Regan Wolfrom - After The Fires Went Out - Coyote

“Well…call him.”

“I have. He’s not answering.”

“Then leave a message.”

“I have. I don’t think it’s his phone not getting a signal. I think he’s avoiding us. I guess he’s a little miffed that you got his son killed.”

I wanted to punch him in the mouth. “Is that a joke?”

“There’s no joke here, Baptiste. Just a series of fuck-ups. Believe me…no one’s laughing.”

“Go home, Justin.”

“Why? You going to get me killed, too?”

“I just might. You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?”

“You’re a mess, Baptiste.”

“Get out.”

He gave me a smirk before walking out the door.

“What are you wanting to do?” Sara asked me as she wrapped an arm around my hip.

“Besides shoot him in the head?”

She nodded.

“I want to go to Silver Queen Lake tomorrow to get our supplies.”

“It’s not safe,” Graham said. “It’s not worth it.”

“He’s right,” Sara said. “We’ve had way too many close calls.”

“So we just give up?” I asked. “We let Dave Walker shit all over us and take everything while he’s at it?”

“Yes,” Sara said. “We do. We back off and we stay alive. We have other things to worry about.”

“I’m not scared of Dave Walker. You know that.”

“You have too many enemies,” Graham said. “I…I told you this would happen.”

“You told me?”

“Look…we need to take a breath. Things are getting out of control.”

“Out of control? You mean, more out of control than the end of the fucking world?”

“We can’t risk it,” Sara said. “And what about the Girards? I made a promise to check on them. Aren’t you going to back me up?”

“I like this new tactic,” I said. “Everyone just piles on to old Baptiste.”

“Is that what you think this is?” Sara asked. “Some kind of personal attack?”

“That’s what it sounds like. Baptiste is an asshole…everyone hates his guts…”

“Dammit, Baptiste…this isn’t about you. Can you just listen for once? The remaining supplies at Silver Queen Lake aren’t worth any of us dying. We have enough to make it…”

“We don’t have enough, Sara. We don’t have nearly enough. We’re short of flour…we’re short of fuel…how the hell are we supposed to plant crops in the spring when we don’t have any of the equipment or even the goddamn seed?”

“There is no farm equipment at Silver Queen Lake,” Sara said. “No fuel, either…just a little bit of food and apparently a whole lot of stolen jewelry. Whatever’s up there isn’t going to save us. We need to look elsewhere. We will look elsewhere. Don’t give up on us, Baptiste.”

“Then you don’t give up on me,” I said.

“I haven’t.”

“No one has,” Graham said. “We’re just scared.”

“So I ustin’s scared, too?”

“Yes,” Sara said. “If Justin honestly thought he could do a better job than you he’d go ahead and do it.”

“So what do you expect me to do?” I asked. “Just let Dave Walker win?”

“If everything we do is based more on winning some undeclared war…my god, Baptiste…then we’re screwed.”

“I can’t let him win.”

“He’s not going to win. It’s a long time before this is over.”

I nodded.

And I gave her a kiss.

“What,” Graham said, “nothing for me?”

“Kiss the stove,” I said. “I heard it’s hot for you.”

Sara groaned.

That was nice to hear.

Today is Wednesday, December 26th.

I know that Justin wants to go back to Silver Queen, with or without me; part of me hopes he won’t come back.

I decided to take Graham and Matt with me to Bondy Lake to check on the Girards. I wasn’t about to take Sara back there, and I knew that she and Kayla and Fiona would be safe with Lisa and my magic guitar case.

After breakfast the three of us left in the cart; three guys, three sets of armour…we’d save the diesel for farming, if that ever happens.

Bringing Matt would be an irritation, and it left less room for whatever we found and wanted to take back with us, but I wanted to make sure my only job while we were there was to keep a hand on my gun. Matt and Graham would handle the lifting.

We went through the open gate and after another couple of minutes we reached the house.

I noticed right away.

“Someone’s been up on the roof,” I said, pointing to the bare wood where shingles should have been.

“They had solar shingles,” Graham said. “They must have stripped them down to take with them.”

“That’s a heavy load.”

“Probably too heavy,” Matt said.

“Someone took them,” I said. “But I doubt it was the Girards.”

Aside from the stripped shingles, the old Girard house looked like it always did, aside from the fact that the door was propped open. It wasn’t until we got inside that we noticed that some of the pipes had burst; whatever heat had been in that house was long gone, especially with the front door wide open. The damage was minimal, though, and it didn’t get in our way.

The dining room set was still there, a beautiful hand-carved oak table that I found pretty tempting, along with eight matching chairs, six around the table and two lined up along the wall.

There was no food left, and aside from the furniture the only other items that remained were too large and heavy for us to bring home. There was also no sign of their ATVs or the two-ton diesel truck they’d used whenever they could get it to start on homebrew.

“At least they weren’t killed by marauders,” Matt said as he and Graham checked some cupboards in the mud room.

“Lot of clothes left behind,” Graham said.

I saw what he was talking about; there were winter clothes still hanging on the wall. Some of it was in childrens’ sizes.

Graham continued: ”They had a few kids, right?”

“Two or three,” I said.

“Does that mean something?” Matt said.

I nodded. “If the clothes are out here and hanging up they probably still fit. It’s only getting colder out there, so you’d think they would take all of it with them.”

We went upstairs to check the bedrooms. I was pretty sure there was no one else in the house, so feeling the urge to pee I found the bathroom. It smelled like the last visitor hadn’t flushed, despite the window being wide open. When I lifted the toilet lid I saw that the bowl was filled with a clean and clear block of ice; my guess was that stuck somewhere in the wall was a very shitty flavour of homemade popsicle.

I was pretty sure their pump wasn't running anymore but I took a piss in their frozen toilet anyway; it wasn’t like they were around to complain.

I felt a little dirty after, since there was no water to wash my hands, and when I checked the medicine cabinet for disinfectant all I found were a few scented soaps and an old toothbrush on the top shelf.

That got me thinking.

I realized that the toothbrushes were still out in a little holder on the sink, even though the toothpaste was missing.

I guess it didn’t mean anything, really, since they wouldn’t be doing much brushing on the road. They might have been saving some new toothbrushes to take with them.

I still had the feeling that something was off.

As I closed the mirrored door to the cabinet, I caught a patch of dark in the porcelain tub behind me. I turned around, pulling my gun from its holster and holding my breath.

It was a pile of brown and black fur.