After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) (33 page)

“You’re allowed to be angry,” I said. “You’re allowed to think I’m an asshole.”

“That ship has sailed.”

“Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Why? Why is it a bad thing to have more people who know about that thing and how to use it?”

“I don’t want Justin to know I have it.”

“Why?”

“You’re like a two-year-old,” Lisa said. “So many goddamn questions.”

“Justin’s a problem,” I said. “That hasn’t changed.”

“So why do we keep him around?” Graham asked.

“Because he doesn’t need a semi-automatic to do the job. And just because he’s trouble doesn’t mean he isn’t useful. It just means that we can’t trust him.”

“I don’t get the hatred,” Graham said.

“It’s about trust,” I said. “That’s all.”

“So it stays a secret,” Lisa said. “That’s why we’re taking a risk here. This is the first time in over a year that we’ve left people behind with no real protection.”

“So what if Stems attacks?” Graham said.

“He won’t,” Lisa replied.

“He probably won’t,” I said. “But these guys will show up eventually if we don’t take them out. So we take the chance and hope to hell that we’re not making the biggest mistake since 3D television.”

Graham nodded.

He still seemed pissed. By that I mean angry, but I’m sure he was also still a tiny bit drunk.

We drove through Cochrane with the lights off, relying on the glint of the moonlight against the snow. If there was anyone there they’d hear us, but they wouldn’t be able to see that much.

We didn’t run into anyone; all we saw were forgotten and dead buildings, covered in a fresh blanket of snow. Most of the buildings in Cochrane were damaged in the fire; the south and west sides were hit the hardest, and looking around those neighbourhoods now looks like those old photos of Hiroshima after the A-bomb fell, blackened skeletons of brick and concrete that used to be churches or schools or hockey arenas, and every once in a while there’ll be a tree or a hydro pole that’s still standing, and you wonder just how it survived when even the cars burned up so much that they just look like bundles of metal sticks.

The rest of town didn’t get hit as badly, but there aren’t that many buildings that didn’t catch some of it. Sometimes when we scavenge I’ll walk up a flight of stairs wondering if they’ll collapse from some unseen damage, or I’ll walk through the front door before realizing that a back wall has caved in and there’s nothing left inside but rubble.

The polar bear habitat is still standing at the southeast edge of town; we walked through it once and could still see where someone had shot and butchered the four bears that had been housed there. The whole town looks like a carcass that’s been picked over.

We turned north on Western and head up to Clute, where we found a trailer at the bottleneck just like the one the Walkers had brought up to Silver Queen, but it was dark with a drift of snow blown halfway up the door.

“Guess they weren’t lying,” I said. “They’re sticking close to home.”

“No tracks anywhere,” Graham said. “No one’s out today.”

“So if we’re lucky those Spirit Assholes are bundled up by the fire,” Lisa said. “Just waiting for a couple of pretty little head shots.”

“Like shooting them with a gun,” Graham said, “or posing their corpses for a photograph?”

“That was totally something Matt would say,” I said. “You sure you two aren’t related?”

“Shut up,” Graham said.

We kept on driving toward Silver Queen Lake, along a road that was as lifeless as everywhere else.

Once we were at Silver Queen I told Graham to take the south road, without any solid reasoning; I had no evudence thay’d go back to the cottage where I’d first found them, since most of the cottages at Silver Queen had enough supplies leftover to keep a couple murderers comfortable.

“So let’s keep it simple,” I said. “I’ll take the front with my SIG and Lisa will take the back with the Mossberg. You’ve got your SIG, Graham, and a one-ton means of vehicular homicide. You see anyone who you haven’t slept with...” -- I motioned to Lisa -- “or wish you could become...” -- motioning to me -- “you know what to do.”

“
Takay,
” Lisa said. “Stop the truck.”

Graham took his foot of the gas.

“I told you to stop,” Lisa said.

“Hold on,” Graham said. “It’s not as simple as slamming on the brakes. This plow messes up the whole weight of this thing.”

He let the truck slow for a moment before I could feel the brakes slowly kicking in. It took about thirty seconds and an extra hundred meters, but we stopped.

Lisa elbowed me in the ribs. “Get out,” she said.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Snowmobiles. Saw the lights out in the trees to the south.”

I nodded and climbed out.

“Are you sure?” Graham asked.

“I grew up in a town where there are less than a hundred cars for five thousand people. I know what a goddamn snowmobile looks like.” She turned to me. “They should catch up to us any second.”

“What do you expect us to do?” I asked. “Shoot them?”

“I don’t know... maybe.”

“Okay.” I lifted my SIG and fired into the air, toward the north. Whoever it was should get the message, not to fuck with us.

“You’re a terrible shot,” she said.

“Not sure they’ll even hear it.”

I could see the lights now, poking out from the trees. Two machines.

And then I heard the engines slowing.

We took aim.

“Don’t shoot,” a voice called out.

“Why not?” I yelled back.

“Baptiste?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Zach Walker... Dave Walker’s son. Sky’s here, too.”

“How do I know you aren’t full of shit?”

“It’s a badass name,” another voice said. “Isn’t it?”

I lowered my gun.

Lisa followed my lead.

“What the hell are you guys doing out here?” I asked as they stepped out of the forest.

“Looking for you,” Zach said. “Justin called us and said you were on your way up here.”

I wasn’t sure who told Justin, but I could take a guess. And I could kick Matt’s ass when I got home.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Justin wanted us to turn you around and send you home. He says you’re going to get someone killed.”

“I don’t take orders from Justin Porter.”

“Neither do we. We want to help.”

“So wait... your father sent his kid up here to fight?”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Sure you are.”

“We don’t need any help,” Lisa said. “We’ll handle this.”

“No,” Zach said. “You won’t. This is a partnership. We’ll do it together.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “We could use another couple guns. But I’m in charge of this operation, so you’ll defer to my judgement.”

“Absolutely.” He gave me a grin.

Exactly what a kid would do.

I had Zach and Sky ditch the snowmobiles and hop in the back of the gravel truck. They both had hunting rifles that they’d slung over their shoulders.

Graham took us farther up the road, toward the bend.

I could see the woodsmoke in the moonlight.

“They’re here,” I said. “We’ll come in quick, since they may have already seen or heard us. Assuming they’re not drunk or fucking...”

I realized what I was saying. I thought of Natalie and Tabitha, and the bruises on their wrists from trying to free themselves from the bedframe.

“Fuck,” I said quietly.

We turned the bend and I saw the gray truck. And two more of them, three in total, each with a snow-covered tarp wrapper over the guns in the back.

“There’s three of them?” Lisa said. “What the hell?”

“Shit,” I said. “Turn us around, Graham.”

“Hold on,” he said. “It’s not easy...”

“Come on... turn us around...”

I reached behind the cab and pulled out the guitar case. I laid it out on my lap.

“There’s no time,” Lisa said.

I opened the case and pulled out a magazine. I grabbed the C12 and snapped in the ammo, and then I aimed it out the window.

Lisa reached over and pressed the button to open it.

They shot first. I couldn’t see from where.

I aimed for the front window and started shooting.

“Hold on,” Graham said as he started to turn the truck.

I heard the wheels spinning.

“Shit,” Graham said. It had to be bad if he was swearing. “We’re stuck.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Lisa said. “This is a goddamn nightmare. What do we do?”

“We shoot,” I said. “We shoot and we hope Graham can get us moving again.”

I heard the sound of bullets slamming against the side of the truck; we had our helmets and armour, but they weren’t foolproof. And the boys in the back didn’t have anything.

I hoped to hell they stayed low.

I emptied my first thirty and reloaded. I only had eight mags total. Only seven left. I kept firing. I had to pin them inside the cottage until Graham could have us moving again.

The wheels spun some more.

“You’re digging us deeper,” Lisa said. “You don’t even know how to drive in snow.”

“I’m doing my best,” Graham said.

“It’s not good enough.”

“It’s not the tires... it’s the plow... it’s stuck in the snowbank. I can’t get it out.”

“What does that mean?” She was almost screaming at him.

“We’ll have to dig it out.”

“Do we even have any goddamn shovels?”

“What if we removed the plow?” I asked.

I had to reload again.

“I can remove it,” Graham said. “Take me thirty seconds or so. Then I’ll give the bumper a shove and we should be able to get out.”

“I’ll do it,” I said. Out of habit, mostly.

“No... I’m faster. I’ve got my gear on... I’ll be alright.”

Graham opened the door and climbed out, with Lisa taking his place. I ramped up the firing as he got into position; he was mostly covered by the engine block.

There was a good chance he’d be able to pull it off.

He threw his gloves off into the snow and pulled at the plow, disconnecting the hitches and moving on to the wires.

I reloaded again.

“Start reversing,” Graham yelled.

Lisa slammed on the gas. The wheels spun.

“Hold on,” Graham said. He bent down and started digging into the snow with his bare hands, moving to the right.

The engine block wouldn’t be covering him.

I shoved two magazines into my pockets.

I opened the door of the truck and jumped out, hoping to draw fire. I ran toward the back of the truck, firing as I went.

Their bullets followed me.

I felt a prick in my left leg. I kept moving.

I turned the back corner and reloaded.

“Baptiste,” Graham called. “Move out of the way.”

I ran back in between the cottage and the truck, heading for the door. My left leg was slowing me down.

I took another hit, in the side. The vest seemed to have stopped it.

I climbed into the cab just as Lisa slammed on the gas.

The truck rocked backward and soon pulled out of the snow.

Lisa slammed on the brake.

Graham made a run for the cab as I emptied another magazine.

Lisa shoved herself against me as Graham climbed in.

We were on our way.