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