COLE RAN FASTER THAN WHEN HE’D HEARD the gunshot in Blackwood Forest. Out of desperation, and knowing that if Choch had brought up something happening tonight, Cole needed to be there. He felt like he was moving at warp speed. Everything blurred as he sprinted by—the cemetery, The X, The Fish, the clinic, the path that led to the airport, where he’d arrived what seemed like an eternity ago. When Cole came to the perimeter of the old school, where it now lay in untouched ruins, he skidded to a stop and found cover in the woods. It would suck if Mr. Kirkness saw him and took him back to jail before he was able to save Eva. Never mind having to explain the bent prison bars. It was 6:59 p.m., one minute until the memorial started. Only a few people were gathering in front of the ruins, a much smaller crowd than Cole had expected, even given the murders and the sickness.
Returning here, staring at the ruins, panic came over him again. He checked his pocket instinctively, but remembered that the pill bottle had been taken away. It was probably stashed in Wayne’s desk, in an evidence bag along with Ashley’s phone and the tobacco his grandmother had given him to offer here and now. That wasn’t going to happen, and the panic wasn’t going to go away so easily. Knowing he didn’t have his pills increased his panic. Whether he took them or not, when his anxiety reared its head he always had them to fall back on. His knees were buckling, his legs shaking, his heart racing, and sweat pouring out of every pore. He felt like he was going to faint at any moment.
A couple of people walked past Cole on their way to the ruins. He ducked down, concealing himself. They didn’t see him, even while he tried to moderate his panic with deep breaths—in through the nose, out through the mouth. They continued on to the memorial. Cole didn’t rise out of the underbrush until they’d joined the others already there. And when he did stand up he wasn’t sure that he’d make it all the way, wasn’t sure that he could stay up. His legs felt brittle, about to crumble beneath him any given moment. Cole counted community members, curious about how many were there, and also to distract himself from the anxiety. It didn’t take long. Seven. Really? That’s what the school fire meant to people? Or was it just too hard to be there? He looked around the area, over the field, at the path leading up to the school, back towards the community, trying to will somebody else there, to give a shit.
7:03 p.m.
In through the nose, out through the mouth, right from the belly. Five seconds in, seven seconds out. Cole did this over and over, but it didn’t get better. He closed his eyes and pictured himself on a boat on a lake, and he imagined calm, housed within a ball of light, floating around him. He reached out and grabbed the ball, shoved it deep inside his chest. He felt burning in his chest, and then flames burst out of his body. He opened his eyes with a gasp for air, patting at his chest as though he were on fire.
“What kind of hero am I?” he whispered.
7:07 p.m.
Twelve people now. No killer. No Eva, Brady, Michael, or Mr. Kirkness either. No news was good news. It was a bit more encouraging that the crowd had almost doubled—but still, come on. Cole was leaning against a tree, steadying himself due to his wobbly knees. He’d picked a twig from the same tree and was methodically pulling out leaf buds, as though playing “she loves me, she loves me not.” He’d become quite adept at quickly crouching down when he heard footsteps approaching. And though each time he was sure he wouldn’t be able to stand back up, so far he had accomplished what felt like a monumental feat. It felt a bit easier, too, with each successful attempt.
7:16 p.m.
“I ran why?” Cole whispered to himself as he continued his very slow squat workout, crouching down, standing up, crouching down, standing up. There were thirty-seven people now, but he was a bit too bored at this point to be encouraged by the turnout. The anxiety was beginning to subside, though, probably out of boredom. Should’ve tried that strategy with my therapist, he thought. Boredom. Just sit in the bush, and do nothing, for a long time. Anxiety cured. The memorial hadn’t started yet. Reynold was there now. He’d come from the other direction, from the clinic. Cole was glad that Reynold hadn’t walked past him, because he wasn’t sure what that would’ve done to his anxiety, or if he would’ve been able to keep hiding. He had a question or two for the presumptive Chief. There was still no Eva, nor her dad, and no gang yet either. Cole couldn’t imagine the memorial starting without the two survivors.
7:22 p.m.
Cole’s anxiety returned when Eva walked past the bush, flanked by Brady, Michael, and Mr. Kirkness. The boys looked like some kind of security detail. Mr. Kirkness had obviously heeded Cole’s warning, even if he didn’t quite believe him. Better safe than sorry. Of course, Mr. Kirkness wasn’t about to hire Reynold for the job.
It was either increased anxiety when Cole saw Eva, or some foolish schoolboy feelings that were returning at the worst possible time. She looked beautiful, as always. Beautiful and tough. He wanted to jump out of the bush and say, “I’ll take it from here, boys.” It seemed more likely that he was there to do that, rather than hide in the woods. At least it would’ve been something to do. Wayne might’ve shot him, but this was getting ridiculous. The memorial was now twenty-four minutes late, but there were sixty-two people there, including Eva and her detail.
7:31 p.m.
Cole was peeing against the tree that he had steadied himself with earlier when he heard the drum thud to life. He gasped for a breath, quickly stopped what he was doing, getting a bit of pee on his pant leg. He zipped up and assessed the wet spot, patting at it as though this action would instantly dry it. Then, even though he was hidden well, and everybody was across the field, he looked around like somebody might’ve seen him and the wet circle on his pants. But he was still alone, and thankfully spared the embarrassment.
Thump.
A heartbeat. He felt it in the ground, through his body, in his chest. A memory came to him as the drum continued to beat…
Thump. Thump.
He was holding his mother’s hand. His dad’s. They were at the school, in the gym. The grade six kids were graduating. The Grand Entry was winding its way to the front of the crowd, Elders, chief and council, the principal, teachers.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The drum was part of his spirit, coursing through his veins. He let go of his parents’ hands, put his cheek against the hardwood floor, listened to the drum, felt the drum. It was life.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
He felt it now, like he did then.
The honour song began. Cole stood up straight, clasped his hands, and bowed his head. He listened to the beat, the rhythmic singing. Even though he was hiding in the woods, waiting for a killer that he hoped wouldn’t show up, it was something he felt a part of. It sounded like all eighty-three people were joining in on the song. Cole started singing, too. The words came to him, in his language, as though he had sung them every day for the last ten years, like he hadn’t neglected them. He sang through tears, and—
“It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it?”
“I think there’s a better term for it.” Cole quickly wiped his tears away, as if he could hide anything from Choch. But it wasn’t the tears Choch was looking at. He was staring at the wet spot on Cole’s pants, snorting, trying not to laugh.
“Dude,” Choch said.
“Do you know what’s great about being me?” Choch didn’t wait for Cole to answer. He transformed into a coyote, lifted a leg, and peed against a tree. “See?” he said while the pee trail died off. He farted, then turned human again and rubbed his hands together. A job well done. “No fuss, no muss. Or should I say mess?”
“You’re literally the worst,” Cole said.
“Of course, I don’t really ever have to pee, but I find it soothing.” Choch checked his watch. Cole checked it, too. 7:42 p.m. “Have you been standing in the bush here for forty-two minutes?”
“Yeah,” Cole said, “they started, like, half an hour late.”
“Gosh, that is so annoying. And you sprinted over here with a head full of steam, didn’t you? Wanted to get here right on time, I’d imagine.”
“Well, Eva possibly getting killed kind of motivated me,” Cole said.
“How inconsiderate! And after you’d run so fast,” Choch said.
“Right?”
“It’s almost as if you’re from the city, where everybody is a slave to time, and they’re from a place where there are things far more important than a clock,” Choch said.
“Right,” Cole said. “I get it.”
“If you can remember a song, Coley-Boley, you’ve got to remember that, too.”
“Well, thanks for reminding me. I knew you were good for something. But if you could stop calling me Coley-Boley, that’d be awesome.”
“It’s a nickname, a term of endearment, like Choch.”
“You gave yourself that name. That doesn’t count.”
“It’s just short for something,” Choch said, sounding a little offended.
“Short for what?”
“Chochinov.”
“What? Why would you call yourself something like that? Who’s named that up here?”
“Anyway,” Choch stepped out of the bush and into the field. He started walking towards the memorial and didn’t look back. “Time waits for no man.”
“You just said—”
“Keep your eyes peeled, Coley. Like an overripe banana.”
7:59 p.m.
Cole scanned the crowd for the millionth time. Lauren was there, with Jayne’s dim fire beside her. Jayne’s little arm was raised into the air, pretending to hold Lauren’s hand. Wayne, Michael, and Brady were all standing next to Eva. Reynold was at the front of the crowd, speaking to them. Dr. Captain wasn’t there. This didn’t come as a surprise. She was most certainly back at the clinic, helping others, as futile as that seemed, and working through the pain of losing Alex. Elder Mariah wasn’t there either, and this surprised Cole. She was the community Elder, and would’ve been important at a gathering like this. He had no way to find out where she was, either. His phone was confiscated, and he wasn’t sure Brady would’ve answered him, regardless. Brady’s body language wasn’t an indication. He looked sad, of course. It was a gathering for all their dead friends. A pall hung over the memorial, over Brady and everybody else. Cole could feel it as clearly as he could a panic attack. The only beauty Cole could see were the northern lights overhead, the community’s namesake. They were lively tonight, moving in waves. Cole imagined, Cole knew, the spirits of those that had passed on were dancing for the ones that were left behind, left in mourning.
8:29 p.m.
Another Elder from Wounded Sky, Elder Bear, closed the memorial in prayer. The crowd bowed their heads. People removed their hats and their glasses. Cole bowed his head too. He couldn’t quite hear what was being said. It didn’t matter. He whispered his own prayer to God. He used to pray for different things as a young child than as a teenager. He used to pray for all of it to be taken away, all the pain, all the death. He used to pray for the night to start again with him and Eva on the blue mats, and he wouldn’t leave, and the fire would never happen. As he grew older, he just prayed for healing—for the community that he’d left behind, and for himself. He did that now, but he prayed that there’d be no more suffering. Please, God, no more.
When he finished, when he opened his eyes, he saw that the memorial had ended. People were walking away from the school ruins. He crouched down to hide once more from the crowd that walked past. Some people lingered behind for a minute, approached the ruins, to touch a stone or a brick that had been destroyed, as though they could make it whole again, as though they, too, were hoping for the same thing that Cole used to hope for. For everything to be as it was, for none of this to have happened.
Before long, the only people left at the memorial were Brady, Eva, and Wayne. Michael had left, reluctantly. Cole had observed Michael and Eva discussing something—maybe how Michael wanted to stay, but Eva convinced him to be with his mother. Or it could’ve been the other way around, Cole supposed, but Eva was strong like that. Eva didn’t need anybody sticking around to support her. She never did. It’s why being saved ten years ago had been so hard on her, feeling indebted in that way. And she probably was none too pleased with a wall of men around her. Or maybe it was neither. Maybe they were just saying goodbye to each other for now, and Michael had gone off to the clinic.
Watching the memorial and taking part in it, even though he was hiding in the woods, had been healing for him, in a way. And it was fitting, too, in that he was separated from everybody else, as he always had been. But now the memorial was done, and he’d been in the woods for an hour-and-a-half. It hit him that he’d broken out of jail. What was Wayne going to say when he went back to the RCMP detachment to find Cole gone, and the prison bars bent like they were pipe cleaners? What would Cole say? What could he say? He began to pace around the little area of Blackwood Forest that he’d claimed for himself. Get used to it here, he thought. How could he ever leave, or show his face in the community? He was a fugitive. How—
Eva screamed. Cole returned from his thoughts. He looked across the field to see a man with a gun emerging from the woods. He was dressed in black from head to toe, with a balaclava over his face. He had his gun pointed directly at Eva as he slowly drew closer and closer to her. In response, Wayne and Brady stepped in front of Eva. Wayne went for his own gun.
“Don’t try it!” the gunman shouted. “Get your hands up, now!”
Wayne and Brady complied. Cole stepped forward. This was it. This was why he broke out of jail.
He was a foot closer to them, a foot closer to the ruins. He felt the panic return.
“Not now.” Cole took another step, but almost fell over. His whole body was shaking, like he was naked in the winter.
The gunman was no more than five feet away from them now.
Cole took another step. Each step was getting harder to take. He was having a heart attack. He swore it was a heart attack. He could hear Mrs. Benjamin crying out for somebody to call 9-1-1. He looked at his t-shirt, saw it vibrating from his heartbeat, fast and hard. He went through the techniques his therapist taught him. He took another step, almost out of the woods now.
“Show us your face, coward!” Eva said.
“Eva!” Wayne backed up closer to her.
Deep breathing. Visualization. Mindfulness. None of it worked now. Cole fell onto his hands. He couldn’t walk anymore. He clawed his way forward. “Please. Help me.”
“Don’t move!” The gunman cocked the hammer on the gun.
“I’m weak,” Cole had said to his therapist.
“You’re not weak, Cole. You’re sick,” she’d said. She’d told him that when the anxiety was at its worst, it was fight or flight, just stuck there. It was like adrenaline. “You know what you should do?” she’d said. “Run, lift weights, do something. Use the energy. It’s there. Use it. Don’t let it stop you.”
“What do you want!?” Brady said.
“Eva,” the gunman said. “I’m here for Eva.”
“Eva,” Cole said, down on all fours. He lifted his knees up, pushed his knuckles into the ground like he was starting a race. Use it. Use the energy. Don’t let it stop you. “Eva!” He exploded into a run. Wind rushed against his face. Grass whipped against his shins. “EVA!”
They all looked in Cole’s direction. Eva. Wayne. Brady. And by the time the gunman looked in Cole’s direction, Cole had already catapulted himself through the air, towards him. Wayne saw the opportunity. He drew his gun. The gunman let off a desperate shot. Cole’s shoulder connected with the killer’s torso, and the gunman flew through the air, skidding along the ground. He came to a stop twenty feet away. Cole landed on the ground, and rolled almost forever himself, just from the momentum. He leapt to his feet, ready to charge at the gunman again, who was just pulling himself back up.
“Cole!” Brady shouted.
Wayne was on his back, his head on Eva’s lap. Eva’s pants and shirt—her hands—were covered in Wayne’s blood. Cole could see a gunshot wound in Wayne’s stomach. His light blue dress shirt was almost deep red now.
The gunman was running towards Blackwood Forest.
Cole looked back and forth.
“He needs to get to Dr. Captain!” Brady said.
Eva was trying to put pressure on the wound, but all Cole could see was blood rushing through her fingers, over her hands.
Wayne was going to die.
The gunman was almost at the woods. Cole could catch him. “I can get him!”
“No!” Eva cried. Tears were falling across her cheeks. Tears were mixing with the blood that had splashed against her skin.
The killer was gone.
Cole rushed over to Eva and Wayne. He lifted Wayne up into his arms, and ran towards the clinic.