Inferno Girls

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  Micaiah’s shoulders and neck shined pink. His bullet wounds were nearly gone, and if he could heal them, he could heal a sunburn. “Let’s check it out,” he said.

  Turned out the place was deserted, though in some ways, it looked like it could still be in service. A full hundred meters of garage bays marked the western border of the compound. In front of them sat the visitor center and the government offices. On the north side we found houses, enough that we could each have our own. Each house had its own yard, the lawn reclaimed by desert plants, sectioned off by gray chain-link browned with dust.

  All the doors were unlocked. Even before Yellowstone, I wouldn’t imagine crime being a problem in so remote a place. Wren walked into one of the squat brick homes, found it safe, and motioned us to come in. The living room didn’t have any furniture, so we sat Rachel down on dusty carpet against the wall. Wren cut off the zip-ties then lashed Rachel’s hands and feet together with old nylon cord. More lessons from Mama; Wren tied the knots deftly.

  Searching the two back bedrooms, I found beds but very little else. The bedroom closets were empty. I wasn’t sure if we were in a rental cabin for tourists or housing for government staff or research scientists. The hallway closet next to the bathroom was fully loaded with towels and sheets and blankets. Everything smelled like old socks, but at least we had linens. I had hoped to find new clothes ’cause the ones on our backs were ripped, cut, shot, bloodied, stiff, and reeking.

  I tried the faucets in the bathroom, but all they did was gurgle and rumble. No water meant no showers. We’d have to wash out in the ponds of the refuge. The waterline was about a hundred meters away, but still, the water wasn’t exactly pristine. I longed to grab a truck and go back to the hot springs for a bath, but we wouldn’t have time.

  Instead, I found a broom and swept away the mouse droppings and dander from the animals that had taken shelter in the living room.

  Wren left to look for more supplies.

  Once we were alone, I turned to Rachel. “Well, looks like we found a home for a minute. Until more of your old comrades come calling.”

  She didn’t reply. She looked blankly at nothing in front of her. Had her new emotions snapped her brain completely?

  Only time would tell.

  Micaiah and Pilate came in with Sharlotte and gently laid her in one of the back bedrooms. They helped me make up the bed for Sharlotte, and though I knew she wouldn’t care about sleeping on a bare mattress, I couldn’t help but use the sheets. Mama had always insisted on sheets.

  Then both boys left to search other houses. Micaiah came back with Ace bandages to redress Sharlotte’s wounds. He’d even found a bottle of rubbing alcohol. The isopropyl had oxidized into acetone, but it would still kill bacteria.

  After taking care of Sharlotte, I set up a little nest of blankets for Rachel in the living room, so I could take care of both her and my sister.

  Took a bit of effort, but I managed to pound open the windows. Luckily, they were screened so we wouldn’t have to deal with the gnats. Even with every window open, the house was an oven. The old air-conditioning unit set in the wall laughed at me. Thirty years on, without electricity, no way would it work.

  In the heat, every breath was a fight, but better to be in the house than outside facing the insects. I figured we’d find plenty of salvage in the buildings. No one had been there in decades, and I knew why: it was only May and already a scorcher. Couldn’t imagine what it would be like in August.

  I moved the yellowed, musty front curtains to peer out at Pilate, Wren, and Micaiah, talking. Most likely, they’d be discussing our prisoner, Rachel Vixx, and my determination to give her a chance to change.

  Rachel remained motionless and silent on the floor. Sad to think her first feeling ever was fear, and it was Wren who had to tell her what she was experiencing. Having never felt anything before, Rachel didn’t have the labels.

  Limping around, trying to keep weight off my bad ankle, I babied our enemy—washed her face, spoon fed her canned fruit cocktail I’d found in the cupboard, and forced her to drink water. We made sure she didn’t have any weapons.

  I’d just gotten done washing my face, careful of the stitches on my forehead, when Wren let out a yell out in the front yard. It sounded so happy and triumphant, I couldn’t stop myself from banging through the screen door and onto the cracked concrete of the front porch.

  Wren held up a plastic box marked by a red cross. “Well, sweeties, Auntie Irene found the pharmacy. We have antibiotics, ibuprofen, and even some Vicodin.”

  Relief flooded through me. Thank God we had that bottle of Doc Slocum’s.

  All medication has a shelf life when the active chemical components lose their potency. Pharmaceutical companies didn’t mind ’cause it meant we all had to keep buying new stuff.

  However, in the Juniper, finding and using expired medication could mean the difference between life and death. So a brilliant doctor went rogue and created Doc Slocum’s Reactivation Elixir, which could reactivate the chemicals inside most medications. Of course, drug runners liked it for the painkillers they’d unearth, but we always used it on antibiotics.

  My gratitude was short-lived. Wren also held up a bottle of nicely-aged Jack Daniels. “Also found some hooch. And while I was tempted, I’ve remained sober, you jackerdans. Don’t see the point of sobriety, but y’all are just waiting for me to get drunk, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna give you the satisfaction. Gossip about Cavvy going crazy, but don’t talk smack about me.”

  Micaiah and Pilate went over to inventory the pill bottles and supplies. I stayed by the house, guarding Rachel. I wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to her, though more and more, I was thinking we’d have to leave her behind. If she didn’t snap out of her silence, I’d have no choice. Couldn’t run with such dead, potentially dangerous, weight dragging us down.

  Micaiah took the pill bottles from Wren, and we set up a propane stove on the front porch of our new house. Didn’t need Olive Rowley’s preservative ’cause propane’s shelf-life is dang near indefinite. I watched as Micaiah heated the Doc Slocum’s Reactivation Elixir on a spoon. He then crushed the pills into the oil.

  “We don’t have a fresh syringe,” he muttered. “The one I have will have to do.”

  I held the spoon while he loaded the rig. Then, inside the bedroom, I helped him tie off Sharlotte’s arm while he gave her the injection. He sure knew his way around needles, serums, and veins. It was one of the only clues we had about his past. We didn’t talk much about it. His secrets kept pushing me away, and I didn’t have enough shakti left in me to push back.

  Micaiah left the cabin, and I sat down in the living room next to Rachel. Sweat slid down her face to puddle on her desert camouflage shirt. I took to fanning her and myself with an issue of Field and Stream from August, 2027. My eyes closed on their own. The magazine fell into my lap, and I let myself drift.

  Didn’t drift far.

  Rachel spoke in a rough voice. “You held me while I cried. You prayed for me.”

  “Yeah, I did,” I said, grateful she’d woken me up to talk. If she was going to find her other side, she’d have to talk her way there. “I did ’cause I’m Catholic, and Jesus said to love our enemies. We’ve done a poor job of that recently, but I wanted to give it a try.”

  “Religion is a way to control irrational people,” Rachel said. “The New Morality is a reactionary movement capitalizing on the fear of women. It is a tool the ARK uses to improve profits. There is no scientific evidence of an afterlife or a supreme deity.”

  “And yet religion saved your life. Evidence enough, I’d reckon.” I bent and rubbed her wrists and ankles to make sure she had circulation. “I’d like to untie you, but I’m worried about your imperatives.”

  “You held me when I was afraid.” She said the words in wonder, like she couldn’t quite believe them. “I could’ve snapped your neck. I could’ve followed my imperatives then.”

  “Why didn’t you?�
� I asked.

  She opened her mouth to talk, but nothing came out. She didn’t know. Or she didn’t have the words to describe the emotions. Her eyes filled, and fat tears slid down her cheeks.

  “You were afraid,” I said. “You knew if you hurt me, my people would kill you. Being afraid to die is a basic human fear.”

  She nodded. A tear splashed down on my arm.

  “What do you feel now?” I asked.

  Her mouth spilt open in a grimace as she struggled for the words.

  “Do you know the names of other human emotions?” I asked.

  Another nod. More tears.

  “I am weeping. Tears are an indication of ... sadness. My chest is heavy. I ... want things to be different than they are. The idea makes my insides ache as if I were injured. But how can I heal injuries when I am not physically wounded?”

  “Talking about it will help,” I said. “Tell me why you are sad.”

  She closed her eyes. “I am ... sad ... because I failed in following my imperatives. I am no longer myself. I have changed because Micah Hoyt gave me an injection which adjusted my serotonin levels as well as other neurochemicals. I was perfect. Now I am in an error state because I have emotions ... and yet ... I cannot stop myself from feeling. Emotions are a liability.”

  “What about hope?” I asked. “Hope isn’t a liability.”

  “Hope is a mechanism people use to fool themselves into thinking the inevitable cannot happen. Hope is a liability.” Rachel’s voice droned as if reciting from a textbook. Seemed arguing with me was a whole lot easier than talking about her feelings.

  I had to laugh. “Yeah, say what you will, but hope got our cattle to Wendover. Hope allowed us to beat all you Vixxes. Hope is a far better weapon than any gun could ever be.”

  “Hope allowed us to capture you in Wendover. You hoped for safety when you weren’t safe.”

  “And most of us made it out.” I winced at the memory of Crete lying dead in the Wendover Police Station. And Sharlotte missing a leg. “All that happened to bring you here, so we could help you change.”

  Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks. The tone of her voice completely changed. “I do not want to change. I want my imperatives, but now I am conflicted.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “I have to eliminate anyone who has knowledge of Micah Hoyt or the chalkdrive he carries. That includes you, Cavatica Weller ... but I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “So don’t. How about I give you some new imperatives. How about that?”

  She shook her head sorrowfully. “Impossible.”

  “Oh, it’s very possible. People can change.” I took her hand. “You can become part of the Weller family. Rachel Weller. Welcome. Now, I have to warn you, our family is trouble. A lot of the time, we fight and hate each other, but other times we love each other, and it all feels just right, like ice cream and apple pie.”

  “Apple pie is an imperfect food. It is not nutrient dense.”

  “And yet it tastes so good,” I said with a laugh.

  She frowned at me. “How can you laugh? Aren’t you afraid? You have captured me, but other assets of the American Reproductive Knowledge Initiative are coming. You must know that.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But they ain’t found us yet.”

  “But they will,” she insisted. “You were difficult to track but not impossible. Once Praetor Edger and I extricated ourselves from the stampede, I sent her to organize our forces in Wendover while I commandeered an ATV. I could not communicate with my superiors because my slate was destroyed by the stampede, so I followed my imperatives to retrieve the chalkdrive and the boy, if he cooperated, and return to Wendover. Then I would be given new imperatives.”

  “There you go,” I said. “Your mission failed, and now you need new orders. Think of me as your superior officer.”

  Her mouth opened, her pain clear. “I cannot ignore my imperatives. I would like to, but I cannot.”

  “You can,” I said quietly. “Your new orders are to learn how to be kind, become part of our family, and to protect us if it comes to that.”

  Rachel blinked. “New imperatives.” It was clear the thought never occurred to her.

  I knew I couldn’t alter her programming with one conversation, but the look on her face gave me some confidence that modifying her orders might not be completely impossible.

  “Let’s rest today,” I said. “Tomorrow, you might not want to eliminate me. And wouldn’t that be nice? I’m going to keep on being stupid with hope ’cause I don’t think it’s a liability at all.”

  I touched her head gently. Hours ago, I was going to shoot her, just like I’d killed the Regio. Remembering the violence put an uneasy feeling in my stomach. But then the guilt softened, as I looked into Rachel’s teary eyes; she was alive ’cause of me.

  And she had already changed so much. That morning she’d been a heartless murdering machine bent on carrying out her imperatives. Now, she was weeping in front of me, scared and hurting, as far from a killer as you could get.

  Yet what she said haunted me. How can I heal injuries when I am not physically wounded?

  It was possible, I’d seen it, but it wasn’t easy.

  (ii)

  I spent the rest of the afternoon dozing, waking at dusk when Micaiah brought me water still warm from the boiling, along with a half-dozen slivers of fried fish on a paper plate. I tried to share them with Rachel, but she wouldn’t eat, so I ate them myself. The salt covered most of the taste of the stale GMO cornmeal, so they weren’t bad. It appeared he’d done some more scavenging, since he now wore an old Denver Broncos T-shirt, and I ruefully realized I missed looking at his chest.

  Before he left, Micaiah drew close to Rachel, studying her. She gazed on him with rabbit-scared eyes.

  I had to ask, “Why did you come forward so quickly to help her?”

  Micaiah turned, a thoughtful look on his face. “I thought it would be a unique way to neutralize one of the ARK’s most powerful weapons ... the last of the Vixxes, reduced to emotional ashes. And we could get information from her about what my father and his armies are doing and how they plan on hunting us. The ARK wouldn’t have prepped her for an interrogation. In their pride, such an idea wouldn’t have entered their minds, so I don’t think she’ll hold much back.”

  Rachel didn’t respond. She swallowed hard, pale and shaken. Micaiah left without saying anything else. Either he was busy, or he was afraid I’d dig at him to get his full story. Regardless, he was gone quick.

  The night brought a cool breeze, by the grace of God. The water around us lowered the temperature even further.

  I put a blanket around Rachel’s shoulders, then checked to make sure she couldn’t wriggle out of the ropes. While I didn’t think she’d hurt me if she got free, I couldn’t be certain.

  As for my bed, I went all out—I dragged a twin mattress from the other bedroom and put on a fitted sheet, a flat sheet, the works. Through the window, I could see Wren sitting on top of an old F-150 diesel truck. It had been a government vehicle, but the green paint had all been burned away, leaving it a sickly white. A flecked and faded Fish Springs Wild Refuge decal marked the side. I noticed the wheels had been inflated; someone had gotten it ready.

  Wren and Pilate would take watches ’cause we weren’t safe yet. Too close to the border. And Rachel had confirmed others were coming. She’d mentioned Praetor Gianna Edger, not someone I had any love for.

  For a split second, I felt bad for blowing up the fence. Then again, I couldn’t have cut it in any way the U.S. government wouldn’t have detected the damage. I’d heard they had sonic sensors for anyone who thought about tunneling under the chain-link.

  I did one more check on Sharlotte. She slept fitfully, the fever ravaging her. I prayed the medication would help. If she needed anything in the night, I was close enough to hear her. I’d have slept in the room with her, but it was mighty tight in there.

  Back in the living room, I cozied down
into the sheets on a real bed. It felt like heaven, though I was still in my dirty clothes.

  “You cannot sleep there, Cavatica,” Rachel said. “What if I get free?”

  That made me smile. “Thinking about the new imperatives I gave you?”

  All expression left her face. In that droning mechanical voice, she said, “Learn to be kind. Become a part of the Weller family. Protect the family if it comes to that.”

  For one minute, I thought I had a victory. Then her mouth cracked into a frown, and tears clung to her eyes. “I do not trust myself to follow the new imperatives. Please, sleep somewhere else.”

  “You’ll do the right thing,” I said.

  Easy words to say, but the reality was far more uncertain. What I was doing was dangerous, but it felt like a good kind of dangerous.

  And we were already risking so much.

  I thought about asking her to tell me all about Micaiah, but I wanted to hear it from the boy himself. I fell into a fantasy: Micaiah would tell me the truth, whatever that was, and then we’d get him safely out of the Juniper, where he’d pay us the reward money, and we’d save the ranch.

  Thinking of the ranch made me remember Sharlotte riding in from the fields on one of our big stallions. Her big coat would spread like black wings even as her big hat covered her face, always so serious. She’d charge up, and at the last minute, she’d slow the big guy abruptly right next to the wraparound porch, close enough that she could swing herself onto the railing. I’d never realized how rebellious that would seem to Mama. Ha, even Sharlotte had a little rebel in her.

  Good, she’d need it in her fight to heal. She would live—I was certain. Now, that we had medicine and Micaiah taking care of her, she’d live, and we’d all wind up back in Burlington, together, but this time, closer, like a real family.

  Rachel shifted next to me. It was the first time I’d heard her move.