After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) (29 page)

“A sniper.”

I laughed. “Good one. But seriously, do you really have some asshole hiding in the trees somewhere?”

“I was hiding,” a woman’s voice called out.

I turned to see her, about mid-thirties, dressed in camo. I recognized the face; I remember pretty much every woman in Cochrane who falls into a certain... uh, range.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying not to laugh again.

“I know,” she said, “I look ridiculous.”

“No... you look pretty good, actually. I certainly didn’t notice you when we were coming in.”

She chuckled. “That’s because I was in the camper taking a piss.” She pulled off a glove and held out her hand. “I’m Katie,” she said. “Don’t worry... I washed my hands, more or less.”

I shook hands with her. “I’m Robert Jeanbaptiste,” I said with a smile. “Please don’t
ever
call me Bob.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry, Baptiste... I know who you are. There’s a photo of you on my father’s dartboard, right next to the Biebers.”

I glanced over to Livingston.

“Dave’s daughter,” he said.

“And to think I was starting to like her.”

She gave me a friendly shove.

“So where’s the rest of your team?” I asked her, glad to have someone other than Livingstone to ask.

“They’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“They’ve already started, haven’t they.”

She seemed to hesitate. “No...”

“We forgot to bring up some stuff for the camper,” Livingston said. “So we sent a truck back to grab it.”

I knew him well enough that I assumed he was lying. Fisher Livingston had once made a living doing just that. And for a while back then I’d put up with it, always pretending that I’d never noticed.

And as much as I didn’t want to, I decided to start pretending again, at least for the time being. I wanted to wait and see exactly how Livingston and the Walkers were screwing us.

The rest of the Walkers’ complement arrived within the half-hour, pulling up in their little electric van. We helped them unload some boxes of food and equipment for the camper.

I guess Livingston had been telling the truth; they came up the same way we’d come. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, and Livingston’s still an asshole.

With the van emptied, one of the new arrivals, who looked like a younger Dave Walker, hopped in the grain truck with Livingston without giving us more than a glance, while the other, a tall native man with a long ponytail, joined up with us at the roadblock.

As the two scavenging trucks drove away, I offered the man my hand.

“Good to meet you, Baptiste,” he said.

“I think we’ve met before,” I said, trying to place him. My first thought was that I’d seen him around New Post. “So you live with the Walkers?”

“I work for the Walkers.”

“Like Livingston.”

He chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, “like Livingston.”

“So which one of you is dressing up in our extra gear?” Justin asked.

“I’m still planning on cowering in the trees if anyone comes,” Katie said. “So I guess that leaves Sky.”

“Sky?”

“That’s me,” the native man said. “I like to think it’s a badass name.”

“It’s pretty badass,” I said.

“So do we just stand around here waiting for something to happen?” Justin asked.

“We usually sit in the camper,” Sky said. “The kitchenette faces out to the road, so it’s not like we’ll miss someone coming.”

I turned to look at Katie.

She grinned. “I have no problem with staying warm,” she said.

“Well... I think I have a problem with it,” I said.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Justin said.

“If someone wanted to take out a roadblock, they’d either come at us full on with superior force, or they’d sneak up on us on foot. If I was going to do it, I’d go with an ambush.”

“And staring out at the road might not do us any good,” Katie said. “Mr. Baptiste, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I like you.”

“But we’ll take shifts, right?” Justin asked.

“Two shifts,” I said. “One Walker with one whatever the hell we call ourselves.” I looked over to Katie. “What
do
people call us?”

She laughed. “Did you want the polite version?”

“Let’s stick with that, yeah.”

“My father calls you guys ‘Baptiste’s crew’. Well, ‘F-ing Baptiste’, usually.”

“Are you serious?” Justin said. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve always called us ‘The Justin Porter Gang’.”

“Who’s Justin Porter?” Katie asked. I’m not sure she was joking.

Justin chuckled. “Ouch,” he said.

“Just kidding... I’ve seen you around. If you really want, we can all think you’re badass, too.”

“I
am
badass.”

“I believe you,” I said. “That’s why you and Sky should take the first shift.”

Katie made us some instant coffee and we sat down at the kitchenette in the musty camper. It was one of the older styles, bulky and fully furnished, from the days when people thought it made perfect sense to try and put a house on wheels. I’d never actually been in that kind of camper before; growing up we lived by my father’s rule that camping always had to involve a tent, and for whatever reason I’d kept the tradition alive with Cassy while Alanna stayed home with the indoor plumbing and frozen pizza.

“My father says some pretty strange things about you, Baptiste,” Katie said as she dumped several tons of sweetener into her mug.

“He thinks I’m an asshole. I think he’s right.”

“I like assholes... they’re the only people who know how to get things done.”

“So you’re an asshole, too?”

“Nah... I’m a treat. I just, like, admire you guys from afar.”

I laughed.

She smiled and gave me a look that I knew well enough. I guess there’s something alluring about men your father can’t stand.

“I’m a little surprised that you’re out here,” I said.

“Sorry... I didn’t realize shooting people was men’s work.”

“I guess that sounded bad... it’s more that you’re Dave Walker’s little girl.”

“His little girl, eh? Wow... facetious and flattering. You know that I’m like older than this camper, right?”

“And only half as musty.”

“Ha! Well, truth is my father doesn’t really like me being here. But my little brother Zach’s just gone up the road with Fisher, so it wouldn’t make sense to tell me I can’t help out. And let’s face it... my life is pretty damned boring. I basically just sit around all day.”

“Yeah, right. I’m sure there’s never any work to do.”

“You’d be surprised. I don’t like to get my hands dirty, or my fingernails scuffed...”

“But seriously... what are things like for you guys?”

“It was harder last winter. Especially since it went on until, like, June. And it was just the six of us trying to run a farm. When we first took it over I didn’t know which end of the chicken lays the eggs.”

“You guys have grown since then... how did you manage it?”

“Same way you guys have... people show up and ask to be a part of the group. Sometimes it feels like we’re not getting things quite right, but compared to most people we’re killing it.”

“What about indentures?”

She began to look uncomfortable. “What about them?” she asked.

“Do you have any?” I already knew the answer.

“What difference does that make?”

“Come on, Katie... I’m sure you can guess how I feel about that crap.”

“Oh, that’s right. Baptiste the abolitionist. No indentures allowed. Must be tough being stuck up here with the hillbillies.” She threw her hands up in the air. “It’s nothing to do with me. I didn’t make the decision.”

“I know you didn’t,” I said, trying to sound like I could relate. “I just don’t know how you guys do it.”

“You have no right to judge us...”

“That’s not what I mean. I just don’t understand how you can even make that work. Why bother getting someone to sign their life away? It’s not like that piece of paper means anything.”

“You’d be surprised,” Katie said. “Those damned indenture docs have a lot more power than you’d think.” She turned and looked out the window at the endless snow. “It runs both ways, you know... it’s a promise from both sides.”

“Yeah... I’ve seen that kind of paperwork before... ten years of service in exchange for ten years of food and shelter. Just no specifics on what that service might be.”

“Can we not talk about this, please?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Bullshit... you want to make me feel guilty. But you have no idea what it’s like for me.”

Katie didn’t seem like the type of person who cried easily, but I could see that she was on the edge of something.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was out of line.”

“Yes, you were.” She tried to smile but it didn’t take. “Like some kind of asshole or something. Let’s just find something else to talk about.”

“Sounds good to me.” I smiled. “So... do you know much about Stems?”

“Wow... another great topic.”

“I’m just asking. I’m a lifelong learner.”

“Stems is a problem that doesn’t have a solution. He shoots at us one day and pretends he’s our best friend the next.”

“If he’s the one doing the shooting.”

“Are you saying that we’re shooting at him?”

“That’s not what I mean. I have a feeling that someone’s been doing their best to make it look like they’re killing on behalf of Ryan Stems and the Mushkegowuk Nation.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“Of course not.” She was getting upset again.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Katie.”

She took a sip of her coffee and scrunched her face from the taste. “So, like... a false flag,” she said.

“Impressive...”

“Oh, I forgot... little girls don’t know how to read books or anything...”

“Yeah... okay...”

“It wouldn’t make sense for a gang of marauders to go to the trouble, would it?”

“Probably not. It’s not like we’d be so intimidated by painted helmets that we’d just give up.”

“So who? One of the families around here? Someone further away?”

I shrugged. “Sons of Flesh?”

“Or Detour Lake?”

“There’s too many to choose from.”

“It’s great to be popular. Either way, it’s backfiring.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked away. Her fingers started tapping on the table. “I don’t know...”

“No... you know, Katie.”

She gave me a slow and heavy sigh. “My father’s been talking to Stems.”

“Talking?”

“Protection. I don’t know if we’d be a full-on part of the Nation or whatever...”

“You can’t be serious. All the work you guys have done and you’re just going to hand it over?”

“All the work we did with our indentures, you mean.”

“I can’t believe your father would do that.”

“I don’t know. I’m not at the meetings. I’m not in charge of anything, Baptiste. For all I know, I’m just talking out of my ass...”

I couldn’t help myself. “Tell me more about this ass of yours...”

I heard Graham’s voice on the handheld. “Baptiste... you there? Over.”

I grabbed it and pushed to talk. “What’s up, Graham?”

“You need to get over here... over.”

“Okay... north shore, right?”

“North shore... probably four cottages from the end of the road. Over.”

I turned to Katie. “I guess we should both head over there. You okay with that?”

“Okay,” she said. I could tell that she was worried.

“I’m sure everyone’s okay... I know Graham... that was his ‘you need to see this’ voice.”

“I hope you’re right.”