should be alright for fuel now.” She knew the tank was almost full, was pretty certain she could make it to Thompson lake. “But thanks for the offer.”
He stood looking at her for a few seconds. “You take care now, young lady. Watch for potholes. They’re everywhere.”
Rita smiled. “I will, Jim.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bill.
He shook his head. “I don’t want any money. You best keep that pistol close.” He glanced at the handle of the gun now visible, poking out from under her t-shirt.
She smiled. “I will.”
“So long.” He walked to the rear of his truck and tossed the empty gas container inside the box.
“Thanks again, Jim. You’re a gentleman.”
He laughed. “My wife might disagree with you on that, but thank you.” He climbed onto his seat, shut the door and drove slowly away.
Sarah walked out into the open and over to Rita. “I guess there are still nice people around.”
“Rather than leave now maybe we should stay here until morning. It would be late when we got to your parents’ place. And the potholes.”
Sarah nodded, looked at her cigar. It had gone out. “Well how often do I get to smoke Havana cigars and drink scotch with a beautiful biker chick?”
Rita laughed softly. “You’re getting drunk.”
“Maybe a little. I don’t care. I want to be drunk.”
Rita sat down on her sleeping bag, picked up her bottle of scotch, took a small drink, held the bottle out to Sarah. “Plenty left to get drunk on, kid.”
Neither woman got drunk, instead they sat up talking and listening to the coyotes sing until each of them crawled into their sleeping bags and fell fast asleep on the rough grass. If a vehicle drove by neither of them heard it pass, both dreaming beneath the Milky Way, the scent of sage surrounding them.
Chapter Two
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
