After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) (40 page)

Today is Wednesday, December 26th.

I know that Justin wants to go back to Silver Queen, with or without me; part of me hopes he won’t come back.

I decided to take Graham and Matt with me to Bondy Lake to check on the Girards. I wasn’t about to take Sara back there, and I knew that she and Kayla and Fiona would be safe with Lisa and my magic guitar case.

After breakfast the three of us left in the cart; three guys, three sets of armour... we’d save the diesel for farming, if that ever happens.

Bringing Matt would be an irritation, and it left less room for whatever we found and wanted to take back with us, but I wanted to make sure my only job while we were there was to keep a hand on my gun. Matt and Graham would handle the lifting.

We went through the open gate and after another couple of minutes we reached the house.

I noticed right away.

“Someone’s been up on the roof,” I said, pointing to the bare wood where shingles should have been.

“They had solar shingles,” Graham said. “They must have stripped them down to take with them.”

“That’s a heavy load.”

“Probably too heavy,” Matt said.

“Someone took them,” I said. “But I doubt it was the Girards.”

Aside from the stripped shingles, the old Girard house looked like it always did, aside from the fact that the door was propped open. It wasn’t until we got inside that we noticed that some of the pipes had burst; whatever heat had been in that house was long gone, especially with the front door wide open. The damage was minimal, though, and it didn’t get in our way.

The dining room set was still there, a beautiful hand-carved oak table that I found pretty tempting, along with eight matching chairs, six around the table and two lined up along the wall.

There was no food left, and aside from the furniture the only other items that remained were too large and heavy for us to bring home. There was also no sign of their ATVs or the two-ton diesel truck they’d used whenever they could get it to start on homebrew.

“At least they weren’t killed by marauders,” Matt said as he and Graham checked some cupboards in the mud room.

“Lot of clothes left behind,” Graham said.

I saw what he was talking about; there were winter clothes still hanging on the wall. Some of it was in childrens’ sizes.

Graham continued: ”They had a few kids, right?”

“Two or three,” I said.

“Does that mean something?” Matt said.

I nodded. “If the clothes are out here and hanging up they probably still fit. It’s only getting colder out there, so you’d think they would take all of it with them.”

We went upstairs to check the bedrooms. I was pretty sure there was no one else in the house, so feeling the urge to pee I found the bathroom. It smelled like the last visitor hadn’t flushed, despite the window being wide open. When I lifted the toilet lid I saw that the bowl was filled with a clean and clear block of ice; my guess was that stuck somewhere in the wall was a very shitty flavour of homemade popsicle.

I was pretty sure their pump wasn't running anymore but I took a piss in their frozen toilet anyway; it wasn’t like they were around to complain.

I felt a little dirty after, since there was no water to wash my hands, and when I checked the medicine cabinet for disinfectant all I found were a few scented soaps and an old toothbrush on the top shelf.

That got me thinking.

I realized that the toothbrushes were still out in a little holder on the sink, even though the toothpaste was missing.

I guess it didn’t mean anything, really, since they wouldn’t be doing much brushing on the road. They might have been saving some new toothbrushes to take with them.

I still had the feeling that something was off.

As I closed the mirrored door to the cabinet, I caught a patch of dark in the porcelain tub behind me. I turned around, pulling my gun from its holster and holding my breath.

It was a pile of brown and black fur.

Two dogs.

In a shallow puddle of frozen blood, mixed with what might have caused the terrible smell.

I pulled the shower curtain closed and then I left the room.

I found Graham in the hallway.

“Check for blood,” I said.

“What?”

“Blood. There are two dogs in the bathtub. Looks like they were slaughtered.”

“Why would they kill their own dogs?”

“I don’t think they would.”

We checked the upstairs first, looking for any sign of violence to go with the dead dogs. We didn’t find anything up there, but I noticed that there were too many things left around that people wouldn’t usually leave behind. There were family photos in each bedroom, and on a toddler bed that was still covered by a pink unicorn comforter I found a cute little plush kitty.

I remember what it was like to have a kid; the stuffed kitty wasn’t an item you couldn’t find room for. There’s not a parent on earth who’d make that mistake. If that little girl’s favorite things were left behind, chances were that she was left behind, too.

Once we were done in the house, I took a quick look around the grounds. There was no sign of a fresh grave dug into the frozen ground, but it wasn't a given that they'd have taken the time to dig a hole in winter. It was hard enough for us to bury Ant when the ground wasn’t even fully frozen.

Like everything else I’d seen it told me nothing for sure.

We loaded up the dining room set and started back home; while we rode we talked things out, trying to understand what could have happened.

“Maybe the little girl was mauled to death by the dogs,” Graham said. “They wouldn’t have wanted to bring those dogs with them after something like that.”

“Sounds like too much of a coincidence,” I said. “The dogs kill her right around the time they decide to leave?”

“There’s no way the Girards were murdered,” Matt said. “They’re armed to the teeth. If there had been any shooting we’d have seen something... broken glass or shell casings... something, at least.”

“That’s true,” Graham said.

“I know it doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “But there’s no way they would pack up the supplies, leave all their keepsakes behind, then slaughter their dogs and toss them in the bathtub.”

“People do crazy things,” Matt said. “It sounds messed, but I think it’s the simplest explanation. Do you really think a gang of marauders is going to somehow trick the Girards into leaving their house so they can kill them all without making a mess?”

“And why bother going to so much effort to hide it?” Graham asked. “Why hide the bodies?”

“There may be a way to find out,” I said. “I think we should go back and take another look.”

Graham and Matt were just as curious, so we returned to the Girard homestead. They followed behind me as I wandered around the yard, poking my head into the chicken coop and doing a quick inspection of the barn.

“There’s nothing here,” Graham said. “There aren’t even any footsteps left to see in the snow.”

“One more place to check,” I said as I walked over to the root cellar that was dug into a little rise behind the barn. I scraped the snow off the door, but it was frozen and I couldn’t get it open; I began to kick it. After several tries my boot smashed right through, creating a gash in the door but not pushing it open. I peered inside, but it was too dark to see. I pulled my headlamp from the pouch on my belt and pointed it through the hole like a flashlight.

“I guess that’s it,” Graham said.

“Hold on.”

There was something in there, like burlap sacks...

Maybe potatoes... maybe worth taking back home if they weren’t rotten.

My light bounced along, running along the lumps in the cellar. Then the light reflected back to me from a set of frozen eyes.

“Oh my god,” I said. I’m not sure it was loud enough for anyone to hear.

I kicked on the door again, widening the hole. The winter sun came in enough for me to see clearly what I was looking at.

I recognized most of them, Denis and his two brothers... and an old man... and two old women, and three young children. Their hands were bound behind their backs, their bodies lifeless and bloodied. I could see well enough that they had been beaten to death rather than shot. Whoever had done it had chosen not to waste any bullets; they probably used something like the butt of a shotgun to do the job.

Just like I'd used on Marc.

I then saw what they’d wanted me to see: the bodies of two young women, bruised and cut. Natalie Girard and Tabitha Smith. Both girls were bound like the rest, but they had been stripped naked. Their throats were cut. And drawn onto Natalie’s stomach in black marker was a message, just for me.

YOU DID THIS BAPTISTE.

I could feel my chest harden as I fought to breathe.

Graham pushed his way through to look. Once he had seen he turned his head away. I heard him vomit.

“What the hell?” Matt said. He shoved his way forward as well. I watched his knees buckle as he fought to stay on his feet. “What does that mean?”

“They killed them,” I said. “Because of me.”

“I don’t get it,” Matt said. “How did they manage to get the Girards to give up and let themselves be murdered?”

“They’re not all here. Some are missing.”

“Maybe they got away.”

“Maybe...”

“But how --”

“Hostages,” I said. “They grabbed a few of them... maybe the kids... told the rest to give themselves up.”

I knew what had really happened. The two girls. The two chairs against the wall. They’d been torturing them, using them as their bargaining chip.

I couldn’t bear to admit it out loud.

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Matt said. “So they’ve got my kids or whatever, and they’re going to kill them. So I hand over my guns so they can kill the rest of us?”

“Safe passage,” Graham said.

We both looked over at Graham. His face was still pale and I could tell that he wasn’t feeling any better.

“Maybe they promised them safe passage,” Graham said. “Whoever did this may have convinced the Girards that all they wanted were supplies, that if they cooperated they’d let them leave.”

“You think anyone would be stupid enough to believe that?” Matt asked.

“I’d believe them,” I said. “I’d believe anything that would make it stop.” I’d have done anything to save those two girls. I should have brought them to live with us.

“As if,” Matt said. “You’d just build a little sniper nest and you’d fuck them up with your shotgun.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Matt looked at me, bewildered. He had no idea.

“So they’re not all here?” Graham asked.

“I think a few are missing,” I said. “Natalie’s sister, for one.”

“And Michelle Girard,” Matt said. “We went to school together. Well... different schools, but I knew her.”

“So that’s two missing persons. Both young women.”

“You think some of them got away?” Graham asked.

“No... not really. You don’t just leave family behind.” I wondered what Cassy would have thought of me saying that.

“My god,” Graham said. “What’s stopping them from coming over to our place and doing the same to us?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Could be we have better security, or it’s because they figure we’re better armed. Or it could just be that they’re saving us for last.”

I’d left the girls wide open. If those assholes were out to hurt me... Lisa on her own couldn’t protect against whatever this was.

“We’d better get back,” Matt said.

I’d already started running.

We threw the dining room set off the cart and headed back as quickly as we could get the horses to move; I could not help but think how much faster we’d be moving if we’d had enough diesel to run our truck.

I couldn’t keep my mind from slipping into a bad place. I started to think of what could be happening to the women I had promised to keep safe, that they’d be taken like Natalie and Tabitha were, stripped and bound and terrified, with the man in the coyote helmet getting off on all of it. They’d be hoping desperately that we would come home to help them but frightened to death of what might happen once we arrived. I couldn’t stop from picturing them, tied to chairs in our dining room, with Sara trying to focus the attention on herself, hoping desperately to deflect the violence away from the young women she wanted so much to protect.

And then I thought of my wife and of Cassy, and for an instant I saw them too, screaming in terror and pain, wondering why I'd never come back for them.

But then it kicked in, the discipline that had kept me alive when I needed it most, and I was able to take my focus away from the fear and move it over to what I needed to do.

Graham was driving those horses as fast as he could; he didn't need any help from me. I would come up with a way to take the Spirit Animals out before they even saw us coming.

We reached the bridge over the Abitibi. I could see no tire tracks on the road back, no sign that any Toyotas had come this way.

And the gate was still locked; we saw no sign of tampering.

That was nothing close to a guarantee; there were other roads and other bridges, and the river itself was frozen enough in places for a hardened pickup to cross over the ice.

We stopped the cart not far past the junction with New Post Road; there’s nothing quiet about a team of horses. Matt didn’t argue about being left behind with Graham’s SIG as Graham took the shotgun and followed me.

We wound our way through the woods to the back of the barn. He stayed on the ground as I climbed up to the loft; I’d done it enough times that I could do it without making a sound.

I reached the top and I peered down into the kitchen. I could see Fiona there, leaning over the stove and stirring a pot that was close to boiling over. I couldn’t see the others, but I could hear Kayla laughing from wherever she was.

I snuck back down the ladder just as quietly as I’d climbed it.

“We don’t want to surprise them,” I said, finally feeling myself breathing again. “Lisa will mess us up.”

We made our way back to Matt and the horses. He could see from our faces that everything was okay.