Daunting Days of Winter (20 page)

To the West, the worst locations to be in were Phoenix and Las Vegas, primarily due to water shortages. To this point, the climate in those areas had been beneficial, but the absence of rain and the dependence on water treatment and pumping facilities that no longer worked resulted in the worst misery. Southern California was also a bad place to be, but mostly because of the human factor. Sanitation and violence were causing the greatest number of deaths, with many areas in the cities now armed camps, at war with neighboring gangs over control of limited resources.

From a national perspective, the Pacific Northwest was the only region in the country that could be described in any sense as having survived well the affects of the attack. The weather, though harsh at times, was survivable. Population density, outside of the Portland and Seattle areas, was tolerable. And, the region was naturally rich with agriculture, abundant wildlife, water, ranching, fishing, and a host of other resources that made survival more likely than not.

Throughout the country there were areas that ran counter to the trends, but as a whole, that was the disposition of the nation and the world in general, according to Frank and based on information gleaned from his HAM radio conversations.

Kyle came away from the discussion mildly depressed at the state of the country, and while he wasn’t too surprised, hearing about it from someone who wasn’t just speculating or repeating rumors was discouraging. Cut off from the rest of the world and focused on your own survival, it was easy not to think about what others were going through, then hard to hear that it was so bad. The only bright spot from his discussion with Frank was finding out that they were faring well in comparison to the rest of the country, which hopefully meant that he and his parents would have a better than average chance of surviving once he made it to them.

Conversation continued while Kyle and the Emorys ate their breakfast of pancakes with real maple syrup, fried eggs, and toast with jam, all flavors that had long been absent from Kyle’s diet. Life for Frank and Brenda, from a convenience standpoint, didn’t seem to be very different from life before the event. Daily routines had changed, and they were physically cut off from others, but they didn’t worry about food, or heat, or water, or, most importantly, about tomorrow.

Yes, Kyle decided, if he could go back, there were things he’d definitely do differently. If only that was an option.

CHAPTER 25

Saturday, January 28
^th

Eastern Montana

The roadblock, positioned near an old weigh station in the middle of the highway, was visible from three miles away, and Rose approached it with hesitation. Crossing Wyoming and Montana had so far proven to be a pretty quiet endeavor, consisting mostly of wide-open stretches of farms, ranches and forests. A few towns that dotted the map were going to be hard to avoid though. Crow Agency up ahead was one of them.

Rose generally rode in the median or along the sides of the highway. A couple of times she’d used bolt cutters to cut fences and skirt wide of an area, until a property owner had noticed once and come after her waving a rifle, swearing and cussing about how she’d ruined his fence and made more work for him. She’d given him a box of shotgun shells and some fresh venison to appease him, apologized, and hurried on her way, grateful the man had limited his assault to a few choice adjectives.

Progress on her journey was steady, and the horses were doing better than expected, though good feed was scarce, and they were all just now getting used to trekking for hours at time. Both horses were shod, thanks to Lou, but to the extent she could, she still tried to stay off of surfaces that might damage their hooves.

The barricade was closer now, and Rose stayed alert as she drew near. Both of her rifles were loaded and easily accessible, as was the pistol in her saddlebag. She also had a small knife. Still, no matter how well armed she was, one person against a group wasn’t a good situation.

“Stop!” A tall man in his late forties stepped out from behind the barricade, keeping her fifty feet away. He was dressed in a long, brown duster, his unkempt hair matted to his head. His face was dark and weathered and betrayed no emotion. A rifle hung casually from his left hand.

Already nervous, Rose jumped in her saddle at the man’s voice. She reined Smokey in and waited for instructions.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m just passing through, heading to Missoula,” she answered warily, scanning the area for more people. She could see someone peeking out from behind the barricade and another on the far side of the highway.

The man whistled. “Missoula? That’s a long ride.”

Rose nodded.

“Are you alone?” he asked, looking past her and down the highway.

Rose watched him, cautious, unsure of the best response to give.

“That’s not a tough question, is it? It means is there another person traveling with you?” A smile cracked the man’s solemn face.

“I’m alone, but I’m not helpless.”

“I see your guns; we know you’re armed. We’re just a small town here and don’t want any troubles. It’s dangerous traveling alone, you know.”

“I’m very aware of that.” Smokey danced anxiously beneath her. “Can I be on my way?”

He nodded. “We’ll escort you through town, to make sure nothing happens to us or to you.” He whistled and called out a couple names. Two girls carrying shotguns emerged a few seconds later from the house nearest the barricade and ran towards the man. The older girl appeared to be in her mid-twenties, the younger one maybe sixteen. The man gave instructions to the girls, then waved Rose forward.

“Ride slowly. My nieces will walk with you to make sure you don’t stop. Any questions?”

“No,” Rose said, shaking her head. “I just keep going, right?”

The man nodded. “Keep your hands on your saddle and don’t reach for your guns. We’ve had some problems in the past so we’re just being careful.” He stepped back and motioned for Rose to pass.

Rose kicked, and Smokey started forward, his slow easy gait rocking her in the saddle. Rose rode down the middle of the road, while the girls walked about twenty feet on either side of her and slightly behind. They rarely spoke to each other, but when they did, it was in a language Rose didn’t understand.

“Do you speak English?” Rose asked the older girl when they were about halfway through town.

She nodded. “I do. Do you speak Crow?”

“No,” Rose answered. “Haven’t had much use for it.”

“I was a nursing student. Now look at me.” She raised her gun in front of herself. “I’m a security guard.”

“I was a real estate agent. Now I’m a refugee.”

They walked in silence awhile longer, watching the road, thinking.

“Why are you traveling so late?” the girl asked. “Lots of people come through last year, but not so many now.”

Rose explained her situation and need to travel. “Did anyone come through last year, around the beginning of November, pulling a cart?” The girl thought a minute. “I don’t know dates, not sure what month this is now, but I think so. It was like a big wagon?”

Rose nodded.

“Yeah. I think so, but there have been a lot of people, just not many lately.”

“How’s your town doing?” Rose asked, looking at the bleak surroundings.

The girl shook her head. “Not good. Too many were dependent on their government checks and never learned to take care of themselves or think about tomorrow. You don’t have to worry about working when someone gives you money every month. My uncle was on the tribal council, always warned about those things, but no one would listen. Now our people can’t survive without the white man providing for us. Many of the old people have died, and the young ones have given up. Suicide happens a lot, and fighting, but at least the liquor is gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose offered.

The girl pointed to a faded billboard advertising Little Bighorn Battlefield. “In his time, Custer and the Army used guns to destroy us. Our people knew to fight against that. We were strong then. In my father’s and grandfathers’ generations, they’ve destroyed us with welfare, and we just ask for more, not seeing what it does to us. It’s worse than the alcohol.” She kicked a rock, rolling it across the highway. “Maybe now, with this,” she waved her arm at the lifeless town. “Maybe our people will wake up, regain their pride, reclaim our heritage now that the free ride is over. If we don’t, there will be no more Crow nation.”

“There may not be an American nation, if things get much worse.”

The girl laughed contemptuously. “I think that was already gone before this happened. America lost its vision. It was money, and play, and more money. It didn’t stand for anything. Our people had the same problem. We had nothing to strive for, so we became lazy and weak.”

“You are wise beyond your years. Did they teach you that at school? Doesn’t sound like nursing to me.”

“School my ass.” She spit on the ground and tucked her long hair behind her ear. “The university just kept telling me I should demand more from the government. But why? That’s the poison that’s killing us. Our father was an alcoholic, spent most of his government checks on beer, then he abandoned us. Our mother was killed in a car accident when I was eleven, so my uncle took us in and raised us. He says our great-great-grandfather was a chief when they took our people away. I think he exaggerates, but he’s trying to inspire us to be free and great again, like our ancestors.”

They were approaching a roadblock on the other end of town that was guarded by two men sitting in old, blanket-covered recliners. “Thank you for the escort,” Rose said. “I was quite nervous when I saw your uncle, but it was actually nice to talk to you. What is your name, by the way?”

The girl held her head high. “My name is Tabitha Gray Eagle, and I am a Crow Indian.”

Rose smiled and extended her hand. “Well, Tabitha, it was an honor to have met you. I hope you’ll be safe.”

Tabitha took Rose’s hand and shook it. “What is your name?”

They were interrupted by one of the men at the barricade. He spoke Crow to the girl, and Rose didn’t understand.

Tabitha said something in reply, directed a stern look at him, and gripped her gun.

The man got up and approached. He was a short man, older than the two girls, and dressed in a ragged coat and dirty jeans. He smiled at Tabitha, exposing yellowed and missing teeth as he rubbed a fresh scar on the side of his face. Then he focused on Rose, giving her a look that unnerved her. “You alone, lady?”

Shivers ran down her back. Rose pulled the reins to the right and gave Smokey a kick. “I need to be on my way. It was nice meeting you, Tabitha.”

“Good luck, Miss,” Tabitha said as she waved. Then she turned to her sister and motioned with her head back the other way.

The man waved as well, and Rose felt his eyes following her. “Goodbye, lady!” he shouted before slowly ambling back to the barricade and dropping into his chair.

CHAPTER 26

Monday, February 6
^th

Western Montana

A deer sprang out of a stand of trees and darted across the road in front of Kyle, startling his horse and causing Kyle to jump in his saddle. He reined the horse to a stop and studied the forest where the deer had emerged. “It’s alright, Garfield,” he said, rubbing the horse’s neck. Garfield, named after the comic strip cat because of his unnaturally orange coloring, flicked his tail from side to side and wandered towards the trees where some taller patches of grass grew.

Kyle dismounted and stretched his legs, watching the horse as it tugged at the wild growth. Garfield had been a decent companion even though he was old and had a mind of his own, not wanting to walk too fast, go for too long, or pass a creek or stream without stopping for a break.

Riding wasn’t foreign to Kyle. He’d done it a lot as a child, spending weeks in the summer on his grandfather’s farm riding with his cousins. But grandpa had also had an old dirt bike, and rather than messing with saddles and halters, it was much easier to wheel the bike out of the barn, jump on, kick it over, and be off. Looking back, it would have been nice to learn more about horses, but as a twelve year old, he’d been more concerned with fun and adventure than in planning for any distant, doomsday scenario where a knowledge of animal husbandry might come in handy.

Kyle tied Garfield to a fallen tree, untied his canteen from the saddle and walked to the river to fill it. His knees popped as he squatted down at the river’s edge and dipped the canteen into the water until it was full. He stood and shook each leg, one at a time, then dropped to the ground and did a set of pushups.

Garfield was nice to have, much better than walking, but Kyle sometimes wondered if his old cart would’ve been a better arrangement where he could’ve carried more and gone on his own schedule. But then again, despite his aching back and painful saddle sores, his body was taking less of a beating than when he’d walked, and he didn’t need to eat as much food to make it through each day. Add to that the fact that traveling the river valleys meant there was plenty of food and water for both horse and rider, and this set up did seem to be the best overall under the circumstances.

Travel had been steady and easy so far. After leaving Frank’s place, he’d traveled West, gone around Missoula, then hooked North onto State highway 93, the route he usually took to visit his parents. He knew the road well, having last traveled it just before his business trip to Houston, but that was six months ago and things had changed a lot since then.

Where before it had been just a few hours travel time with food and fuel available along the way, it was now a three-week journey with limited food, no fuel, and questionable survivability. Traveling through towns on horseback was usually a straightforward event. Stop at the checkpoint on the Southside, state your purpose, assure the sentries you had no evil intentions, then pass quietly through, sometimes escorted, other times not.