Regan Wolfrom - Coyote

“Sorry… I don’t know her.”

“You’re lying,” Lisa said.

“You’re charming.”

“Look,” Sara said, “we need your help. We’ve got nowhere to go.”

“It’s just the two of you?”

“Four,” Lisa said.

That set me off. They’d expected us to take them in, but they were hiding half their people out of sight.

“Husbands?” Graham asked. “Kids?”

“Just two more mismatched socks,” Sara said.

“Where are they?”

“They’re in position,” Lisa said.

“Oh… to take us out?”

“To keep us safe.”

That was too much for me.

I laughed.

“What’s so goddamn funny?” Lisa asked, looking upstairs to my open window.

“Your gun can’t shoot and I can see your car up the road,” I said. “With two people cowering inside.”

“Glad we’re entertaining you,” Sara said.

“Who are they?” Graham asked. “The other two.”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters,” I said. “We’re not really looking for more liabilities.”

That set Fiona off; she was supposed to stay in the basement stairwell, quiet as a mouse, but instead she marched out to the front porch, pushed past Graham, and walked right down the steps to the gravel walk. She turned up to my window.

“I’m a liability?” she asked. “Are you kidding me? Who cooks your meals, Baptiste?”

“Get inside,” I said.

“Hello, Fiona,” Sara said.

“Fiona! Get inside.”

“We don’t know anything about you,” Graham said. “How can you expect us to just let you come in?”

“We don’t expect you to,” Lisa said.

“We don’t have any other options,” Sara said. “You guys are it.”

“So what are you offering?” I asked.

Sara glanced upward, trying to get a look at me. “We’re not offering our bodies. I can tell you that.”

“I mean supplies. Do you have any supplies?”

“No.”

“That makes it easy.”

“Not funny,” Fiona said.

“You guys must bring something to the table,” Graham said. “Right?”

At the time I’d figured he was interested in Sara; I’d certainly been drawn to her.

“We’re willing to work,” Lisa said. “And I can hunt.”

“Matt is strong,” Sara said. “He can help with that kind of thing.”

“What about you?” Graham asked.

“I’m not as strong, but I’m alright.”

“And the other one?” I asked.

“Kayla,” Lisa said. “She’s… she’s something.”

“Something?”

“You’ll like her,” Sara said. “Every man does.”

“Maybe you should have led with her,” I said.

“You’re an asshole,” Lisa said.

Graham laughed.

And I realized who he was really interested in.

“Bring the other two up here,” I said. “Then we’ll talk it over.”

I already knew how I felt about them.

Sometimes being pretty isn’t enough.

Today is Sunday, December 30th.

The tripwire alarm on the Abitibi bridge sounded this morning before anyone was up. It was the first time I’d even heard it since the Porters had arrived at that gate. I knew that it could be the Spirit Animals, but a frontal assault didn’t seem likely. They’d try to sneak up on us.

Or at least they’d jam the signal from the hops.

Lisa and Graham were downstairs before me, Lisa with armour on and her jacket piled overtop, and Graham checking the shotguns.

“The Spirit Animals?” Graham asked.

“I doubt it,” I said.

Lisa and I took the truck. We’d be able to make the trip in less than five minutes; to me, that’s worth the diesel it takes, for as long as we have it. I’m not sure how long it would take someone determined enough to break through the locks on our best gate, but I knew it would take longer than we’d give ’em.

I could hear ATVs revving up the road from the north shore cottages, probably the Porters. I wasn’t sure if we really needed backup, not that there was much I could do to stop it.

In the end Lisa and I got to the gate in less than four minutes.

Standing by the gate was Eva Marchand.

“This is new,” Lisa said.

I threw my helmet on and climbed out of the truck while Lisa readied the shotgun from her seat.

I left the door open so she could hear.

Eva’s gloved hands clasped in front of her. Her red pickup truck was waiting on the far side, off the bridge completely, with the skinny kid and one of her thirty-something sons, maybe, standing beside it with their rifles.

“What are you doing here, Eva?” I asked. I wasn’t unfriendly.

“Ryan Stems came to our house,” Eva said. I could tell that she was trying to sound unperturbed, but it wasn’t really working.

“He stopped in to see us, too.”

“He told us we had two choices; sign indentures with the Walkers or cross the Abitibi.”

“Or what?”

“Or he’d disarm us… by force if he had to. And take our supplies. And take us to the Walkers anyway.”

“When did he start doing Dave Walker’s dirty work?”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Lisa called out from the truck.

“I think she’s right,” Eva said. “Stems told me that he’s already chased those Spirit Animal men out of the area. He said they won’t be coming back.”

“He sounds a little too confident.”

“He said they were from Detour Lake.”

“I’m not sure I believe that,” I said. “If they were coming in and out of Detour Lake, we’d have seen them.”

“There are always ways around you, Monsieur Baptiste. There are more backroads than you think there are. I don’t think there’s any way to know where those men are. That’s another reason we couldn’t stay where we were. There are too few of us left.”

“Well, there’s not much out this way, Eva. Aiguebelle’s closed its borders. And the bridge is out at Iroquois Falls, from what I hear. Not sure that’s true, though, considering the source.” It wasn’t like I could have any faith in what Gerald Archibald had told me.

Of course, for all I knew Aiguebelle’s border was still open, and Justin was full of shit… more full of shit…

“I’ve heard that, too,” Eva said. “From the Girards.”

I wasn’t sure she even knew what happened to them. “Well, you can still cross at Twin Falls Dam if you’re headed to Temiskaming, but… I wouldn’t recommend the trip.”

“We want to join you. I’m hoping that you’ll consider taking us in. We… we have supplies. And weapons. And quite a bit of ammunition, too.”

“Lisa,” I said, “bring me the keys, will you?”

Lisa climbed out of the truck, slinging the shotgun over her shoulder. She handed me the keys and I began to unlock the gates.

I didn’t bother with the dongle. The alarm had already gone off; we knew they were here.

Two weeks ago I would have done my best to turn the Marchands away. I would have tried to come up with a list of convincing reasons why we shouldn’t have anything to do with people who’d never done much to help us.

But that was before I buried Natalie. And before Eva Marchand had to bury five of her children and grandchildren.