watched for a couple of minutes, looked at the faces, the signs they carried. Rita said. “I see a way around this. Let’s go, Sarah.”
After some difficulty, mainly caused by cement curbs and vehicles, Rita had the motorcycle back on a street that skirted the black clad parade. One sign in particular had sent an icy chill rushing through her body. Rita had never been one for faith and God and all that sort of business but her father had been a Jew, even though he seldom practiced his faith. Still, in a strange sort of spiritual way Rita had always imagined herself as somehow being half Jewish. Her birth right perhaps. Her mother had been a Christian. They were both gone now, only Karen and herself remained. Seeing the sign one man carried calling for the death of Jews bothered her more than she understood. It shook her in a very deep and disturbing way. Like ghosts rising from the chimney of a crematorium long since lost to history.
The pair were soon back on the Trans-Canada Highway heading east out of Medicine Hat the traffic still heavy. A few miles out of the city Rita noticed that the oncoming traffic had stopped altogether, only vehicles moving east bound now. A sign marking Highway 41 grew closer and Rita made the decision to turn south, even though she dreaded this choice of routes. She was sure though that something was blocking the road ahead. Maybe at the Saskatchewan and Alberta border which was only minutes from here.
The road opened up as she headed south toward Montana, Rita knew she would have to turn east before reaching the American border. That was the road she dreaded having to ride on. A lonely road. She was glad she had Sarah along for company.
The Cyprus Hills grew out of the prairie soil like an alien eruption. A space pod growing tall and majestic in the otherwise flat prairie landscape. An oasis of altitude and green. Even the air was different up here. Rita always wanted to spend time in the hills but never quite made it for a stay. This time of year was tourist season and they rode past many tourists without stopping, both women enjoying the ride and scenery.
After leaving the Cyprus Hills the land grew flatter, no traffic coming toward them from the States. At length she found her turn off and left the pavement. The motorcycle was on a country road in pasture land, with cattle guards and cattle and wind that moved the grass like ocean waves and a feeling of being the only human left in the world. A place so lonesome it could bring you to tears. At least that’s how Rita thought of this stretch of road that would lead them on to Saskatchewan. She decided to stop for a few minutes.
The two women stretched briefly. Rita said. “I guess we never did stop for food.”
“I have some energy bars and water.”
“I rode this trail once before. We may have to stop at a farm for gas. I doubt we’ll find a station.” Rita looked at the barren landscape, no humans anywhere near them, just a hot wind that blew, an eagle that screamed above. “A person could almost imagine buffalo running through here.”
Sarah handed a bar to Rita, smiled, looked around. “Better buffalo than the evil ones.”
“Like the ones marching on the street, you mean?”
“Yeah, like them. These people are serious. They won’t quit. Now they have the government on their side. I’ve seen these people close up. They’re fanatics. They hate us.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re women and infidels. We’re nothing to them. And it will get worse under Sharia law.” Sarah gave her a look. “They call themselves the religion of peace, but if you disagree with them they kill you.”
Rita stared at her, blew out her breath. “We need to find a radio or television or something. I hate not knowing what’s going on.”
“If those things still work. This has been coming for a while now. They’ll probably only allow news that favors them and not the truth.”
Rita unwrapped the chocolate bar already beginning to melt. “I played cards with a Muslim once. He gave me the creeps and he kept looking at my tits.”
“Were you wearing a bra?”
Rita shook her head, stuffed a glob of melted energy bar into her mouth.
“He certainly got an eye full.”
Rita swallowed. “I hate bras. I don’t care if I get all saggy one day.”
“I can’t find one small enough.” Sarah smiled, glanced at Rita’s ample bosom. “You probably can’t find one big enough.”
“Never looked, kid. We should think about moving on soon.”
“Are you married, Rita?”
“No. Almost was once. You?”
Sarah shook her head. “No.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“You have lots of time to get married.”
“I don’t know.”
Rita looked at her. “We should get going now.”
The pair kept moving slowly along the washboard road, still no other vehicle had passed them. After a time Rita knew she had arrived in Saskatchewan as the road turned into a type of pavement, though asphalt was missing in spots and she had to swerve around the black colored clumps and avoid the potholes now growing larger as the vehicles ran over them. They passed through a couple small towns, if you could call them that. Nothing was open. No people anywhere in sight.
The motorcycle eventually ran out of gas just shy of sundown. They had passed a few vehicles over the course of the last hour or so and now Rita hoped another would pass by soon. She knew she was somewhere west of the town of Eastend, Saskatchewan, though how far the town was she wasn’t exactly sure. She had managed to ride the bike off the road and onto a pasture access lane before the bike quit and died altogether. She turned her head and motioned for Sarah to dismount.
“We may have to stay the night here if someone doesn’t come by soon.”
“I have two more melted energy bars and an apple too I think.”
Rita smiled. “And I have a bottle of single malt.”
“You think the coyotes will bother us here?”
“I have a gun. Maybe a farmer with gas will be by soon though.”
“I hope so.”
The new friends sat on the rough grass near the motorcycle taking turns sipping from the bottle of scotch. Rita had retrieved a small box from her bag that contained two genuine Havana cigars. A gift from Danny the Deuce. She smiled as she thought about him now. She didn’t smoke but the urge to try a Havana cigar got the better of her and both women lit them up and sat on their sleeping bags smoking and drinking whisky, the stars now twinkling, the air still warm.
Sarah looked at Rita, her face visible in the dim light. “Is your last name really Royale?”
“No. Its Goldstein. I was called Royale when I used to play poker with the old boys down at Quon Lee’s Diner. One night I caught a royal flush. Then the following night I caught another royal flush. I made good money on both hands too. One of the guys, Bill the Bulgarian, I think, started calling me Rita Royale, the femme fatale. It stuck. I use the name now.”
“It sounds exotic.”
Rita laughed. “It may sound exotic but I’m just a down home country girl.”
“Were you born in Saskatchewan?”
She shook her head. “No, I was born in Calgary. My sister moved here after she met a man on the internet. He died last year. That’s where I’m going. A place called St. Victor.”
“I know that place. That’s where all the bikers go every year, isn’t it?”
“In June. I couldn’t make the boogie this year though. I went once. Last year. I was staying with my sister, but her husband John was sick at the time. He died soon after.”
“That