“Oh, right. This used to be the road. I forgot.” Meghan readjusted her wool toque while she looked down at the snow to hide her embarrassment.
“Where’s the rest of your crew?”
“The other guys went to check more traps. They’re all spread around.”
“You guys got enough to eat over there?”
“Yeah, I think so. Haven’t been too hungry yet anyway.”
The days after the second wave of newcomers arrived had been tense and awkward. After Scott had killed one of the refugees, Terry and Walter had felt obliged to take them in — though they hadn’t been planning to turn them away. They moved quickly to house the three surviving members of the group in Walter’s basement while they made arrangements for more long-term housing.
Brad, his wife Meghan, and the third man, Alex Richer, mourned their friend while they settled in to their new reality. Walter and his wife did what they could to make them feel at home, cooking moose and deer and sharing stories about the community and the people who lived there. All three helped with chopping and piling wood and cooking. Eventually Brad and Alex joined Walter when he set and checked rabbit snares.
After a month, the newcomers had moved into the row of duplex bungalows. While many of the original inhabitants had moved in with other family, some remained there, including Cam. Nicole pictured the row of brown duplex homes and wondered whether the bush on that end of the community yielded enough wildlife to feed these white people. She also wondered how well they knew how to trap.
Meghan stepped up from the dip where the ditch used to be. Her narrow aluminum snowshoes sank slightly into the crust of the snow. She smiled at the children in the wooden sled. “Hi there, what are your names?”
“I’m Maiingan, and this my sister Nangohns,” the boy said.
“Aaniin!” the girl piped up from the front.
“Those are nice names!”
“We were going a little stir-crazy in the house all morning,” said Nicole. “I decided to take them out for some fresh air.”
“That’s a good idea. At least it’s not windy out today.”
Nicole noticed Meghan’s gaunt cheeks and the heavy purple circles shadowing her bright blue eyes. It shocked Nicole, who remembered her looking healthier. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her, though. Most people just let the visitors be in the small pocket the community had granted them.
“You’re Nicole, right? Evan’s wife?”
“Sort of. We were planning on eventually making it official but all this happened. And I know you’re Meghan.”
“I guess pretty much everyone around here knows our names, eh? There’s no hiding.”
“Well, if anyone can hide in the snow, it’s you guys.”
Meghan let out a nervous chuckle.
“I’m just kidding,” assured Nicole.
They both giggled. Then Meghan held her stomach and leaned over in uncontrollable laughter. She caught her breath and stood up. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I needed that.”
Nicole guessed Meghan was a little older than her, but not by much. But she had aged. She looked malnourished, exhausted, and even traumatized. And Nicole knew who was the root of that trauma. She felt sympathy but wasn’t sure if she wanted to connect with this woman, or how to do it while staying out of Scott’s way.
“Sometimes all we got is laughter,” Nicole said, echoing something her own mother would say. “Around here we say it’s good medicine.”
“Not much to laugh about these days, though.”
“You guys are still settling in. It’ll get better.” Nicole’s words hung in the air. She sensed the woman in front of her was on the verge of breaking. “Are you really alright over in your new place?”
“As good as we can be, I guess.”
Meghan paused and Nicole waited. It was obvious to her there was more this tired woman wanted to say.
“Scott’s a fucking asshole,” Meghan blurted out. “Sorry for swearing in front of your kids.”
“Don’t worry. They’ve heard them all by now. Especially since winter started.” Nicole flashed a friendly half-smile to ease the other woman’s rising tension and noticed tiny tears threatening to slip from Meghan’s eyes.
“He just… he orders us around. He threatens us. And the worst part is, Brad has totally fallen in line.”
“That’s your husband?”
“Yeah. It’s like he’s his little lapdog. And sometimes I catch Scott staring at me. It really creeps me out. I’m worried he’s gonna…”
Her voice cracked before trailing off. Nicole stepped forward to put her hand on her shoulder. Meghan tensed up at first, then Nicole felt her ease.
“Do you want to come back to our place for some tea and something to eat?”
Meghan wiped her nose with the back of her glove and sniffled hard. “Thanks, but I better not. I have more snares to check. He’s expecting us to bring back some food.”
“Is he pulling his weight at least?”
“I really don’t know. He says he has a plan.”
“A plan for what?”
“A plan for stuff to eat whenever all that emergency food runs out.”
“What could that be? We’re hunting and trapping already. We’ll set nets for fish when the ice breaks up.”
“He says that won’t do it. He always nods at Brad and Alex when that comes up — like he’s trying to intimidate them. But they won’t say anything to me about it. And it’s weird — he seems to be getting bigger, though I know that’s not possible. Probably it’s just the rest of us are getting skinnier.”
Nicole felt a chill run through her arms. What’s he planning on eating? she wondered. “Do you think they’re —”
“Sorry, I gotta go,” Meghan interrupted. “They’re probably waiting for me.”
“No, wait, just come get warm for a few minutes.”
“No, I can’t. Thanks, though. I’ll see you around. Nice to meet you kids!” She turned and trudged through the snow as quickly as the snowshoes would let her.
“Wait, hold up… Meghan!”
Her back was to them as she threw up a hand to wave goodbye. The emptiness in her gut told Nicole to take the kids back home.
Twenty-Four
Tyler fumbled with a heavy ring of keys as dawn broke in the east. The cold bit at his bare fingers. Terry, Evan, and Isaiah stood behind him, shuffling on the crusty snow with their snowshoes under their arms.
“Goddamn it, hurry up!” prodded Isaiah. “It’s fuckin’ freezing out here!”
“Calm your ass down,” Tyler responded. “I got it.”
Keys clanked as he unlocked and pulled the door to the shop open. They entered, their billowing breath tinted purple and orange in the morning light.
Ration day was Tuesday. Though most had abandoned their calendars, they managed to count the days between the rationing. Terry still managed the food dispersal and he maintained a routine as best he could. He relied on a small black day planner that he kept in the front pocket of his parka, but it wouldn’t matter if he lost it: the hungry showed up every Tuesday, earlier and earlier with each passing week.
Home delivery of food supplies had ended about two months earlier, when the gas and diesel allotted for vehicles ran out. Now it was up to each person to come and get their own rations. The shop had become the designated pickup spot because of the bodies stored in the garage at the band office. It was farther for most people to walk, but it was the only reasonable solution. Few other community buildings were fortified or secure.
Late one night, they had moved about half of the food cache — enough for the rest of the winter, they calculated — from its storage under the garage to the shop. It took all night. With the bodies lying nearby, the process was sombre and weird.