Regan Wolfrom - Coyote

Their bullets followed me.

I felt a prick in my left leg. I kept moving.

I turned the back corner and reloaded.

“Baptiste,” Graham called. “Move out of the way.”

I ran back in between the cottage and the truck, heading for the door. My left leg was slowing me down.

I took another hit, in the side. The vest seemed to have stopped it.

I climbed into the cab just as Lisa slammed on the gas.

The truck rocked backward and soon pulled out of the snow.

Lisa slammed on the brake.

Graham made a run for the cab as I emptied another magazine.

Lisa shoved herself against me as Graham climbed in.

We were on our way.

“Do you think they’ll follow?” Graham asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

I heard a tap on the back of the cab.

“Sounds like they’re okay,” Lisa said.

“Thank goodness,” Graham said.

The knock came again. Harder.

“We can’t stop now,” I said.

“I know,” Graham replied.

The road was poorly plowed, of course, but it was enough for us to get through in the one-ton gravel truck. We kept on past the first of the Walkers’ empty trailers, not stopping until we reached the second at Clute.

I expected Zach and Sky to hop out and walk up to the door.

They didn’t come.

Instead there was another tap on the cab.

I got out of the truck and walked over to the back, Lisa right behind me.

Sky was lying in the truck bed, his foot kicking the cab, while his hands were gripping Zach’s chest.

Lisa climbed into the back without a word.

She threw off her jacket and tore one of the sleeves off her shirt.

“Find the first aid kit,” she told me as she worked to stop the bleeding.

I went back to the cab to get the kit.

By the time I came back no one was hurrying.

“He’s gone,” Lisa said.

Zach Walker’s eyes were still open, staring at me.

It reminded me of Ant.

Sometimes the anxiety gets so bad that you feel like you’re not even able to breathe anymore, like the stress is actually going to kill you.

I guess now that I’m over fifty and on heart pills for life, that stress might just finish the job.

So tonight, just after ten, once Sara had fallen asleep, I took another tablet with the little maple leaf. I could say it was for the bullet hole in my leg that Lisa had half-heartedly patched up, but that was just an excuse.

About forty minutes after I swallowed it, I went down and sat in the kitchen, in the dark. I didn’t want anyone to find me like that.

When I was seven I got lost at Canada’s Wonderland. I remember being nervous at first, once I realized that my father had lost track of me. I stood under the Skyrider for what seemed like hours, watching the loop where the people strapped standing up would go completely upside-down, my little seven-year-old brain trying to figure out why there wasn’t a spray of coins and keys every time the roller coaster car would reach the top.

And I wondered why no one had stopped to ask the little brown boy with the curly hair if he was lost; I’d been too scared to actually ask anyone for help.

My father found me, and I think in the end I was only lost for twenty minutes or so. When he grabbed me by the shoulders and brought me in for a hug, I could see the absolute panic in his eyes. That was the first time I realized that my father could be afraid of something. It didn’t make me think of him as more human or more relatable; seven-year-old Baptiste thought his dad was just weak.

There’s so much crap we wish we could take back, things we did or things we said… I wish I could take back how I felt about my father at that moment.

I’ve known for a long time now that there’s nothing wrong with being scared. It’s been thirty-five years since I came back from the work in Panjwaii, and there are times when I’m still scared, when the weight of if comes back like I’m twenty years old all over again, on a mission that sounded noble but didn’t work out that great.

I don’t remember what it’s like to not have that in me. When I try to remember being a kid and what that felt like, to be innocent and naive, the feelings I remember are from that day at Canada’s Wonderland, the fear of being lost forever and the shame of seeing my father afraid.

When the light to the kitchen went on, I froze, as if I hoped that I wouldn’t be seen if I just… didn’t… move.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Kayla asked me.

“Migraine.”

She walked over and leaned up against the table beside me. “Sara’s still up?”

“Nope. I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes the yard light bothers me.”

She walked over to the window and looked out. “The yard light isn’t on, Baptiste.”

“Then I should head up to bed.”

She smiled. “Or you can cut the bullshit.” She walked back to the table and sat down beside me.

She put her hand on my lap and squeezed.

“It’s okay, Baptiste,” she said. “It’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

She nodded. “I’m not that good at this stuff. Would you like a handjob instead?”

That made me laugh.

“You seem off,” she said.

“I’m tired… and shot… and I got someone killed today, so…”

“Come on…”

“I know… don’t blame myself and all that garbage.”

She gave my thigh a tap. “That’s it,” she said. “You’re drunk.”

“Do I smell like I’m drunk?”

She took a whiff. “No…”

“Am I slurring my words? Do I have a bottle of Jack in front of me?”

“It’s something…”

I wrapped my hand over hers. “Look, Kayla… I’m actually wanting to be alone.”

“I don’t care. I’m here. So share whatever you’ve got or this will get way more awkward.”

“It kinda feels like you’re hitting on me. Do I need to pull out my rape whistle?”

“I think that’s a euphemism… I think you’re sexually harassing me…”

“You’re the one with your hand on my thigh.”

“You’re the one with the bulge in your pants.”

I looked down and saw it. If I hadn’t already started feeling the effects of the E I would’ve been embarrassed.

Kayla put her hand in my pocket.

“Hold on,” I said. “Kayla…”

I didn’t really want her to stop…

“What is this?” she asked as she pulled out the plastic baggie. “Maple leafs…”

“Vitamins.”

“I’ve seen these before… hell… I’ve used these before.”

“What?”

“Seriously, Baptiste? You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Kayla… you can’t tell anyone…”

“Don’t worry. Where did you find these, anyway?”

“Scavenging somewhere. I didn’t know what they were at first.”

“And so what? You just decided to experiment?”

“I don’t know.”

She grinned. “You must realize, sir, that I have a rather highly tuned bullshit detector.”

“They were Ant’s.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t care.”

“Who did you get yours from?”

“I don’t have any.”

“I mean from before.”

She leaned in and whispered into my ear. “A little unbalanced, don’t you think? I show you mine and you give me fuck all?”

“What did you want?”

She squeezed my thigh again. “What do you think I want?”

“Are you serious?”

Kayla laughed. “You’re hilarious, Baptiste.” She gave me another slap on the thigh.

“I don’t think I am.”

She stood up from the chair. “Don’t get too high, alright?” She dropped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a pretty great guy, Baptiste.”