Twelve
The snow came again overnight, pounding the small community at an unforgiving pace. Another thick layer of heavy snow lay on the roads, driveways, and rooftops, keeping Evan, Isaiah, and Tyler too busy to worry. They formed their usual snow-clearing formation — Evan driving the plough in the middle with the other two staggered behind him in pickup trucks outfitted with large yellow blades to clear the excess.
A full pass through the reserve took all morning and most of the afternoon. The two main roads that ran north-south and east-west and intersected right in the middle of the community were always first. Then the secondary roads that branched off from them in straight lines. The boreal region they lived in was mostly flat and allowed a practical, grid layout of the rez roads, driveways, and homes at regular intervals.
From his high seat in the plough’s cab, Evan didn’t notice much activity around the houses they passed, the unremitting snowfall keeping people inside. A few children played happily as full-blown winter held steady.
The convoy came to the end of the road by the Northern Trading Post, where they’d decided to stop in the parking lot for a break before driving the equipment back to the yard. The store had been closed for nearly a week, since the townspeople had ravaged its stock. Was that really a week ago? Evan wondered. Without any steady routine, the days were beginning to blur together and time was becoming more fluid. Despite the chaos, Evan felt more relaxed in some ways, falling into the natural rhythm of the days and the tasks that needed to be done.
They parked the trucks randomly. There was no worry of impeding any other vehicles. The air was a little milder as it usually was following a major snowfall, so they left their heavy jackets in the trucks and stood around in insulated construction overalls and sweaters adorned with the logos of sports teams and sportswear companies.
They sparked their tobacco and inhaled without saying anything. Isaiah reached into his pocket for a brown plastic bottle. He held his cigarette in his mouth while he unscrewed the black metal cap. He transferred the cigarette back to one hand and tipped the bottle back. He passed it to Evan.
Evan took the mickey of rye from Isaiah and dumped the liquor into his mouth just as quickly and effectively as his friend did. He barely tasted the burn of the cheap booze, but it warmed his throat and his innards all the way down. It was both comforting and shameful, as it always was. Tyler took it from his hand, continuing the circle.
Evan broke the silence. “Hopefully that’s all the snow for a bit.”
“Yeah, really. This shit ain’t lettin’ up,” agreed Isaiah. “It’s like we’re getting kicked while we’re down.”
Tyler laughed. “As if, Izzy! What a drama queen. You guys are acting like the world is ending.”
“How do you know it ain’t, asshole?” Isaiah retorted.
“The end of the world is gonna be big bombs or earthquakes or some shit like that. The dinosaurs were around for like a billion years, and the only thing that could do them in was a massive fuckin’ asteroid! This shit won’t be slow, believe me.”
“Okay, professor.”
Evan shook his head and laughed. “Listen to you two geniuses.” The bottle came back around and he took another swig. The faint hum of snowmobiles bounced off the woods around them.
The buzz swelled to a roar from the southeast. Tyler fixed his eyes on the service road beyond the store. It was heavily snowed in and no vehicles had driven it in weeks. But now someone was coming. Evan turned to look, and so did Isaiah, dragging off his cigarette again.
Evergreen trees concealed the bend in the road about a half-kilometre from where they stood. Trucks leaving the community always disappeared into the forest, no matter what time of year they left. And those approaching could always be heard before they were seen. Evan could hear now that there were at least two of them.
“Wonder who’s coming from that way,” Tyler thought aloud. “I didn’t see no one head out.”
Two machines pulling long sleds emerged from the trees. A bright yellow one led the way, with a black one slightly behind it and to the right. Both drivers wore dark suits and black helmets. It was impossible to tell who they were, and Evan felt his back tense. He glanced at Tyler, and then at Isaiah. Both looked uneasy.
The snowmobiles glided along the snowy surface that would become the community’s winter access to the South once the surface was established. The drivers cut a path straight to Evan, Isaiah, and Tyler. They came in at full speed and slowed only as they reached the high snowbanks that dropped to the road that the team had just cleared.
The drivers eased their snowmobiles over the frozen ridge at the end of the road. The one in front raised a hand in greeting, as if he recognized familiar faces. The other did the same, and they brought their machines to a stop in front of the three Anishinaabe men and pulled off their helmets. Tyler recognized his little brother. “Holy fuck, it’s Kevin!”
Kevin’s short brown hair was messy, and he looked tired, but he smiled to see his brother and the road crew. The black snowmobile stopped beside him, and the second rider stood up and took off his helmet. It was Nick Jones, Kevin’s best friend, looking just as dishevelled.
Tyler charged to his brother and wrapped his arms around him. “What the fuck are you guys doing here?” he shouted in excitement. Kevin buried his head in his brother’s shoulder and began to sob. Evan and Isaiah rushed in and took turns hugging Nick, who was heaving with emotion and struggling to smile through a tear-streaked face. He caught his breath and said, “You guys have no fuckin’ idea how good it is to see you.”
“You too, bud,” said Isaiah. “What’s going on?”
Fear hummed in Evan’s ears. This is not good, he thought. Not good at all.
“Everything’s fucked up,” said Kevin, as he stifled another sob. “Everything’s fucked up. We had to come home.”
“What do you mean, bro?” asked Isaiah.
“It’s chaos down there, Izzy,” replied Nick. He was referring to Gibson, about three hundred kilometres to the southwest. “The food’s all gone. The power’s out. There’s no gas. There’s been no word from Toronto or anywhere else. People are looting and getting violent. We had to get the fuck out of there.”
So it’s everywhere, Evan thought.
Kevin picked up where Nick left off. “We stole these sleds from school and left early this morning, when it was still dark. Shit was going bad right after the power went out. So we decided to make plans to get outta there. We stocked up on some stuff for a few days before leaving.” The sleds behind the snowmobiles each held two large black hockey bags and two orange jerry cans of gas. All of the supplies were tied down tightly. “We thought we might get lost,” he continued. “But getting lost and freezing to death woulda been better than just one more day in that shithole.”
Evan adjusted his hat and sucked on his cigarette one last time before throwing it to the ground. It was his turn to hug and welcome the boys home. Comforting them was also an attempt to alleviate his own anxiety.
“We’re glad you made it,” he said. Kevin and Nick were younger than Evan and taller. They had that rangy thin build of young men who have not quite finished growing. Their almond-shaped eyes still held a youthful innocence, but they also betrayed a hardened desire to survive. “You guys should probably go home and see your parents. But don’t make a big scene or nothing like that. Just try to go home quietly. Maybe park those sleds behind the store, and we’ll give you rides home.” Kevin and Nick nodded in agreement. So did Isaiah and Tyler. “Don’t tell anyone yet about what’s going on down there. We should probably talk to Terry and the council about it first. People around here are already panicking.”