“There won’t be any Marchands or Girards or Lamarches soon,” Justin said.
“So you’re planning on some more people snatching?” Lisa asked.
“Fuck you.”
Lisa stood up from the table. “How about I grab a broom handle and we see just who gets fucked?”
“Easy guys,” I said. “We all know you hate each other. There’s no reason to keep reminding us.”
“We can’t agree to this,” Sara said. “They betrayed all of us by dropping out of the partnership. We can’t reward them for that.”
“Come on,” Kayla said. “No one cares about the stupid Supply Partnership.”
Sara groaned. “No one asked you, Kayla.”
“Maybe someone should start asking me… maybe you guys should stop treating me like a goddamn child.”
“What are your thoughts, Kayla?” I asked. I had to start somewhere.
She seemed surprised at the question. She looked around as though she was waiting for someone to jump in. “We need to show the Walkers that we’re not people they can take advantage of,” she said. “As long as we keep on with this stubborn attitude that we can’t do business with Detour Lake, the Walkers will know that we don’t have any choice but to deal with them.”
“That’s it,” Justin said. “Exactly.” He was almost bouncing in his chair; I guess he’s not used to people agreeing with him around here.
“If we teamed up with Detour Lake we’d be stronger than the Walkers. We’d be stronger than New Post, too… and probably Stems.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “Underestimating Stems is a bad idea.”
“Do you even know what you’re talking about, Kayla?” Sara asked. “Those people up there are incredibly unbalanced. We can’t trust them.”
Kayla groaned. “They’re unbalanced, are they? Just because they were smart enough to plan ahead?”
“From what I’ve heard,” I said, “they have a whole lotta men and a handful of women. That’d make any group unbalanced. Add on some cabin fever and the various mental… uh… conditions that come from being a prepper…”
“No,” Kayla said. “That’s not fair. These guys weren’t up there waiting for the Rapture or something. They knew what was happening and they acted. That’s not crazy… that’s smart.”
“I think you wish you’d been a prepper,” Justin said.
“I was a goddamn prepper.”
“You were?” I asked. “For real?”
“Yeah, alright? A full-on survivalist nutjob. And if I hadn’t caught my boyfriend humping the town skank of Kapuskasing I’d be living up at Detour Lake right now.”
“Some rivalry there, eh?” Sara said. “You couldn’t let that bitch get away with it… Kayla the town skank of Cochrane has to represent.”
We all turned to see what had just happened. I’d never heard Sara speak like that before.
Kayla gasped along with the rest of us.
“If you guys are going to call the Walkers,” Sara said, “do it on the radio in the Tremblays’ truck… not on Justin’s phone. No more phone calls behind people’s backs.”
“What about the message this sends?” Lisa asked. I couldn’t tell if she was honestly wondering, or just trying to poke Sara.
Sara slammed her hands down on the table. “I don’t care about the message! I am so sick of carrying this. If you guys don’t think the Marchands and the Girards matter… then fine. Do what you want to do.”
She stood up and walked to the kitchen. The pans started clattering; she was pretending to do the dishes.
“What is her problem?” Lisa asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “A lot of bad news and not much good, I guess.” I turned to Kayla. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Whatever.”
“It’s not too late to do this right,” Justin said. “We team up with Detour Lake and send Walker packing.”
“We’re not starting a war,” I said. “We team up with the Walkers and we go from there.”
“I’d rather be the one who starts the war than the poor bastard who’s caught by surprise.”
“There won’t be any surprises. I don’t trust the Walkers any more than I trust the guys at Detour Lake. We get in and get the supplies and we get out. No one’s getting married here.”
Kayla stood up from the table. “We might as well be marrying them,” she said. “They’ve already got us on our back with our legs in the air.”
As she walked out, Justin smiled at her.
She nodded, but didn’t smile back.
That was still more than I wanted to see between them.
Since our smaller grain truck was still in a heap at the airport, we needed to find a second truck in order to carry our half of the haul we were expecting. The nice thing about being the last few stragglers in what was once a half-decent community is that there are still quite a few trucks left behind.
Graham and the Porters and I piled into the Tremblay’s truck and headed up 652. We picked up a gravel truck at a yard just outside Cochrane, the first truck we saw, actually.
It felt strange taking two trucks up there, not just because we had to siphon our scant diesel from the Tremblays’ grain truck to the new one, but because our homes at McCartney Lake would be down four people at a time when we’re not feeling particularly safe.
With Graham and I gone, Lisa’s the only one at our place who has the know-how to use a shotgun; we left both of the big guns at home, but Matt’s still working on holding them properly. There are a surprising number of Tremblays who know how to shoot, so I wasn’t worried about them, but the Porters’ kids had to come up to our place since we certainly couldn’t leave them all alone. That leaves one cottage completely empty, but since there’s probably ten times more supplies at Silver Queen Lake than we have at the Porters’, I decided that it was worth the risk.
We reached Silver Queen Lake by late morning, and I was glad to see that the Walkers were there waiting for us, with a large open-top grain truck.
“We figured we’d start along the north shore,” Livingston said as I climbed out of the truck and started to suit up.
“You’re in charge of the scavenging?” I asked.
“Pretty much.”
“And the divvying up, too, I’ll bet.”
Livingston nodded to Graham as he joined us. “Your man will be there too,” he said. “Everything’s 50/50, Baptiste… as best as we can make it. And just to be sure you know there’s no hard feelings, I’ll make sure you guys get first pick.”
“How nice,” I said.
“Look… I know you still have a problem with me. I get that. But for the time being, it would be a lot simpler if we just try to get along.”
I nodded; that was about all I was willing to give him.
I turned to Graham. “I think you know what we need most,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” Graham replied. “I’ve got us covered.”
“Good man… and if there’s anything you’re not sure about, just give me a push on the handheld. I aim to please.”
He smiled. “Will do, boss.”
Justin and Rihanna walked over to us, each carrying a riot suit, vest and helmet.
“You need to actually put that on,” I said to Justin. I turned to Livingston. “We’ve got a set for you guys, too. You’ll have to pick who gets to wear it.”
Rihanna held out the gear; Livingston took them and held the vest close to his face, as though he were evaluating the fabric of a fine suit.
And people wonder why I hate him.
He placed the gear down in the near-frozen muck. I let it slide; I wasn’t the one who’d have to deal with how cold that riot suit would be.
“Where are your people, anyway?” Justin asked Livingston.
“We’ve got one shooter in position,” Livingston said. It sounded like he was trying to impress me.