Regan Wolfrom: After The Fires Went Out: Coyote

Whoever Fiona was before The Fires…I never got a chance to know that girl.

Today is Wednesday, December 5th.

I met Justin Porter at the junction with Nelson Road this morning, a lot closer to my cottage than his. It was cold, but not too bad; the overcast sky probably brought the temp up a couple of degrees. Last winter had been the coldest I’d ever known, the dust clouds choking out what little heat you’d get from the sun; we’d all take shifts cutting wood from morning ‘til midnight, worried to death that we’d run out of heat.

The skies have cleared now.

The weather’s back to normal.

That’s about the only thing that’s back to normal.

“No sun,” Justin said, his first words to me when we met. He didn’t wait long before he started running again.

“I don’t miss it,” I said as I struggled to keep up. “My eyes aren’t used to the bright anymore.”

“Bah,” he said. “I hate waking up without the sun. I like to keep tabs on it, make sure it’s still around. We’d be royally hooped if we lost it again.”

I almost said something, that I was sure the dust clouds wouldn’t be coming back.

But what the hell do I know?

“I couldn’t get enough of it when it first broke through,” I said. “I remember Kayla spent hours in the sun, burning herself on purpose.”

Justin grinned. “Sexiest lobster I’ve ever seen.”

“Man was she red.”

“She still looked real good. Really, really good. Seeing Kayla in a bikini was like getting a rimjob from Jesus.”

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

I know how I feel when I see her. I’m not going to talk about it, though. Kayla’s only twenty two; that makes Justin at least a decade too old for her. And I’m a lot older than he is.

I was feeling out of breath. We were running at full pace now. Justin runs with a full load, humping a pack and a rifle like he’s in basic. And I’m pissy because I don’t have a proper jog holster for my gun.

I wanted to ask him to slow down. My defib was back at home, and I hadn’t even stretched yet. But the last thing I need is to look old and weak in front of Justin Porter. I wouldn’t say we’re competing against each other, but I’m sure some people wonder why I’m calling the shots around here and he’s sitting back and letting me.

“I’ll slow it down,” he said. “I forget that you don’t do this every day.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I said. “I’ll bet you won’t be doing five klicks on gravel when you’re my age.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be upright when I’m your age. Tell me, what was Napoleon like? Did you know him personally?”

I huffed. “He wasn’t as short as people think.”

I heard a squirrel chattering in the trees, laughing at the old man pretending he could keep up.

Justin slowed down a little. Probably not enough.

“I’m sure if you really wanted to you could get back into it, Baptiste,” he said. “You just need to make it a habit again.”

“Tell that to my antique heart.”

I took a shallow breath.

“The coyotes are back,” I said.

“I heard. Matt told me.”

Of course. I assume Matt also reports to Justin everytime he takes a big boy shit.

“We should bait ‘em,” Justin said. “One plump little chicken should do the trick.”

“I don’t think so. I can try the rabbit call again…it might work now that food’s getting scarce again.”

“Don’t worry, Baptiste. I’ll make sure the chicken doesn’t get hurt. I know how close you are to each and every one of them.”

“We shouldn’t start drawing the pack over to us. The last thing we ought to be doing is screaming out ‘hey, guys, free meal over here’.”

Justin laughed. “You’re kidding, right? They already know there’s a meal here.”

“I doubt even a starving pack of coyotes would be dumb enough to take Carcass on.” I wouldn’t be dumb enough to mess with our Great Pyrenees, and I’m the one who feeds him.

“I’m not talking about the chicken coop. I’m talking about Fiona. Or whoever else is dumb enough to wander off by themselves. That trail around the lake might as well be a buffet line.”

“That’s a little overstated.”

“You should close that trail off completely. That’s what I’d do.”

“Yeah,” I said, “if you were in charge, eh?”

“It’s just a suggestion.”

“Yeah…noted.”

“Don’t worry…I’ll take care of these damned coyotes.”

“Just don’t bait them,” I said.

He gave a nod that I knew meant nothing.

We reached the steel gate on Nelson Road. I was tired and I’d had about enough of Justin. I was tempted to pretend I’d forgotten my key.

“I’ve got it,” Justin said as he ran up to the lock.

“Since when do you have a key?”

“Matt and I cut some last time we were in Cochrane. They have one of those coin-operated jobs at the Home Hardware.”

There was a reason I’d only wanted two copies of each key. Now I wouldn’t be able to keep track of who had what. Justin knows why I had it that way. He knows but he doesn’t care.

He was making a statement, taking another shot at me.

“You’ll still set off the alarm,” I said. “Unless those key-cutters can magically copy a dongle.”

“I already have a dongle.”

“What?”

“Matt gave me Ant’s.”

“That’s completely unacceptable.”

And it was a fuck-up on my end.

“If you don’t trust me, just say it. But don’t expect me to hand it back.”

“Whatever,” I said. It wasn’t like I had a way to take it from him, short of shooting him in the face.

We crossed through the gate and kept on our way. I knew the route; he’d drag my ass all the way to the Linden homestead at the end of Nelson Road. The Lindens had left with Fisher Livingston. So naturally, they’re good and dead.

“There’s no electricity at the Home Hardware,” I said.

“Don’t worry…we brought our own. I do know how to run an extension cable from my dashboard.” He grinned. “The beauty of owning an electric car is that you don’t worry so much about using up a little extra juice. Don’t you wish you had one, Baptiste?”

Another shot.

I tried to speed up, but I could feel that all I’d get for that was a cramp. I didn’t have any extra in me.

I’d just have to maintain.

“I got into another classic discussion with Marc Tremblay,” Justin said.

This was going to be interesting. For friends, those two weren’t particularly friendly with each other.

“Let me take a shot,” I said. “Transgendered priests?”

“Burma.”

“You didn’t kill him…did you?”

Justin shook his head. “He said that the only Right-To-Protect in Burma was the right to protect the Mottama oil fields.”

“He has a hard-on about oil.”

“Yeah. Fucking French…they hate oil but they’ll gladly spend the proceeds.” He looked embarrassed for a moment. “You know what I mean…French Canadians…pea soup and shit.”

“I get it. Don’t worry…I’m the good kind of French. Chocolate covered and dipped in Scotch.”

Justin laughed. “I like that.”

“He must’ve forgot you served in Burma,” I said.

“No…he mentioned it. Told me it wasn’t even a real war.”

I’m not sure Marc was that far off about Burma. But then again, people used to say that about Afghanistan, too, so I’m probably just being a dick.

“He’s trolling you,” I said. “He wants to stir the shit.”