Regan Wolfrom - Coyote

It had started to get colder with the sun down and the wind picking up. It wasn’t bad anywhere under the vest or my helmet, but even with the riot suit on I was starting to get a chill in my thighs.

I gave it a good half hour before I started to think about heading back to pick Graham up. I could still see the lights from the van in the distance; they hadn’t gone anywhere.

For a moment I wondered if something bad could have happened to him, but that seemed like a stretch. I’m pretty sure neither of those two would think of messing with Graham, not just because he’s protected and packing, but because they know I’m not that far away.

After another few minutes I turned the cart around and started toward the lights. As I came about a klick away, I saw the van moving away, heading back toward the south. Another light came on, the bluish glare of a headlamp.

By the time I reached Graham, he looked half-frozen; it was a wet cold hanging in the air tonight, and that’s probably the hardest to keep off of you.

But he’s still a wimp. What, do they have palm trees in Illinois?

He climbed up and sat beside me on the bench.

“So what’s the story?” I asked as I got us moving again.

“Livingston doesn’t like you very much.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Any idea what they were really doing out here?”

“No idea. The only thing I know is that they’re hiding something. I asked them point blank for a ride, and they said they didn’t have time. No time to take me up the road?”

“They had something they didn’t want you to see.”

“I heard what they had… in the back. I heard someone coughing.”

“Someone from New Post?”

“How should I know?”

“Well why else would they want to keep it a secret?”

“They have plenty of people already,” Graham said. “I’ve heard the Walkers have over three hundred indentures working for them.”

“Bullshit. Where the hell would they find three hundred idiots dumb enough to sign their lives away?”

“From all over the district. Even further. They may have brought people over from as far away as Kapuskasing.”

“I doubt Stems is pleased about Walker taking people from his fancy new nation.”

“Justin told me that they’re hoping to start exporting food to Souls of Flesh in Timmins… or down to Sudbury, even.”

“That’ll give them some powerful friends,” I said.

“Yeah. All on the back of their indentures. The world’s starting to look like the middle ages again. Manors and serfs. Well, worse, really.”

“Then I guess it’s no surprise Livingston’s in the middle of it. He couldn’t find any more babies to kill, so now he’s turned to slave trading.”

“A little harsh. You know it was an accident.”

“He killed those people, Graham. Led them out into the middle of nowhere and let them burn. You can call that criminal negligence or whatever you want, but they’re still dead because of that asshole. And I’m not about to forget that.”

Graham shook his head. “I don’t know what happened on that road, and I don’t know how Livingston could have made it out alive if everyone else was killed by the fires. But believe me… I could tell that Livingston’s not the one to worry about. It’s Dave Walker’s show… all the way.”

“Then they should both have their throats slit.”

“Yeah, whatever… I just want to get home and have dinner. Apologizing for you has made me pretty hungry.”

“You didn’t apologize―”

“I’m kidding.” He gave me a laboured sigh, before turning to stare off toward a line of trees at the side of the road, his headlamp bouncing against the fir needles.

We passed through the gate, Graham hopping off to let us through.

“We’re so late I think we’ll both go hungry,” Graham said as he retook the seat beside me.

“Oh, they’ll keep dinner warm for me,” I said as I pulled off my helmet. “I’m the motherfucking king.”

Graham laughed even though I’m sure he didn’t want to. “You still need to fix this. I’m not just talking about Livingston. You’re not making any friends with the Walkers on this.”

“Dave Walker probably doesn’t like me pointing out that he’s a coward and a thief.”

“I don’t know why these imaginary boundaries are so important to you. We go scavenging all the time in Cochrane, yet somehow you think you have a right to everything within ten miles of our place. I wonder what the guys at New Post think of these rules of yours.”

“I know we can’t enforce it. Not a hundred percent. But we’re not like everyone else; you and I are outsiders here and that makes a big difference. We need that buffer to show these people we can’t be pushed around.”

“You know what we need? We need to keep some allies around here. No one’s going to put up with us if you keep shooting out tires.”

“Don’t fret. We’ll drop off a nice bottle of booze for the Walkers at Christmas. That should smooth things over a little.”

“I frickin’ hope so.”

“Buck up, sugarpie,” I said with a grin.

“You think that’s funny? You know… I’m getting really sick of this.”

“Sick of what, exactly?”

“You’re out of control, Baptiste. Making threats, shooting at people…”

“Fuck, Graham… I didn’t shoot at anybody.”

“Seriously?”

“I needed to show them that they can’t push us around.”

“You didn’t need to do anything. You want people to think you’re tough? Too late. They already know that. So maybe now you should focus on getting people to not hate your guts.”

“I don’t need any more friends.”

“You’re not going to keep any of the ones you have if you keep acting like this. Starting with me, Baptiste.”

I shook my head at him.

“I’m not joking,” he said. “I can’t trust you when you do things like that. It’s too much.”

“You’re right.” He had a point. I was already starting to realize how embarrassed I’d be if Sara were to find out how I’d acted. “I went too far… I get that. Sometimes I lose perspective on this stuff.”

“It’s a problem.”

“I know. That’s why you’re here. You balance us out, make people think we’re not so bad. That’s why we’re a team, Graham.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “That’s why I respect you.”

“Yeah… okay. Just… just tone it down, alright? I need to know I can count on you.”

“You can count on me, Graham. You should know that by now.”

“Yeah… okay.” He turned back to the trees.

I didn’t ask him not to tell anyone about the tire; I just hoped he’d only tell Lisa.

I was starting to feel the shame again.

We reached McCartney Lake a couple of minutes later. Lisa was waiting for us when we arrived.

I stopped the cart and looked over at Graham, waiting to see what was going on between them; I can’t say I wasn’t curious.

“You’re late,” she said.

Graham hopped down and walked over to her. “Blame Baptiste.”

“I always do.”

Graham gave her a hug and then a kiss. “I love you,” he said to her.

They kept kissing.

I climbed down the cart and hurried inside.

I really didn’t need to see that kind of thing right before dinner.

Today is Sunday, December 9th.

When I was growing up, so a long time ago, I used to watch all those movies about the end of the world. I stayed away from anything with zombies, partly out of respect for my father, but also because that shit is just so stupid.