After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) (76 page)

“But what if you don’t come back?” Matt asked. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Find a way into Aiguebelle,” I said. “Keep looking until you find someone’s who willing to help you. That’s the best I can do.”

Kayla wrapped her arms around me. “I love you, Baptiste.”

“I love you, Kayla. All the way.”

I felt another set of arms clamping my waist. “What the hell, Matt?”

“Thought it was a group hug,” he said.

“I think you just made it one,” Kayla said.

For my part, I didn’t push him away.

That took some work.

I had no riot suit, no vest, no helmet. And it didn’t take long for me to find out that Justin had known exactly where in the basement I kept the C12. Of course, it was more obvious now without the guitar case.

He had me outgunned. I was leaving the Mossberg with Kayla and Matt. All I had was my SIG.

I took one of the electric ATVs down toward New Post.

I found the horses and the cart just outside the open gate.

The horses were fine.

Three men were dead on the ground.

None of them were Justin.

I saw two pickups just up the road, stopped right in the middle, facing the gate. Both windshields were shattered.

I climbed off the ATV. With my SIG in my hands, I walked over to the trucks.

I saw the blood in the snow before I saw the bodies.

Four more.

No Justin.

I started walking along the treeline, down Archibald Road. I passed behind a couple of modular homes, looking for any sign of life and listening for any sounds of dead or dying.

It was all very quiet.

It felt like spring was coming early, but I didn’t see any children outside. I couldn’t even find any dogs.

Maybe they’d heard the gunfire at the gate and they’d known to run. Maybe the people of New Post were safely across the river.

I saw a dead dog. More blood in the snow. It looked like it had been running away from the shooting.

Then I saw another man in the snow. Wearing a set of riot gear and armour, with yellow lettering: “OPP”.

I approached slowly, in case he was still alive. But his helmet was a good two metres away, and his head was soaked in blood. They’d hit him in the delts to bring him down. Then they’d pulled off the helmet and made sure he was dead.

It wasn’t Justin.

He’d given a set to someone else.

I grabbed the dead man by his feet and pulled him into the ditch. I pulled off the vest and the riot suit. I put them on. Then I climbed out and grabbed the helmet.

And then I kept walking.

I heard what was likely my C12. Multiple rounds. No pause, no discrimination, like he wasn’t even bothering to stop and take aim.

It was coming from the west; I ran across a treeless yard toward the noise. I had no cover. But I had my armour.

I dropped down into the ditch along the main road, trying to keep my head lower than the drifts.

From the ditch I could see it all.

Seven men in armour, all but one with painted combat helmets; I recognized my gear on the other, but he was holding a shotgun instead of my C12.

The man who had the C12 wore a helmet I recognized. The coyote. Justin had given him my gun.

There were a couple of deuce-and-a-half military cargo trucks parked right behind them, with canvas tops. They’d come from the northwest, over the old rail bridge and up the stretch of Takwata Road that New Post had built to meet it. Justin’s attack from the northeast had drawn the bulk of the defenders to the other gate.

That wasn’t much different than the plan I’d made to get Sara back. But they weren’t there to rescue anyone.

I saw a large group of children sitting terrified in the snow.

At least twenty women on their knees.

A line of a dozen men against the wall of a house, their hands on their heads.

And at least a dozen men in front of them, lying dead in the snow.

Coyote opened fire again.

The line of men fell.

I couldn’t take them out. Not all of them. At least not all at once.

I had to wait.

With the men of New Post shot and bleeding, the women were next.

Twelve of them were pulled up by their hair and forced against the wall of the building, standing right over the bodies of their men.

Coyote didn’t point my C12 at them.

Instead, he walked forward and pulled one of the women off the line. One of the prettiest. He dragged her by her hair, away from the building, and pushed her down on her knees.

A second man walked over to the line and took his pick. A little young and a little chubby, but he seemed happy.

Four of the other men picked out their trophy.

One man did not. He shook his head, his helmet painted with orange and black tiger stripes.

Coyote took off his helmet.

It was Justin.

“We’re waiting,” Justin said to the man in the tiger striped helmet.

“I don’t want one,” the man said.

Justin laughed. “Whatever. We take shifts. You, you, and you... stay here and watch for the rest of ‘em. Don’t touch anything yet.”

They were taking orders from him; there was no denying that.

Justin had always been the coyote.

He was the one who’d been so worried that Natalie and Tabitha would recognize him as he raped them. That’s probably why he’d made sure they wouldn’t get another chance to realize who he was, and tell us the truth about him; for all I knew, he’d snuck off to meet his real crew at the Girards, so he’d get a chance to torture those young girls himself.

And he’d wanted me to know that I was to blame.

And Justin Porter was the one who’d shot Ant. He’d killed Ant and then he’d tried to tell me it was Ryan Stems.

He’d done his best to start a war.

This was his last kick at the can.

He and three of the men walked off to two of the houses to the left, pushing their chosen women in front of them. Justin took my C12 with him.

The men who stayed behind were still in full gear, two armed with assault rifles, the other with the shotgun. Tiger stripe was one of them.

I couldn’t take them out.

Not like that.

I crawled through the ditch, moving away from the gunmen and their captives.

I reached a culvert at a driveway and I quickly darted up and over.

Most good soldiers would have spotted me.

Those guys didn’t.

I kept moving back until I reached the end of the ditch, right next to the hockey arena.

I ran along the south side of the building, covered from their view. I’d have to cross a field to get to the next bit of cover, a stand of trees behind the houses that Justin and his fellow Spirit Animals had commandeered.

I took the risk.

They didn’t see me.

I reached the first house, where the two of the men had gone with their prisoners. The back door was unlocked; I opened it and stepped inside.

I followed the sound of a man laughing. He hadn’t bothered to close the door.

He was naked aside from his socks. He had the woman on the twin bed, still clothed, lying on top of an afghan with squares of playful moose and deer.

He was trying to pull down her pants, and he seemed to be enjoying the fight.

I reached for a stuffed bear sitting on a forest-green dresser.

I stuffed the barrel of my SIG into the belly of the little brown bear. I shoved it against the back of the man’s head and fired.

The woman screamed.

“Stay here,” I told her.

I heard footsteps in the next room. He’d heard something... but I doubt he knew what.

I heard the door open.

I started moaning. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah...”

I heard the door close.

Footsteps. The bed started to squeak.

I ran out to the hall and over to the next room. I had the bear to his scalp before he could turn around.

The second woman didn’t scream when I pulled the trigger; she covered herself with a blanket and just waited for something.

I tossed the bloodied teddy bear on the floor. Then I nodded and left the room. I checked out the front window.

No one had noticed.

I went out the back door.

I reached the second house.

The back door was locked.

As bad as those gunmen were at their job... they’d see me if I tried to get around to the front.

I’d have to be quick.

I shot out the lock. It took two rounds to get the door open. I had six left.

In the first bedroom I found a man who wasn’t Justin, still wearing a bullet resistant vest but not his helmet. He was pointing his assault rifle at the woman in his room, trying to get her to take her clothes off.

“Just shoot me,” she said.

“I’ll do worse than that,” he said.

I shot him just below his left ear.

I heard footsteps from the next room.

I swung around to meet them.

But Justin didn’t come for me. I saw him run right out the front door.

He’d taken off his armour. And he didn’t have my gun.

“Shoot the goddamn house!” he screamed.

The gunmen opened up on the door.

I fell to the floor.

“Get under the beds,” I said. “Stay down until the shooting stops.”

I crawled to the second bedroom just as the firing ended.

I found the fourth woman. And the C12.

She was doing her best to point it at me.

I was still on my hands and knees.

“I’m a friend,” I said. “Robert Jeanbaptiste, from McCartney Lake. I’m here to kill these men.”

“You’re dressed just like them,” she said.

“I just shot three of them. That should count for something.”

“Just go.”

“I can’t. I need that weapon.”

“You have one,” she said, nodding to the SIG in my right hand.

“Only three bullets left. Not enough.”

“I don’t trust you. I can’t.”

“Do you see what I’m wearing? It’s body armour. Bulletproof. You can’t hurt me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Please...”

“You’re here to help us? Swear to God?”

I took off my helmet. “I swear on my daughter’s life.”

She looked into my eyes. “Okay.”

I stood up slowly.

I took the C12 away from her.

“Now please get low,” I said. “Under the bed if you can.”

She did as I asked.

I went out the back door.

I walked around the side. I looked around the corner.

The three gunmen were there.

But I couldn’t see Justin. And one of the trucks was gone.

I saw movement from the south.

Five men. With rifles.

Men from New Post. One was Gerald Archibald.

I lowered my C12. To show I wasn’t a threat.

They ran up to the building, taking cover beside me.

“All three are in armour,” I said. “Aim for their kidneys.”

“They have hostages,” Gerald said.

“Those aren’t hostages, Gerald... anyone who’s still alive just hasn’t been killed yet. We need to get this done before they finish the job.”

He was hesitating.

I had no time for that.

I swung around the corner. I looked down the sights and took aim.

The first target went down.

I pulled back behind the house as they fired back.

I swung around again.

The second target fell.

The third took off running toward the cargo truck. The man with the tiger stripes.

I took shots at his legs, trying to cut him down.

I couldn’t pin him. He reached the truck.

I fired on it. But those trucks are built to take some heat.

He drove right past; I was lucky he didn’t try to run me down.

He turned the corner onto Archibald Road and disappeared.

I ran to the two wounded gunmen.

“Hands on your heads,” I said.

They complied.

Gerald Archibald came up beside me.

“Stay back,” I said. “This area may not be clear.”

Gerald ignored me. He walked right up to the men on the ground.

“Take off your helmets,” he said.

They did as they were told.

He turned to his men. “Do it out of sight,” he said.

The other four men from New Post took the two prisoners away.

“You’re going to kill them,” I said.

“Put down your guns, Baptiste.”

“Not until we’ve secured the area.”

“Put them down. I’m placing you under arrest.”

I looked around. Gerald had one rifle slung over his shoulder. The only four men he could count on had just dragged two prisoners off for execution.

I could take that rifle from him.

I wouldn’t have to fire a shot.

“Justin Porter got away,” I said. “And one other. I need to find them.”

“You’re responsible for this. You let this happen.”

“I put a stop to it. I saved dozens of your people.”

“I count thirty-two of my people dead. Someone needs to pay.”

I heard two shots in the distance.

“Put down your guns,” Gerald said.

I could take that rifle...

The four men were on their way back. I could see them.

I stepped toward Gerald.

“Baptiste...”

I took his rifle.