Regan Wolfrom - After The Fires Went Out - Coyote

The shed lit up.

“You’re using fuel for this?” I asked.

“Oh, hush.”

She led me to the center of a workbench that ran along three of the walls.

“Ant’s pet projects,” she said. “You know what’s great about men who are really short?”

“What?”

“They’re always looking for ways to even the odds.” She reached down and pulled up what seem to be a green fish tackle box. “You’ll like these…I hope.”

She opened the box and pulled out a large bundle wrapped in butcher paper. She laid the bundle out on the table and unwrapped it.

“What the fuck?” I said.

“You recognize them?”

“Pipe grenades…” Six of them.

I’d thought Ant’s pyrotechnics went as far as cherry bombs and homemade firecrackers.

This was a much bigger deal.

“We’ve got three more boxes of ‘em. But wait…there’s more…”

She picked up another tackle box, only red instead of green. She opened it up and pulled out another bundle.

“A nail grenade,” I said. “So this is what you guys were doing in here?”

“There’s a lot more. That stuff to put out fires is in here…and even some stuff to start them…Ant wasn’t sure if he should tell you. He was worried about what you’d say. This isn’t exactly an honourable way to fight a war.”

“Wars aren’t honourable either way. Why are you showing me this? Why now? Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“Ant didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want you to think less of him. I didn’t want you to, either.”

“I don’t think less of him. I’m proud of him. This doesn’t change that.”

“Will it help?”

“What?”

“Will this stuff help to get Sara back?”

“I…I don’t know. We can’t get her back by blowing things up. But this could go a long way toward making us safer. That’s important, too.”

She nodded. “I know it is.”

“We’ll do what we can to get her back. You know that.”

I gave her a hug.

I think both of us were crying.

“I’ve showed you mine,” she said. “Now will you show me yours?”

“I don’t have anything to show.”

“That’s such a big lie, Baptiste. Just let me in a little. That’s how this works.”

“What is it you want me to tell you about?”

“Anything.”

“I have something that Justin can’t know about, that only Lisa and Graham have seen.”

“The assault rifle?”

“Shit.”

“Yeah…the whole world knows. That’s what happens when you shoot the goddamn thing. What else you got?”

“I don’t want to tell you where the drugs are.”

“Why not? You don’t trust me?”

“It’s to keep you safe.”

“Seriously? I’ll tell you something, Baptiste. People are going to assume that I know. So if you think that me not knowing actually helps me…”

“It’s off Murphy Road. By that pond that smells like gasoline.”

“That doesn’t sound so well hidden.”

“It’s underground. Looks like an old covered well.” She didn’t need to know that we’d moved them.

“There…was that so much to ask? Now we can be best friends.”

And then she gave my ass a pinch.

Today is Monday, January 14th.

I dreamt about Sara last night.

We’d met on the bridge, at a table like the one Stems had used. She asked me how I’d been, and I told her how I just wanted her to come home, and how I wanted to drown Stems in the Abitibi for trying to turn our home into some kind of buffer state.

She’d laughed, saying that being a buffer wasn’t so bad. “Look at me,” she said, “Vachon tampon, remember? It’s my job to stand in the middle and plug up the ick.”

“Come home, Sara,” I’d told her.

“One day, Baptiste…as soon as you deserve it.”

I woke up and I felt like a piece of shit.

Things are getting easier and it makes me feel guilty.

Sara’s gone, Fiona’s moved out, Matt spends most of his time out in the woods trying to rekindle Ant’s old firebreak project for some unknown reason. Lisa and Graham are handling the goats, and Kayla feeds the dogs and takes care of the chickens.

I don’t do much of anything.

And I’m starting to like it.

I wake up with Kayla beside me.

We go downstairs and make some eggs and/or toast.

We don’t worry about what anyone else is eating.

Then Kayla checks the chickens and spends some time playing fetch or tug with Carcassonne, and I may go out with her if I feel like it; otherwise, I’ll do the dishes or clean the guns or just sit on my ass in the living room screwing around with my tablet.

I’m not even writing much in this journal anymore.

We haven’t heard a peep from New Post, and there hasn’t been a single visit from snowmobiles, or unknown footsteps in the snow. Those Spirit Assholes from Detour Lake are gone, too, and I like to pretend that their absence is permanent, even if I know they’ll be back eventually, once their supplies get low.

The thing is, I don’t know how many supplies they have.

Or how many people they have. More than fifty, less than a thousand. I think.

I don’t really know anything, really.

After the chickens and the eggs and fun time with Carcass, Kayla and I might go and sit together in the living room and read, or we might watch a movie together.

Sometimes Lisa or Graham or even Matt will come in and glare at us, shaking their head or making a comment about the two lazy asses, but I really don’t give a shit.

Well, aside from feeling guilty.

That usually hits me at night.

After a dinner of whatever’s easy, Kayla and I will move upstairs to my room. We’ll read or watch or just lay together, and eventually we’ll either make love or she’ll roll over and fall asleep.

And I’ll lay in bed thinking about Sara.

On really bad nights I’ll start thinking about Ant, too.

And that’s when I start to wonder if I’ll ever fix this family.

Today is Tuesday, January 15th.

The alarm came from the gate on Nelson Road.

That likely meant New Post.

Lisa and I took the grain truck on what could be its last trip, since the arrow was now a long way past the E.

We threw on the gear, all of it, and Lisa held the Mossberg as I drove.

I stopped a good fifty meters from the gate, turning the truck to block the road as best I could, with my side toward the gate.

New Post knew we had an alarm.

It could be a setup.

Lisa climbed out and took position behind the engine block.

I followed behind.

She put the binoculars up to her eyes and looked up the road.

“It’s Sky,” she said. “Can’t see anyone else. Can I shoot him?”

“Is he armed?”

“He’s hiding it if he is.”

“I guess Gerald isn’t up to dropping by. I’ll head up to the gate. You know the drill.”