anymore. Wonder how many people they’ve already killed in Assiniboia?”
“None I hope.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Rita.
“Yeah. Damn. I hate talking about this stuff on such a beautiful morning.”
Tom James swung by just after six in the evening. He pulled his truck up close to the curb in front of the house. Rita was sitting on the porch dressed in black, a black ball cap with the numbers 1602 stitched in green on the front. She picked up her bolt action .308 rifle, a small canvas bag and walked off the porch and hopped inside the pickup.
She looked at a darkly dressed Tom James. “So now it starts?”
He nodded. “Yes ma’am.” He made a U-turn and headed out of St. Victor, stopping to wait while the school bus was moved off the road allowing them to pass.
Rita waved at Karen as they passed the guards, Karen had a worried look on her face. Rita looked at Tom. “We’re not the only two are we?”
He shook his head, kept watching the road. “No. Some other guys want to help out. We’re going to surprise them on the street when they march. Hopefully that head muzzie who came to town will be with them too.”
They didn’t speak again until Tom turned off the pavement and onto a gravel side road. He glanced at her slender frame, her face. The most beautiful face he had ever been this close too, he thought. “We have to go in the back way now. Bastards have the road blockaded.”
The truck entered Assiniboia, the streets deserted mostly except for the odd person walking. In a few minutes he parked in a back alley downtown. The pair left the truck with their weapons in hand and walked to a door. The door opened slowly.
“Hey Denny.”
“Hi Tom.” He looked at Rita, then back at Tom. “The roof’s ready.”
“This is Rita.”
“Hi Rita. They call me Denny.”
Rita smiled at the man, followed him and Tom into the building and up a flight of stairs. They were soon on the roof. There were several long guns already waiting. Loaded and ready to shoot. She walked to the edge, stayed low behind a barrier, looked down at the four way intersection on the middle of Main Street. She only saw three vehicles moving. A few parked cars.
Tom crouched next to her. “There will be guys on the roofs of those three buildings. They may already be there.” He pointed to the three other buildings that stood at the corners of the intersection.
Rita looked at the flat roofs. “So we wait for a few hours.”
He nodded. “Denny’s wife is making us all something to eat.”
Rita sat with her back against the short wall that hid them. Watched Tom remove four grenades from his bag. He lined them up, ready to throw down on the marchers. In a few minutes Denny was back with a basket of hot food.
Rita felt someone nudging her. She awoke from a dream. Unsure of where she was. Slowly recognized Tom’s smiling face.
“They’re coming.”
Rita looked up the darkened Main Street. It was full of men in black carrying torches and signs, some with rifles held above their heads. Their loud voices reaching her ears. They looked like noisy zombies chanting, like ghouls searching for something living to eat. A chill ran through her. It almost looked like her dream last night.
Tom said. “Wait for the first explosion, then open up with your rifle.”
Rita nodded, rubbed her eyes and grabbed her gun. She removed her pistol and kept it close. In a couple of minutes the police car entered the intersection, its lights flashing blue and red. The hidden men on roof tops waited for it to pass through. Waited until the noisy mob was close to the intersection.
“I know half those kids, Tom.”
“They ain’t kids no more, Denny.”
Suddenly a loud explosion erupted on the street below. The lead police car was a ball of fire, the two officers burning inside from the blast of Bill’s bazooka. Smoke filled the air. Gun fire started from the three other roof tops. The sound a flat pop pop pop. Rita watched Tom throw a grenade onto the confused street below. Heard the screams. She fired her rifle at the first black target she saw. Watched the marcher collapse from her bullet. She reloaded another bullet into the chamber. Pushed down the bolt hard. Another explosion rocked the buildings as the second police cruiser went up in flames. The street now littered with glass, bodies, grenades like balls of lethal fire rained down on the black dressed marchers. The air was awash with gun powder and smoke, the smell filled her nostrils. She continued to shoot until her rifle was empty.
The cratered street was on fire now, people in black running, trying to escape the hail of bullets and shrapnel directed at them, their signs falling from their hands. They tried to escape back up Main Street or along Third Avenue, but their paths were blocked with trucks. Men with automatic rifles mowed them down as they fled. Bodies littered the streets, blood smeared the pavement. Ran like thin dark streams. Rita didn’t know how long they had been shooting. It seemed like an eternity. She knew she had killed some of the marchers. Finally the street grew quiet except for the cries of the wounded.
Tom had fire in his eyes. He looked at her. “You hit?”
Rita was in a daze. She shook her head.
He looked at Denny. “You hit?”
“I ain’t hit, Tom.”
“I think a few might have got away. We’ll get them later.”
“Damn, Tom. We must have killed a hundred or more.”
“I didn’t ask for this. They chose their side.” He stood to his feet. “Let’s go down now.”
When they reached the ground, Rita looked at Tom. “I don’t want to look. I’ll sit in the truck and wait for you.”
He studied her face, smiled a little. “Take a drink. There’s a bottle in the glove box. You did good, Rita. Better than good.”
Rita said nothing, just watched him walk around the corner toward Main Street. She sat in the truck and opened the glove box. She heard sporadic gunfire, guessed they were killing the wounded lying on the street. She took a deep drink of whiskey, it burned her lips and throat. Tears ran down her face, though she didn’t feel them. She didn’t feel much of anything now. She was numb. Completely numb. After a time, she wasn’t sure how long, Tom James climbed into the truck beside her.
“You okay, Rita?”
She looked at him, wiped her face. “Yes. I’m okay. What now?”
“Now I take you home.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to come back and visit the Mayor.”
She knew what he meant. She asked. “Did we get that head Muslim?”
He nodded. “He ain’t a Muslim no more.”
Rita took a drink from the bottle, wiped her face again. “What about more police coming?”
Tom accepted the bottle, took a long drink. “There may be a few. Most are very busy in the cities right now. We’re not the only ones fighting tonight. There’s militia watching for police or anyone else. There’s no turning back. We either win or we die probably.”
Rita just looked at him, watched him move the truck. Win or die. She felt like maybe a piece of herself had died tonight on that bloody street. When they arrived back at Karen’s house after a silent ride Rita walked onto the porch, turned and watched Tom drive away and back toward Assiniboia. She dropped her guns on a chair and stripped naked. Slumped to the wooden deck and began to sob loudly. She felt her sister walk her into the house and put her to bed. Karen stayed with her until she was asleep.