Regan Wolfrom: Coyote

“So now you’re the one baiting,” Matt said. “What will that bring us, anyway? Bears?”

“I don’t know why I bother asking you not to do something, Justin,” I said.

“Don’t bother,” Justin said. “Because I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep us safe.”

“That’s not how it’s looking to me. I see a guy who’s doing his best to undermine me just for the fun of it.”

He stretched back on the couch, wrapping his arms around his head. He was trying to show me just how not-worried he was.

“I’m not trying to undermine you,” he said. “I’m honestly trying to help. Do you remember the conversation we had? I’ve got three guys lined up who are ready to go.”

“Ready to go for what?” Fiona asked.

“For Stems,” Justin said.

“Three guys,” I said. “Not exactly an army. And how are you even getting in touch with Detour Lake anyway? Last time I checked they don’t like using the radio.”

“No,” Fiona said. “You shouldn’t be talking to them. Sara says―”

“You shouldn’t listen to Sara,” Justin said.

“We’re not talking to them,” I said. “At least I’m not.”

I heard footsteps on the stairs. I turned to see Sara and I wondered how much she’d heard.

“Good morning, Justin,” she said with a smile. “Brought your dirty boots in, I see.”

“Uh, sorry,” he said.

“What were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing important.”

“They were talking about Stems,” Fiona said. “I guess Justin doesn’t want you included.”

“And you’re doing this here?” Sara asked. “Are you joking?”

“Kayla isn’t here,” Matt said. “She’s out at the old Williams cottage, cleaning up Ant’s shed or whatever.”

“Alone?” I asked.

“With the dogs.”

“It’s not just Kayla I’m worried about,” Sara said. “Frankly, I don’t want to hear about Stems, either.”

Justin shook his head. “We can’t just stick our heads in the sand,” he said.

“We talked about this,” I said. “And we’re done talking about it.”

Justin laughed. “That’s right. King Baptiste has spoken. No more talking about Ryan Stems. No more talking about what a goddamn joke the Supply Partnership has become. No more talking about how we hand over the best stuff we scavenge and get fucking bupkis back. All hail the great King Baptiste.”

“You need to leave, Justin,” Sara said.

“Don’t worry… I don’t mean to pick a fight. I won’t beat up your old man.”

“She’s more worried about what I’ll do,” I said. “More than half this district would cheer me on if I hanged you from the yard light.”

“More than half this district is dead. All I ever did was save a few lives.”

“Get out,” Sara said. “Now.”

Justin gave another chuckle before getting off the couch and making his way toward the porch.

“I’ll take the coyote, I guess,” he said. “I was kind of hoping Fiona would cook something up for us.”

“Cook it up yourself,” Fiona said.

For some reason that made me laugh.

The rain outside was getting heavy after breakfast so we decided to stay in for a few hours in the hope that it would lighten up eventually. All of us except for Kayla, who went back to Ant’s shed despite the rain.

Kayla’s taken Ant’s death the hardest, I think. They’d been friends from before The Fires, back when Ant was a new-in-town metal fab apprentice and Kayla danced at Fleshy’s Inn. I think Ant was the first guy to take her seriously. Maybe that’s why she won’t let go of him.

Matt and Fiona went down to the basement to sort through a few so-far-unchecked boxes that we’d pulled from a shed up Kennedy Road, while Sara and Lisa decided to sort through Ant’s stuff.

I’ve heard that parents who suddenly lose a child often leave their child’s room untouched afterwards, sometimes for years. Now it’s true that what I’ve heard may just be a pile of crap, and obviously Ant’s not my kid, but it doesn’t feel right to me for Sara and Lisa to be pulling out his clothes and stacking them on the bed in piles.

And it certainly doesn’t feel right to have Graham standing by the door, licking his lips and hoping for a chance to take his old room back.

We need more time. The world needs to hold on for a little longer before things are allowed to start up again.

“Most of the shirts can work,” Lisa said, “but the pants would be too short for Matt.”

“They might fit Fiona,” Sara said.

“I think we all have enough clothes,” I said as I sat in Ant’s old desk chair, flipping through some of his half-drawn comics; I know he had folders of finished work somewhere, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Kayla or Fiona had already swept in to grab them.

“We’ll show them to her, at least,” Sara said to Lisa, not paying any notice to me.

Lisa held up a red hoodie with a long-fanged cobra. “Someone’s going to want this,” she said. She tossed it over to Sara.

It looked just like the hoodie Ant was wearing when he was shot. The one we’d buried him in.

“I want it,” Sara said as she started to fold it. “But I don’t really get first dibs, do I?”

“Kayla will want it,” Lisa said.

“I think Fiona might want it, too,” I said.

She’d always looked up to Ant. It wasn’t just that both of them like to think of themselves as artists; Ant had a way of making everyone feel wanted, and that’s something Fiona always needs a little more of.

“Good thing those two share a room,” Sara said. “That’ll postpone the decision for a few months at least.”

“It’ll work itself out,” Lisa said. “One of them will shoot the other soon enough.” She seemed to catch herself right after she spoke, looking over at Sara and then to me.

I’m sure Sara caught it; I saw a little ripple of pain wash over her.

“I wonder if Matt will be okay without a roommate,” Sara said.

“He’ll get used to it,” I said. “We’ll all get used to it.”

“He asked me to move his stuff out,” Graham said from his corner. “I don’t think he wants to stay in here by himself.”

“That’s convenient,” I said, not really thinking about what I was saying.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. I just don’t get all of the rushing around.”

“He doesn’t want to stay in this room,” Lisa said. “Seems like a simple concept to me.”

I shook my head. “Whatever… just pack Matt’s shit up, then.”

“That’s what I’m planning on doing,” Graham said. He sounded like a whiny little bitch.

“Then just fucking do it.”

I looked over to Sara, expecting one of her glares of disapproval, but she hadn’t been listening. She was standing by Ant’s bed, still gripping the red hoodie; she’d long stopped trying to fold it.

I started to sigh, but stopped once I realized it. I’d known this cleanup operation was a bad idea. Now Sara was falling back into it again. I heard her sniff a little before she started crying.

I wanted to pull her over to me. I wanted to comfort her. But she can’t keep doing this in front of everyone. She needs to be stronger than that.

“I’m going to check for some more boxes,” I said.

I left the room as quickly as I could. I didn’t want to risk getting sucked into that mood.

Someone has to hold us together. Someone has to move us along.

For some reason it always has to be me.

I found Matt and Lisa arguing by the wiring trench behind the cottage.