Читать книгу Rita Royale - Terry Jr. Anderson - Страница 7

The clean up of bodies had taken a couple of days. Some were buried in large pits and covered with dirt. Those with family were buried privately. Assiniboia wasn’t the same town anymore. No one smiled much when you passed them on the street. Tom was the leader of the local militia now and was working feverishly to get food and electricity up and moving again.

It was now nearing the end of August, the power had been off for three weeks, but Bill had told Rita they were working to restore it. Soon hopefully. He told her that other towns and cities across the west had been fighting too. He believed that Canada was now divided into three parts. The east was mostly controlled by the savages as was the lower west coast, southern Vancouver Island. The interior of B.C., most of Alberta and Saskatchewan were in the rapidly growing Western Militia’s control now.

Assiniboia had been purged of all traitors. Even those suspected of being traitors were killed no matter the age of the person or their profession. As Bill had told her a few days back, there are no gray areas anymore. Only them and us. No mercy will be given to any traitor. The muzzies show no mercy and neither would the militia.

Rita had stayed in St. Victor since that night, though today she was going to take a ride to Assiniboia to visit with Tom. He was holding a barbecue for some of his friends in a park. She wondered what Black Diamond looked like now. Her rented trailer. Her old poker buddies. Were they even still alive?

She was sitting in the kitchen looking at the hills in the rear of the house when Karen walked in. Rita looked up at her. “Hi. Back for a while?”

She nodded. “You look like you’re going out somewhere.”

“I was thinking about going for a bike ride. Tom’s holding some sort of barbecue. Want to come along?”

“No. I think I just want a shower and relax.” She looked closer at her sister. “You like Tom?”

“I like him okay.”

“His wife is back with him now.”

“Oh yeah?” Rita thought about this. “When did she come back?”

“I heard she came back a couple days ago.”

“Well, whatever.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Maybe I’ll go and visit a friend at Thompson Lake for the day. If she’s still there.”

“The woman you brought on the motorcycle?”

“Yeah. She’s not much more than a kid, but she has a good head on her shoulders. She’s aware of things, unlike so many other young people these days.”

“What about the barbecue?”

“I guess I won’t go.”

“How long since you’ve been with a man?”

“Too long. Last New Year’s Eve.”

“One of your one night stands?” asked Karen.

“Don’t look at me like that. We don’t all have husbands who love us, you know.”

“I know. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I hope the power comes on soon. Bill said he thinks it might.”

“Some men are working on the problem. They sabotaged it pretty good, it could take some time.”

“This won’t end for a long time, will it?” asked Rita.

“No. At least around these parts things are better.”

“Bill also said the Western Militia is looking for people. People from Saskatchewan. Alberta and B.C. too. I was thinking of joining. They need people.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about it.”

“You’re in a mood today.”

“I guess.” Rita stood to her feet. “Enjoy your shower. I’m going riding now.”

There’s nothing like the smells of the open road and the wind in your face to make a person feel better. Nothing quite like the exhaust note from a big v-twin motor as it vibrates and shakes between your legs. That moment of being at one with the machine. That fleeting moment of being at one with the world.

By the time Rita arrived at Thompson Lake she was in a better mood. She rode slowly up to the front gate of the park, stopped her bike. Watched an armed man walk toward her.

“What’s your business here?” he asked.

“I came to visit a friend. Sarah Smith.”

He looked at her. “Do you know where she lives?”

“Yes. I was here before.”

“Where have you come from?”

“Assiniboia.”

“Assiniboia? I haven’t been there since before the…you know.”

“The killings?”

He nodded.

Rita said. “Its a night I won’t soon forget.”

“You were there? You saw it?”

“I was there.”

“I heard over a hundred and twenty were killed.”

“I never counted them.”

“I’ll open the gate for you.”

“Thanks.”

Rita rode slowly through the park, took a short detour along a narrow lane, stopped the bike for a few seconds, looked out at the large lake, the waterfowl flying, landing on the green surface, a man fishing from a small boat, sun reflecting like stars on the water. She wondered what he was fishing for. Pickerel maybe. She watched for a few more seconds then turned the motorcycle and rode to Sarah’s house.

Sarah’s father walked outside when he heard the exhaust from the motorcycle. He looked confused for a moment, then suddenly recognized her short blonde hair when she removed her helmet.

“Hello Mr. Smith.”

“Hi Rita. Call me Wally.”

“Okay, Wally. Is Sarah around?”

“She should be back soon. Her and June just slipped into Lafleche to get something from the store there. I have some home made stout.”

“Stout?”

“The best stout.”

The two sat on the back deck overlooking the lake, both sipping the dark colored drink. Rita liked the way it tasted. So smooth and creamy as it ran down her throat.

“I hear there was a dust up in Assiniboia a while back.”

Rita nodded. “Yeah.”

“Were you there?”

“I was there.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

She looked at the older man, his kind face, a retired farmers face. Leathery, wrinkled somewhat. His hands large, like big clubs almost. “Do you think it was wrong?”

“I don’t think anything. Do you think it was wrong?”

“I don’t know. At least there’s no more crazies with signs. That’s a good thing. Too bad so many of them were so young and stupid though.”

He smiled some. “Stupid hurts. You can’t blame the kids really. I blame the schools and the teachers. They teach them all that multiculturalism liberal crap. The left loves the muzzies. I remember Sarah coming home and telling me things. June and I went to the school and questioned her teacher. The teacher acted like Sarah belonged to her and not us. June had to get me out of there. I wanted to tear a strip off that commie bitch.” He frowned. “Sorry for the language.”

“What did you do?”

“I told the woman what I thought of her and her commie friends, then we pulled Sarah out of there and sent her to a private girl’s school in Regina. She finished her schooling there.”

Rita said nothing, sipped from her glass of stout.

He asked. “Can you stay for supper?”

Rita smiled. “What’s for supper?”

He laughed. “Particular are you?”

“Always.”

He looked at her holstered pistol. “Have you had to use that yet?”

“Only once.”

The sound of a vehicle could be heard coming from the front of the house. Sarah soon walked onto the deck, smiled.

“I knew it was you.”

Rita stood to her feet and they hugged for a few seconds. She said. “You’ve put on a few pounds. You look healthier now.”

“My mother’s cooking. I see my dad found someone to sample his beer.”

“Its not beer. Its stout,” said Wally.

“I know, daddy.” She looked at Rita. “Want to go for a walk down by the lake?”

“Sure. Your dad asked me to stay for supper.”

“Good. We’re having fried chicken tonight. We stopped at a farm and picked up a few. They’re frozen except for one.”

“Chicken sounds good to me.”

Wally stood to his feet. “You two go for a walk, I’m going to help June unload the car.”

The two women walked slowly near the edge of the water, many migratory birds swam on the surface, dove under the water for a meal. It was a cloudless day, still warm but not like the July heat wave. It was a comfortable warm and they both enjoyed walking without a jacket.

“Everyone around here heard about what happened.”

Rita looked at the petite young woman. “I guess.”

“You were there, weren’t you?”

Rita nodded. “I was there. I killed some people.”

Sarah stopped walking, put her arms around Rita. They stayed like that for a while until Sarah said. “Are you feeling really bad about that?”

“I guess I am. They were mostly teenagers.”

“So? They would have killed you. And they wouldn’t be feeling bad about it either.”

“I know.”

They sat down on some rough prairie grass, stayed quiet, watched the scenery, the wildlife all around them. Watched two gophers playing, wrestling like little children.

“You find a boyfriend yet?” asked Rita.

“No. All the guys who joined Islam hightailed it out of here right after the thing in Assiniboia. One boy likes me. A man, not a boy.”

“You like him?”

“Not like that. He’s nice though. What about you, Rita, anyone you like?”

“I guess not.”

Sarah put her arm around her shoulder. “If I was man, I’d want you for my girlfriend.”

Rita laughed. “That’s nice to know.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I was maybe thinking about joining the militia.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know that either. Whatever they tell me to do I guess.”

Sarah leaned in and kissed Rita on the cheek, then on the lips. Rita kissed her back for a few seconds then pulled her face away.

“Why did do that?”

Sarah smiled. “You looked like you needed a kiss.”

“You often kiss women?”

“Sometimes.”

Rita smiled. Said nothing.

The two stayed silent for a few minutes then slowly got to their feet and walked back to the house where June Smith had chicken frying in the electric pan, potatoes, turnips and string beans boiling in pots on the stove and hot baking powder biscuits fresh from the oven. It was dark when Rita rode back to St. Victor. She was feeling better now. A little better anyway. If only the dreams weren’t there to remind her every night of what she did. She could hear the screams, see the blood. It ran in rivers. She usually woke up when she saw the blood.

Two weeks later Rita and Karen sat in on a meeting in the St. Victor community hall. A colonel from Moose Jaw was the guest speaker. He talked about how the country was divided now, pockets of resistance fighting the enemy all across the large country of Canada. Talked about the Western Militia. They were always looking for good people to join in the fight for freedom. He told the small group of people what he knew thus far. The oilfields in Alberta and Saskatchewan were safe and guarded by the militia. No oil was moving east anymore. Another refinery was planned for Regina, two more in Alberta. There were still problems in the cities, though help was arriving from different places even the United States. Ex military, ranchers, farmers, truck drivers, just about every kind of person who cared about being free. Men and women alike. None willing to live under the heel of Islam.

After the meeting was over the group stayed for cowboy coffee boiled over a fire pit out back of the hall. Rita chatted with some people she knew. Met Heather James, Tom’s wife. Rita thought she was pretty. They didn’t talk much. The guest speaker came walking over to where she and Karen stood together.

He looked at Rita. “Tom tells me good things about you. You didn’t sign up?”

Rita shook her head. “My sister needs me to help with the harvest and canning. Winter’s coming.”

The man’s name was Colonel Gilbert Knowles. He said. “Be a shame to lose your talents.”

“My talents? I’m a poker player.”

For a brief moment he was captivated by her beauty. Quickly recovered. “But I hear you’re more than just a poker player.”

Rita looked into his dark brown eyes. Tried to size him up. “Inside you said you are a colonel?”

He nodded. “Militia colonel.”

“How many real soldiers are joining up? Not people like me, but real soldiers.”

“More all the time. The Western Militia is now under the command of General Arnold. He’s a regular Army general. He’s working with the Provincial governments. In a few months we should be better equipped. Better organized. The training has already begun.”

“Equipped how?”

“The Governor of Montana is supplying us with weapons, advisors. Other states help too. Things in the U.S. are getting testy now. Not every state is liberal.”

Rita heard the cry of an eagle soaring above her head. She looked up and smiled. Thought of Joe Redbone. Wished he was here now. He always knew how to put things in perspective for her. She said. “Colonel, I need more time to think about this. I want to help, but I need some time.”

He smiled, looked at Karen. She was as attractive as her sister. He briefly wondered if they were twins. “How about you, Karen?”

She shook her head. “I’ll fight for my home here, but I can’t go off and join the militia.”

He looked at Rita again. “I have an office in Moose Jaw. Tom James knows where it is. If you change your mind you’ll find me there. Its at the air base.”

“We have the base?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“And the planes?”

“Yes. And the planes and the pilots. Not all of them but most of them.”

“But they’re only training airplanes aren’t they?”

“We’re adapting. And expanding.”

“Is there fighting in Moose Jaw?”

“Just a few pockets of crazies left. We’ll get them all soon. Most ran at the first sign of trouble. The real Islamists, the ones from the Middle East are mostly out in Ontario and Quebec. Vancouver too. I don’t know how bad things are. I do know most of the eastern cities are controlled by the crazies. I doubt Northern Ontario is though. The rural people have guns. Most in the cities don’t. At least not enough of them. I imagine some people will try and make their way out here soon. Before the snow comes.”

“If I join, will I be in Moose Jaw?”

He nodded again. “At first. Then I don’t know. Wherever we need you to be.”

“I’ll tell you what, Colonel. I need to think. Perhaps in the spring.”

He smiled, looked at her green eyes, a face that could melt a man’s heart. “Okay Rita Royale. You know where to find me.” He nodded to Karen and returned to where Tom James and some others were talking.

“I thought you wanted to join them?”

Rita looked at her. “I keep seeing all those kids lying dead. Kids I killed.”

“Still having bad dreams?”

“Every night.” Rita spotted Bill standing by himself. She motioned him over. “Bill,” she asked. “Still have that marijuana?”

He smiled. “Good idea. I was just thinking about a smoke. This coffee sucks. Come on over to my place and I’ll roll us up a big bomber. I’ve been saving a bottle of single malt. Maybe I’ll crack that baby open tonight.”

Rita smiled. “Did you sign up, Bill?”

“Yes, beautiful, I did. I may be nearly sixty, but I can still hold a rifle.”

“And a bazooka.”

“You know it.”

Bill’s small house was only a two minute walk from the hall. Karen didn’t go with them, as she had things that needed doing at home. Rita walked beside the older man, studied his slow gait, slight limp, glad he was on her side. They sat together on his deck and looked down the valley, the hills brown now, the green grass given up, waiting for next spring to arrive.

The air was cooler, still nice, and she smoked the joint, drank the scotch, enjoyed listening to Bill Alexander tell all he knew about Sharia, Islam, terrorists. He told her what life for a woman would be like under their laws. How women were nothing more than chattel. Slaves to their husbands and masters.

“I wouldn’t even be a slave, would I?” asked Rita.

“Not if your Jewish. You’d be dead. Plain and simple.”

“I don’t even know anything about Judaism. My father was a Jew, but I still don’t know much. He never talked about his background. He was nice, though. A good dad to me and Karen.”

“Well beautiful, all you need to know is that Satan’s stooges are evil. Nothing else. When you kill them you feel nothing. They are nothing. Its a good thing to kill evil.”

“You make it sound so simple, Bill.”

“It is simple. We’ve come down to simple now. All the political correctness, all the socialist bullshit, the dhimmi followers, its all washed away. They’re nothing to me. If I had my way they’d have been stopped years ago. But I’m crazy, remember?”

“Crazy like a fox.”

“Yes. I like foxes. Except when they come in my yard looking for my cat.”

“The big orange one?”

He nodded. “Buddy. King of the wild frontier. Maybe when I’m gone you can watch out for him. You can even live here in my house if you like. Or just come by and make sure he’s okay. I think I’ll miss him the most.”

“When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.”

“That soon?”

He nodded.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

He looked at her. “Sure. I have an extra cot you can sleep on.”

She shook her head. “No. I mean can I stay with you?”

“Oh Rita, you make an old guy’s heart swell, but its been so long now. I wouldn’t know what to do anymore.”

“Just be close. That’s all I need tonight. I’ll stay here and watch after Buddy for you.”

He looked at her. “Okay.”

Bill left early the next morning after leaving written instructions on the care and feeding of the cat. There was lots of food and treats for Buddy and he seemed to take to Rita right away. He even followed her back to Karen’s house and lay near the edge of the garden while the women dug up the potatoes from the fertile ground.

St. Victor is a small village on the edge of the Medicine Line, a place where the hills rise out of the sacred ground, where the petroglyphs watch down over the valley. A place of eagles and mystery. A place of ghosts. A place of finding yourself when you find yourself to be hopelessly lost.

Working all day in the garden with Karen was therapeutic for Rita. She imagined Sioux warriors riding their ponies right where they were standing. She could almost hear the unshod hooves pounding the prairie grass as they searched for buffalo. Sitting Bull’s warriors. She wondered whether old Joe Redbone was a Sioux. She always thought he was. He never mentioned where he came from, only where he wanted to go. Only that. He said its good for a man to know where he’s going. A woman too, he told her. Said her destiny waited in places of darkness but not to be afraid because the eagle watched over her. She carried the bird’s spirit with her. It would fly her out of the darkness when the time came. Even gave her an Indian name. A name she never told to a soul.