake. I need to know if it’s safe, Baptiste.”

I realized who it was. Fisher Livingston apparently drove a car that smelled like canned ham.

“Did you spill something on the seat?” I asked.

“Your place…”

“I don’t know…it might not be safe. Are we there?”

“We’re on Nelson Road,” Fisher said. “At your gate. Do you have the key?”

“Should be open…Matt opened them.”

“I already checked, Baptiste…it’s locked.”

“You check my pack?”

“I didn’t find your pack. You’re lucky I found you.”

“Then I don’t have the key.”

“Shoot…someone’s coming,” he said. “Some kind of military truck.”

“Then get us out of here, Livingston. It’s Detour Lake.”

I heard him switch gears and slam on the gas.

The car jerked backward quickly enough to throw me to the floor. I hit my head on a metal kit.

First aid.

“Fucking ouch,” I said.

“Sorry.”

“I knew it…you saved my ass so you could make me suffer.”

“Shoot…”

“What?”

“Another truck coming up the road.”

“Another deuce-and-a-half?”

“What? Like a military truck?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like a pickup. Green. What do I do?”

“Hell if I know.”

“I knew I should have waited on giving you the morphine.”

He slammed on the brakes.

Luckily I had nowhere else to go. But my head did get knocked against the back of his chair.

“Better get out of the car,” I said. “Before they start shooting.”

“Why would getting out help?”

“Makes you easier to shoot…you’re going to want it to go quick.”

“That’s not funny.”

“You’re better off trying to laugh about it, Livingston.”

“Screw you, Baptiste.”

He got out of the car.

I couldn’t see anything.

“Please don’t shoot!” Livingston yelled. It wasn’t quite a whimper.

“Down on the ground! Hands on your head!”

It wasn’t Justin. Just some other angry guy with a gun.

“My name is Fisher Livingston. I am an indenture from the Mushkegowuk Nation. Shooting me would be considered an act of war by the Mushke ―”

“Shut up, Livingston,” a woman’s voice said.

It was Kayla.

“I don’t think he’s a threat,” she said.

“If he’s an indenture, we need to take him back.”

“With all due respect, sir ―”

“Sergeant.”

“He’s on our side of the Abitibi, so I’d need a written request from the Mushkegowuk Council before releasing him to you.”

“That’s a good plan, Kayla,” I said. “That’ll take a day or two.”

I heard her gasp. And then footsteps. The gate being unlocked.

She ran to the car and opened the door.

“Baptiste…oh my god, you found him…are you okay?”

“I’m alive…but Livingston drugged me…the bastard.”