After The Fires Went Out: Coyote atfwo-1 Page 8

  Graham stopped the cart as the van approached. I kept the shotgun aimed on them; even if I trusted the Walkers, which I don’t, there’s always a chance their van was stolen. It’s crazy but I almost hoped it was; after all that’s happened, Ant and poor Pauline and now that little boy, I wanted to fuck someone up. I’d be well within my rights to shoot some gun-toting, van-stealing marauder in the middle of a firefight, but I’m sure Sara would be pretty pissed if I brought back a couple of Walker heads to mount on the wall. Don’t get me wrong…Sara hates the Walkers for how they treated her ― and Matt and Kayla, and especially Lisa ― but she’s still too nice to consider the vengeance she ought to lay on them.

  The van slowed as it neared, stopping about twenty meters away. Our team of horses was too experienced to spook but I appreciated that they’d given us a little space. Not that it made up for them being here.

  I put the shotgun down where I’d still be able to reach it without any trouble. We both still had our helmets and vests on, and I kept my right hand near my pistol.

  Two men came out from their truck.

  The first was Dave Walker, tall, slim, forties or fifties and almost as bald as I am, armed with a hunting rifle slung around his shoulder.

  The other man was someone I never thought I'd see again, a truly miserable piece of work, with a soft buttery babyface and coarse white hair.

  “Livingston,” Graham said. “I don't believe it.”

  Graham sounded more shocked than angry, and I guess to him there isn't as much of a reason for wanting to put a hole through Fisher Livingston's chest.

  “That worthless sack,” I said, wanting more than anything to pick up the shotgun and unload both barrels on him.

  I have a reason.

  “Hey there, boys,” Walker called out as they neared the cart. “I heard about Antoine…I’m really sorry.”

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” I asked. “And with that asshole, no less?”

  “Nice to see you too, Baptiste,” Livingston said.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  Walker sighed; he looked pretty butthurt by how little his supposed sympathy had meant to me. “We had business at New Post,” he said. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”

  “We’re all supposed to be working together, Walker,” I said, “or did you forget?”

  “Yeah…I guess I forgot. Maybe if you guys weren’t hoarding supplies.”

  “That’s quite the accusation.” He was right, of course, since everyone hoards, but that didn’t make a difference to how I was feeling. “If you’ve got a problem with us, Walker, bring it up at the meeting on Wednesday.”

  “Look…I don’t want to argue, Baptiste. I know we’re all a little edgy right now. We’ve all been feeling the pinch with supplies running out, and now with what happened to Antoine…but don’t worry…I’ve got some of my best guys out there looking for Stems and his Spirit Animals.”

  “Out there looking for him? If he’s really back you can just head up to Clute and I’m sure he’ll find you.”

  “That’s not where they hit the Girards,” Walker said. “They ran into them on 11 South and were almost killed.”

  “Not everyone with a gun is Ryan Stems.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dave Walker really is an idiot. I’d have to explain it to him.

  “A bunch of kids throw block the Trans-Canada with paintball rifles, and all of the sudden Stems and his men are in five places at once. Come on…I hope to hell you morons aren't in charge of anything.”

  “Watch it,” Walker said.

  “No, seriously…I think maybe I'll get myself a bike helmet and a BB gun and I'll stand out on Highway 11. And then you can come by and shit your pants for me. And then I won’t have to keep telling you to stay the fuck out of our territory.”

  “Your territory?”

  “If Stems has slipped over the Driftwood Bridge again he’s working up by Clute, just like before and exactly where he came after my guys.”

  “He didn’t slip by us,” Walker said. “We know how to guard a gate, Baptiste. We do a better job than you, by the way.”

  “Try to cross the Abitibi and see what I do to you, Walker.”

  “Okay,” Graham said. “Everyone guards their gates.”

  “Clute’s where you ought to be looking,” I said. “You know, if your guys are actually looking for him and not hiding in ditches pissing themselves.”

  “Of course they’re looking for him,” Livingston said. “Somebody has to deal with a threat like Ryan Stems. I know I wouldn’t want to be responsible for letting him get away.”

  I couldn't let that slip by. “Fuck you, Livingston. Seriously. The last thing I need is for you to mouth off to me about responsibility.”

  “Baptiste ―” Graham said.

  I shot him a glance and he got the message.

  “Be reasonable, Baptiste,” Livingston said. “We've all made mistakes, alright?” He shook his head. “I don't expect you to like me, but you need to at least hear us out.”

  “Hear you out? You guys didn't stop by to talk to us. We caught you scurrying around in our backyard like a couple of rats.”

  “I thought you said we were all working together,” Livingston said. “We have every right to be here. And if we do stumble on anything we’ll add it to our supply list.”

  “So now you have a supply list, Livingston?”

  “Livingston works with us,” Walker said. “He’s in charge of our supplies.”

  “Bad idea,” I said. “You know what happened the last time Livingston was put in charge of something.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Livingston said. “I know I messed up. Goes with the job, doesn’t it? You don’t need to keep shitting on me about it.”

  “If it was up to me you’d be hanging from a fucking jack pine. You’re a goddamn mass murderer, Livingston.”

  “That’s not fair at all. You know that’s not fair.”

  I wanted to shoot him. God…I wanted to take his head clean off.

  “We should search their van,” I said to Graham. “I’d like to know just what they’ll be putting on this inventory list of theirs. But then again, maybe we should just take the van. Since it’s in our backyard I guess it’s practically ours already.”

  Walker gripped the forestock of his rifle. “You wouldn’t dare –-”

  I’m sure he knew he had no chance against us, one gun against two men in body armour…but I really hoped he’d try. If he made any kind of move I’d be justified.

  I could kill him right there. No one would be able to fault me for that.

  No.

  Even with my anger and the adrenaline, I knew that was bullshit.

  I knew what Sara would say.

  And I knew what Fiona would think of me. I couldn’t justify it to her.

  “Keep your van, Walker,” I said. “But get the fuck off my lawn.”

  Walker looked me up and down for a moment before responding. “How generous of you, Baptiste,” he said, nodding his head slowly. He held up his finger and shook it at me. “Now maybe you can tell me just what makes you the goddamn King of Cochrane?”

  “What?”

  “You hold up that shotgun and you try to scare us into putting up with your threats. But you know what? It's not going to work.”

  “It's not going to work? I think you’re mistaken.”

  Walker turned to leave. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, Baptiste,” he said as he started to walk away. “You’d better believe I’ll be bringing this crap up at the meeting.”

  Livingston gave me one last look before following Walker's lead.

  I turned to see Graham glaring at me, almost like he expected me to apologize for the fact that Dave Walker was telling me off.

  I could hear Walker muttering something about me, and Livingston laughing back at him, that little laugh of his that’s always made me sick.

  They thought I was a joke, that I was all talk
, that I don’t have the balls to do anything. They thought that Stems was back because I’d just been too much of a pansy to kill him the first time.

  I’m not a fucking pansy.

  Those assholes needed to know it.

  “Make sure you've got a hold of the horses,” I said to Graham.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as he firmed up his grip.

  I pointed the shotgun at the van and aimed for one of the back tires. Twenty metres. An easy enough shot. I pulled the trigger and the tire burst.

  The horses startled but Graham held on to them.

  Walker swung around, tugging on his rifle but forgetting to unsling it.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t aim for your lap dog,” I called out to him.

  “Goddammit, Baptiste,” Walker said. “You're psychotic.” He turned back around and picked up his pace.

  Livingston turned back to face me. “You've made a big mistake,” he said. “There are going to be consequences for this.”

  “Consequences?” I said.

  “Yes. Consequences. As in people not putting up with bullies any longer.”

  “I hope you're living with the consequences. I hope you think about what you've done, every minute of every fucking day.”

  “Please…you know I think about it,” Livingstone said quietly. He turned his back to me again and continued behind Walker.

  Graham sighed. “You shouldn't have done that,” he said. “I think I should go talk to them, try and smooth things over.”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Maybe they can drop you off at the gate once you're done sucking dick. You can walk home from there.”

  Graham dropped the reins and climbed down from the cart. “This isn’t helping.”

  “It helps…we're safer if people know they can't push us around.”

  “We’re safer if we don’t get kicked out of the Supply Partnership. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Baptiste, but we’re almost out of fuel.”

  “Everyone’s almost out of fuel. Everyone but the Walkers and the Smiths, and they’re both hoarding what they’ve got.”

  I couldn’t believe it, but I was starting to agree with Justin.

  “Come on, Baptiste ―”

  “This Supply Partnership is a joke. It makes morons feel like they’re not alone even though they are.”

  “So I’m a moron.”

  “You might be. You’re certainly acting like one.”

  Graham didn’t take the bait. As much as I was hoping to keep lashing out at him, he wasn’t going to let me.

  I took a look over to the cargo van. Walker was back in the cab while Livingston was putting together the jack.

  “There's something odd about that,” Graham said. “Livingston changing the tire while Dave Walker sits on his rear.”

  It was odd, seeing the formerly well-heeled politician on his knees in dirty clothes. “You should go smooth things over,” I said.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Seriously. Go talk to Livingston, see if he needs some help with the tire. See what you can find out, but don’t hesitate to shoot both of those assholes if you feel the need.”

  “I doubt they’ll be in the mood to talk.”

  “Just start off with how much you hate my guts…it’s a great icebreaker.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “I'll head up the road a bit and wait for you. Tell them I’ve left you here because you’re a sack of shit.”

  “What if they don't offer me a ride back?”

  “Be glad you have a good pair of boots.” I gave him a smirk. “Honestly, you’re such a wimp about the cold. It hasn’t even snowed yet.”

  Graham shook his head. “You’re a fucking asshole, Baptiste,” he said, loud enough for Livingston to hear. He jumped off the cart and walked toward the van, throwing me his middle finger.

  It was a little more than I expected, but I liked it. It was about time Graham started acting like a real man.

  Real men flip people off now and then.

  I made my way up the road for about a klick and a half before stopping to wait for Graham, far enough that they wouldn’t be able to see the cart or hear the hooves. It was dark and the stars were coming out; I knew that everyone back at the cottage would start to worry about us soon. I gave Lisa a call on the handheld and told her that Graham was talking to Dave Walker; I didn’t bother mentioning Livingston or the exploding tire.

  It had started to get colder with the sun down and the wind picking up. It wasn’t bad anywhere under the vest or my helmet, but even with the riot suit on I was starting to get a chill in my thighs.

  I gave it a good half hour before I started to think about heading back to pick Graham up. I could still see the lights from the van in the distance; they hadn’t gone anywhere.

  For a moment I wondered if something bad could have happened to him, but that seemed like a stretch. I’m pretty sure neither of those two would think of messing with Graham, not just because he’s protected and packing, but because they know I’m not that far away.

  After another few minutes I turned the cart around and started toward the lights. As I came about a klick away, I saw the van moving away, heading back toward the south. Another light came on, the bluish glare of a headlamp.

  By the time I reached Graham, he looked half-frozen; it was a wet cold hanging in the air tonight, and that’s probably the hardest to keep off of you.

  But he’s still a wimp. What, do they have palm trees in Illinois?

  He climbed up and sat beside me on the bench.

  “So what’s the story?” I asked as I got us moving again.

  “Livingston doesn’t like you very much.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Any idea what they were really doing out here?”

  “No idea. The only thing I know is that they’re hiding something. I asked them point blank for a ride, and they said they didn’t have time. No time to take me up the road?”

  “They had something they didn’t want you to see.”

  “I heard what they had…in the back. I heard someone coughing.”

  “Someone from New Post?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Well why else would they want to keep it a secret?”

  “They have plenty of people already,” Graham said. “I’ve heard the Walkers have over three hundred indentures working for them.”

  “Bullshit. Where the hell would they find three hundred idiots dumb enough to sign their lives away?”

  “From all over the district. Even further. They may have brought people over from as far away as Kapuskasing.”

  “I doubt Stems is pleased about Walker taking people from his fancy new nation.”

  “Justin told me that they’re hoping to start exporting food to Souls of Flesh in Timmins…or down to Sudbury, even.”

  “That’ll give them some powerful friends,” I said.

  “Yeah. All on the back of their indentures. The world’s starting to look like the middle ages again. Manors and serfs. Well, worse, really.”

  “Then I guess it’s no surprise Livingston’s in the middle of it. He couldn’t find any more babies to kill, so now he’s turned to slave trading.”

  “A little harsh. You know it was an accident.”

  “He killed those people, Graham. Led them out into the middle of nowhere and let them burn. You can call that criminal negligence or whatever you want, but they’re still dead because of that asshole. And I’m not about to forget that.”

  Graham shook his head. “I don’t know what happened on that road, and I don’t know how Livingston could have made it out alive if everyone else was killed by the fires. But believe me…I could tell that Livingston’s not the one to worry about. It’s Dave Walker’s show…all the way.”

  “Then they should both have their throats slit.”

  “Yeah, whatever…I just want to get home and have dinner. Apologizing for you has made me pretty hungry.”

  “Y
ou didn’t apologize ―”

  “I’m kidding.” He gave me a laboured sigh, before turning to stare off toward a line of trees at the side of the road, his headlamp bouncing against the fir needles.

  We passed through the gate, Graham hopping off to let us through.

  “We’re so late I think we’ll both go hungry,” Graham said as he retook the seat beside me.

  “Oh, they'll keep dinner warm for me,” I said as I pulled off my helmet. “I'm the motherfucking king.”

  Graham laughed even though I’m sure he didn’t want to. “You still need to fix this. I’m not just talking about Livingston. You’re not making any friends with the Walkers on this.”

  “Dave Walker probably doesn’t like me pointing out that he’s a coward and a thief.”

  “I don’t know why these imaginary boundaries are so important to you. We go scavenging all the time in Cochrane, yet somehow you think you have a right to everything within ten miles of our place. I wonder what the guys at New Post think of these rules of yours.”

  “I know we can’t enforce it. Not a hundred percent. But we’re not like everyone else; you and I are outsiders here and that makes a big difference. We need that buffer to show these people we can’t be pushed around.”

  “You know what we need? We need to keep some allies around here. No one's going to put up with us if you keep shooting out tires.”

  “Don’t fret. We'll drop off a nice bottle of booze for the Walkers at Christmas. That should smooth things over a little.”

  “I frickin’ hope so.”

  “Buck up, sugarpie,” I said with a grin.

  “You think that’s funny? You know…I’m getting really sick of this.”

  “Sick of what, exactly?”

  “You’re out of control, Baptiste. Making threats, shooting at people…”

  “Fuck, Graham…I didn’t shoot at anybody.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I needed to show them that they can’t push us around.”

  “You didn’t need to do anything. You want people to think you’re tough? Too late. They already know that. So maybe now you should focus on getting people to not hate your guts.”

  “I don’t need any more friends.”

  “You’re not going to keep any of the ones you have if you keep acting like this. Starting with me, Baptiste.”