Isaiah and Evan brought the bags back to Katie, who offered a simple miigwech and a smile before going back out the door and loading them on her plastic sled to pull home.
The morning proceeded mostly in quiet routine. Twenty cans of canned ham went to some. Fifteen went to others. They tried to spread out the chilli sparingly and fairly. Brandon Jones said he needed more cans of meat because his brother Matt’s family had just moved in with them. Jeff reminded him that they’d eventually have to get out and hunt. Brandon didn’t appreciate what he felt was scolding and told him to fuck off as he left.
By midday, a lineup had formed that snaked out the door and around the building. People held large backpacks, empty hockey bags, and plastic sleds at their sides, anticipating heavy hauls. Many faces had lost colour and some bore even the yellow stain of malnutrition.
Inside, the crew worked as quickly as possible to fill bags and answer questions. None had expected this sudden rush to the handout. There were lineups in previous weeks, but they hadn’t formed this quickly. It made them all uneasy. What’s behind this? thought Evan. What kind of rumours were going around that they hadn’t heard?
People in the line grew restless. With the door propped open as people tried to squeeze in, the team could hear shouting outside. Walter told Evan, Isaiah, and Tyler to go out and investigate.
Outside the shouts were crisp, cutting accusations and threats. “Fuck you, you’re the one who butted in front of me!” yelled one man. Evan recognized his cousin Jason. “Fuck that, asshole, step back!” said another man. He saw the tussle brewing about halfway down the line. As they approached, they could see that it was Tyler’s brother fighting with Jason.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Tyler shouted. “Break it up!” He stepped between their punches, taking a couple errant blows to the face in the process. Their heavy jackets and sweaters slowed their swings, but the men were bloody, with split lips and crunched noses. Others stepped in to pull them apart but soon got caught up in the violence and began scrapping with each other. Pent-up tension exploded along the line and it quickly descended into an all-out brawl.
Men and women swore and yelled. Adrenaline surged through Evan as he saw blood dripping from his cousin’s ashen face. They didn’t get along, but Jason was still family. He ploughed in, pulling at arms, punching at any face he could see until he found himself toe-to-toe with Tyler.
He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Tyler’s torso and driving him into the side of the shop. His cap came off and his long brown hair flew about. The slam knocked the wind out of Tyler. “What the fuck, Ev?” he grunted out as he tried to get his breath back. “Calm down! What are you doing?” He pushed at Evan’s arms to free himself from the grip.
Four sharp cracks of gunfire pierced the havoc, bringing silence to the melee. Justin Scott stood at the bottom of the road leading up to the shop, holding a handgun in the air. Despite the freezing temperatures, his bald head was bare, bouncing the sunlight back up to the sky. To his right stood Brad Connor, another of the newcomers.
Scott lowered the gun to his side and walked forward, the other man a step behind him. “Settle down.”
Evan and Tyler stood side by side, with dishevelled jackets and tussled hair. Scott looked at them. “Jesus Christ, what’s gotten into you two? I thought you were supposed to be the reasonable ones around here?”
Evan looked down at his boots. His damn temper had gotten out of control again, which hardly ever happened before all this. “They ran out of the fruit cocktail in there,” Tyler quipped. Evan snorted and wiped his warm snot on his sweater sleeve. He looked back at Scott, who just shook his head.
“Is the whole gang inside?” Scott asked Evan, who nodded. “Alright then.” He looked to Connor and gestured with his head in the direction of the building. “Let’s go.”
Both men strolled past the queue of hungry people, who stared at them in resentment. Scott towered over everyone else in the community, even Tyler, and Connor was only a few inches shorter. Their pale faces shimmered in the daylight. Scott ignored everyone, but Connor surveyed the line cautiously. Scott threw the door open and walked inside.
Debbie, Walter, and Terry looked up to see the men stroll in ahead of the line. Walter sighed, and Terry guided his expression to neutrality. Debbie handed a bag to a young father at the front of the line and asked, “What’s up, boys?”
“Oh, we just came by to see how the handouts were going today,” Scott answered. He sauntered towards the table and sat down in one of the open chairs at the side. Connor stayed at the wall by the door. He scratched his thick red beard before putting his hands in the pockets of his snowmobile jacket.
“Steady as she goes,” Debbie replied.
“Really?” Scott cocked his head. “Because it looked like you had a brawl outside just a couple minutes ago.”
“People are hungry,” Debbie shrugged. “It’s cold out today too.”
The people standing in the inside food line watched Scott uneasily. He looked at the line of brown faces with hollowing cheeks. The heads without toques or ball caps were shaggy and greasy. The growing desperation was palpable and none of the leadership in the room could deny it.
“If you guys want some, you’re gonna have to go to the back of the line,” Debbie said as she handed another full canvas bag back to a young woman. “We gotta keep this going.”
Scott cleared his throat and fixed his eyes on Terry and Walter, who were trying to focus on the lists of people and supplies in front of them. “I think we’re good for today, thanks,” he declared, as if to make some kind of point. “We snared a few pretty big rabbits the other day. That’s probably more than you can say for anyone else here.”
Terry’s eyes cut sharply to Scott. Scott stood up and stepped closer to them. The young woman waiting for her food shuffled backwards. He put both hands on the table and leaned in. His deep-set blue eyes moved from Terry to Walter to Debbie and back.
“I know you’re running out,” he whispered. “And if you think you can just brush off shit like what just happened outside, you’re delusional.” He leaned in closer. “They’re gonna go crazy. They’re gonna get violent. And when the last can goes from that room in the back there, they’re gonna come for you. Unless they get their shit together, you’re gonna have a serious crisis on your hands.”
Terry’s fists clenched on the surface of the table. The hot furnace air felt dry in Evan’s throat. Scott brought his whisper down even lower, but not too low, so the first few people near the table could hear his foreboding message. “You’re gonna have to think about feeding your people. And you’re running out of options. But I know where we can find something else to eat, and I think you know what I mean.”
Scott stood up and smiled, his mouth cavernous and dark behind his big teeth “Chi-miigwech for your time, Chief,” he said, changing his tone. “I look forward to discussing this matter with you again.”
He turned around and stepped out the door, with Connor following closely behind.
Twenty-Seven
Evan struck the red match head against the gritty side of the box. A tiny orange flame crackled to life, giving off a small puff of grey smoke. The sulphur lingered for a moment, stinging his nostrils. Pinching the match between his calloused, dirt-stained thumb and forefinger, he turned the match to let the flame crawl along the small wooden stick.
It began as an orange teardrop and stretched as it crawled along the stick. As it elongated, the flame peaked at either end, like a smile. The cold air above it shimmered from the small pocket of heat. The fire crawled away from the match head, leaving curved, charred remains that almost looked like a burnt tadpole. The flame mesmerized Evan and he didn’t realize he was under its spell until he felt it burn his fingers. He shook the flame out and threw the match on the ground before lighting another.