“Then I don’t have the key.”
“Shoot…someone’s coming,” he said. “Some kind of military truck.”
“Then get us out of here, Livingston. It’s Detour Lake.”
I heard him switch gears and slam on the gas.
The car jerked backward quickly enough to throw me to the floor. I hit my head on a metal kit.
First aid.
“Fucking ouch,” I said.
“Sorry.”
“I knew it…you saved my ass so you could make me suffer.”
“Shoot…”
“What?”
“Another truck coming up the road.”
“Another deuce-and-a-half?”
“What? Like a military truck?”
“Yeah.”
“Looks like a pickup. Green. What do I do?”
“Hell if I know.”
“I knew I should have waited on giving you the morphine.”
He slammed on the brakes.
Luckily I had nowhere else to go. But my head did get knocked against the back of his chair.
“Better get out of the car,” I said. “Before they start shooting.”
“Why would getting out help?”
“Makes you easier to shoot…you’re going to want it to go quick.”
“That’s not funny.”
“You’re better off trying to laugh about it, Livingston.”
“Screw you, Baptiste.”
He got out of the car.
I couldn’t see anything.
“Please don’t shoot!” Livingston yelled. It wasn’t quite a whimper.
“Down on the ground! Hands on your head!”
It wasn’t Justin. Just some other angry guy with a gun.
“My name is Fisher Livingston. I am an indenture from the Mushkegowuk Nation. Shooting me would be considered an act of war by the Mushke ―”
“Shut up, Livingston,” a woman’s voice said.
It was Kayla.
“I don’t think he’s a threat,” she said.
“If he’s an indenture, we need to take him back.”
“With all due respect, sir ―”
“Sergeant.”
“He’s on our side of the Abitibi, so I’d need a written request from the Mushkegowuk Council before releasing him to you.”
“That’s a good plan, Kayla,” I said. “That’ll take a day or two.”
I heard her gasp. And then footsteps. The gate being unlocked.
She ran to the car and opened the door.
“Baptiste…oh my god, you found him…are you okay?”
“I’m alive…but Livingston drugged me…the bastard.”
“Morphine,” Livingston said. “And he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“You sent him to find me?” I asked.
“Matt said you told him not to,” Kayla said.
“Can you send these men away?” Livingston asked.
“We’re ordered to check each cottage on McCartney Lake,” the sergeant said.
“Please,” Kayla said, “go ahead. Our people are in the first cottage, right at the junction. And one on the line.”
“Why are you here?” I asked her. “You’re supposed to be on your way to Quebec.”
She smiled and gave me a kiss. “No one listens to you, Baptiste. Haven’t you figured that out?”
Kayla helped me out of Livingston’s ham-mobile once we reached the cottage. It wasn’t too bad as long as I didn’t try to use my left leg that much.
“I have something else,” Livingston said.
“Tell me it’s more morphine,” I said.
“You can’t be angry with me, okay? I had to do it like this.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He walked over the trunk and opened it.
“Ugh,” he said. “I’m not sure if she’s sleeping, or…”
Kayla helped me over to the back of the car.
It was Sara.
She was lying in the trunk, her eyes closed. She had a large rag stuffed into her mouth and wrapped with duct tape. Her wrists were bound behind her with tape. Her ankles were bound as well.
The only thing she was wearing was a ripped and dirty white t-shirt with a faded Canadian flag dead center. She had nothing on below her waist.
Her skin was close to blue.
I pulled away from Kayla and leaned against the car.
“Get her out of there,” I said.
Kayla and Livingston lifted her from the trunk.
I wanted to take her, to carry her inside.
But I knew I couldn’t do it.
Kayla and Livingston brought her up onto the porch.
I hobbled behind, glad for the morphine but well aware that I was probably fucking my leg up that much more.
They brought her to the living room and laid her down on the couch. Kayla covered her half-naked body with a blanket.
I stumbled over and fell to my knees, leaning against the couch.
I put my hand on her cheek.
She was cold, but not that cold.
And I could feel the warmth of her breathing.
“What did you do to her?” I asked.
“I had to drug her. Didn’t know how much I needed. She had to look like she was close to death.”
“Fuck, Livingston…why?”
“There are five Mushkegowuk roadblocks between here and Kapuskasing. There’s only one between Kapuskasing and Timmins.”
“You took her to Timmins?”
“I forged two letters from the Council. One that told The Souls I was taking a runaway indenture back to Sudbury…that was for the first couple of checks. The other said I was bringing your beaten and violated stepsister from Sudbury up to you, so you could watch her die. After what you did to that roadblock on Highway 101…let’s just say they really liked that letter.”
“What if it hadn’t worked?” Kayla asked.
“She wanted to come home…she took the risk.”
“But why did you strip her naked?” I asked. “Why did you tie her up?”
“Because I’m an indenture. One indenture shows up with another indenture…it looks suspicious, like maybe we’re trying to run away together. But not if she looks like this.”
“Did she tell you to do this?” Kayla asked.
“She did,” he said. “She did.”
“If I find out you’re lying,” I said, “I’ll kill you.”
“I just saved your life. And probably hers.”
“And I’m grateful for that. But I’ll still kill you.”
He nodded.
“Where’s Matt?” I asked. “And Fiona?”
“Matt’s out on the line,” Kayla said. “Fiona and Gwyneth are out in the barn with the horses.”
“What line?”
“Ant’s stupid firebreak, remember? The one you told Matt to stop wasting his time on? He’s out looking for any sign that the fire crossed the highway and is heading towards us.”
“It’s still a stupid idea,” I said.
“I’m sure it is…” She bent down and gave me a kiss. “I’ll take care of Sara, Baptiste. You need to take care of yourself.”
There was an unevenness in her voice.
And tears in her eyes.
I struggled to get up.
I stood with most of my weight against the arm of the couch.
I took her hand.
I looked into her eyes. I wanted her to know that I still wanted her, that I still choose her. I wanted her to know that we hadn’t changed.
“Livingston can help you up to your room,” she said.
13
Today is Monday, January 28th.
Fiona found me a walking stick. That’s what I’m calling it, even if it looks a little too much like an old man’s cane.
When you’re over fifty, you tend to limp for a long while after getting your leg shot up. There’s two holes in it, now; I may be a gimp for the rest of my life.
Or maybe just a few weeks.
Who knows?
Livingston is sticking around for awhile; Stems sent his written request and Kayla wrote back with a denial, and we haven’t heard anything about it since. So he’s in Graham’s room for now.
The sergeant from Mushkegowuk, Sergeant Mullen, came by again on Sunday with a couple of soldiers from the Nation and said that they’d be regular visitors to our side of the river. They didn’t trust us to keep Detour Lake out of our backyard, and I saw no reason for them to change their opinion any time soon. No one is scared of me anymore. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve got an old man’s walking stick, or because the people who were so worried about me before have already been shot up by the other guy they didn’t trust.
A guy they haven’t caught.
Both Kayla and Fiona were expecting me to rail against the occupation, but I’ve made it my goal to not even think about that shit until sometime in February. Maybe after Valentine’s Day, assuming that Valentine’s Day is even a thing.
I’m tired and I’ve got a limp. I deserve a goddamn vacation.
Everyone’s back in one cottage now; Gwyneth put up a fuss, but when she realized that Fiona couldn’t be swayed, she sucked it up and moved in. She still disappears more than a regular human being, but she’s trying to treat me decent.
It doesn’t come regularly, but it’s better.
Kayla dropped in on Fiona and I as we worked on dinner. Somehow, the moment she came in I saw it as a disturbance; obviously I’d missed my kitchen time with Fiona Rees.
“I wanted to ask you about Justin,” she said.
“No small talk, eh?” I said.
“Sergeant Mullen said that Detour Lake says they don’t have him.”
“When were you talking to Sergeant Mullen?”
“Some people like talking to me.”
I ignored that. “Detour Lake says a lot of things. They say that they had nothing to do with the attack on New Post, that it was ‘individual actors’. That’s the fun of calling yourself an objectivist collective…you don’t have to take responsibility for anything.”
“I think Ryan Stems killed him,” Fiona said. “That’s why he was so quick to head back to Kapuskasing. He isn’t worried anymore.”
“He was more worried about Detour Lake,” I said.
“You took out like a dozen of those guys single-handedly,” Kayla said. “They don’t look so scary these days.”
“Don’t ever start thinking like that. We won’t be safe as long as they’re out there and running out of food. Stems was right; they’ll either strike out to the West or to the East. They’ve tried the West…”
Kayla nodded. “So now they try the rest. Aiguebelle?”
“I hope so. Because we’re in no shape to fight them off right now.”
“I’m working on it. I’ve been out shooting a few times with Matt.”
“Learning to shoot from Matt? That’s like having me teach you how to tap dance.”
“And that would be…”
“Hilarious,” Fiona said.
“Well…I’m improving,” Kayla said. “Soon I’ll be able to hit the side of the barn.”
“Remind me to start wearing body armour around the house,” I said.
Fiona laughed. Kayla didn’t.
“I’d recommend that to you for a lot of reasons,” she said.
I’m not sure she was trying to be funny.
Kayla never came back to my bedroom.
She took over Lisa’s room, not bothering to ask Sara if she wanted her old bed; Fiona moved back into the room she’d shared with Kayla, while Gwyneth took Kayla’s spot.
Sara slept on the couch for a couple days, partly because she was barely conscious for most of it, but also because I don’t think she knew where she belonged.
She’d been away for almost three weeks and everything had changed. I know she had no doubt in her mind as to who had been sharing my bed.
But last night she knocked on my door just after ten; I was on my tablet, looking at my personal reserve, my hand down the front of my boxers.
Luckily I remembered to pull my hand out before I answered.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
“Of course. You’re always welcome here.”
I sat back down on my bed.
I’m sure she could see the bulge.
She walked inside but didn’t sit. She was fidgeting with her hands, gently wringing them together. “She’s not staying with you?”
“No.”
“Are you two…?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t.” What was I supposed to say? It’s not like you only ever love one person.
“I can’t do this if you’re going to hurt me. I need to know that you’re here…with me…”
“I’m here. With you, Sara. And that’s where I want to be.”
That was true. I wanted to be with her. And I wanted to be with Kayla, too.
“Okay,” she said.
I’d expected her to sit down beside me.
She didn’t.
“So…goodnight,” she said.
“You’re leaving?”
“For now…yeah…”
“Okay. Goodnight, Sara…I love you.”
“Okay.”
And that was it.
Today is Tuesday, January 29th.
Matt and I went down to New Post today.
We’d heard from Sergeant Mullen that the people had been relocated and that they didn’t have any intention of going back there, that for all intents and purposes the place was our problem to deal with.
To me that sounded like a prime scavenging opportunity. Say what you will about the patrols from the Mushkegowuk Nation, they certainly make it less likely that we’ll have any unwanted visitors at McCartney Lake. Well, aside from Stems’ soldiers themselves, but they’re usually too busy chatting up Kayla and Fiona to start being all menacing.
That left me willing to risk leaving Kayla with the Mossberg. I’d filled it with buckshot, in case she needs to hit something smaller than the wall of our barn. Livingston’s got a little mousegun, too, but there’s nothing intimidating about that.
We took the cart, since all the diesel we have for that deuce-and-a-half is what little’s left in the tank, and I doubt we’ll be making any trades with Detour Lake for some of their fuel. I let Matt drive; I’ve started running out of options.
Since we only have one set of gear left, I told Matt to wear it. If shit goes down, he’ll be the one who has to take my SIG and run toward the problem. I can’t run toward anything at the moment.
We found the gate wide open.
The houses were there, but there were no vehicles. We checked a few buildings and found a couple nice items in each: three-quarters-empty boxes of cereal here or the last few drops of peanut oil there. Good enough for us, at least.
We checked the band office, even though I didn’t expect there to be anything worth taking.
In Gerald Archibald’s cube, I found a laminate desk with a locked filing cabinet sitting underneath. I looked around for the key, but there was nothing.
It was possible that someone was messing with us, just locking things up after they’d cleaned them out.
“Shake it,” Matt said.
“You shake it.”
We did it together.
It made a happy little rattling noise.
“You can pick the lock?” Matt asked.
I didn’t feel like it. “Just bring me the crowbar.”
Once he had, I pulled the drawers open.
I pulled out three boxes of drugs.
All three were Laneradine.
“Gerald had a heart problem like yours?” Matt asked.
“These aren’t even open. He was hoarding them…waiting for me to die.”
“Joke’s on him. You’re still alive.”
“Yes, Matt. I know.”
I tossed the boxes into my canvas goody bag.
I’d be alive for a good while longer.
Once we’d finished gathering what supplies were left, we headed back toward the gate.
“Now Stems controls both bridges,” Matt said.
“He doesn’t need two,” I said.
And I knew Stems wasn’t stupid.
“Head up the rail bed,” I said.
Matt took us up the gravel trail, curving around to the Abitibi River.
The bridge had been destroyed. The piers demolished with charges.
“Better job than got done at Iroquois Falls,” I said.
“One less bridge to watch.”
“Yes, Matt…I know.”
He just laughed. I think he’s starting to like the way I treat him.
We were back to McCartney Lake before sunset, so a little too early for dinner.
“Let me off here,” I said as we reached the cottage.
“What about the horses?”
“You drove ‘em…you can stow them.”
He stopped the cart and I climbed out.
He continued on toward the barn.
I walked in hoping to get a chance to help Fiona with dinner. It’s definitely become a thing with me.
I saw Livingston on the floor.
There was blood.
Then I saw Justin Porter, sitting on the couch with his boots on the wicker coffee table, with Livingston’s little .380 lying next to his socked feet.
Sitting on the floor were all four girls, in a semicircle around the coffee table. They looked terrified, but they were okay.
I reached for my SIG.
“Put it on the floor,” Justin said.
“How ‘bout I just kill you?” I said. I pulled out the gun and pointed it at his head.
He didn’t reach for the .380. “Look under the coffee table.”
I saw one of Ant’s nail grenades. At least a hundred nails bundled together and ready to shred anything within its reach. And the fuse cord ran up to a plastic tip in Justin’s hand.
“It reminds me of that shit the rebels used in Burma,” he said. “I pull the ring wrapped around my finger and your girls won’t be looking so hot.”
“That coffee table won’t do much to shield you.”
“I have nowhere to go, Baptiste. Detour Lake wouldn’t take me without some way of paying my way in.”
“And now that you got so many of their guys killed…”
“Yeah…they’d probably just shoot me if I showed up there. Thanks in large part to Kayla’s fucking ex-boyfriend, Bren the Wonder-Shit.”
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