Regan Wolfrom - Coyote

“Put down your guns, Baptiste.”

“Not until we’ve secured the area.”

“Put them down. I’m placing you under arrest.”

I looked around. Gerald had one rifle slung over his shoulder. The only four men he could count on had just dragged two prisoners off for execution.

I could take that rifle from him.

I wouldn’t have to fire a shot.

“Justin Porter got away,” I said. “And one other. I need to find them.”

“You’re responsible for this. You let this happen.”

“I put a stop to it. I saved dozens of your people.”

“I count thirty-two of my people dead. Someone needs to pay.”

I heard two shots in the distance.

“Put down your guns,” Gerald said.

I could take that rifle…

The four men were on their way back. I could see them.

I stepped toward Gerald.

“Baptiste…”

I took his rifle.

And then I ran.

I ran to the gate on New Post Road. The horses were still there and still hitched.

I didn’t want to ask those horses to drive, not after how many hours with the yoke on, but my snowmobile was nowhere in sight.

The gelding seemed shaken, but the mare calmed him down.

We made our way back toward Nelson Road.

Not that I could take them all the way.

I’d taken the horses down Blackwell Road until we reached the abandoned houses by Sheen Lake. I unhitched them there and left them. I’d come back for them if I was still around.

I headed as close to due north as I could get, along the edge of the marsh, following the creek up to Couple Lake. From there I knew the path that could take me up to the trail, the one that led around the south end of McCartney Lake. I’d be able to come up from behind to see what had happened.

I heard a truck engine before I reached McCartney Lake. Diesel and heavy, like the trucks we used to have. We didn’t have those anymore.

It was possible that it was New Post, or even Stems, but that didn’t feel right.

I knew it was Justin.

I had the feeling it would be smarter to head east toward the burnt-out cottage where the Porters once lived; he wouldn’t be expecting me to come from that side.

I pulled out my tablet. Still no access. It wasn’t a problem with a hop; he’d made Matt cut me off.

I turned right and headed toward the Porters.

There was no sign of life at the Tremblays’ or the Marchands’.

If Kayla and Matt had listened, they’d gone to the Williams’ to hold up with Fiona and Gwyneth.

Justin would know where to look.

I reached the Williams’. There was no truck out front.

I went inside.

I started downstairs and swept upstairs, and then I even checked the crawlspace.

No one was there.

But nothing was taken. The kitchen was still stocked and the lights were still on.

That made me hopeful that he hadn’t searched the shed.

I grabbed a backpack hanging from a hook by the door.

I went outside and grabbed the axe from the splitting stump.

I walked over to the shed and smashed the padlock.

I found the tackle boxes. Kayla had rewrapped the pipe grenades and put them back inside.

She hadn’t come back to get them.

I took six grenades and put them in my pack. I tried not to envision what would happen if I jostled them a little too hard.

I walked down to the lake and started heading toward our cottage.

I could hear a truck, on the move, but I couldn’t see it.

It was leaving.

I’d missed him.

If I couldn’t find anyone… he’d either taken them, or…

I reached our dock and turned toward the cottage, trying to stay concealed behind the trees that stood between the lake and the porch.

The lights were on. But I couldn’t see anything else.

I reached the porch and I waited, trying to listen for any sounds.

There was nothing. Just the howl of the wind.

I opened the door to the porch and crept along it, hoping to miss the familiar squeaks of the wood panels. I opened the inner door and stepped inside.

I didn’t see or hear anyone.

I walked into the dining room and saw seven half-eaten bowls of oatmeal, along with glasses of orange juice and cups of coffee.

Someone had stopped in for breakfast.

Justin wouldn’t have had time for that.

I went upstairs, checking each bedroom.

There was no trace of Kayla or Matt, no sign that Fiona or Gwyneth had come here to hide.

Someone had taken them and tried to eat a leisurely breakfast.

And then they’d been called away.

It wasn’t the seven gunmen who’d attacked with Justin? That didn’t seem right to me; they’d reached New Post before I did.

In all likelihood… there were seven more.

Maybe they’d come to stop me from heading to New Post; but if that had been the plan, they would have followed me out there.

They’d known I would go to New Post; they’d come to McCartney Lake for the girls.

And I’d left those girls there to be taken.

There’d been no signs of struggle; to me, that meant that the men from Detour Lake had convinced Matt not to fight. Kayla might have tried to resist, but in the end she’d have known there was no point, and she’d have done what she could to keep Fiona and Gwyneth safe as they were loaded into the back of a truck, like cattle.

They’d take them back to Detour Lake, the girls, at least.

I’d never see them again.

I had promised that I’d keep Fiona safe.

I’d failed.

But there was still one chance.

Kayla’s not stupid.

She knows I wouldn’t give up on them. And she had just the right offer to stall their captors.

I grabbed my snowshoes and headed north, past Ant’s sugar maples and our makeshift graveyard. I walked across the firebreak, which still seemed too narrow to me.

I kept in the trees and followed the highway east, until I reached Murphy Road. There I crossed the highway, into a stretch of burnt forest. There wasn’t much cover to be had, but that was the only way to reach the little pond, the one that smells like gasoline.

I saw three cargo trucks, with canvas tops, parked on Murphy Road by the water.

And five men in armour standing watch.

Three were looking down the road; they hadn’t seen me yet.

The other two were watching the cargo area of one the trucks.

I saw who they were watching.

Gwyneth was sitting in the truck with her head in her hands. Just her. No Kayla, no Matt… and no Fiona.

I could throw one of my grenades, but with Gwyneth so close…

I heard a branch snap behind me.

I turned to see Matt.

Matt and a hunting rifle.

He was pointing it right at my vest.

“Hands up, Baptiste.”

“Give me the goddamn rifle,” I said.

“They won’t hurt us. That’s the deal.”

“You think there’s a deal in place? You really are the dumbest man on Earth.”

“Hey… Justin trusted me enough to give me a rifle.”

“Yeah… an empty rifle.”

“What?” He lowered the rifle to check.

I grabbed it from him.

“Dumbest,” I said. “On Earth.”

“It really is empty,” one of the men said. His helmet screamed “bald eagle”.

I pointed the rifle at his left kidney and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

The man chuckled. “Take off the helmet and the vest.”