Regan Wolfrom - Coyote

We went upstairs to check the bedrooms. I was pretty sure there was no one else in the house, so feeling the urge to pee I found the bathroom. It smelled like the last visitor hadn’t flushed, despite the window being wide open. When I lifted the toilet lid I saw that the bowl was filled with a clean and clear block of ice; my guess was that stuck somewhere in the wall was a very shitty flavour of homemade popsicle.

I was pretty sure their pump wasn’t running anymore but I took a piss in their frozen toilet anyway; it wasn’t like they were around to complain.

I felt a little dirty after, since there was no water to wash my hands, and when I checked the medicine cabinet for disinfectant all I found were a few scented soaps and an old toothbrush on the top shelf.

That got me thinking.

I realized that the toothbrushes were still out in a little holder on the sink, even though the toothpaste was missing.

I guess it didn’t mean anything, really, since they wouldn’t be doing much brushing on the road. They might have been saving some new toothbrushes to take with them.

I still had the feeling that something was off.

As I closed the mirrored door to the cabinet, I caught a patch of dark in the porcelain tub behind me. I turned around, pulling my gun from its holster and holding my breath.

It was a pile of brown and black fur.

Two dogs.

In a shallow puddle of frozen blood, mixed with what might have caused the terrible smell.

I pulled the shower curtain closed and then I left the room.

I found Graham in the hallway.

“Check for blood,” I said.

“What?”

“Blood. There are two dogs in the bathtub. Looks like they were slaughtered.”

“Why would they kill their own dogs?”

“I don’t think they would.”

We checked the upstairs first, looking for any sign of violence to go with the dead dogs. We didn’t find anything up there, but I noticed that there were too many things left around that people wouldn’t usually leave behind. There were family photos in each bedroom, and on a toddler bed that was still covered by a pink unicorn comforter I found a cute little plush kitty.

I remember what it was like to have a kid; the stuffed kitty wasn’t an item you couldn’t find room for. There’s not a parent on earth who’d make that mistake. If that little girl’s favorite things were left behind, chances were that she was left behind, too.

Once we were done in the house, I took a quick look around the grounds. There was no sign of a fresh grave dug into the frozen ground, but it wasn’t a given that they’d have taken the time to dig a hole in winter. It was hard enough for us to bury Ant when the ground wasn’t even fully frozen.

Like everything else I’d seen it told me nothing for sure.

We loaded up the dining room set and started back home; while we rode we talked things out, trying to understand what could have happened.

“Maybe the little girl was mauled to death by the dogs,” Graham said. “They wouldn’t have wanted to bring those dogs with them after something like that.”

“Sounds like too much of a coincidence,” I said. “The dogs kill her right around the time they decide to leave?”

“There’s no way the Girards were murdered,” Matt said. “They’re armed to the teeth. If there had been any shooting we’d have seen something… broken glass or shell casings… something, at least.”

“That’s true,” Graham said.

“I know it doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “But there’s no way they would pack up the supplies, leave all their keepsakes behind, then slaughter their dogs and toss them in the bathtub.”

“People do crazy things,” Matt said. “It sounds messed, but I think it’s the simplest explanation. Do you really think a gang of marauders is going to somehow trick the Girards into leaving their house so they can kill them all without making a mess?”

“And why bother going to so much effort to hide it?” Graham asked. “Why hide the bodies?”

“There may be a way to find out,” I said. “I think we should go back and take another look.”

Graham and Matt were just as curious, so we returned to the Girard homestead. They followed behind me as I wandered around the yard, poking my head into the chicken coop and doing a quick inspection of the barn.

“There’s nothing here,” Graham said. “There aren’t even any footsteps left to see in the snow.”

“One more place to check,” I said as I walked over to the root cellar that was dug into a little rise behind the barn. I scraped the snow off the door, but it was frozen and I couldn’t get it open; I began to kick it. After several tries my boot smashed right through, creating a gash in the door but not pushing it open. I peered inside, but it was too dark to see. I pulled my headlamp from the pouch on my belt and pointed it through the hole like a flashlight.

“I guess that’s it,” Graham said.

“Hold on.”

There was something in there, like burlap sacks…

Maybe potatoes… maybe worth taking back home if they weren’t rotten.

My light bounced along, running along the lumps in the cellar. Then the light reflected back to me from a set of frozen eyes.

“Oh my god,” I said. I’m not sure it was loud enough for anyone to hear.

I kicked on the door again, widening the hole. The winter sun came in enough for me to see clearly what I was looking at.

I recognized most of them, Denis and his two brothers… and an old man… and two old women, and three young children. Their hands were bound behind their backs, their bodies lifeless and bloodied. I could see well enough that they had been beaten to death rather than shot. Whoever had done it had chosen not to waste any bullets; they probably used something like the butt of a shotgun to do the job.

Just like I’d used on Marc.

I then saw what they’d wanted me to see: the bodies of two young women, bruised and cut. Natalie Girard and Tabitha Smith. Both girls were bound like the rest, but they had been stripped naked. Their throats were cut. And drawn onto Natalie’s stomach in black marker was a message, just for me.

YOU DID THIS BAPTISTE.

I could feel my chest harden as I fought to breathe.

Graham pushed his way through to look. Once he had seen he turned his head away. I heard him vomit.

“What the hell?” Matt said. He shoved his way forward as well. I watched his knees buckle as he fought to stay on his feet. “What does that mean?”

“They killed them,” I said. “Because of me.”

“I don’t get it,” Matt said. “How did they manage to get the Girards to give up and let themselves be murdered?”

“They’re not all here. Some are missing.”

“Maybe they got away.”

“Maybe…”

“But how―”

“Hostages,” I said. “They grabbed a few of them… maybe the kids… told the rest to give themselves up.”

I knew what had really happened. The two girls. The two chairs against the wall. They’d been torturing them, using them as their bargaining chip.

I couldn’t bear to admit it out loud.

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Matt said. “So they’ve got my kids or whatever, and they’re going to kill them. So I hand over my guns so they can kill the rest of us?”

“Safe passage,” Graham said.

We both looked over at Graham. His face was still pale and I could tell that he wasn’t feeling any better.

“Maybe they promised them safe passage,” Graham said. “Whoever did this may have convinced the Girards that all they wanted were supplies, that if they cooperated they’d let them leave.”

“You think anyone would be stupid enough to believe that?” Matt asked.