Regan Wolfrom - After The Fires Went Out - Coyote

“We should stay,” Sara said.

“And then what? If they’re looking for me they won’t just give up.”

“Then they’ll get their chance another day. When we have backup.”

“We ought to have backup right now. If this wuss won’t help us I’ll find someone who will.”

I found Eva Marchand, standing with the skinny Marchand boy who’d fought with us at the airport.

“I’m sorry,” Eva said when I asked, “we’re not ready for a fight.”

“They’ll kill us,” I said. “Me and Sara.”

“We can take Sara with us…we can keep her safe.”

“And so they’ll just kill me.”

“You don’t have to cross back over the river,” Eva said. “You can stay here for now. The Walkers will keep you safe.”

“The Walkers should be fighting beside me. And you should be, too, Eva.”

“That’s the wrong choice. I won’t risk my family…sorry.”

“I won’t forget this.”

“You can be angry with me, Monsieur Baptiste…but let us take Sara. We can get her home safely.”

“Okay…”

But that wouldn’t be enough.

I needed help.

I would need to ask Dave Walker. At his youngest son’s funeral.

“Baptiste…”

I turned to see Ryan Stems and his little wife.

“We can help you,” he said. “I have two men at the bridge. That makes five of us.”

“Five?”

“I can shoot,” little Anna said.

“We won’t need to shoot,” Stems said. “We drive out together, with a truck from the Walkers…”

“The Walkers will help?” I ask.

“I’ll handle it. These guys won’t engage if we’re three on three.”

“That’s three on three plus mounted anti-aircraft guns. Not that equal.”

“Still…these guys are cowards.”

“You sound pretty sure…”

“I am. When you dropped in on them the other day ―”

“Why are you so well-versed in this?” I asked.

“When you dropped in on them, did they come after you?”

“No…”

“They knew you could put up a good fight. Once you took off, they said a little prayer and cleaned the shit off their thighs. They didn’t come after you.”

“You know an awful lot about this…”

“Sky told me what happened. I do have friends around here.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay…maybe not friends…”

“So your entire plan rests on a hunch that these assholes will turn tail the moment they see I’m not alone?”

Stems nodded.

He was cocky about it.

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” I asked. “These guys told Matt they’re the Mushkegowuk Spirit Animals…friends of yours…”

“You’re smarter than that, Baptiste.”

“Explain it like I’m five.”

“They want us to distrust each other. We’ve had raids on our side of the North Driftwood, too. Except on our side they like to pretend that they’re from something called the Cochrane Protection Committee. Sound familiar?”

“Then who do you think they are?”

“I know who they are. Detour Lake.”

“How do you know?”

“Can we just get this done?”

I’d have to either accept his help or I’d have to bunk with the Walkers.

And since Katie was engaged, I’d probably end up canoodling with Livingston…

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

“Alright…you’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t thank you.”

“That’s right…maybe you should…”

“Fuck you, Stems.”

He laughed. “Close enough.”

Stems did get a truck from the Walkers, complete with two more men and their hunting rifles. I took the gravel truck in front, with Stems in the passenger seat and both of us wearing body armour; it certainly fit Stems better than it would Sara.

Behind us was Stems’ half-ton, with his two men and his bride, who ended up with a shotgun that was almost as big as she was; that being said, it was clear from the moment she’d taken it from one of Stems’ men that she knew how to use it.

I guess Stems has a thing for girls with guns. I’ll be sure to keep him away from Lisa.

The Marchands waited behind with their two Ford pickups and Sara; we all switched to the same unencrypted band, so once we were sure it was safe, Stems would be able to call Sara on his handheld and give the Marchands the all-clear.

I drove up the road slowly, as Stems scanned the distance with his binoculars.

“I see them,” he said as we neared the rail crossing. “Two trucks.”

“Only two?”

“I’m not sure if the other’s behind or off somewhere else.”

“Could be another bad maneuver,” I said. “At the airport they tried to sneak up behind us.”

“There’s no behind us, is there?”

“Not yet…once we cross the tracks…”

“The tracks will be the ‘behind us’.”

“Maybe…”

“So we stop?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

I put on the brakes.

We waited.

“No movement,” he said.

“I can see that.”

“Now what?”

“I’m in no hurry. Sometimes the key to victory is knowing when to sit back and wait.”

“I’m from the US Army,” Stems said. “We’re not so good at waiting.”

“Or nation building.”

“Or communication.”

“Or coming under budget.”

“Hah!” Stems said. “Sometimes I forget how much you and I hate each other.”

“I don’t forget.”

“Yeah…that’s not really your deal.”

“You’re still a criminal in my books.”

“I know.” He didn’t sound surprised. “They’re moving.”

“They’re coming?”

“Nope…they’re going. Still just the two…heading east.”

“Luring us?”

“I doubt it.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” I said.

I started moving forward, even more slowly than before.

“Step on it,” Stems said.

“Why?”

“I want to see how they react.”

“If they’re even watching.”

“They’re watching.”

I sped up, kicking up snow with the tires and making the engine roar.

“They’re off,” Stems said. “They’re pissing themselves.”

“No one is pissing themselves.”

“I am…a little…”

The Toyotas were speeding away, faster than you’d usually see on concession road in the middle of winter. They didn’t want us to catch up to them.

We reached the rail crossing.

I glanced to the left, and then to the right. “Nothing,” I said.

“So where’s lucky number three?”

It felt like the airport all over again. Two in front, a third hidden somewhere…

“Maybe I’m not the target,” I said.

“Who’s the target then?”

“They want us to give the all-clear. They want us to chase them toward Cochrane or Clute or something, and then the third truck will take its shot.”

“At the Walkers?”

“At the Marchands, maybe…or Sara…or both.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Baptiste. You’re the one who tried to kill them.”

“And they’re doing a piss poor job of trying to kill me back.”

“What?”

“Call Sara and tell them to stay put. Don’t mention anything else.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Clear channel.”

He pushed for Sara. “Sara and Marchands, this is Stems. Stay where you are. Repeat. Stay where you are.”

There was no response.

“Sara and Marchands. Come in.”

Nothing.

“Shit,” Stems said. “Does she know how to work a handheld?”

“Something’s wrong. If she’s not responding…something’s happened.”

“Could be jamming.”

“But if they want us to give the all-clear…”