“IT’S TAKING HIM TOO LONG.”
“Relax Larose. Me, I think Johnny’s just pissing around out there, he’ll be back.”
Harvey Larose and Chumboy were in the workbay, doing some repairs on one of the snowmachines. It used to be the fire hall, a big shell of a building with a grey cement floor and a metal roof that made a steady din when there was sleet or wind. It was another cold one, so they had loaded up the wood boiler that was cracking and snapping in the corner. It wasn’t helping. Chumboy had said that Larose’s kid, Shaun, should hurry up fixing that goddam generator so they could have some proper heat. Larose explained it wasn’t a fucking Tonka truck you could fix with duct tape or glue, but Chumboy said that’s how Shaun had fixed it the last time. Larose said maybe that was the problem right there.
Larose said, “He should’ve been back by now.”
“I’m telling you, you’re worse than my mother…”
“You ain’t got a mother.”
“I’m telling her you said that.”
Larose saw Chumboy glance out the small rectangle of a window at the deep turquoise sky.
“See?” Larose said. “He’s late, okay? Now are we going?”
Chumboy set down the wrench he’d been using. Slaught was a little late, but then sometimes the guy just went off, did as he pleased without checking in or saying where he was going. Chumboy figured Slaught had some demons on his back but never said anything, no point, the guy wasn’t exactly a great conversationalist.
Chumboy asked, ”Know where he was headed?”
“Said he was headed north, just half hour or so up the line.”
“Yeah? What’s there? I thought we’d been over that ground way back when.”
“Johnny said he thought there might be some cows, believe it or not. Last guy who came in, that Mowat guy, said someone told him a big farm had been there, figured there might still be some animals around.”
“The guy said he saws cows?”
Larose shrugged. “That’s what he said.”
“Must’ve been into the homemade hooch him, probably just saw a moose.”
“The guy was a farmer himself, you know, he said it was a cow. Some of these guys had barns full of hay when they up and left. Cows might have found a way to get it you know.”
Chumboy said, “Me, I still think them cows would be ever goddam skinny by now.”
“Well anyway, he said he was just going to check it out. Not as though we don’t need it, eh? There’s more people trailing in here almost every week now. You should hear Tiny griping, says he’s going to stop being camp cook, no flour, out of salt. Can’t keep up. And Christ, did you see that last bunch that came in here, man, that broad must’ve had ten kids with her.”
“Two. There were two kids.”
“Yeah, well it seemed like ten, okay?”
“North, eh?”
Larose didn’t answer. Chumboy looked outside again. Yeah, Slaught had left early this morning and where he was headed wasn’t all that far. They’d put a few big maps up on the wall, sectioned off different areas and had been working their way through them all, seeing what folks had left behind. Now they were doing some backtracking. First time out they had most of what they needed and maybe weren’t looking as hard. Now, they were looking hard.
He said, “Okay, let’s go find our cowboy.”
Chumboy figured it was better to check anyway, you never knew when you went out, you could run into any kind of shit. Last time out, he just missed going toe-to-toe with a wolf, scrawny but big enough, hungry enough too. Usually it was the weather blind-siding you, but it could be anything, some guy going postal, you just never knew. They’d been lucky so far.
Their breath hung in the cold air as they walked from the workbay to the hotel, the snow packed hard underfoot. Inside the main building, a young scrawny guy was sitting behind a table keeping notes on what had been hauled in yesterday. A girl around eight was helping, pulling some pink barrettes off their packaging. In behind them were huge racks and shelves that took up about a third of the big open space that used to be the bar area. It was one of the main storage areas in the place. At the other end, still using the little round red tables along with some big rectangular tables they’d hauled in, was the dining room. Chumboy had said they should keep the formica-topped tables that had been in the bar back in the day, said they must have good juju. A few kids were playing cards back there, laying the cards down on the round, cherry-red tops, and Chumboy could hear Tiny banging around the kitchen behind him.
Chumboy was watching the scrawny guy print painfully slow in the big ledger they kept. He leaned over and tapped his finger on the neat row of printing that said “barrettes, pink.”
“I think that’s a bit retentive, just keep track of the things we might need, okay? Oh, and let Tiny know we’re heading out, should be back in a few hours.”
“Hey, where are you guys going?”
“Don’t get your shorts in a knot Sylvester, we’re just heading out for a bit, going to check up on Johnny.”
“Who is left then? Jeff is out, so is Shaun. You can’t just leave the place like that. What if something happens?”
Chumboy looked at the kid. Maybe eighteen, skinny as crap. Hair cropped short above his ears.
“Calm down Sylvester. We’ll be back just after supper. Nothing’s going to happen, nothing ever happens.”
“Uh, well okay, I’ll keep an eye on things, uh, and, uh, you know, my name is Max.”
“Yeah, whatever Sylvester, hold down the fort.”
Larose tossed a helmet to Chumboy, said, “Why do you keep calling him Sylvester? It drives him crazy.”
“You have to ask? Look at him. That kid ain’t no Max. The Road Warrior was a Max. Him? He’s a Sylvester.”
Chumboy figured they only had a couple of hours before the dark really started to settle in. Already the lean shadows of the birch were reaching out across the snow, the streaks of lime on the aqua sky ebbing away. They headed out, across some farmers’ fields, Chumboy picking up Slaught’s trail, passing a string of lonely houses with snow drifted up over the front porches, up over the doors of the occasional pick-up truck left behind, up over dog houses and tool sheds. Then into the bush, cross-country over rough trails, taking to the bends and hills, ridges of snow hard-edged and sculpted from the wind.
Finally, there was a cluster of buildings, the neat row of houses surrounded by unbroken snow, and a drift of smoke up through the air over the bigger brick building at the far end. Chumboy moved up and spotted Slaught’s sled sitting at the top of the street under a bunch of cedars. He cut his engine, waited for Larose to do the same.
“What’s the building Larose?”
“The old town works building I think. Should we scout around the back, see what’s up?”
They split up, circled the building and met back by Slaught’s machine. Larose said, “All I got were a few dead pick-ups. What’d you get?”
“A school bus and tracks from maybe two sleds.”
“Yeah? How old are the tracks.”
“Well, I’d say a day or so maybe?”
Larose looked over his shoulder.
“Shit. That doesn’t look good.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Either way we should be careful, and get a move on.”
“So, take the machines in?” Larose asked.
“The place gives me the heebs.”
“Is that a yes?”
“I’m not walking in there me, you crazy?” Thinking that was exactly what Johnny had done, walked right in there, couldn’t leave the guy alone for an afternoon without some sort of shit hitting the fan.
They decided to check out the bus first and then take a look at the set of tracks outside the building. Chumboy headed straight on, Larose skirting around and coming up from the opposite end of the bus.
They came in slow, Chumboy approaching the driver’s side, now maybe ten yards away. Larose killed his engine as Chumboy reached behind his seat for his rifle.
Chumboy paused, seeing a set of footprints, almost up to the bus, but then backtracking. Snow was crusted up along the tire wells, drifted up onto the door.
“Looks like school’s been out for a while.”
Larose nodded, said “Let’s hurry, I want to get the hell out of here.”
Snow had filled in the bottom of the door and the first step. The door was frozen half open, enough for Larose to pry himself through, which he did.
“Shit. Holy Shit.” Larose came backing out of the bus fast, the doors making a grinding sound then popping open.
“What? What is it?” Chumboy asked, but Larose was just staring up into the bus.
Chumboy moved cautiously past Larose and up onto the bus. Christ, it was like Madame fucking Tussauds in there. A scattering of waxen figures throughout the bus, some slumped forward, others leaning against each other in the seats, huddled under blankets. A pair of old guys with some candy wrappers in their laps, scarves bundled around their necks. A lady with tangled knitting stuck to her blue coat with frozen blood sitting behind the driver. He was hunched over the steering wheel. It was coated in red ice. So was the floor below. Chumboy couldn’t budge him. Everyone was frozen solid.
“How many?” Larose asked.
“Twenty or so. Looks like most of ’em froze to death far as I can tell. Except the driver, looks like he was shot in the chest, must’ve splattered on this lady behind him.”
Larose said, “Jesus. Anything else?”
“Maybe they tried to start some sort of fire. Some of the seats are scorched and there’s ashes back here.”
Chumboy climbed down, leaned against the bus, feeling the cold yellow metal through his parka. They’d come across some bodies before, a snowmobiling accident, another looked like a heart attack, but nothing like this. This was messed up.
Larose asked, “How long you think they’ve been here.”
“Hard to tell. Could be a year or so? Maybe longer.”
“So you mean the bus was here long before that set of tracks.”
“No doubt about it.”
Larose said, frowning, “Surprised we missed it, must have always come through here by a different route.”
Chumboy nodded towards the building, a mess of tracks leading up to a series of partially broken windows. “Looks like somebody decided to start a party inside.”
“Could be trouble.”
Chumboy shrugged, “Then dollars to donuts that’s where Johnny is.”
They headed towards the windows, the snow deep, up over their boots. There was a series of windows, two were cracked, the third smashed through. Chumboy leaned in, jagged, crushed glass along the floor inside. Must’ve taken a run at the other two windows with no luck. He stood back. “There’s no way I’m fitting through this window.”
Chumboy backtracked to the door. It looked like who ever had gone in through the window had tried their luck with the door too but couldn’t get it open. He looked around and saw a set of tracks headed around the other end of the building, thinking they probably belonged to Slaught, maybe him trying another way in, worried about the noise of busting in the doors. Chumboy wasn’t worried about that. He passed his gun to Larose then stepped back, gave the door a couple of sound kicks—the cracking of ice along the frame and it flew open.
Larose stepped in first and they made their way across the open space. Looked like some sort of work area. Chumboy was already taking inventory. A few plough blades, a truck. Along the wall some oil cans. Shit, even a couple of generators on the back of the pick-up. Now that was a find, wondering how they’d missed this place. But there was crap too, scattered across the floor, some pink slippers, a big bag of red curlers, a few books.
“Looked like something puked up a yard sale,” muttered Chumboy, pushing a pile with his foot, salt and pepper shakers shaped like toadstools, a chipped coffee mug, couple issues of National Geographic. He bent down to grab the issue on top and then he saw the pair of boots, tucked in beneath the pick up, dead ahead.
“What a bunch of bullshit, eh buddy?”
Larose looked over, and Chumboy nodded his head towards the truck. Chumboy figured if the guy was armed, he would’ve already dealt with them. He looked questioningly at Larose. Larose shrugged.
“Hey asshole,” Chumboy shouted, “do us a favour, we’re cold, tired, and hungry, come on out with your hands on your head and let’s get this over with, okay?”
Nothing.
He edged his way towards the truck. There was no real way to get at the guy except straight on. Chumboy easing his way forward now, shooting a look over at Larose who was on the other side of the room, staring hard at the truck. “Come on, I’m not going to pulverize you or anything, just come on out slowly so we can have a look at you, okay?”
Larose saw the two-by-two coming down from behind the stack of pallets beside Chumboy, but it happened way too quick to do anything about it.
“Christ,” Chumboy yelled, jumping back and away as the board swung down a second time. He could see the stocking feet as he grabbed behind, thinking he couldn’t believe the empty boots fooled him, and he reached and caught the edge of a parka. Then the glint of a knife, cutting into his hand, and where the hell was Larose anyway, and the knife fell to the floor as he whacked it with his free hand but then the parka was at him, punching and kicking. Christ, even screaming.
“Larose! What the fuck? Now would be a good time…” but he could see Larose standing there, looking a little stupid, maybe surprised.
“Fuck this,” Chumboy said, thinking of the door that this bastard couldn’t even kick in, and the fact that he must be a good foot taller than the squirming sonofabitch. He reached up over his shoulder, making contact with what felt like the back of the neck and pulled, but hands came up and dug into his eye. Chumboy yelped and dropped her, “Holy shit, you little witch.”
“Screw you,” she yelled, slamming her shoulder into his knee as he cradled his eye.
“What are you trying do, blind me?” Chumboy cried, trying to shield his face and grab onto to her coat, and then to Larose yelled, “Ever crazy girl her, get her the Christ off of me.”
“I can see it’s a crazy girl, Chum, “Larose said, edging forward, but the two were so tangled up now it was hard to get in at them, Chumboy holding onto her snowsuit and her flailing away at him.
“Calm down,” Larose barked, “we’re not going to hurt you. Just stand still for a goddam minute.”
She was yelling too. “Tell him to let go.”
“Chum, let her go, just get away from her.”
Chumboy flinched as he released her, expecting another round of abuse, and sort of ducked away, but she lost her balance and tipped over, catching herself against the truck. Chumboy turned to face her, rubbing the back of his head. “Jesus,” was all he could manage.
She straightened herself and backed up along the truck, asked, “Who are you guys?”
Chumboy was rubbing his shoulder, said, “It’s not really you who should be asking the questions here lady, I think maybe you should be saying who you are.”
“Susun Latour.”
She was slender, probably more like scrawny, dark hair long, blue eyes that were showing fear. Chumboy figured she’d been here awhile from the looks of her.
“Chumboy,” he said, nodding, “and my paralytic friend over there is Harvey Larose.”
Larose was sort of laughing, shaking his head. “That scrawny bastard almost kicked your ass Chumboy.”
Chumboy grimaced and ran his hand across his neck. “That hurt man,” he said, sounding wounded, turned his attention to Susun, asked, “This your home?”
She said, “My home? Does it look like a home to you?”
“Calm down, it was just a question. It does seem kind of strange you out here in the middle of nowhere, this must the old town works building maybe? Hasn’t been open in, oh, a couple of years? So don’t try and tell me you were temping here.”
“I’m not alone here.”
Chumboy said, “So who else is here?”
“Never mind. Why don’t you just go now, okay? Leave us alone. We have nothing you want here.”
“Might be interested in those generators there,” Chumboy said.
“Take them, take them and get out of here, okay?”
“You sure are in a hurry to get rid of me and my good buddy here. Hope that isn’t because you beat your last visitor into a bloody pulp with that two-by-two of yours.”
“You security?” she asked, sounding unsure, moving back a little along the edge of the truck.
Chumboy snorted in disgust. “Don’t think so.”
“If you aren’t security what are you doing up here.”
“There hasn’t been security up here in many months lady, and, we could be asking the same of you.”
She hesitated. “Are you part of a community?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions missy, why not just take us to our buddy, okay? We know he came in here, we saw his tracks.”
“Buddy?”
“Yeah, buddy. Lady look…”
“Johnny Slaught’s your buddy?” she asked.
“You know Johnny?” Chumboy asked, thinking things were getting a little weird.
She just stared. Chumboy wondered if she was having some sort of breakdown. What were they going to do with her, bring her back with them if she was all psycho? Didn’t think they couldn’t leave her here though, not out here. Chumboy waved his hand at her, “Uh, hello in there, uh, Susie, still home?”
She didn’t say anything, just sort of moved away from him further along the truck towards the cab, breathing hard. Larose asked, “Do you have a man here with you? I mean, other than Johnny.”
“He’s not a man,” she was almost spitting, “he’s a coward, a damn pig…”
“Whoa Nellie, what is your problem?” Chumboy said. “Unless you dated the guy back in high school you’ve only known him for, what? a few hours? That’s a lot of abuse for a few hours worth of contact. So just take a deep breath, show me where he is, and since you loathe him so much, I’ll be happy to get him outta your hair, okay?”
“Screw off,” she said.
“What is your problem lady?” Chumboy threw up his arms. “We gotta get going, it’s going to be dark soon. We’ll leave you here if we have to…”
“Fine with me, she said, “though I’m surprised you haven’t just raped and murdered me already.”
“Well, Susie Q, I guess I’m going to have to turn you down on that one, ”Chumboy said, then moved forward quick and grabbed her arm, “for now,” then quietly, tightening his grip on her arm, “you’re going to take me to Johnny.”
“No. I won’t.”
Chumboy looked at her, her staring past him, breathing fast but her face tight, and he said, “Oh screw this,” letting her go, picking up the two-by-two, saying to Larose, “let’s just look around ourselves, these head games are making me cranky.”
“Fine,” Larose answered, just as Chumboy saw Susun reach in and grab a 30-06 out of the back of the truck, the woman holding it like she was used it. She had damn big hands.
“Steady now, honey,” he said, “no need to get excited. Don’t want anyone to get hurt here.”
“Yeah right, tell that to the people on the bus.”
Chumboy said, “Lady, I’ve never seen that bus before.”
“How stupid do you think I am, I know you killed those people.”
“Killed them? I don’t think so.”
“I know all about you guys. You and your buddy Slaught there, you’re the Wintermen.”
Chumboy said he’d heard that some people called them that but he wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. He was watching her, she was pale, looked like she could hardly breath, hands holding onto the rifle like she was being pulled up out of the ice with it.
“Just take it easy, okay?”
“You think I should take it easy? I think I should kill you both, right now.”
“Listen Susun, you have the wrong idea about us.”
“I was here before. In this very place, that’s how I know.”
Chumboy figured it must’ve been some time ago, maybe during the evacuations.
“Know what? When were you here?”
“I came down with Operation Clean Sweep, was one of the last ones out because I had some nursing training. We were loaded onto a bus with lots of older people, most of them sick. We were headed to North Bay, but had to pull in here because our driver was sick too. It was already dark, big moon up in the sky, and it was weird, there was nobody around. There was smoke coming out of the chimney, but no one around. The driver was sort of peering out the window, trying to see, and then all hell broke loose, these big dark snowmachines were everywhere, their lights shining into the bus, blinding us, we couldn’t see anything, and then the doors popped open, some guy jumps in and grabs the keys out of the ignition, shoots the driver, jams the door. Then they were gone. It took like, what, five minutes? Well, by the time anyone got there late the next day, they were surprised to find some of us alive. They told us that it had been the Wintermen, that you’d come through, stole all the sleds and gasoline, left us to freeze to death. Real tough guys aren’t you?”
“Okay, Susun, I don’t know who told you that, but it’s bullshit, that whole Wintermen thing isn’t real, it’s just, like one of those urban legend things.”
“That right? It looked real to me.”
“No, I’m telling you,” Larose said, “it’s made up. We’re a community, you know, just trying to make a go of it. Trying to start over up here.”
“Just shut up, okay?”
“You gotta listen to me, we have a place, a big place, with families and old folks too, just up the road, in Cobalt. After the government pulled out, well, some of us decided to stay. Johnny was the one who pulled it all together, who stood up for us. We’ve been hanging on ever since. You could come with us. Be honest, if you were going to shoot us, you would’ve done it by now.”
“You know, I’m getting tired of you. I’ve had a long day and I got more important things to deal with than you two. I’m done with you guys.”
Larose said, “Whoa there, hang on a minute, don’t be doing anything crazy.”
“Hey Susun, where you from?” Chumboy asked, suddenly conversational.
“What?”
“You’re a Latour right? You one of those Latours from Marter Township?”
“Maybe.”
“You know Tiny Latour?
She frowned, holding tight to the gun.
“What?”
“Tiny, you know him?”
“Yeah, I know him, he’s my cousin.”
“Wanna have dinner with him tonight? He’s cooking.”