Waubgeshig Rice - Moon of the Crusted Snow

Evan peered past the snowy field beyond the store. The pine and spruce trees in the distance were perfectly still. He saw no wildlife. The dogs stuck to the heart of the rez, where there was more opportunity for scraps. They would be the first to go hungry if things grew more desperate. Soon the lines of their ribs would appear through their mangy coats.

If he had more time, and his snowshoes with him, he would have traipsed through that snowy field to look for tracks. But he was on the clock, waiting for Tyler and Isaiah to finish up their last rounds and meet here before delivering notices throughout the First Nation.

Evan pinched off the end of his smoke and stepped on the remnants. He was beginning to run low. If there was no way to get to the closest town or city, there was no way to get manufactured smokes. Filtered cigarettes would become a luxury. He snorted — this was one way to finally quit. As he opened the door and stepped up on the metal runner to get back into the warm cab, he heard the buzz of a snowmobile. It startled him, so he stepped back down to the ground. He tried to remember if it was the first he’d heard since Kevin and Nick had arrived home.

He looked across the field and then back toward the heart of the rez. Nothing. Yet the sound built, coming from the service road. He felt butterflies in his gut.

A snowmobile emerged through the trees, kicking snow high into the air. This machine was bigger than the ones Kevin and Nick had rolled in on. And even from this distance, the driver appeared tall and burly. Whoever it was blazed through the snow, easily controlling the machine and the heavy trailer attached to it.

Who the hell could that be? It didn’t look like a machine from the rez. Kevin and Nick hadn’t said if they’d mentioned their escape to anyone in Gibson. Was it someone who came from down there? Why would they come all the way here?

The hum intensified, and Evan remembered that he was still alone. He looked back up the road and didn’t see his friends’ trucks. He was going to be the sole contact at the de facto gate to the rez.

Evan stepped back up into the cab, reached for the rifle behind the bench, and switched off the safety. He realized he was likely in the driver’s sight now, so he stepped back to the ground and looped his arm through the red strap to rest the loaded gun behind his shoulder. He didn’t want to have to use it.

He rolled his head around his neck to ease the tension in his shoulders. He looked back up the road. Still, no trucks. He squeezed and released his fists rapidly in his thin thermal gloves.

With all the recent snowfall, the snowbank at the end of the plough zone was almost as high as a pickup truck. The snowmobile sped towards it without slowing. Evan felt the driver’s eyes on him through the helmet’s visor. His square frame marked him as a man. He’s coming right for me , thought Evan.

The engine finally slowed as it approached the dip down to the road. The driver guided the skis down the embankment and hit the gas slightly to catch the track on the icy road. The sled behind fell to the ground with a thud. It was almost as big as the snow machine itself.

The entire rig inched forward. Everything was black — the snowmobile, the sled, the boots, the suit, and the helmet. It stopped a comfortable distance from where Evan stood. Close enough to be a target . He kept his hands in front of him, mindful of the rifle that lay over his shoulder.

The driver slowly raised both hands, as if to indicate he meant no violence or confrontation. The gesture caught Evan off guard, but he nodded and raised his own hands. The driver lowered his hands and killed the engine. It sputtered into silence as the driver stood, putting his hands up once again to ensure he displayed no sudden, threatening movements.

Trees cracked under the weight of snow in the still, crisp air. As he stood up, the stranger’s stature stunned Evan. He was a beast of a man who was invading his people’s space.

“I come in peace.” The man’s voice was a guttural baritone, and the words echoed across the barren landscape. Then he started to laugh, a mild chuckle, that quickly escalated into sharp guffaws.

Evan didn’t know whether to aim his rifle, extend his hand, or laugh with him. The man was well over a head taller than he was. The heavy snowmobiling jacket accentuated his bulk. He didn’t look armed, but Evan was certain he had guns. He decided he better say something.

“As the old saying goes,” Evan began sternly, “come in peace or leave in pieces.”

The man stopped laughing and stood silent. Then he erupted in boisterous laughter. “That’s a classic, brother!” he shouted as he leaned over, grabbing at his gut. But it sounded insincere and did nothing to ease Evan’s anxiety.

“Who are you?” Evan asked.

The large figure caught his breath and stood upright again. “The name’s Scott. Justin Scott.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was in the neighbourhood, so I just figured I’d stop by.” The helmet muffled his voice, and Evan couldn’t get a read on him without seeing his face. “Oh, how rude of me!” Scott added. He unclipped the strap on his chin and lifted his helmet off his head, revealing a wide, bald dome. His eyes squinted in the bright daylight, but everything else about his facial features was large. His bulbous nose complemented his wide mouth, contained by a square jaw. The wide, unzipped collar of his thick jacket and the black turtleneck sweater he wore underneath obscured his neck, but it looked as wide as his massive head. He made no motion to approach Evan.

“What are you doing here?” Evan repeated.

“Well, friend,” Scott continued. “As you may well know, the proverbial shit has hit the fan. I’m just looking for a nice, friendly place to lay my head for a little while.”

“Why here?”

“Far away from so-called civilization seems like the best place to be right now.”

“How did you find us?”

“Easy. I just followed the other sled tracks.”

The hair rose at the back of Evan’s neck. Goddamn it , he thought. He followed Kevin and Nick.

Evan heard one of the trucks approaching behind him. Finally . It was Isaiah in his big red diesel pickup. Isaiah took in the standoff and the rifle as he pulled his truck next to Evan’s. He jumped out, leaving his truck running, and stepped to Evan’s side.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

The sun glanced off Scott’s bald head. “We’re getting acquainted.”

“Who are you?”

“My apologies. The name’s Justin Scott.”

Isaiah turned to Evan, who was monitoring the visitor. Wary of Scott’s every move, Evan didn’t even acknowledge Isaiah.

“What do you want?” Isaiah prodded.

“Well, as I was just explaining to your friend here — sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” Scott said to Evan, stepping off the snowmobile.

“It’s Evan.”

Scott looked to Isaiah. “And what’s your name?”

There was an awkward silence. Evan’s heart pounded in his eardrums. He didn’t want the situation to escalate. He shot Isaiah a glance to prompt him to respond to the stranger.

“Isaiah,” he finally replied.

“Evan and Isaiah,” Scott repeated, taking a few long strides towards them. “Nice to meet you.” He walked closer and took his thick gloves off, extending his bare, calloused white hand in greeting.

He turned to Evan first, who reluctantly obliged. His rough, meaty palm dwarfed Evan’s. The handshake was half goodwill, half intimidation. Scott let go and shook Isaiah’s hand the same way. Evan noticed that the top of Isaiah’s head came up only to Scott’s hard blue eyes, and Isaiah was a tall man.