Waubgeshig Rice - Moon of the Crusted Snow

“Yeah, remember? Johnny Meegis was the twenty-first.”

“Fuck, I don’t remember.”

“Someone’s missing.”

Tyler stepped back and counted again. He took off his cap and pulled on a braid. “So what do you think?”

Evan lowered his head and took a deep breath. “I think it was Scott.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Scott took a body.”

“Come on, man. That’s crazy. What for?”

Evan paused. There was a heavy stillness in the big room. “To eat.”

Tyler stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t, and he left it agape. He finally whispered, “How are we gonna prove that?”

Evan turned to his friend. “We’re gonna have to go search his house.”

“What? If we show up at his place, that crazy fucker is gonna shoot us.”

“That’s what he meant in the food lineup when he said we were going to need him. I think he knows we have stories and stuff that say we can’t do that, so he has to start it. Shit.” He didn’t want to think about the dream he had at the tipi.

“What?”

“Let’s make sure Auntie Aileen is in place here first. Then let’s go find whoever we can and go over there.”

Evan stepped over to Aileen’s body and waited for Tyler to follow. His mind swirled as they fitted her into place at the end of the row. She blended in, already anonymous. It didn’t feel right to either of them to just leave her there.

Where’s her spirit? Evan thought. Is she on her way to the spirit world? Is she stuck here? She needs to be on her journey. This isn’t right. His throat tightened and his eyes watered.

He shook off grief, and anger returned. “Let’s go see Scott,” he said.

“Shouldn’t we go talk to Walter or someone?” asked Tyler.

“No, they won’t listen to us. They’ll just call another damn meeting and do nothing. This is up to us.”

The smell of wood burning reached them as they approached the row of duplexes. The snow swelled through their snowshoes with each step. Evan was focused on the patterns his snowshoes made. Anything not to think about what lay ahead.

“Whatever you do,” he said to Isaiah and Tyler, who had come with him, “keep your gun on your shoulder. Don’t walk in pointing it at him. He’s a shoot-first kinda guy.”

“He’s a fuckin’ psycho,” said Isaiah. “We don’t know how fast he can draw a gun.”

“As long as there isn’t one in his hands, we’ll be one step ahead.”

“Goddamn it,” Isaiah sighed and turned his head away. Tyler glanced at Evan, whose gaze went cold.

Evan cocked his head toward the duplex that Scott and his cronies occupied. “See that smoke? It looks like there’s a fire out back.”

“Shit, yeah. They must be working on something back there,” said Isaiah.

“Alright, well let’s just go around and make like we just wanna talk,” said Evan.

“Isn’t that what we want to do?” asked Isaiah. His voice cracked at the end of his question.

“Yeah… it is.”

The plan was to confront Scott about the missing body. When they had found Isaiah at his house to tell him, he hadn’t needed much convincing and had agreed with Evan. So Tyler had come along reluctantly. Over the course of this terrible winter, they had become an unbreakable alliance.

Anxiety hummed in Evan’s ears as he walked towards the house. Isaiah followed, watching for an ambush. In the rear, Tyler scanned the windows of the building for any sign of the people who lived there. There was no activity.

They walked around the corner of the building and the smell of smoke grew stronger. Their hearts beat faster as they neared the back. They didn’t feel the freezing temperatures stinging their bare hands, cracked and calloused after the long winter.

Evan heard the fire crackle as he rounded the duplex and entered the backyard, which was sheltered by green pine and spruce trees. Three snowmobiles were parked along the back wall of the building. Scott, Brad Connor, and Alex Richer stood around a large firepit made from an old oil drum. A large black pot rested on top of the rusty makeshift grill. Scott’s back was to them but Connor stiffened and Richer raised an eyebrow as he saw the three men approach. Scott continued to stare into the fire without turning around.

“Is that my buddy Evan?” he said, almost asking the flames themselves.

“How ya doin’, Justin?” Evan responded, knowing any hesitation would reveal nervousness. He called him by his first name in an attempt to play a deceptive friendly hand. Scott wore only a grey hooded sweatshirt and faded jeans. Evan couldn’t see a gun on or near him. To the left, Richer also appeared unarmed in a blue plaid jack shirt. To the right of Scott, Connor stood expressionless. Evan didn’t notice a gun on him either, but both men could have them concealed under their bulky jackets.

“I’m good, thanks, friend,” Scott replied, slowly turning around. His hands were tucked in the pouch of his hoodie. Scott studied the three of them with a smirk. He noticed the guns over their shoulders. “You boys out huntin’ or something?”

Evan smiled faintly and shrugged. “We haven’t gotten anything. We must be gettin’ rusty!”

“Good thing we showed up! You guys woulda been wasting away up here by now. Eh boys?” Scott cocked his head back to the men behind him, who said nothing. “White man always saves the day!” He erupted in boisterous laughter, keeping his eyes trained on the three Anishinaabe men in front of him. Without missing a beat, he abruptly stopped laughing and spoke again, this time calmly and seriously. “Alright, enough bullshit. What do you want?”

“We gotta ask you about something.”

“Go on.”

“Were you down at the garage lately?” Evan kept his voice steady and low.

“What garage?”

“The one down by the band office. On the other side of the building where you used to stay.”

“Oh, the morgue?”

The word stung. Evan’s rifle felt heavy on his shoulder. He noticed he was gritting his teeth. He was starting to lose his cool, and he knew it.

“What the hell would I want down there?” Scott shot back without taking his hands out of the front pocket of his sweatshirt. Isaiah kept his eyes on Scott’s concealed fists.

“That day you were at the handout. You said something about knowing what to eat when the food runs out. Is that what you meant?”

“Oh, come on now, Ev. Why would I say something like that?”

“I heard you.”

“I was probably just joking. I know how you people have all kinds of ceremonies and voodoo and shit about your dead.”

Evan felt the blood rush into his face. “What’s in that pot?”

Scott kept his boots planted in the snow and lowered his voice. “That? That’s just a little experiment. Don’t worry about it.”

“It looks like you’re boiling something.”

Tyler breathed in, trying to smell what was in the pot but all he could sense was the woodsmoke.

Scott lowered his chin and his eyes hardened. Evan’s gut fluttered.

“Do you boys remember when I came here?” said Scott.

The pair behind him squared up to face them as Scott continued. “I came here by myself. I survived for days out in the bush after everything in the city went to shit. And it was easy for me. I coulda been out there for weeks, no problem. When I got here, you people barely had your shit together. There was no plan. People were going hungry already. And your solution? Give them handouts. Now those are running out, and there’ll be goddamn chaos here soon. If some of these freeloaders even survive this winter.” Scott’s voice rose and his eyes grew wide. “Most of them don’t even know how to trap! When I took some of those kids out there, they didn’t know what the fuck they were doing. If that’s your future, then… huh.” He shook his head.