Regan Wolfrom - Coyote

I shook my head. “We’ll ask when we get home.”

I didn’t bother asking Jayden.

“We could probably find a few batteries on our way back,” Graham said.

“We can check, but let’s not take too long. We should really get you checked out. You know, since you got shot and all.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll believe that after you take off that vest.”

Graham smirked. “I’m not stripping for you, Baptiste. So quit asking.”

We started along Highway 652, eyeballing each driveway for cars. There could be cars locked away in garages or sitting out behind old sheds, but it would take at least fifteen minutes at each house, and there’s a good chance that anything sitting out of the way is old enough for the battery to be in pretty bad shape. I’m not an expert on any of this stuff, but luckily Graham knows a whole lot more than I do.

It’s that big electric engineer’s brain of his that brought him to the wilds of Canada in the first place. Poor guy.

We checked over three dozen yards between Cochrane and the Abitibi and ended up with eight 12-volt batteries for our trouble. Not a bad haul.

By that point we had maybe a half hour before the sun set. And we still had a murderer to deal with.

“Should we try the next concession road?” Graham asked.

“There are a few places on our side of the bridge,” I said. “We should just check those and be done for now.”

“We can grab those any time… we can send Matt up to do that… or the Tremblays.”

I nodded. “You’re right… so we head home.”

“Another hour and a half. That’s all we’d need for the next one.”

“We’re out of time.”

Graham grumbled a little but he didn’t change direction.

We soon arrived at the bridge. We’ve got four gates in total (including the unmonitored one on the bend on Kennedy Road, up by Sucker River), and the one that closes off the bridge is probably the strongest, made from cast iron that Ant welded together. He’d been taking metal fab in college before things went to shit, and I know he liked that there was something we needed done that he was best at, something other than growing weed or trying to blow things up in his “secret” shed.

Those gates are important; they keep us safe and they give us control of any trade between Cochrane and the Ayn Rand-humping preppers at Detour Lake.

I hopped out to open the three locks on the gate and deactivate the tripwire with the dongle. Once I’d finished Graham drove through. I closed the gate and turned the battery-powered alarm back on before getting back in.

Less than five minutes later we were home.

Sara and Lisa came out to greet us.

“Who the heck is that?” Lisa asked, nodding at the hooded man squished between us.

“Says he’s Jayden McIvor,” I said. “He lodged a bullet in Graham’s vest.”

Sara gasped.

Lisa gasped a little too, or maybe more of a seethe. Or a growl.

I was glad she didn’t have a gun on her.

“I’m okay,” Graham said. “It’s just a little tender.”

Lisa grabbed Graham by the arm, hard enough to give him a whole new injury. “Get your butt upstairs,” she said as she pulled him out of the cab.

“Yes ma’am.”

“I thought the McIvors left,” Sara said.

“They did” I said. “Let’s bring him inside.”

Sara helped me with Jayden, while Lisa took Graham up to her room to check him out. I guess that makes sense; she must know naked Graham better than anyone else.

We sat Jayden down on the couch.

“What’s the hood for?” Sara asked.

“It’s part of the process,” I said. “There’s no reason to show him where we live and how we get there.”

“I don’t like it. It’s dehumanizing.”

“Make sure you fill out a comment card.”

She glared at me.

I decided not to bother coming up with a better joke.

Fiona came downstairs with Lisa and Graham, her face showing a blend of curiosity and fear once she saw the man with the cloth bag over his head.

I wanted to tell her to go to her room, but I’m not her father. She doesn’t have to listen to me.

I pulled off the hood and threw it on the couch.

“You people are fucking crazy,” Jayden said.

“That’s not Jayden McIvor,” Sara said.

He gave her a hateful look. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m Jayden McIvor.”

“I’ve known the McIvors most of my life. You’re not a McIvor.”

“He didn’t have any ID on him,” I said.

“What did he have?” Sara asked.

Graham reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife and the gum. He placed the items on the side table.

Sara picked up the knife. “Homuth Lake Lodge,” she said, reading the lettering on the handle. “I have no idea where that is.”

I leaned in toward the prisoner, doing my best to intimidate him. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Jayden McIvor.”

“Bullshit. Tell me who you are. I’m not above beating it out of you.”

“Come on. Some crazy bitch says I’m not me and that’s proof of something?”

“I know you killed her,” I said. “You’ve got bits of Pauline on your freakin’ knuckles, dumbass.”

“What are talking about?” Sara asked, almost in a whisper, like she was hoping I wouldn’t give her the answer.

“Pauline Yarrow. He pummelled the shit out of her and left her to die.”

“I didn’t touch her,” Jayden said.

“Look at this,” Fiona said, holding up the cloth bag. “Looks like blood.”

“So you bagged her and then you beat her,” I said. “Why not just leave the bag on her? Did you somehow know that I’d be coming for you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not scared of you.”

I smiled. “I know you are.”

“This is bullshit. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Homuth Lake Lodge. Maybe we should see if you’ve been keeping your pocket knife up to snuff. I hear that those things can rust up pretty badly if you don’t treat ’em right.”

Graham glared at me. He wasn’t about to watch me slice and dice someone on the couch.

That was okay. I wouldn’t need to go that far.

“You must have hit her at least twenty times,” I said. “At least. I wonder what it’ll feel like when I slice a strip off for each punch you gave Pauline?”

“F-fuck you,” the young man said. It sounded like he was ready to talk.

“Tell me your name.”

“It’s Caleb. Caleb Alden. I’m from Smooth Rock Falls. I did some work for the McIvors last summer.”

“What kind of work?”

“Odd jobs… you know, built a fence, re-roofed their house.”

“You’re a marauder,” I said.

“I’m not a marauder. And I didn’t kill that girl.”

“You mean Pauline… now you’re forgetting her name?”

“They were going to kill me, too.”

I heard the door open on the back porch. I looked over to see Matt and Justin. Kayla wasn’t far behind.

Justin strolled in like a man in charge. He nodded to me and stuck himself right smack in the middle of everything.

“Hoo-whee,” he said. “Smells like some hot and fresh bullshit in here.” He looked over to me and smiled. “Lisa called me on the handheld, said I’d better get my ass down here. Man I’m glad I did.”

I glanced at Lisa.

She shrugged her shoulders. She apparently didn’t think I could handle things on my own.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Justin said. “Please continue your riveting account, kid.”

“I’m not lying,” Jayden, or Caleb, said. “There were three men with painted helmets, driving a grey pickup with a gun mounted on the back. They were chasing her down when she hopped in my truck.”

Painted helmets. A grey pickup. A mounted gun.