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 28th
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.”