Regan Wolfrom - After The Fires Went Out - Coyote

“There’s nothing around there,” Kayla said.

“I don’t recognize the name,” Sara said. “Are you sure it’s called Helena?”

“It’s named for a Finnish painter,” Fiona said. “She was the first female painter or something…apparently the area was settled by Finns. But they’d all moved away, and it was a ghost town up until a few years ago.”

“Ahh…I think I know it,” Sara said. “Arpin…south of Norembega. One of the old farming communities that didn’t last.”

“That’s probably it,” Fiona said. “I remember reading that the land was farmed once before. I think I still have it on my tablet. I’ll go get it.”

She ran upstairs.

“I’ll bet no one’s gone down that way,” Graham said.

“New Post might have,” Lisa said.

“Ant and I went down that way once,” I said. “Norembega was hit pretty badly by The Fires; there wasn’t much worth scavenging. I’ll bet the road south of there hasn’t been cleared.”

“If they were really off the grid,” Sara said, “is it possible that someone’s still out there?”

“It’s possible,” Lisa said. “And it’s also possible that Helena is just as burnt to a crisp as Norembega.”

“Let’s be lucky this time,” I said. “I’d like a change of pace.”

Fiona came running back down the stairs, holding her tablet up to her nose. I was surprised she didn’t trip halfway down.

“This is the place,” she said. “They had over two dozen people living there. I used to chat with one of the guys who lived there.”

“You did?” Matt asked, roused from his drooling stupor. “Who was this guy?”

“I dunno…just some artsy guy. He’d have been cute if he’d washed and cut his hair.”

“Good thing they’re a bunch of artists,” I said. “I’d be more intimidated if it was a colony of survivalists.”

“I’m sure they could be both,” Lisa said.

“They’d have to be if they’re still out there,” Sara said.

“So Graham and I should go,” I said. “We’ll take the cart up there to take a look. Once we know what that road looks like at Norembega, we can figure out if we can get a truck all the way down there.”

“I want to go,” Fiona said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“But if there’s people there I might be able to help talk to them.”

“We can deal with them,” I said.

“But if Rasheed is there…I can convince them to help us.”

I could hear Sara chuckling. “You’d better go along, Fiona,” she said. “We don’t want Baptiste killing all your artist friends.”

“Maybe I should go, too,” Matt said.

“You’ve got work,” I said. “You promised the Porters that you’d help them with their monitoring.”

“That can wait.”

“No, it can’t. I need someone over there I can trust.” I couldn’t believe that I’d just said that.

Matt’s face widened with a big grin. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.” He looked over to Fiona and smiled.

She smiled back.

I felt a tinge of jealousy…which was ridiculous. I took a deep breath.

“Let’s get moving,” I said. “We’ll need to get that cart switched over to being a sled. And I’d like to be on the road before lunchtime.”

“Then you’d better get your ass in the kitchen,” Fiona said. “We have sandwiches to make.”

It didn’t take us long to switch the cart wheels for runners. We were on our way just about the same time we started getting hungry for the sandwiches.

The road to Arpin was blocked just south of Norembega by a downed tamarack. Graham, Fiona and I couldn’t move it on our own, so Graham figured out a way to get the mare involved, detaching the center shaft and jimmying up a contraption that looked like a cross between a net and a plow. The whole operation took him less than half an hour, and it’s times like that when I realize just how much he brings to the team.

We ran into a few more downed trees and other debris on the untravelled road, but there was nothing we couldn’t shove aside or pull around, and by late afternoon we reached a painted wood gate, a rather strange collection of red, gold, and white vertical planks with “Helena” slapped across it in blue.

The gate was closed but unlocked, and the trail behind it was just as unmarked as the road from Norembega. It looked like no one had come or gone since the snow had first fallen back before Christmas.

“Looks pretty empty,” I said to Fiona. “You may be wasting your time out here.”

“I’m still glad I’m getting a chance to see it,” she said. “Even if it’s long forgotten.”

We travelled for another few minutes up the driveway before we arrived at the homestead, a collection of rough-hewn log buildings next to a small array of solar panels. The snow had drifted across the yard with the wind, with no sign of anyone having shovelled.

Graham was the first to notice the smoke coming from the chimney.

“Someone’s in that building,” he said, pointing to the largest cabin.

No one had to make a suggestion; the three of us put on our vests and helmets without a moment’s pause. It reminded me of old times, when it was just the three of us, travelling from lake to lake looking for the right place to live.

“They must know we’re here by now,” I said quietly.

“Then I’ll say hello,” Fiona said.

“Just wait…”

Fiona hopped off of the cart, landing in the deep snow. She pulled off her helmet. “Hello there!” she called out. “We’re looking for Rasheed.”

She walked up to the front porch.

“Fiona,” I said. “Just wait, okay?”

She went up the stairs and opened the screen door. “Hello? Rasheed?”

“Who are you?” a voice called out from inside the cabin.

“Oh, hello,” Fiona said. “My name is Fiona Rees…from Cochrane.”

“Fiona Rees?”

“Yup.”

The door swung open. A young and thin Persian-looking man, probably mid twenties with greasy and disheveled hair, stepped out and smiled.

“I’m Rasheed,” he said. “It’s so great to meet you, Fiona.” He reached out and gave her a hug. “You’re dressed like a cop. You’re too young to be a cop.” He looked over to us, and his smile disappeared.

“Are you the only one here?” Fiona asked.

“Who are those guys?”

“They’re my friends, Rasheed.”

I pulled off my helmet and tried out my best non-threatening smile. Graham did the same, to more success.

“We didn’t think anyone still lived here,” Fiona said.

“No one does,” Rasheed said. “There’s just the six of us sitting around and waiting to starve to death.”

“That doesn’t sound very optimistic.”

He smiled. “Things were getting pretty dark. Until you showed up, at least.”

I wasn’t looking forward to more refugees. I left my shotgun on the cart and hopped down. I still had my belt and holster, and the vest, of course; I wasn’t about to walk up to a stranger without a way to defend myself.

“Good to meet you, Rasheed,” I said. “I’m Robert Jeanbaptiste. Call me Baptiste.”

“You’re not here to hurt us, are you, Mr. Baptiste?”

“We’re the good guys…we don’t hurt people.”

Rasheed flashed me a nervous smile. “I guess we won’t know if you’re telling the truth until it’s far too late for us to do anything about it.”

“You’re right.”

“Be nice, Baptiste,” Fiona said. “Rasheed is a friend of mine.”

“Why are you here?” Rasheed asked.

“We’re looking for farm equipment,” I said. “We figured that you guys might have just what we need.”