Читать книгу Rita Royale - Terry Jr. Anderson - Страница 5

Rita awoke at first light, her stomach feeling empty, her mouth in need of cleaning, the scotch and cigar tasting foul as she licked her teeth and gums and looked around at the clear morning. It was going to be another scorcher today, she thought.

The pair arrived at Thompson Lake shortly after nine, the entrance to the park manned with several local residents, one man carried a rifle. Two of the men recognized Sarah and let them pass through the gate and into the park.

Sarah’s folks were very grateful to Rita for bringing their daughter home safely and Sarah’s mother fixed the biggest breakfast Rita had ever seen. She sampled some of everything and when she pushed away from the table she was stuffed full like a wood tick. Ready to burst.

Sarah’s father filled her gas tank with fuel and her mother slipped a wrapped bacon and egg sandwich to Rita as she was ready to leave.

“So long, kid. Keep your folks safe.”

“I will. Too bad you have to leave. I think we would be great friends.”

Rita smiled. “Me too. You know where I’ll be.”

“Yes, I know. My dad says all the men in the park are arming up and taking turns watching the gate now. He said they mean business. Any Sharia supporters around these parts will get their ass shot off, I think.”

Rita glanced at Sarah’s father, a serious look on his face. She started the motorcycle and was soon out of the park and back on Highway 13 headed east toward Assiniboia less than fifty kilometers away, her pistol in her bag, her jacket bungeed on top. The day heating up.

The road was better now and she thought about Muslims, guns, her country being changed, as she cruised in top gear, vehicles passing every few minutes. Farmers mostly. No Muslims that she could see. Were they all like the crazy ones back in Medicine Hat? The ones who filled the street and pumped their fists screaming Allah is great. Who is this Allah? Why does he want to kill the Jews? Why does he want to kill her?

When she arrived in Assiniboia and turned on to Main Street her path was blocked by two police cars, their lights flashing blue and red, escorting a group of black clad teens marching down the wide street holding signs and shouting. Celebrating the new law with enthusiasm. Rita pulled the motorcycle over and parked, dismounted and watched from the sidewalk as the mostly youths marched past only a few feet away from her. Signs of Allah is great. Death to the unbelievers. Islam will dominate the world. She saw a few raised rifles amongst the signs. There had to be over a hundred of them following the slow moving police cruisers, chanting Allah is great, over and over.

Yeah right, thought Rita. He’s great alright. She stared at the marchers all dressed in black sweats or black denim. There were a few older people on the sidewalk watching the parade their expression one of shock and disbelief. Fear too maybe. Rita thought how proud the parents of these kids must feel. Holding their death to the Jews signs high, shouting Islam will dominate the world. Allah is great.

One of the young men marching past looked at the bare headed Rita standing on the sidewalk. He stared at her chest, her face, yelled for her to cover herself. Even made a move toward her until another man held him back and they kept up the marching.

Rita had made no move, only stared at the kid, a teenager who pointed his finger and moved his thumb up and down like he held some invisible gun. She wanted to ring his scrawny neck and tell him to smarten the hell up. What’s the matter, kid? Allah doesn’t like tits? Or maybe you just don’t like tits. She stayed quiet, watched, waited until the way ahead was clear again. She fired up the big motorcycle and rode up Main Street and was soon heading south toward St. Victor, less than half an hour away.

As Rita steered the cruiser onto the St. Victor road, the village only a few miles away now, she saw a truck in the distance behind her. She focused on the road ahead. A road riddled with huge bike swallowing potholes. She managed to stay in fourth gear for the next while then as she crested a hill the truck was much closer, coming up behind her fast. She felt her body getting prickly, like something was definitely going on here. An old empty farm yard surrounded by tall caragana bushes and other spindly twisted trees was just ahead on her right and the rail fence was open.

She slowed and turned into the yard, the grass tall, uncut, the whole piece of land surrounded by green bush and trees. She rode directly to the opposite side of the old yard and turned the motorcycle so it faced the entrance. Quickly parked, reached in her bag, retrieved her pistol from the holster and ran behind the motorcycle into the trees and bush, moving away from the bike, watching the entrance then laying in a prone position, hidden, her gun cocked and ready. The pickup truck entered onto the property and stopped as it cleared the entrance. For a few seconds nothing happened, the driver just sat inside the idling vehicle, Rita watching from her hidden location.

The motor went quiet. The driver’s door opened and a man with a rifle walked to the front of his truck. Rita recognized the kid from earlier. The one who shot her with his finger. He was looking around the closed in yard, looking at the motorcycle, all seen through the sights of his rifle. He aimed at the motorcycle and fired, his bullet tearing a hole through the windshield.

“You might as well show yourself. I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes scanned the thick bush. “I won’t shoot you.”

Rita carefully watched, stayed silent, her pistol aimed at his chest, her hand tight on the grip, her breathing controlled. The man fired his rifle a second time, the bullet shattering the windshield, Lexan flying off in all directions. Rita glanced at her motorcycle then back at the man, his eyes searching for her. She fired her pistol.

An expression of surprise and shock came to his face. He stood upright, his right arm dropping to his side, the rifle falling from his hand into the tall grass. He stood like that for a few seconds then slowly dropped to his knees, the momentum carrying him forward and onto his face.

Rita stood up slowly, listened, heard nothing but insects and the wind, walked through the grass toward the fallen man, her pistol cocked and ready. As she neared the truck she saw his unmoving body, the rifle beside him, she bent low and picked it up, stared at the dead kid. She guessed he couldn’t be much more than seventeen or eighteen years old judging from the side of his face that was visible to her.

She listened to the sound of insects, some flying close to her face, looked down at the dead man again, a fly walking across his cheek. Listened to the wind fight its way through the bushes, heard the cry of an eagle, her eyes moving upward following the bird as it circled above her head. It cried again, the sound an invisible blanket. She thought she should feel something bad about all this, but she didn’t. Her world was poker. There was only winning and losing. He went all in and lost. It was just that simple. Guns didn’t scare her. All the old boys used to pack heat at the games and all of them were smarter than the moon god’s little disciple here. He chose his side. He for sure would have killed her if he could have. She saw the look in his eyes earlier and the kill the Jews sign he had carried.

Rita quickly removed what was left of the windshield, glad the little bastard never hit anything important. She tied the rifle behind her seat, rode slowly past the dead kid and his truck out on to the road, the hills visible in the distance, her anger still rising. It took a lot to make Rita angry but she was angry now. From head to toe.

Within ten minutes she was descending into the valley, the village of St. Victor now visible, only a rifle shot’s distance from the fast moving motorcycle. As she rounded the curve just before the village she could see people and vehicles gathered together near the first house. A long yellow school bus parked across the road. She slowed, rode toward them in first gear.

A man raised his arms as she neared them. Rita stopped. Shut off the bike. Sat looking at him as he and another man walked toward her. Both carried rifles.

“What’s your business here?”

“My sister lives here.”

“Who’s your sister?” he asked.

“Karen Blake.”

He smiled. “I know Karen. I guess you ain’t no Muslim.”

She released a slow pained sarcastic smile. “I guess I’m not.”

He saw the look. “You can pass.”

Rita nodded, waited for the bus to be backed up, still pissed off, rode slowly past the guards and along the main street that ran through the village, trees on both sides, their branches meeting, covering the street. Rita spied Karen’s house and rode into the driveway. Saw her sister coming out to greet her. She parked and shut off the engine.

“You made it.”

Rita dismounted, hugged her older sister hard for a few seconds. “So, the world has changed I see.”

“Yes, for the worse.”

Rita didn’t tell Karen about the kid she killed just a few minutes ago. “Guards at both ends of town I see.”

Karen nodded. “We’re all taking turns watching. There’s only three roads into town. No one gets in unless they’re known or they fight their way in.”

“I still don’t understand how all this could have happened in Canada.”

“It happened slowly. Politicians sold this country down the river for votes. They kept bringing in more and more people from the Middle East. Called it multiculturalism. I hope they rot in hell. I hope I even put a few of them there myself, but the politicians are too cowardly to ever do their own fighting. Now they have the cops and the brainwashed idiots doing their fighting for them.”

“I’ve never heard you talk this way before,” said Rita.

“I know. Things are different now.”

Rita smiled. “Got anything to drink?”

“Come on inside. I have some beer in the fridge.”

Rita mostly listened to her sister for the next hour while enjoying a cold beer. Karen got Rita up to date on what happened, what was happening now, what might happen in the future. Rita realized just how much she had missed by not paying attention to the world around her. Now here she was in the middle of something really ugly and she never saw it coming. Not a good poker move, she thought. You always have to be careful of someone trapping you. Someone holding the hidden pairs that made their three of a kind, ready to bust your pair of aces.

After two beer each Karen needed to nap as she had to take a turn guarding the town in a couple hours. Rita went outside and unpacked her motorcycle. Sat on the front porch holding the rifle across her lap, sipping on her third beer. She didn’t know the caliber of the rifle and there were only a couple bullets remaining in the long gun. Maybe someone in town could supply some ammunition for the gun she hoped. After a few minutes she dozed off sitting in the large wicker chair, her beer half gone, the sound of birds singing in the trees that lined the main street that ran through the center of the village. The cry of an eagle above her.

Rita awoke as Karen touched her shoulder. She rubbed her eyes, looked at her sister dressed in blue denim, a rifle in her hands, her long blonde hair tied in a ponytail.

“I have to go, sis.”

“Can I come along?” asked Rita.

Karen nodded. “Sure. I’m going up to the top of the hill near the petroglyphs. There’s a barrier across the road up there now. That’s where I have to be for the next four hours.”

Rita stood to her feet slowly, still half asleep. She picked up her pistol from the deck floor. Looked at her chest. Decided to change her t-shirt as she had been wearing it since she left Black Diamond. She pulled the shirt over her head exposing her large bare breasts, reached inside her bag still sitting on the porch and retrieved a black cotton sleeveless blouse. Quickly donned the blouse and strapped the shoulder holster tightly. Picked up the rifle. Smiled at her sister.

“You still don’t wear a bra?”

“Like it matters?”

Karen grinned. “You won’t say that when you have to run and your tits keep hitting you in the face.”

“They’re soft.”

“Come on. Let’s go.”

The pair were soon at the top of the hill. Karen parked her car close to the two tractors blocking the road. Rita could see three people looking at them. Two men and a woman. They exited the car. Karen introduced her sister to the locals and the locals left soon after.

“Are you supposed to be alone here?” asked Rita.

“I’m not alone. You’re here.”

“But still. Shouldn’t we have more people here?”

“I don’t know where Bill is. He’s supposed to be here. He probably slept in or something.”

“Bill?”

“You met him last year. He was John’s friend.”

“I remember now.”

The two women stood behind the tractors, Karen using field glasses to look down the long gravel road. Looking for dust trails. Anything moving. Rita smelled the sage floating on the breeze, watched the insects buzzing around her head. Looked up at the cloudless blue sky. Glad she wore her sunglasses to shield against the dazzling bright sun, the July heat rising, sweat beaded on her forehead, her armpits wet.

“See anything?”

Karen kept peering through the binoculars. “Nothing so far.”

Rita looked behind her. “A gray truck’s coming up the hill.”

Karen turned to look. “That’s Bill.”

Rita said nothing, just waited for the truck to arrive. Watched a tall lanky middle aged, maybe slightly older man exit the vehicle, his smile bright as he recognized her.

“Hi Rita. Still beautiful as ever.”

She was surprised he remembered her name. “Hi Bill.”

“Come to fight the good fight have you?”

Rita nodded. “I guess.”

He looked at her rifle. “You have a good .308 there.”

“I only have two bullets for it.”

“I have lots.” He said hello to Karen, then fished inside his canvas pack and withdrew a box of shells, handed them to Rita. “Fill up your gun.”

“Thanks, Bill. Think we’ll have trouble today?”

“I doubt it. Satan’s stooges are still probably busy in the cities killing infidels.”

Rita had never heard that expression before. She said nothing, just loaded her rifle with ammunition. When it was fully loaded she held out the box with the remaining shells to Bill.

“Keep the box. I have lots more ammo.”

“Bill’s a survivalist, sis. Best armed man in St. Victor.”

“I’m not so stupid now, am I?” He winked.

“No, you’re not stupid, Bill.”

“I knew this shit was coming. Damn politicians.” He spit, shook his head. “From all sides.”

Karen smiled a little. “Yeah. I guess the only good thing is the muzzies will kill most of the idiot politicians. They deserve to be killed too. Probably a public beheading like they’re so fond of doing.”

“Useful idiots. That’s what the evil bastards count on. That’s how they gain control. Never a shortage of useful idiots around.”

“We live in an upside down world where stupid is the new smart.”

Bill laughed. “You can say that again.” He walked beside Karen and looked along the gravel road running in a southerly direction across the prairie.

Rita looked up at the sky, watched the crying eagle circle above them. Remembered an old Indian friend, Joe Redbone, tell her that an eagle brought good luck. If it circles above your head it means he’s welcoming you here. She didn’t know if that was true, but Joe had a way of talking that she believed. She wondered what ever happened to him. Probably dead now. Maybe.

Rita looked at Bill. “Surely all Muslims can’t be evil can they?”

Bill laughed. “Maybe one or two.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, Rita, that’s it. There are no good ones now. Probably never were any either. The only thing to do is kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out.”

“I hear there’s lots of them.”

“There is, but more and more people like us will rise up and fight the bastards. Unless its too late already. Anyway, its better to die on your feet than live on your knees. I’ll never submit to evil. That’s what they are.”

Rita remembered her young friend Sarah say the same thing. “We’re going to need more guns, I think.”

Bill smiled a little, he liked this woman. “Yeah. Just see what happens I guess.” He lifted his ball cap, wiped his brow, his longish graying hair, the day scorching hot now. “First thing will be the power going out. I’m surprised its still on. They’ll get to that eventually. Only a matter of time.”

Rita glanced at the road running downhill into the Provincial park. “What about that road?” She pointed.

“They could come through the park that way I guess. We don’t have enough people in town to watch everything though. The road is wired with grenades. A trip wire. We’ll hear them before they reach us.”

“Grenades?”

Bill nodded. “I smuggled a case up from the U.S. a few years back. Old buddy of mine down there sold them to me. Now that guy’s armed.” He smiled.

Karen looked at her sister. “Rita, get the water from the car. I’m dying in this heat today.”

Rita went to the car, returned with three bottles of rodeo cool water. Gave a bottle to her sister and one to Bill. “There was a march in Assiniboia when I rode through there earlier. Kids mostly. Holding signs saying death to the infidel. They hate the Jews too.”

Bill reached into a shirt pocket, removed a joint and lit it with a blue plastic lighter. Drew in a large amount of smoke, held it in his lungs, then let it release slowly into the sweltering air, the light wind carrying the smoke away. “They may get a little surprise soon.”

“Can I have a puff?” asked Rita. At this moment she needed a smoke of something.

“Sure beautiful. I got lots of dope too.” He handed her the joint.

Karen looked at her sister. “I didn’t know you smoked that stuff.”

Rita blew out the smoke. “There’s lots you don’t know about me.” She took another drag.

“My little sister a pot head.”

“Oh leave her be, Karen. We could all be dead before winter. What’s a little herb?”

“I just didn’t know, that’s all.”

Rita smiled. “I smoke it now and then. I play poker better high than straight. I can see the cards better. Make better decisions.”

“You like poker?” asked Bill.

“That’s what I do.”

“A pro, huh.”

Rita smiled. “So I’m told.”

“We have a game in the brick building on Wednesday nights,” said Bill. “Or we used too anyway.”

Rita looked at him, swatted a bug that landed on her bare arm. “So you’re a player?”

“No. I just like the game. I never win. Always lose on the damn river card.”

“Its like that. I’m lucky. I’m good too, but I’ve always been lucky at cards.”

“Lucky at cards, unlucky at love?”

Rita nodded. “I guess that’s true too. What about you, Bill, no woman at home?”

He smiled. “Women think I’m crazy. They think I’m just some dumb redneck.” Bill sucked in a lung full of smoke.

“Are you?” asked Rita.

He grinned. “Sure as shit am.”

Rita glanced at her sister, looked at Bill. “On the road coming here earlier one of the kids marching on the street followed me from Assiniboia. He shot at me and took out the windshield on my bike. I killed him.”

Bill whistled. “No shit?”

“No shit. He’s dead.” Rita still felt no remorse of any kind. “He could still be laying there dead in the grass for all I know.”

“Good place for him.”

“They had the police protecting them.”

“The police? They’re no better than the savages.” Bill spit again. “I was talking to a buddy from Alberta last night on the shortwave. Some soldiers stole a bunch of weapons from a base there. They refuse to obey the government. Did you ever think the Government of Canada would go against its own people and side with the savages?”

Rita shook her head.

“Well they did,” said Bill. “That’s commies for you. Always on the wrong side of every issue. Commies like killing. They’re going to get their wish now.”

“What else did you hear?” asked Rita.

“Not much. Regular people like us are joining their friends to fight back. Good Christian folks too, folks who never harmed a soul in their lives. They’ll fight though. Surrender’s not an option anymore.”

Karen looked at Rita. “Did you really kill someone today?”

Rita nodded. “It was him or me.”

“Were you scared?”

“No. I was pissed off. I still am.”

She smiled. “Remind me never to piss you off, little sister.”

“He wasn’t very smart.”

“You’re lucky he was alone. They usually travel in a group.”

“He’s the only one I saw. Just after I turned on to the St. Victor road. He came up from behind in his truck, stopped and fired at me and my bike. I was already parked and waiting for him. This is his gun.” She held up the rifle.

Bill looked at the .22 pistol in her shoulder holster. “Did you kill him with that?”

Rita nodded.

Bill whistled. “A woman after my own heart. They get taught all that shit in school you know. Commie teachers have been ruining our kids for decades now. Everything muzzie is good. Everything else is bad. That’s what they teach ‘em you know.”

The rest of the shift went without incident and Rita and her sister arrived back in St. Victor early evening. Both women were hungry. Karen grilled up some steaks with last years potatoes and carrots from her garden. The beef was from a farmer friend who lived close to town. The pair sat on her back deck looking out at the hills.

“This is good.” Rita put another fork full of steak into her mouth.

“Yes, its good beef. One thing we won’t have to worry about is food. Most everyone in town planted a garden this year and there are lots of cows and deer around. We patrol the pastures too, in case anyone from outside wanders in looking for a meal.”

Rita chewed her food, looked around the yard and the hills close by. She swallowed, looked at Karen. “I hoped to be here yesterday. Were you depressed?”

“You mean because of John dying?”

Rita nodded. “It was a year yesterday.”

“John got sick and died. I think about him, but I can’t allow myself to dwell on that. There are more urgent things right now.”

“Why do they hate the Jews?” asked Rita.

“Who knows? They hate everybody. Everybody not like them. They’ve blamed the Jews for their problems forever. I have come to really hate them. I’m glad you killed that kid today.”

“I should feel something, but I don’t.”

“Don’t feel anything for those savages. We’re women and if they succeed we become slaves or dead.”

Rita looked at her sister, said nothing.

Karen glanced at her watch. “I just remembered there’s a meeting tonight.”

“What kind of meeting?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at her watch again. “In an hour from now.”

“Are you going?”

“I hoped to get some sleep. I need to stand guard at midnight.”

“At the petroglyphs?”

Karen shook her head. “At the east end. Just down the street.”

“Where is the meeting? I think I want to go.”

“Its in the community hall.”