After The Fires Went Out: Coyote (Book One of the Post-Apocalyptic Adventure Series) by Regan Wolfrom

negligence or whatever you want, but they’re still dead because of that asshole. And I’m not about to forget that.”
    Graham shook his head. “I don’t know what happened on that road, and I don’t know how Livingston could have made it out alive if everyone else was killed by the fires. But believe me... I could tell that Livingston’s not the one to worry about. It’s Dave Walker’s show... all the way.”
    “Then they should both have their throats slit.”
    “Yeah, whatever... I just want to get home and have dinner. Apologizing for you has made me pretty hungry.”
    “You didn’t apologize --”
    “I’m kidding.” He gave me a laboured sigh, before turning to stare off toward a line of trees at the side of the road, his headlamp bouncing against the fir needles.
    We passed through the gate, Graham hopping off to let us through.
    “We’re so late I think we’ll both go hungry,” Graham said as he retook the seat beside me.
    “Oh, they'll keep dinner warm for me,” I said as I pulled off my helmet. “I'm the motherfucking king.”
    Graham laughed even though I’m sure he didn’t want to. “You still need to fix this. I’m not just talking about Livingston. You’re not making any friends with the Walkers on this.”
    “Dave Walker probably doesn’t like me pointing out that he’s a coward and a thief.”
    “I don’t know why these imaginary boundaries are so important to you. We go scavenging all the time in Cochrane, yet somehow you think you have a right to everything within ten miles of our place. I wonder what the guys at New Post think of these rules of yours.”
    “I know we can’t enforce it. Not a hundred percent. But we’re not like everyone else; you and I are outsiders here and that makes a big difference. We need that buffer to show these people we can’t be pushed around.”
    “You know what we need? We need to keep some allies around here. No one's going to put up with us if you keep shooting out tires.”
    “Don’t fret. We'll drop off a nice bottle of booze for the Walkers at Christmas. That should smooth things over a little.”
    “I frickin’ hope so.”
    “Buck up, sugarpie,” I said with a grin.
    “You think that’s funny? You know... I’m getting really sick of this.”
    “Sick of what, exactly?”
    “You’re out of control, Baptiste. Making threats, shooting at people...”
    “Fuck, Graham... I didn’t shoot at anybody.”
    “Seriously?”
    “I needed to show them that they can’t push us around.”
    “You didn’t need to do anything. You want people to think you’re tough? Too late. They already know that. So maybe now you should focus on getting people to not hate your guts.”
    “I don’t need any more friends.”
    “You’re not going to keep any of the ones you have if you keep acting like this. Starting with me, Baptiste.”
    I shook my head at him.
    “I’m not joking,” he said. “I can’t trust you when you do things like that. It’s too much.”
    “You’re right.” He had a point. I was already starting to realize how embarrassed I’d be if Sara were to find out how I’d acted. “I went too far... I get that. Sometimes I lose perspective on this stuff.”
    “It’s a problem.”
    “I know. That’s why you’re here. You balance us out, make people think we’re not so bad. That’s why we’re a team, Graham.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “That’s why I respect you.”
    “Yeah... okay. Just... just tone it down, alright? I need to know I can count on you.”
    “You can count on me, Graham. You should know that by now.”
    “Yeah... okay.” He turned back to the trees.
    I didn’t ask him not to tell anyone about the tire; I just hoped he’d only tell Lisa.
    I was starting to feel the shame again.
    We reached McCartney Lake a couple of minutes later. Lisa was waiting for us when we arrived.
    I stopped the cart and looked over at Graham, waiting to see what was going on between them; I can’t say I wasn’t