Regan Wolfrom - Coyote

Our three votes mean that Sara and Graham make sense at these meetings, but most of the time Matt and Kayla come along, too, leaving just Lisa and Fiona to watch the cottage. More than three people is unnecessary as far as I’m concerned, but Sara doesn’t really want me harping on that.

We were meeting at the Porters’ cottage today; they had put out a full breakfast of eggs and pancakes, which would have been a bigger gesture if the eggs weren’t all coming from our hens. But it was a nice change, and I certainly didn’t hold back when it came time to refill my plate.

Sara chaired the meeting, just like she chairs the Supply Partnership assuming it still exists. She doesn’t do it because she likes the sound of her own voice, as lovely as it may be. She does it because she loves writing and then following the agendas, and she knows full well that the rest of us don’t. I guess if she wasn’t leading the discussion she’d be silently plotting mass murder.

“So that brings us to inventory,” she said from her place at the head of the table, her eyes staring down on her notes. “I have a list from the Porters, but nothing from the Tremblay household.”

“Sorry,” Alain Tremblay said. “I’ll drop something off in a few days.”

“This keeps happening,” I said. “This is becoming a problem. I don’t like being a hardass —”

“You love being a hardass,” Sara said.

“Okay then… I love being a hardass, so I can’t stop myself from pointing out that you guys aren’t taking your counts seriously enough.”

“We don’t see the value,” Marc Tremblay said.

“Excuse me?” Sara said. “Did you really just say that?”

Marc just smirked while his brother Alain stood from his chair, looking as though he were preparing to give a speech. “We know there’s value in it,” Alain said, “but we have other priorities. We need firewood and we need fuel… that’s most important to us right now.”

I decided to stand up, too. “You also need food and medicine,” I said. “We just don’t know how much you need because you’re not keeping track. Your priorities are screwed up, guys. If you run out of firewood sometime mid-winter we can give you some of the wood we’re storing for next year, or hell… you can even go out and chop down some balsam fir and burn it the same day as long as you’ve still got hot embers in your stove.” I looked over at Sara; she hadn’t bothered to look up from her papers, so I kept going. “And if you don’t have fuel for your truck, you just don’t drive it. We have a cart and horses that never run out of gas, and the Porters have one of those tiny electric shitboxes that’s so popular with the kids these days. We’ve all learned how to share with others.”

“Just get your counts in as soon as you can,” Sara said. “We need to stop thinking like we’re three little silos. We need to start acting like one big team. We’re all in this together, right?”

Alain nodded and sat down, while Marc muttered something that I couldn’t make out.

I saw Kayla roll her eyes; I think she wanted Sara to notice, too, but I know Sara wouldn’t have given her the satisfaction.

I sat back down while Sara continued on to new business.

Rihanna Porter raised her hand. Her husband was sitting beside her with a quiet but serious face, while her kids were messing around a little too close to the wood stove.

“What is it, Rihanna?” Sara asked.

“Some good news,” she said. “Justin and I found a couple tanks of diesel fuel up by Silver Queen Lake.”

“What were you doing up there?” I asked. I checked the map on my tablet just after I spoke, and I was glad to see that the lake was pretty much where I thought it would be. People around here know lakes and rivers the way I know the streets between Dundas and Bloor; I’m not sure how they remember them all.

“We went for a drive in our shitbox. We didn’t think there was a problem with going up there.”

“You’d said you were going to check for batteries on 2 and 3. Silver Queen is a long way from there.”

“We went to visit the Smiths,” Justin said. “I didn’t realize we needed a permission slip.”

“You need to stay safe. That’s all that matters here. Maybe you don’t remember when people tried to kill us two days ago?”

“Well, either way,” Rihanna said, “the Smiths are gone. Took both their trucks and left.”

“They left?”

Rihanna nodded. “They’re gone.” She didn’t seem all that concerned.

“Did you get that diesel from their place?” Sara asked.

“They didn’t leave anything of value there. Cleaned it right out.”

“But with the Smiths gone,” Justin said, “there’s no reason not to start cleaning out the other cottages around there. There are over fifty homes on that lake… I’d say several truckloads’ worth of supplies.”

“How can that be?” I asked. “The Smiths must have gone through and taken everything they could get their hands on.”

“The Smiths were lazy. They had the road blocked off to the rest of the world, so they just grabbed whatever they needed at the moment and left the rest right where they found it.”

“We’d like to borrow that big diesel truck from the Tremblays,” Rihanna said. “Justin and I can make a few trips to empty out those cottages. I’d guess there’s a years’ worth of supplies up there.”

“I’m not comfortable with that,” Marc Tremblay said.

“You’re not comfortable with what, exactly?”

“With you taking our truck up to Silver Queen Lake. If anything, Alain and I will take the truck and one of you can squeeze into the cab and come with us.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Justin said. “We’ve already gone through and made a list of what’s there. It’ll be much faster for us to go grab it.”

“It’s too bad the smaller truck’s gone,” Marc said. “Maybe you guys should get your own damn truck… there are plenty of them sitting around in Cochrane.” He sounded pretty pissy for a guy who used to make runs with Justin.

“We brought back the fuel,” Rihanna said. “Just let us use the truck, please? We’ll get it done more quickly if we use the team we’re used to.”

“I think that makes sense,” Sara said. “They can retrieve the supplies while the rest of us get to work on the five hundred other things we need to get done before January hits.”

“I’m still not comfortable with it,” Marc said. “I think that should be the end of it. I don’t owe you guys anything.”

I couldn’t let it drop right there; too much was being left unsaid.

“Sara’s too nice to say it,” I said to Marc, “but you’re busy enough as it is. You guys are behind on inventory and your place is nowhere near ready for minus forty. If you think you’re going through a lot of firewood now…”

“It’s fine,” Alain Tremblay said, his voice much friendlier than his brother’s. “Take the truck. But I’m going to count the pennies in the ashtray.” He gave a smile as part of his concession.

Rihanna laughed. “Actually, it’s the air freshener we’re interested in,” she said.

“So that’s settled?” Sara said. She received a few nods.

I had a feeling that nothing was really settled as far as Marc Tremblay was concerned.

After a few more topics that were more than a little boring, Sara called for adjournment, and we were soon on our walk back to our cottage. The Tremblays had driven over on their ATVs and they flew by us almost as soon as they had climbed onto their vehicles. They still use fuel like it’ll never run out.

“I’m surprised you backed me up on that truck thing,” Sara said to me as we walked along the rutted road.