Fires had raged for five days following the blasts, burning through entire blocks and killing an untold number of residents who were unable to flee quickly enough. Those on the periphery of the blast zone who had escaped from the fires had then found themselves in a desperate situation, as there were no relief services to step in and provide assistance after homes and all personal possessions had been lost in the destruction.
Churches attempted to help but were quickly overwhelmed by demand and unable to resupply, and their efforts soon fell short, resulting in a large homeless community that was struggling for survival against both hunger and nature on the edges of the Yellowstone River.
From the road, Rose could see makeshift shelters lining the river’s edge, constructed of whatever materials the homeless had been able to scavenge: old cars, cardboard boxes, pieces of steel tanks that had been blown apart by the refinery explosions, sheets of drywall, and even fallen trees stacked to provide shelter from the wind, a scene more suited to the slums in some nameless place in India than a modern-day city in America. Rose half expected to see naked, starving children with distended bellies bathing in the river and likely would have, she thought, were it not for the sheets of ice extending from the shore, preventing access to the water except in a few isolated locations.
Smoke rose from several of the shelters, and people wandered from shelter to shelter, gathered wood, fished, or sat and stared vacantly at the tumbling water. She gripped her rifle in her hands, her eyes scanning the road for any sign of threats. Paul and Mindy had warned her about the community at the river, but to avoid the highway would have meant either going through the heart of Billings, or circling so far north or south that it would have added several extra days of travel.
A quick trip, armed and read, was Rose’s response to the threat, and so far she had proceeded without incident. Smokey and Blitz were making good time, and most people had paid little attention to her, absorbed instead in their own struggle for survival.
Rose kept to the north side of the road, moving the horses at a brisk pace, and veering onto the pavement only when debris or interchanges required it. Her heart raced as they hurried along. The road, much as it would have been when the EMP hit, was filled with the heavy traffic of a holiday weekend. Cars, trucks, and semis, all obstacles that could easily conceal an ill-intentioned person, were everywhere. Even the shoulder of the road and the grassy area alongside it were not free of vehicles, making the journey a challenge for a person maneuvering two horses.
“Hey, can you help me?” She had made it most of the way through the city. In fact, she had just started to breath easier as the city fell away behind her when she heard the voice call out. She slowed and looked around, not seeing anyone.
Rose had passed a blue pickup truck parked off the road halfway into the center median when she heard the voice again. “Help me, please.” She paused, looking around again. The voice was strange, not distinctly male or female, and wasn’t coming from anywhere she could identify. She raised her gun, her nerves on edge. The horses, sensing her tension, were skittish themselves. She spotted movement in the median to her left. A leg extending past the blue pickup twitched and kicked. “Help,” the voice said again.
Rose couldn’t see the rest of the body, but she didn’t like the situation. “Go, Smokey!” she urged. As she prodded the horse forward she heard a noise and felt a hand on her arm. She turned to swing her rifle, but the person held her arm tightly and jerked her hard from the horse. Smokey spooked and lurched forward, further unbalancing Rose and causing her to fall from the saddle. Her gun roared as she pulled the trigger, but the un-aimed shot only served to make her ears ring and further startle the horses, sending them running, panicked by the noise and commotion.
“Nice try, bitch!” A man, his face, dirty and bearded, slammed his fist into her cheek and sent her crashing to the ground.
The blow dazed Rose, and her rifle fell from her hands, clattering onto the highway. “Stop!” she yelled, desperate and disoriented.
The man grabbed her jacket and pinned her to the ground, rising above her. He threw a leg over Rose to straddle her, using the weight of his body to keep her down, his hands holding her arms at her side as she thrashed helplessly. “Dangerous place to be traveling alone, lady,” he said, leering down at her through squinting brown eyes, a perverse grin splitting his face. “Don’t get many women in these parts, ‘specially not pretty ones.”
A shadow fell over her as another man approached. She assumed he was the source of the voice from the median. “You let the horses get away, you idiot!” the man accused.
Rose tasted blood in her mouth. She turned to try to see the second man. “Let me go,” she insisted. “I haven’t done anything to you.”
He looked down at her and grinned. “No one said you did,” he replied, spitting on the pavement. He wore a filthy, brown work coat, and a dark, unkempt beard covered his face, much like the other man’s. He didn’t strike her as being especially big, even looking up at him from the ground. “We’ve just embarked on a new career, and you just happened to pass through at the right time, depending on your point of view.”
The man astride her looked towards the horses, which were still galloping away. “Sorry about the horses,” he said. “But she had her gun out. You heard the shot. I had to grab her arms.”
The other man shook his head. “Just shut up, alright. I don’t care what happened. Now I’ve got to go chase them down.” He pulled a gun from his waistband and aimed it at his partner. “You think you can handle her by yourself while I go get ‘em?”
“No problem,” he replied, nodding his head vigorously. “I’ll have her warmed up and ready for you when you get back.”
“You sure?”
He nodded again, his mouth drawn in a tight line. “I’m sure,” he replied. The first man stood, jerking Rose upward and twisting her arms painfully.
With Rose back on her feet, the man from the median handed the pistol to his partner. “Take this. If she tries anything, shoot her, but try not to damage any of my favorite parts.”
His partner took the gun and laughed. “Count on it,” he said. “Do you want to check her for weapons before you go?”
He shook his head. “You do it. Looks like the stupid horses have stopped. I gotta go before they run off again.”
Rose heard the man behind her grunt then felt the barrel of his gun press against her back and his hand press against her waist. His hand rubbed across her body, sliding from her waist to her thighs, then up across her chest and down her back. She shuddered during the search, her legs shaking and her breath coming in short gasps.
“You have any weapons?” he asked belatedly after physically probing far longer than necessary.
“Just the gun I was holding,” she choked out, trying to sound calmer than she felt, which wasn’t very. “There’s another gun on the horse, but that’s it.”
“I’ll check again when you get inside. If you’re lying…” he trailed off ominously. He pushed her forward, his handgun still aimed at her, then swung his leg and kicked her hard in the thigh.
Rose attempted to block the kick unsuccessfully. The impact of the blow left her leg throbbing, but she didn’t fall, only letting out a small whimper.
“So you don’t try to run off,” he said as he bent down and picked up her rifle, inspecting it quickly. “Nice gun.”
Rose stared at the road and massaged her leg, but didn’t respond.
“Walk to that motor home,” the man ordered, pointing to a forty-foot motorhome parked on the opposite side of the freeway and fifty yards back in the direction she had come from. “If you behave well, we’ll let you go.”
“What if I don’t?” Rose asked as she limped towards the RV, not really wanting to know the answer.