The breeze was fresh and clean while I drove through the highway, and the only sound I heard was the engine of my slightly beat-up Ford truck.
Two days had passed since I left home, and it had been a long ride on the I-94W to get to my destination. I had only stopped for gas, water, bed, and breakfast to get a few hours of sleep.
I was now driving through the US-2 road, and over the wintery mountains, I could see the sun slowly setting. On the right side of the road, I saw a sign with the name of the town I would be staying in until things died down, which brought my journey to a close.
Whitefish, Montana, is a small town with a population of around six thousand plus. It was the kind of place you vacationed in or raised a family. In my case, it was a great place to hide from a certain
