Regan Wolfrom: After The Fires Went Out: Coyote

He rolled his eyes at me and gave me one of his little smirks. “She doesn’t listen to me,” he said, like none of it was his problem, that it didn’t really matter that Fiona was out there alone.

That was the same goddamn attitude he’d had about Ant, like he wasn’t the least bit responsible for what happened, that he shouldn’t feel the least bit guilty that he’d made it back alive and Ant hadn’t.

I wanted to grab him by the throat and start twisting ‘til something popped.

“Seriously…” I said, trying to slow my breathing. “You need to grow up and take some goddamn responsibility.”

He scowled at me. “If you don’t want me around I’ve got plenty of places to go.”

“Bullshit.”

I felt Sara’s hand gripping mine; she didn’t say anything, but I got the message. Losing my shit wasn’t going to help.

“Which way did she go?” I asked.

“South,” Matt said. “Along the lake.”

I ran around the cottage to where the path that traces around the lake begins, Des running in front of me like he knew just where we were headed.

I saw one set of fresh footprints in a patch of wet muck. I ran along the trail as it cut through the leafless trees, holding my right hand close to the handle of my pistol. I didn’t expect that I’d need to use it but I had to be prepared; you never know what’s hiding just beyond the bend out here.

“Fiona!” I called. I tried to conceal my panic, but I knew it was deep in my voice. “Fiona!”

I saw a red wool mitten floating on top of a pile of brown leaves. Fiona’s. I bent down and picked it up. I couldn’t see any tracks aside from hers, no signs of anything. She must’ve had it shoved in her pocket or something, not noticing when it fell out.

She had to be okay…

I kept running, all the way to where the creek drains into the lake, and up across the two logs that were lashed together to bridge the marshy stream. There were new tracks here, three sets of paws in the mud. They were narrower and sharper than what Des would make: coyote tracks. And they were fresh, in places landing on top of Fiona’s footprints.

Des was sniffing madly at the tracks and shuffling his feet; he could smell them, and I wondered if he could also smell Fiona through her boots.

She should have brought the dogs with her.

I called her name again, and picked up my pace even at the risk of tripping on loose rock or an upturned root. I was pretty sure she had no idea the coyotes were out there, stalking her.

I drew my SIG and without giving it a thought I asked God to help me.

I came to a low spot where I noticed the coyote tracks veering off into the woods; Fiona’s footsteps kept to the trail, steady and straight. There was no sign of violence, no change in her gait. The coyotes may have heard me and Des coming. They may have run off, or else they were watching us from just behind the trees.

It didn’t matter as long as they weren’t after Fiona anymore.

I caught a glimpse of her just beyond a bend, her scarlet red jacket poking through a small stand of birch trees. She was walking back toward me, her red-brown hair bouncing in a tight ponytail. I’d already warned her about wearing her hair like that.

Des met her halfway, jumping at her hips, his tail wagging.

“Fiona,” I said. My voice was hoarse, not from yelling but from trying to catch my breath; I’d pushed myself a little too hard to reach her.

She flashed me a quick little smile, but I could see that she’d been crying once again.

I tried to give Fiona a smile of my own, one just as fake, but I couldn’t make it stick; all I wanted to do was scream at her.

As much as I love her ― and maybe I love her almost as much as Cassy ― for that first few seconds, after I thought I might’ve lost her forever…it’s the rage that came first.

I managed to hold it in.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she knelt down to scratch behind Desmond’s ears.

“It’s not safe,” I said. “You know that you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“More double standards,” she said in classic sixteen-year-old, chock full of outrage and disgust. “Is it because I’m a woman, or because I’m the youngest?”

“It’s because it’s not safe.” I wrapped my right arm around her and used my left hand to brush a few stray strands of hair aside from her face. I gave her a kiss right next to the little mole on her left cheek, at that spot where her skin first starts to blush.

“Matt goes out by himself all the time.”

“Matt’s an idiot. Always travel in pairs…that’s the rule. Matt doesn’t listen but I expect more from you.”

“I know you do,” she said, her eyes meeting mine.

I think she understood what I was trying to say. Fiona understands me pretty well.

“Why were you out here by yourself?” I asked. “You didn’t even bring the dogs.”

I didn’t mention the coyotes.

“I’m always by myself. I just decided to be by myself out here for a change.”

I sighed; Fiona’s helped me remember just how melodramatic teenagers can be. But I know that she’s not putting on a show for me; there’s hurt in there, more than enough for someone that young.

I shot her a smile. “You’ll always have me, Fiona. I was put on this Earth simply to annoy you.”

“I know…”

“You know…but…”

She shook her head. “I just wish I fit in a little better…you know, with Kayla and Matt and everyone. Now that…now that Ant’s gone, I’m kinda on the outside of everything.”

“It’ll take some time,” I said. “But soon the day will come when you’ll have transformed into a godless alcoholic and you’ll fit in perfectly.”

I saw the start of another smile creeping onto her face. It looked real this time.

“Now there’s this hayride…” I said. “We’re going to go down to New Post and back.”

“I’m not really in the mood.”

“None of us are in the mood, Fiona. That’s why we need to do it. We need something good to happen.”

“Why bother? There’s no point.” She shook her head. “There’s no point to any of this…stuff.” Her smile was gone again.

“It’ll get better,” I said. “Today will be better than yesterday…and yesterday was a hell of a lot better than Sunday. And tomorrow ―”

“Just don’t…nothing’s getting better for me. Tomorrow’s going to be just as bad.”

“Today, then…think about today, okay? Today I’m going to strut around like a rooster on the back of that cart, and that’s when your cue to throw my cocky ass into the mud. Multiple times. Until I cry like a small child. Have you ever seen me cry like a small child, Fiona?”

She gave a little smirk.

“You know you want to see that,” I said, hoping she’d give me a chance.

Her face softened a little. “Well obviously I can’t pass that up.”

“I know what you young people like.”

She nodded her head and smiled, but there were still tears in her eyes. I knew they wouldn’t just dry up and disappear in an instant.

We headed back toward the cottage where the cart was waiting, our feet crunching through the dried leaves along the path.

Des continued to sniff the air, keeping his gaze on the trees. I didn’t expect the coyotes to show themselves to the three of us; they only seem to attack when the numbers are on their side.

As we walked I kept my left hand on the small of Fiona’s back, and a couple of times on the way we’d glance at each other, and she’d smile gently, and I’d nod, and that would be it.

We didn't need to talk.

Fiona was still hurting; I think Fiona will always be hurting. Our past gets carved into us, like markers in our genes.