I couldn’t find a New Morality dress for Sharlotte, since the New Morality hadn’t been around when the people had fled, but I did find a house dress she might like, though it was prolly a little small. I also grabbed a pair of jeans that would fit with a belt, but would Sharlotte wear them? I desperately wanted her to wake up so I could argue with her about it.
Wren, of course, chose a frilly top and tight jeans. A leather vest went over the top but didn’t do a lick of good covering her cleavage. She stuffed her wool poncho in a green army backpack. She gave me her Betty knife, which I hung on my belt.
Micaiah found new jeans, kept the Broncos t-shirt, and traded in his city slicker dance boots for a good pair of work boots. It made me sad to see the boots go. I’d spent so much time hating them, I wasn’t sure what I’d do now that they were gone.
Kind of felt the same about the boy.
We got the diesel truck running, but it took all of us pushing it up a steep road and letting it rumble down for the engine to catch. Micaiah drove it over to the garage units and left it idling.
I’d found rows of bicycles hanging from the rafters in a garage bay, as well as a bike trailer we could julie-rig to carry Sharlotte. Wren and Pilate went to get her ready for travel.
Micaiah was all business and socket wrenches. I tried to be as unfeeling, but I kept having to catch my breath. Being so close to him and yet him so emotionally distant, killed me slow. I finally had to leave to look out over the square kilometers of marshland and calm my heart.
The wind died down, and the gnats swirled around me and tried to infiltrate my ears. I slapped at them, murdered millions, and then it dawned on me how he could be so unfeeling.
I marched back to him. He had his head under the hood of the truck, fiddling with the engine as it idled.
“Your emotions are wearing off,” I said. “You need to give yourself another shot.”
He whirled around, nearly smacked his head. He bristled. “This is why talking about what I am is not a good idea. This is why I wanted to keep parts of me a secret. Because everything I do now will be under scrutiny. You’ll think, Is this the real Micaiah? Would a normal boy behave like this, or are his serotonin levels off and he needs to adjust his medication?” Grease marked his face, just as dirt already stained his new clothes, but keeping clean was a lost dream. He’d cut his hand, and blood dripped into the dirt. Didn’t matter ’cause he’d heal it, but I was tired of watching people bleed.
I was relieved to see him so mad. It meant he could still feel. Then I got mad too. “Well, do you need another shot? You’re going to have to split it now, and I don’t imagine we can get any more. Wren asked you a question before, and you did like you always do, got real vague. Do you have enough for you and Rachel?”
“I don’t know.” Finally, he’d said something honest. He swiped at some gnats.
I let them land and crawl on me. “Go on.”
He exhaled. “I gave her a massive dose that first time, to get her set. I’ll continue to dose her high because she needs it more than I do. My system has built up, so I figure I’ll need less. When I escaped into the Juniper, I brought a year’s supply, thinking that would be more than enough, six milliliters. I only need five hundred microliters, monthly. I dose myself on the full moon. My own little joke.”
For the past few nights, the full moon had filled the sky. It was now waning gibbous, and he was already changing. I knew for a fact he was late on his meds. I could feel him changing almost as dramatically as Rachel had changed.
“See,” I said gently, trying to reassure him. “We can talk about it. You and me can figure it out together.”
He stiffened, straight as a rod, and all expression left his face. Reminded me of a Vixx right then, swear to God. “No, we can’t, Cavvy. You will not rest until you know everything about me. Yet who I am is not good for you. You’ve seen how manipulative I can be, how heartless. Do you really want to be with someone like that? Someone who isn’t ...” His voice failed. His lips curled, and he had to force himself to say the last word. “... human.”
I rammed a finger into his chest. I couldn’t help myself. The wire and grass bracelet bumped against my fist. “What you are isn’t the problem. How you are acting is. If you can’t be honest with me, we can’t be together. So fine, don’t dose yourself. We’ll save it for Rachel. She at least wants to try and be human. Do you?”
He walked away, giving me his back. “You’re being ridiculous. I would imagine your sense of responsibility will allow us to work together. You might not like me anymore, but you do want to get the cure out into the world, correct?”
His voice froze me, so cold, so calculating. I’d known him as a sensitive boy, unashamed to cry, over and over. And now I knew why. He’d chosen to have feelings and reveled in them. Now that his medication was wearing off, he was becoming something else. I wanted the old Micaiah back, my Micaiah, the boy who laughed, cried, and loved me, not this emotionless thing.
For the first time since he’d given me the bracelet, I took it off and held it, crushed in my fist. “We could make this work, you and me, but only if you let me in.”
He didn’t turn. I was sweating again, the day was heating up, and my heart jangled inside of me. Gnats itched my skin, but I didn’t care. Watching our beautiful relationship die was hard. Even harder? I had to be the one to kill it.
I went on. “Maybe you don’t need to dose yourself yet. You’re afraid. That’s an emotion. You’re scared of me getting too close to you, and you having to talk about your past. Well, I don’t want to be with no fraidy-cat. If you got the balls, I’ll be around. Until then, you promised us six million dollars if we can get you out of the Juniper alive. I’m assuming the deal still stands.”
He turned and nodded. “I have a secret bank account. You will get your reward money.” Behind his eyes, whatever he was now, showed itself. And it wasn’t human. Too distant. Too cold.
I pressed the bracelet into his hand. “When you can tell me the truth, I’ll wear it. Until then, yeah, I want to save the world, but I want to save my ranch more. I’m hoping we can do both, even if we’re not together anymore.”
I walked away from the breakup, prouder than if I’d won a gunfight. I’d said my truth, and it wasn’t pretty, and it hurt, but if he couldn’t man up, well, I was better off without him.
A little voice inside me warned me, though, that it wouldn’t be a clean break—not in this world, not with how I was, and not with all the kilometers in front of us.
When love runs deep, it doesn’t dry up right away. Like a skipped stone, we bounce across the cold water before we go under and let go.
(ii)
We were all packed up, the truck ready to go, when I realized I’d lost track of Rachel.
Wren saw the concern on my face. “Your scaredy-cat clone is out in front of the houses, looking at the birds. I was hoping you’d forget about her.”
I frowned at my sister and took off in a jog. Rachel was still too fragile to spend too much time alone. I found her out by the water, sitting on the frame of a dining room chair, the upholstery and stuffing all gone. She balanced her backside on the edge. Her combat boots kept her steady.
Her eyes never left the expanse of the green wetlands. The smell of the water mixed with the sun frying the houses behind us. Thirty years of scorch and silence. All that time, and the water and birds and fish didn’t care a bit, not once the sky cleared of Yellowstone ash.
I walked carefully up to Rachel. For whatever reason, the gnats left us alone.
She sat motionless. It reminded me of her initial time with me, not a peep from her for hours.
Her hand moved to her belly and she winced.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I have no names for what’s inside me,” she whispered. “There is a vastness there, and every voice whispers. But I hear no words. Shadows. But I see nothing. Everything hurts.”
What she said reminded me of Sharlotte’s poetry.
Maybe that’s the whole point of language—to give names to our confusion and pain.
“Will you hold me, Cavatica?” she asked, looking at me. “Like you did before? I do not know why, but I long for it.”
I moved to her and held her head against my chest. A heron took flight and drifted down to splash into another channel of water. More blackbirds whistled their staccato call.
“Human touch has a powerful effect on neurochemicals,” I said. “Babies who aren’t held die.”
“I’m an infant,” Rachel said, “but I have the logic of an adult. I would have thought logic would allow me to work through my emotions, but it has proven to be useless. At least I have names for some of what I feel. I am frightened. I am sad. I long for what was but will never be again. Logic feels like a drop of water compared to the ocean of emotions inside of me.”
She moved back to look in my face. “Do you find my use of figurative language off-putting?”
I laughed and shook my head. “Not a bit. I think it’s hard not to talk about feelings without getting a little poetic.”
Her eyes focused on me. “You laugh. Will I laugh? Will I smile?”
“Yes, you will. We get the hard feelings, but we also get the good ones.”
She dropped her gaze to the grasses on the ground. “I have not had that experience, so I doubt your veracity. And yet, the birds, their singing, gives me some release. An unexpected panacea.”
“Well, the ARK might’ve skimped on the emotions, but they did give you quite a vocabulary.” I couldn’t help but laugh again. “Tell me what you’re afraid of, Rachel. Talking about our feelings gives them less power.”
She heaved a huge sigh. “You plan on crossing the Rockies along I-70, which means you will have to pass the Glenwood Springs area. During our initial search for Micah Hoyt, we received intel on an anomalous societal condition in the Glenwood Springs area, along with a disruption in all regional traffic. I’m afraid you will die in Glenwood Springs.”
It took me a minute to recall my Colorado territory geography, but then I remembered that Glenwood Springs was a city east of Grand Junction. Back in the day, it had been a tourist destination; a big hot springs lay underneath the town, and they’d used the hot water for a big pool. Every Coloradoan, at some point, had gone swimming there, jumped off the diving boards, or slipped down the water slides.
“What kind of anomalous societal condition?” I asked. “Can you be more specific?”
She shook her head against me. “Our scouts never came back. Something is there. Something that is disrupting all regional traffic.”
I shivered at her repetition. She was reciting words from the report, but what did they mean?
Shaking off my own anxiety, I reached for Rachel’s hand. “Let’s just get out of the Utah territory first. We can worry about Glenwood Springs when we get there.”
She nodded. “You are right. Logically, we should focus on escaping the initial search party. Glenwood Springs is still very far away.”
“So are you considering my new imperatives?” I asked.
Rachel switched into robot mode, rattling off what I had told her. “Learn to be kind. Become a part of the Weller family. Protect the family if it comes to that.” Then the human side of her took over. “I am trying, Cavatica. I am still in an error state, but I am trying to assimilate your new imperatives into my thinking.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Truthfully, I’m still trying to follow those imperatives. Being kind can be difficult sometimes, especially for a Weller.”
Rachel looked at me with an eager softness. “If I am an infant, then you are my mother.”
Those words stunned me. I didn’t want to correct her, but I didn’t feel up to the task. I pulled her close again and said, “Let’s be sisters, Rachel. That I can do. I’m still too young to be anyone’s mama.”
She sighed again but didn’t respond.
In a lot of ways, she was a baby. I’d heard somewhere that the pain of teething would drive an adult insane, but babies could handle the pain.
What would happen to Rachel? Would she be able to handle the emotions boiling inside her, or would the agony of her fear and sadness snap her sanity?
If that happened, we’d have to put her down for good.
If she didn’t murder us all first.
Chapter Seven
Get me in an old Buick car
Or Steve’s old jet airliner
I’ll Harley right on out of this place
To a town that’s a little finer
Things are bad, about to burst
The road has to make it better
’Cause stayin’ will only make it worse
— Country Mac Sterling
(i)
RACHEL AND I RETURNED to the truck. The others had loaded Sharlotte into the passenger seat of the truck. I went and checked on her.
Micaiah sat behind the wheel.
“She wake up yet?” I asked him.
“No.”
Touching Sharlotte, I felt the fever burning through her. She wasn’t out of the woods yet. For the first time, I wondered if Doc Slocum’s could bring old antibiotics back to life. The reactivation elixir had become a staple of Juniper society, but the FDA had scoffed at the product. Then again, the pharmaceutical companies prolly had a hand in that.
“We do not have air-conditioning, but the cool air through the open window should help,” Micaiah said.
“She’ll be more comfortable up here,” I said. “In the back, we’ll be wind-blasted.”
“Our speed will keep the gnats at bay.” And that was the end of our conversation. At least we could still be civil with one another. That was something.
Pilate, Wren, Rachel, and I stuffed ourselves in the back of the bed, crammed between geri cans of diesel, boxes of supplies, and our guns and extra ammo. We pulled a trailer loaded with bicycles, bike gear, and camping stuff. If the truck foundered, the bikes were plan B.
Pilate and I leaned against the back of the cab. Wren and Rachel rode with their elbows resting on the tailgate.
The minute we left the grassy channels of Fish Springs, the land returned to white dirt, greasewood, Mormon tea, and hearty juniper trees. Ridges, hills, and mountains broke up the dry wasteland. In some places, the scrub seemed to plead with us for mercy—not for water, but to be dug up and burned. Such a wretched place, it made me miss the flat sagebrush plains of my home.
Micaiah drove us slowly down the gravel roads so as not to throw too much dust into the air. The ARK had at least two Johnny zeppelins back in Wendover, and they’d be looking for us. At least two, if not more.
We finally found asphalt, eroded down to one lane. There didn’t seem to be salvage monkeys out this far to burn it. The asphalt in less remote parts of the Juniper had been cooked down into road coal and used to fuel steam engines.
When Micaiah shifted into fifth, the truck shuddered. My heart shuddered along with it. To lose the truck so early would be a heartbreaker. The gears caught, such a relief, and we roared down the highway.
I got tired of my hair flapping in my face and into my mouth, so I used a rubber-bungee to secure it. Taking it out would prolly hurt like hell, but I’d worry about that later.
At every turn, we either went south or east. We didn’t want to risk going north and running into the ARK soldiers sent to Salt Lake City to look for us. Rachel assured us the SLC would be a prime target, though the Mormons would be hard to deal with. They kept to themselves and didn’t like outsiders. The gossip was that Mormon men stole women and made them marry the same man, but I figured that was just rumor.
Mormons, Catholics, Muslims, Hindus, we’re all just people, some good, some bad.
The sun blasted down, but the speed cooled us. I kept my limbs covered even if it made me sweat some. If I didn’t, the sunburn would be awful. I wasn’t worried too much about skin cancer, however. Most cancers could be cured out in the World. Too bad the cure had come after my daddy passed away. Colo
n cancer. Inoperable. Bad.
I thought of him and my mama, then my mama and Pilate. I could see why she liked both men. My daddy had been quiet, funny, a hard worker. He’d fought his sickness bravely until it took him, but he’d always joked about it right up until the very end.
Pilate would’ve done the same thing. He sat next to me, eyes closed, head bouncing from the rough ride. The scar of a bullet wound parted his long hair on one side, over his ear. Whiskers stickered his chin, and though we’d all washed, I saw some dried blood on his neck. Maybe his blood, maybe someone else’s.
Like Pilate, Rachel didn’t have a hat. Her arms and legs were covered, but not her face. Well, she could heal a sunburn easily enough.
Wren prolly could as well, though she left her cowgirl hat strapped down tight to her chin. She was like Rachel and Micaiah now, after Micaiah had dosed her with the Gulo Delta. We still didn’t know what the long-term effects of the serum were. The Gulo Gamma had mutated the test subjects into monsters.
Wren seemed fine—a little withdrawn, a little hard to talk to, but that was normal for Wren. Always had been. Back when we were kids, I sometimes went on runs with her into Burlington. I’d always get excited, thinking we’d chat, but she’d always ride ahead of me, vexed that she had to take her little sister into town.
I did remember one Christmas that was different. Maybe she’d caught the holiday spirit or maybe she’d been sneaking beers, but we rode next to each other into town to get a Christmas tree. There weren’t a lot of trees in Burlington. Our trees had to be brought in by train, and they were expensive, but Mama loved herself a live tree in the living room. We had a ton of ornaments, a lot of salvaged ones, expensive, which Mama kept. A true rarity, since Mama had made a fortune selling what others had treasured.
On that ride into town, Wren had been funny, charming in a way, and she even sang some Christmas carols with me, “Deck the Halls,” “Silent Night,” and “Last Christmas” by Taylor Swift. I’d never heard Wren sing before, but there she was, singing in the frosty day, the sky pale blue and cloudless, which made it even colder on the Great Plains. All of our hay and alfalfa lay rolled in the kilometers of frozen mud. Every breeze cut, but I didn’t care. Wren and I were singing and laughing together.
Inferno Girls Page 9
