Abby and Lorie were standing on the running boards of the trucks, shotguns cocked and aimed at a strange figure.

It was impossible to determine the woman’s age; indeed, the only way they could tell that the person was female was due to her outfit: a somewhat faded print dress, work boots, a cardigan sweater in spite of the heat and, of all things, an old-fashioned gas mask.

She was, however, pointing the business end of a rusty old rifle at Abby and Lorie.