Regan Wolfrom - Coyote

If we didn’t reach them in time, there was a chance we’d be stranded in Souls of Flesh territory with just enough food for a picnic lunch.

That would be a long and hungry walk back to McCartney Lake.

From 652 we took the road that led to Iroquois Falls, following in the ruts that our former lakemates had made.

I’d seen from the map that we needed to turn just before the steel bridge over the upper Abitibi, but I decided that I needed to see if that bridge was still there.

And from the turnoff I couldn’t tell.

I drove up a little further, through untracked snow that made me a little nervous of getting stuck. But we had weight on our side, as long as I didn’t get sucked into the ditch.

The gray steel truss bridge started at the riverbank, but didn’t make it across. It looked like whatever they’d used to blow it up had been planted at the base of a pier just off the far side of the bank. The span had fallen there, landing on the bank.

In theory, you could climb across if you weren’t afraid of heights or drowning, but there was no way to get a car across.

I guess that’s all that mattered to the ones who blew it up.

We backtracked to Twin Falls road, heading southeast to the hydro dam along the same ruts in the snow. No one had bothered to blow that crossing up, and I didn’t even have to slow down as we drove across the long tail of Lake Abitibi.

We reached the concession roads outside of the town of Matheson, and we started counting.

We turned left onto the third road, heading due east, following the tracks.

As we passed the next road junction I noticed more tracks heading south.

“There’s other traffic here,” I said. “Probably The Souls. Helmets.”

Kayla passed me a helmet before she put hers on. “I hope you’re just being paranoid.”

“I’m not sure you can be paranoid when the whole world’s out to get you.”

We reached the end of the road. The tracks stopped.

I stopped the truck.

“Looks like they turned around,” I said. “But there’s supposed to be a turnoff.”

“There isn’t.”

“Check the map.”

“The map is wrong.”

“What?”

She handed me the tablet.

“There’s no road here,” she said. “Maybe there was a road at one point, like a couple of ruts or something… but it’s long gone.”

“We’ll have to get that much closer to Matheson.”

“Do we know what’s there?”

“Can’t be anything good. It’s too close to Timmins to be left alone. It’s no wonder The Souls seemed to know they were coming.”

“If that’s true, they’ll see us coming.”

“We’ll find another way.”

I switched the aerial view, and zoomed in.

“Machinery road,” I said. “Right there.” I pointed to a small line of brown the led all the way to 101.

“We don’t have a plow anymore. We’ll get stuck.”

“We might. Better than getting seen.”

“This truck weighs like a ton.”

“Well… it’s a one ton truck, but it probably clocks in at almost five thousand kilos.”

“If it gets stuck we can’t just push it out.”

“That’s true.”

If we got stuck, we’d be stuck. The only way to pull a one-ton truck out of trouble was with another truck. And we only had the one.

“We’re going to have to risk it,” I said.

“The machinery road?”

“Getting seen. For all we know, we’ve already been seen. Or no one was seen, and they keep that roadblock ready 24/7.”

I carefully turned the truck around and we headed back.

We took the other road heading south, following the tracks which now seemed to have belonged to the Marchands and Tremblays et. al.

We reached 101. I could see that The Fires had burned every tree and building along the well-plowed two-lane highway. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved, if scorched earth and skeletons of pine and birch was a sign that there was no one there to spot us.

We turned left and headed toward the blockade.

It would be less than ten minutes before we met the first roadblock.

“We’ll need to surprise them,” I said. “Do you see a way to get close to 572 without being seen?”

Kayla peered over the tablet. “Another machinery road. I doubt they’re even guarding it.”

“They might not have to, depending on if there are any trees left over there.”

“No good?”

“I didn’t say that. Where do I go?”

“Turn right on Birch Road.”

“Where’s Birch Road?” I asked. We couldn’t rely on a legible sign still standing, not when everything else had burned away.

“Not this next one… the one after it.”

I kept driving to the next junction.

“This one’s plowed,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure.”

I took the gravel road toward the south.

“Now turn left,” she said at the next intersection.

The plow had turned left, too, leaving the other two directions to the snow.

I could see the green of living trees pushing through the black and gray stalks of dead pine.

Then I saw a yardsite.

“See any smoke coming from those buildings?” I asked.

“Yeah… I see some…”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Goddammit. That’s why they’ve plowed.”

The road curved up ahead, around what looked to be a lake.

“There’s a couple houses on this lake,” Kayla said with her gaze on the tablet. “Looks nice.”

“Looks like the perfect place for murderers to kick back and relax.”

“Oh… crap…”

“I need you to be honest with me, Kayla. Do you know how to shoot?”

She nodded. “My ex used to take me hunting. Wanted me to learn how… I never did hit anything.”

I stopped the truck. “Your turn to drive.”

As Kayla took the wheel I checked the Mossberg; I was saving the C12 for the roadblock. Or I was hoping to save it.

“We’ll drive right on by, like we belong here,” I said. “Speed up a little so it looks like we’re used to the road.”

“What if they start shooting?”

“We keep going. It’s not that easy to hit a moving truck from a good ways away.”

“But they’ll come after us.”

“They might. We’ll keep with the plan. We reach the machinery road, ditch the truck, and head toward the junction. Believe me, Kayla, there are enough Souls at the roadblocks that a couple more on our tail shouldn’t make that much of a difference.”

“You’re just oozing with confidence right now…”

“I’m expecting the worst and hoping to be pleasantly surprised.”

Kayla took us past the first yardsite. There was one pickup truck in the yard.

Nothing stirred.

We drove past the second yardsite. Smoke in the chimney, but no vehicles out front.

I had a feeling that the residents had rushed up to the roadblocks when they heard there was a big fish in the net.

The fact that they hadn’t come back yet meant that there was a chance the shooting hadn’t started.

We rode the bend around the lake and the road started to straighten out.

And then I saw the pit.

We’d arrested a man for scavenging back in the days of the Protection Committee, back when we’d considered scavenging illegal and not the only way to stay alive.

He’d told me about the big pit; he hadn’t been the first to mention it. He’d said that he and and the rest of his work crew had been ambushed on Highway 11 that November, on their attempt to make it home to North Bay. He’d said that Souls of Flesh had taken them out to an open mine.

To a pit that was filled with the rotting remains of other men.

“This is where you’ll die,” the Sergeant-of-Arms had told the men. “The only question is how long it will take.”