After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) Read Free Page A

walked I kept my left hand on the small of Fiona’s back, and a couple of times on the way we’d glance at each other, and she’d smile gently, and I’d nod, and that would be it.
    We didn't need to talk.
    Fiona was still hurting; I think Fiona will always be hurting. Our past gets carved into us, like markers in our genes.
    Whoever Fiona was before The Fires... I never got a chance to know that girl.
     

    Today is Wednesday, December 5th.
    I met Justin Porter at the junction with Nelson Road this morning, a lot closer to my cottage than his. It was cold, but not too bad; the overcast sky probably brought the temp up a couple of degrees. Last winter had been the coldest I’d ever known, the dust clouds choking out what little heat you’d get from the sun; we’d all take shifts cutting wood from morning ‘til midnight, worried to death that we’d run out of heat.
    The skies have cleared now.
    The weather’s back to normal.
    That’s about the only thing that’s back to normal.
    “No sun,” Justin said, his first words to me when we met. He didn’t wait long before he started running again.
    “I don’t miss it,” I said as I struggled to keep up. “My eyes aren’t used to the bright anymore.”
    “Bah,” he said. “I hate waking up without the sun. I like to keep tabs on it, make sure it’s still around. We’d be royally hooped if we lost it again.”
    I almost said something, that I was sure the dust clouds wouldn’t be coming back.
    But what the hell do I know?
    “I couldn’t get enough of it when it first broke through,” I said. “I remember Kayla spent hours in the sun, burning herself on purpose.”
    Justin grinned. “Sexiest lobster I’ve ever seen.”
    “Man was she red.”
    “She still looked real good. Really, really good. Seeing Kayla in a bikini was like getting a rimjob from Jesus.”
    “What?”
    “You know what I mean.”
    I know how I feel when I see her. I’m not going to talk about it, though. Kayla’s only twenty two; that makes Justin at least a decade too old for her. And I’m a lot older than he is.
    I was feeling out of breath. We were running at full pace now. Justin runs with a full load, humping a pack and a rifle like he’s in basic. And I’m pissy because I don’t have a proper jog holster for my gun.
    I wanted to ask him to slow down. My defib was back at home, and I hadn’t even stretched yet. But the last thing I need is to look old and weak in front of Justin Porter. I wouldn’t say we’re competing against each other, but I’m sure some people wonder why I’m calling the shots around here and he’s sitting back and letting me.
    “I’ll slow it down,” he said. “I forget that you don’t do this every day.”
    “Go fuck yourself,” I said. “I’ll bet you won’t be doing five klicks on gravel when you’re my age.”
    “I’m not sure I’ll be upright when I’m your age. Tell me, what was Napoleon like? Did you know him personally?”
    I huffed. “He wasn’t as short as people think.”
    I heard a squirrel chattering in the trees, laughing at the old man pretending he could keep up.
    Justin slowed down a little. Probably not enough.
    “I’m sure if you really wanted to you could get back into it, Baptiste,” he said. “You just need to make it a habit again.”
    “Tell that to my antique heart.”
    I took a shallow breath.
    “The coyotes are back,” I said.
    “I heard. Matt told me.”
    Of course. I assume Matt also reports to Justin everytime he takes a big boy shit.
    “We should bait ‘em,” Justin said. “One plump little chicken should do the trick.”
    “I don’t think so. I can try the rabbit call again... it might work now that food’s getting scarce again.”
    “Don’t worry, Baptiste. I’ll make sure the chicken doesn’t get hurt. I know how close you are to each and every one of them.”
    “We shouldn’t start drawing the pack over to us. The last thing we ought to be doing is screaming out ‘hey, guys,