“Where are you from? Originally, I mean.”

“A land called None of Your Fucking Business.”

He released her hair, and it bounced back against her forehead. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “Oh man, I wasn’t sure, but that accent—it’s unmistakable.” Still chuckling, he stepped to the side and waved them forward.

“Ladies, what we have here is a true gift. Even better, two gifts!” He followed them back inside and closed the door. Then he opened and lifted his hands. “Ladies, please welcome our two new First Nations friends.”

Upon hearing the words, the women reacted as if a boy band had just waltzed in. They laughed and gave little cries, hugging and clutching one another’s arms. One of them began to jump up and down, and soon they all were. They were like water on a hot skillet, all hiss and pop.

“He’s hurt.” Nam motioned to Derrick’s leg with a tip of their chin. “Bear trap.” Derrick was still draped between them, his arms slung over their shoulders.

“Rusty bear trap,” Rose added.

“Oh my. Bring him into the back room.” The Chief went ahead down the hall, and the women formed a single white line behind the newcomers, quiet now that new instructions had been given. Rose noticed ornate frames around cloudy pictures hanging crooked on the walls. No one in the pictures resembled anyone she saw here. Stacks of pulpy magazines were piled against the walls decorated with peeling wallpaper and water-damaged wainscoting. It was as if the house had been pulled from the depths of the ocean and lifted into the woods with a crane. The smell of decay and disintegration hung over everything like mothballs and rotting lace.

The hall opened into a kitchen. Rose saw a wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs, piled high with cans and jars. A single yellow rose sat in a slim vase in the center. The Chief turned before the kitchen doorway and led them into a darkened room. It was tiny, barely enough room for a twin bed and wobbly nightstand. The two makeshift paramedics struggled to get him onto the bed. Then one of the women came forward, but Rose stood in front of Derrick protectively until she saw the woman had nothing in her hands. She knelt in front of him and removed his shoes, placing his feet up on the bed as she did. Another woman went to the opposite side of the bed and guided him back onto the pillows. Derrick moaned.

The Chief watched from the doorway.

“Fever. Smells like infection,” he assessed. “If we’re lucky, there’s no tetanus.” He turned to Rose. “Has he been complaining of stiff muscles? Any spasms?”

She shook her head.

“Good, good.” He absentmindedly stroked a redhead’s bare arm while he spoke. She fluttered her eyes up at him. “I have some antibiotics in the pantry we can give him. But first”—he snapped out of doctor mode—“a drink to celebrate!”

“Celebrate? Is that a joke? I really think we should get him medicine before we do anything else,” Rose protested.