“I’m sorry… it was just another stupid attempt at a joke.”
“It’s okay, Baptiste. You don’t need to apologize to me. I get you, you know?”
“Yeah…”
“Goats are good. It’s all good. We should sit on the dock and get wasted.”
I was tempted to say yes. Wouldn’t Sara love that, seeing me sharing a bottle with Kayla Fucking Burkholder.
Maybe she’d realize that her bitch routine was the quickest way to get me down to that dock with Kayla.
“I should get going,” I said. “I have some reading to do.”
She smiled. “That won’t stop me from getting drunk on the dock.”
“I know. That’s what I like about you Kayla… you’re nice and simple.”
She punched me lightly on the shoulder.
I waved goodbye.
It’s been a year and three months since the day that Sara and Lisa showed up at our door.
It was late September, not that it was recognizable. The ash clouds seemed just as thick as they’d been since the comet, and the ground was frozen but barren of snow. There hadn’t been much of anything, not much rain… the only thing that even reminded us of normal weather was the wind, and by late September that wind was getting colder.
Sara was dressed for the coming winter, like she’d expected a blizzard at any moment. She smiled at Graham as he opened the door; I doubt she even suspected that I had a shotgun trained on her chest.
Not that I was sure I’d be able to pull the trigger.
Lisa knew I was there; she couldn’t see me, but she knew. She was holding an old Winchester that looked like it hadn’t been fired in fifty years; there was no way it was serviceable, and from the way she was holding it, I could tell that she knew enough about guns to know that all she had was a bluff for idiots.
And she knew we weren’t idiots.
“My name’s Sara Vachon,” Sara said as she held out her hand.
Graham took it. “We’ve met,” he said. “I think…”
“Well you’re Graham Ellie…”
“I guess I’m famous.”
“You’re not famous,” Lisa said.
“This is Lisa,” Sara said. “Lisa Wesley. She’s in charge of charming people.”
Graham offered Lisa his hand.
She glared at him like he’d just pulled down his pants.
I did my best not to laugh out loud.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Graham asked.
“We heard that Fiona Rees is with you,” Sara said. “That you took her in.”
“Sorry… I don’t know her.”
“You’re lying,” Lisa said.
“You’re charming.”
“Look,” Sara said, “we need your help. We’ve got nowhere to go.”
“It’s just the two of you?”
“Four,” Lisa said.
That set me off. They’d expected us to take them in, but they were hiding half their people out of sight.
“Husbands?” Graham asked. “Kids?”
“Just two more mismatched socks,” Sara said.
“Where are they?”
“They’re in position,” Lisa said.
“Oh… to take us out?”
“To keep us safe.”
That was too much for me.
I laughed.
“What’s so goddamn funny?” Lisa asked, looking upstairs to my open window.
“Your gun can’t shoot and I can see your car up the road,” I said. “With two people cowering inside.”
“Glad we’re entertaining you,” Sara said.
“Who are they?” Graham asked. “The other two.”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters,” I said. “We’re not really looking for more liabilities.”
That set Fiona off; she was supposed to stay in the basement stairwell, quiet as a mouse, but instead she marched out to the front porch, pushed past Graham, and walked right down the steps to the gravel walk. She turned up to my window.
“I’m a liability?” she asked. “Are you kidding me? Who cooks your meals, Baptiste?”
“Get inside,” I said.
“Hello, Fiona,” Sara said.
“Fiona! Get inside.”
“We don’t know anything about you,” Graham said. “How can you expect us to just let you come in?”
“We don’t expect you to,” Lisa said.
“We don’t have any other options,” Sara said. “You guys are it.”
“So what are you offering?” I asked.
Sara glanced upward, trying to get a look at me. “We’re not offering our bodies. I can tell you that.”
“I mean supplies. Do you have any supplies?”
“No.”
“That makes it easy.”
“Not funny,” Fiona said.
“You guys must bring something to the table,” Graham said. “Right?”
At the time I’d figured he was interested in Sara; I’d certainly been drawn to her.
“We’re willing to work,” Lisa said. “And I can hunt.”
“Matt is strong,” Sara said. “He can help with that kind of thing.”
“What about you?” Graham asked.
“I’m not as strong, but I’m alright.”
“And the other one?” I asked.
“Kayla,” Lisa said. “She’s… she’s something.”
“Something?”
“You’ll like her,” Sara said. “Every man does.”
“Maybe you should have led with her,” I said.
“You’re an asshole,” Lisa said.
Graham laughed.
And I realized who he was really interested in.
“Bring the other two up here,” I said. “Then we’ll talk it over.”
I already knew how I felt about them.
Sometimes being pretty isn’t enough.
7
Today is Sunday, December 30th.
The tripwire alarm on the Abitibi bridge sounded this morning before anyone was up. It was the first time I’d even heard it since the Porters had arrived at that gate. I knew that it could be the Spirit Animals, but a frontal assault didn’t seem likely. They’d try to sneak up on us.
Or at least they’d jam the signal from the hops.
Lisa and Graham were downstairs before me, Lisa with armour on and her jacket piled overtop, and Graham checking the shotguns.
“The Spirit Animals?” Graham asked.
“I doubt it,” I said.
Lisa and I took the truck. We’d be able to make the trip in less than five minutes; to me, that’s worth the diesel it takes, for as long as we have it. I’m not sure how long it would take someone determined enough to break through the locks on our best gate, but I knew it would take longer than we’d give ’em.
I could hear ATVs revving up the road from the north shore cottages, probably the Porters. I wasn’t sure if we really needed backup, not that there was much I could do to stop it.
In the end Lisa and I got to the gate in less than four minutes.
Standing by the gate was Eva Marchand.
“This is new,” Lisa said.
I threw my helmet on and climbed out of the truck while Lisa readied the shotgun from her seat.
I left the door open so she could hear.
Eva’s gloved hands clasped in front of her. Her red pickup truck was waiting on the far side, off the bridge completely, with the skinny kid and one of her thirty-something sons, maybe, standing beside it with their rifles.
“What are you doing here, Eva?” I asked. I wasn’t unfriendly.
“Ryan Stems came to our house,” Eva said. I could tell that she was trying to sound unperturbed, but it wasn’t really working.
“He stopped in to see us, too.”
“He told us we had two choices; sign indentures with the Walkers or cross the Abitibi.”