Chapter Seven
THE BUS TURNS out to be another covered wagon, nothing at all like the illustrations in the Let’s Go to School!
picture book I used to read to April back when she was learning her alphabet.
But it does have enough space for Sid to lift his bike in, dump my bags, and carry us.
There are other people riding too, so I suppose it counts as public transport.
Everyone sits in polite silence for the duration of the ride, which suits me fine.
I’m already scrubbed raw from everything that’s happened today.
Eventually, Sid signals for the driver to stop.
He offers me a hand as I hop down from the wagon, easily dwarfing mine.
Hard callouses support me as I try to find solid ground.
But the nerves of reaching our destination—this man’s home—make me shaky and so ironically, I have to hold onto him for longer than I want to as I steady myself.
We walk down a gravel drive flanked by evergreens that eventually opens into a field of cultivated grain, golden and ripe. Closer to the homestead are several raised garden beds, most laden with mature summer crops, but some showing new plantings of onions, broccoli, and carrots.
The building at the centre of the acreage is larger than I expected, more like the duplexes April and I sometimes scavenged than a single-family home. On the upper landing, a young man leans against the railing, nursing a cigarette. He does a double take when he sees us approaching.
“Holy shit! Is that her?”
“Carlos, you shouldn’t be smoking.” Sid ignores the question, heading for a shed where several bikes are parked.
“It is. That’s totally her.” The kid tamps the cigarette out on the wooden railing.
Sid rolls his eyes and says, “Kayla, meet Carlos Dominguez.”
“Hi!” Carlos rushes down the stairs, at my side before I can muster up a reply. “James told us all about it. I thought he was full of shit, but then Mr. Sullivan came and—”
“Give that here.” Sid plucks the cigarette out of the boy’s hand.
The kid keeps talking as if this has happened a hundred times before. “Did you actually shoot Sid? With a rock?”
“Um…” I have no idea how to answer this.
“Yeah. She did.”
“That’s amazing!” The kid starts laughing. “I’d be in so much trouble if I did that. Wow. He won’t even let me get a slingshot.”
“And now you know why.”
“Welcome to the farm!” Carlos grabs my hand and shakes it so violently, it’s impossible not to be charmed. “Where’s the other girl? Tom said you had a sister, right?”
“She’s still at the hospital,” I say.
“Oh, shit.” He drops my hand, eyes wide. “Is that why you’re here? Shit, that sucks. That sucks big time.”
“Yes, thank you, Carlos,” says Sid. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“No, it’s fine. April’s going to be okay, but… yeah, it does suck.” And it’s nice to hear someone say it out loud.
“Okay, cool. I’ll tell the other guys you need space,” says Carlos. “We’re super chill, so you don’t have to worry about anyone giving you crap for keeping your shit to yourself.”
“Thank you, Carlos.” Sid places one of his hands over Carlos’s face, covering almost his entire head, then shoves him away. “Get out of here.”
“Are you staying here, Kayla?” he asks, stumbling towards the stairs.
“I think so?” I look over at Sid, who gives a sharp nod.
“Tom appointed me her sanctuary host.”
“He did? Dude, that’s awesome! How’d you talk him into that?”
“Just good luck!” I say with a bright chirrup. No need to tell people it’s because Tom thinks I’m a menace to society and only Sid was willing to risk my company.
“Are you gonna stay forever?” Carlos asks. “It would be cool, having girls on the farm.”
“Carlos.” Sid gives him a warning look.
“I just mean because it would be different! Like, cool.” When my mouth pops open in alarm, he helpfully adds, “The acreage is supposed to house a few more people, so we figured if we could get some sanctuary seekers, that would beef up our numbers. And it would be cool if it wasn’t such a sausage fest, too.
Like, what’s a community without any women? ”
“I…” My chest seizes up. Sid mentioned his “guys” when he was talking to Tom, but how many exactly are there? “We’re not staying. Tom said we didn’t have to stay. We’re just here until—”
“She’s going to want to go somewhere else eventually,” says Sid.
“What! Why?” Carlos looks positively wounded.
“Well… even I can admit, this isn’t the most hospitable environment,” says Sid, disappearing into the bike shed.
“Bullshit! Kayla? So you know, we are, like… so hospibbible,” says Carlos, with utmost sincerity.
I bite hard on the inside of my cheek. “Thank you.”
“I’m gonna go tell the guys. First sanctuary case! Woo!” He punches the air, not as ready to give up as Sid. “We’re gonna be the friendliest place you could possibly live. Just you wait.”
He means well—in the same way a puppy eating its own poop means well—but as Carlos dashes towards the homestead, bile rises in my throat. Overt friendliness is not what I’m looking for. Especially from a group of… how many guys?
Sid comes back from locking up his bike. “He’s a lot, but he’s a good kid.”
“No kidding. So… it’s all men? No women at all?”
Sid winces. “None.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Eight.”
“And none of you are married or—or…” I stammer.
“Silas is dating a guy who lives by the docks and James usually has a girl or two hanging off him but… no. Not yet.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure how to react to that. Astolia didn’t allow men to date other men. Maybe that’s a good sign? But seven straight, lonely men is still too many.
“You know how the end of the world was. Crazy guys with guns.”
Unfortunately, I do know. Men owned more of the weapons and tools that kept people alive after the Quake.
“But that’s not why we want sanctuary cases,” Sid hurries to explain, but I’m distracted by the drama unfolding behind him.
Carlos darts between doors, knocking on them, gesturing enthusiastically as he communicates with one man, then another, that I’m here.
The long-fabled woman has arrived. A figure steps out who I recognize as one of the guards from the beach.
Not Bandana Man, but the other one. James?
He grins a smile as wide as a watermelon and my nerve fails me yet again.
I try to slide beyond their view, using Sid’s massive frame as a shield.
He keeps talking. “We were approved to take over this acreage when the former occupants got too old to work it. That was a year ago. Before that, we were working full-time for the border patrol, but we’re mostly here now.
They only called us in today because the signal fire was lit and they were short staffed.
My old boss asked if I could do him a favour. Ironic, right?”
I nod, as if I any of this is making an impact on me, but I’m rather distracted by the sight of one man leaning over the railing to get a better look. “Damn, she’s skinny,” he mutters, sounding disappointed.
“I think the only reason we were granted the acreage is because we’ve got the young guys needed to work the farm, but we are underpopulated,” Sid continues.
“These places are supposed to be for families, so yeah. Council might take the acreage back if we don’t meet occupancy expectations within a few years.
That’s why we want sanctuary cases. The whole point is to take the pressure off any of the guys needing to marry, or—”
“That’s great. It’s perfect.” Nowhere else is going to take me, so he doesn’t really need to explain. At some point, I can apply for my own housing and get out of here. “You said we could have our own room? Or unit? I think I’d like that.”
As many doors as possible between me and the tiny army living in the rest of this house, please and thank you.
Even without guns, they’re an intimidating group.
Every single one of them is taller than average, beefier than average, scarier than average.
How do they know each other? Is this a sports team? Do they have sports on Salt Spring?
“Yeah, let’s set that up.” Sid turns towards the gaggle at the railing. “All right guys! Kayla and her sister need a unit to live in, so someone needs to give theirs up for a bit. Dom? Albert? Maybe you could—”
“That isn’t fair!” shouts one of the men. “Just because we’re related—”
“I’ll do it!” Carlos throws his arm in the air. “I can room with you, Sid.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You just want to steal my cigarettes.”
“That’s not fair! I promise, I won’t—”
“Anyone else?” Sid drowns him out. “I’m fine with being one of the people sharing, but we need someone other than Carlos.”
“I said I promise!”
“Me.” A quiet voice materializes from behind the crowd.
Bandana Man has stepped out from where he was lurking in the shadows, though he isn’t wearing the bandana anymore.
I should learn his name. Still, I would recognize him anywhere.
I’m not one to forget a face that has aimed a gun at me.
“I’m at Roger’s place half the time, anyway. She can use my unit.”
“Perfect. Thank you, Silas.”
“Yes, th—” I sputter to a halt when I see the scowl on Silas’s face. The one man willing to give up his space for me also seems furious about my very existence.
“This way.” Silas gestures for me to follow him, so I take a wobbly step towards the middle-left unit on the upper level.
Sid follows along—in fact, nearly the whole crew does, but a bark of annoyance from Sid sends them scattering for their own rooms. I’m still not sure what the full dynamic is here, but one thing is clear: Sid is in charge.
Inside, I’m greeted by a seating area cobbled together from odds and ends.
The table is missing half a leg, steadied by a large block of wood beneath it and there’s a large hole exposing the stuffing in the couch.
But there are also blankets piled around in a way that makes the space feel comfortable.
On a small shelf, there’s even a collection of handmade clay figurines, most depicting animals.
They aren’t glazed, which makes me think they were made post-Quake, possibly by Silas himself.
“All of this is yours?” I have camped in fancier houses before, but never could have carried so much stuff.
“Yeah. Two bedrooms. Only one of them has a bed, though,” says Silas.
“That’s fine. April and I are used to sharing.” I reach for the door handle of one of the bedrooms. “Is it okay? May I?”
Silas nods. I open it and discover that he’s filled the spare room with gardening equipment. Shovels, rakes, pruners, bags of seed and a host of other tools I can’t identify.
“We might need to grab something from here occasionally. But most of the stuff we use everyday is in the shed,” says Silas.
“Okay.”
“I’ll make sure the boys knock first.”
It isn’t great news, but we’re lucky to have any privacy at all living with eight men.
Next, we go to the bedroom, which has a queen-sized mattress lying on the ground, also buried in blankets. Silas mumbles about needing to get his stuff, crossing to a coat rack in the corner where he’s hung everything from hoodies to jeans and belts.
Sid clears his throat. “There’s one kitchen serving the whole acreage. It’s downstairs. Helps keep the place warm in the winter. You’re free to join us for dinner, if you want.” He sets my bags down. “There’s a washhouse upstairs and down. Pump is out back by the fire pit.”
“Oh.” Their own pump? That’s a luxury.
He nods. “Dinner should be in an hour. Carlos made—”
“Actually, I think I’ll just… unpack.” It’s the most tactful way I can find to say please leave me alone. I need time with my thoughts so I can come up with a plan for how I’m going to rescue April and me from this rapidly unravelling situation.
“Right. Okay.” His head dips, disappointed.
“Sorry, do you need me at dinner?” I ask. “Is this a sanctuary host thing, or—”
“No, it’s fine. Take all the time you need.”
Silas shoulders past me with an armload of clothes, the coat rack now empty.
“I’ll send you a plate,” Sid says.
“No need. I’ve got food in my bag.”
“Okay.”
He still sends someone. By then, I’ve closed every door I can and dragged the broken table in front of the main door so it can’t swing open. Better safe than sorry.
A knock comes to the door and a voice I don’t recognize says. “Kayla? You in there?”
I don’t move a muscle. Whoever it is jiggles the door handle. When it won’t budge, something scrapes against the floor. “I’ll just leave it out here, if you want it.”
The scent of garlic and rosemary wafts under the door.
I wait until the delivery boy is long gone before I give into temptation.
A bowl of stewed beans is waiting for me.
I barricade the door again before I tuck in.
The beans burst easily against my tongue, creamier than I’ve ever managed to cook them, and a small sigh escapes my lips.
As I chew, I listen to the men who share this home.
Their laughter travels through the thin walls—and as the sun sets, a startling new sound fills the air.
Twangy vibrations layer together to form something hauntingly, indescribably beautiful.
It must be an instrument. I almost sneak out to see what it is—a flute?
A violin? It’s not a piano, at least. I’ve found a few of those, and while they were usually broken, I’ve got some idea how they’re supposed to sound.
A voice joins in, deep and resonant. Sid. He sings softly, but I can make out a refrain that loops over the delicate music. Ain’t No Sunshine. Over and over, the song laments.
My fingers close around one of Silas’s many blankets. I think I remember my dad once singing the same tune. But I can’t be sure. I’ve never heard it with music before.