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.