Regan Wolfrom - Coyote

He shot me the finger before tackling the locks.

It pisses me off how some people are about the damned keys. Everyone wants their own copy, but everyone has a chance of losing them. So I keep all of the keys and alarm dongles, and parcel them out as needed, kind of like how a car dealership handles test drives; if one goes missing, I’ll know before the day is out, and I’ll head over to the gate and change out whichever locks are compromised. Just like the safes, it’s a pretty low tech solution, but like always those are the ones that work. Between the locks and the tripwire alarm we’ve controlled the bridge for well over a year; aside from the sanctioned trade runs between the Walkers and Detour Lake, no one from outside our team has crossed through that gate since Ant put it up.

Marc unlocked the gate and waited with a couple shots from his mug as Graham drove the cart through. He reattached all three locks and reactivated the alarm, then slowly climbed back up.

“Do you really think this will stop anyone?” Marc said as we got underway again. “I mean there’s a dozen other ways to get across the river, especially once it’s frozen.”

“We can’t stop people from crossing the river,” I said, “but we can stop people from carrying much of anything across with them.”

“I’m sure they can carry over enough firepower to finish us off.”

“That’s not why we put the gates up.”

“Then what the hell are all these goddamn gates for?”

“If a bunch of marauders want to come over and try to kill us while we sleep, a gate isn’t going to stop them. But it does stop a bunch of assholes from backing their truck up to our cottages and cleaning everything out while we’re not home.”

Marc just laughed at that.

We kept riding for a few more minutes in silence, but I knew that he hadn’t really dropped it.

We passed by a stretch of scorched forest next to a small muddy pond; I remember the family that lived in the metal-roofed and fire-ravaged farmhouse beside it. They’d had four kids, two of them the funniest twin girls, about ten or eleven, who’d interrupt the town meetings and make a roomful of people laugh as they did it. That family had believed Fisher Livingston, when he said that there was a safe road that ran around the barricade, the one that Souls of Flesh had set up at Fletchers Lake to pick out indentures and kill the remainder, that if they followed him they could make it all the way to Temiskaming, where good people were waiting with open arms and more food and fuel than they knew what to do with. They were on that so-called safe road when the fires came.

They’d have been better off surrendering at the roadblock. I’m sure the father and his sons would have gotten dropped in the pit, but maybe the two girls and their mother could have survived.

I think of those twin girls every time we pass by that burnt-out house, and I think of those girls every time I see that smug bastard’s face. It still makes no sense to me that he could have survived when everyone who believed in him is dead.

I heard Marc give us a snort.

“So listen,” he said. “You’re telling me that we have no real protection against people trying to kill us?”

I didn’t really want to get into it, but I couldn’t exactly ignore him. “We have guns,” I said. “Until we can find a rocket launcher that’ll have to be enough.”

“This is just one big joke.”

“What the hell is your problem anyway?” Graham asked.

Marc’s gaze shot over to Graham. “I have a real big problem with you, asshole. Do you think I don’t know?”

“That everyone hates you?”

“You kissed my wife, you little shit. I should kill you for that.”

“Why don’t you guys kill each other later,” I said. “We have work to do, and these little whine sessions aren’t helping any.”

“You know what?” Marc said. “You assholes deserve whatever happens. I guess we’ll just keep building up a nice homestead for Stems to come and take over whenever he wants.”

“I don’t think you’ve done much building here,” Graham said. “All you seem to want to do is whine like a little baby.”

Marc’s eyes widened as he glared at Graham, his face turning red. He stood up, dropping his mug, and started clambering towards the front of the cart, tugging on his rifle with one hand.

I put down the shotgun and jumped over the bench to stop him.

“Sit down, Marc,” I said as Graham slowed the cart.

“You sit down,” Marc said. “I don’t think you have any kind of clue, you know that? You’re just some big city asshole who knows nothing about security. It’s no wonder your stupid Cochrane Protection Committee was a complete failure. And your goddamn Supply Partnership, too. A string of pathetic failures from a pathetic old man.”

“Sit down or I’ll sit you down.”

“I’m not going to sit down. Fuck you, Baptiste.”

I sighed. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” I said, trying to cut down the tension.

“Get out of my way.”

“You need to calm down. Take a seat in the back and relax, okay?”

Marc placed his second hand on his rifle, lifting it upwards. “I’m not going to take a seat. Not while you and that idiot there are putting my family’s life at risk. So we’ll just sit back and hope no one shows up with bigger guns than us… great strategy. Maybe when they come we can offer up our wives and kids so they’ll leave us alone… oh, yeah, that’s right… you don’t have a family to worry about. You don’t have to worry about anyone but yourself, eh, Baptiste? I guess that’s why you don’t give two shits about keeping the rest of us safe.”

“Don’t piss me off—”

“So get out of my way, old man. You’re not in charge of anything. I’m going to go up there and crack your little groupie’s head open… and you’re just going to have to deal with that.”

He tried to push past me. I stopped him.

I don’t remember much about hitting Marc Tremblay; I can remember that I hit the butt of my shotgun against his temple at a bit of an angle, and that his body twisted as he fell, slamming against the cart, his rifle falling over the side and onto the gravel shoulder. And I remember seeing the blood, and staring into his frozen eyes, wondering if I’d really knocked him out or if he was just in some kind of shock.

I felt Graham nudge past me and I watched him kneel down beside Marc.

I kept looking into those eyes.

“Holy…” Graham said. “What did you do to him?”

“I think I fucked him up.” I didn’t really know what I’d done.

“This looks bad, Baptiste… I don’t think he’s going to make it. There’s a lot of blood here…”

I knelt down beside Graham to take a look. Marc’s chest was still rising and falling and I could see his breath in the cold air. “He’s still breathing,” I said. “That’s good.”

“There’s no way we can take him back home on this cart. The ride’ll kill him.”

“We don’t have a choice. We can’t just build a field hospital out of twigs and horse shit.”

“He’s going to die,” Graham said.

“Neither of us knows enough to make that call.”

“What do you think is going to happen here? What’s the best thing that can happen? One of us stays here in the middle of nowhere with him while the other goes home and turns the Porter’s little car into an ambulance? Then we drive him back to the cottage for treatment after he’s spent a couple of hours bleeding in the dirt?”

“We’ll just have to risk taking him back in the cart,” I said.

“He’s going to die.”

“Then we set up in one of those houses up the road. We can start some kind of fire to keep him warm.”