Storm Girls (The Juniper Wars Book 4)

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  “Almost got the Marilyn fixed,” I said.

  Pilate would’ve used a Star Trek reference, something about someone named Scotty, but Sharlotte had our own history to pull from. “You always say that. Mama always said that. When you guys were working on the chuck wagon, you almost had it fixed for months. We ain’t got months, Cavvy.”

  I stopped. I had to close my eyes, my head hurt so bad. I was feeling nauseated, but I wasn’t going to throw up. No. I wanted to keep the little bit of food I had in my stomach. Oh, how hollow I felt. So cold. The icy air numbed my fingers into frozen sausages.

  “It was a bad idea,” I murmured. “Us going over the pass. If we had food, it wouldn’t be as dangerous, but we don’t. If I can fix Marilyn, it gives us one less thing to worry about. If we take the Audrey and she breaks down, we can’t walk out of here. Can’t. Snow is too deep. I just wish I wasn’t so hungry.”

  “We got a week of fat on us easy,” Sharlotte said.

  “Speak for yourself,” I returned, but laughed to show I was kidding ’cause no girl likes to be teased about her weight.

  “All those poor thin people, they ain’t got the survival layers we got.” Sharlotte’s smile was bright. “On the cattle drive, me and Aunt Bea would hit the chuck wagon for butter and sugar all the time. Whip up a little frosting to keep our weight up for times like this.”

  “Sharlotte Jeanne Weller!” I cried. “Don’t say the f-word.”

  “Frosting!” Sharlotte shouted.

  We both laughed. It felt good, though the laughter was like a hammer pounding on the anvil of my headache.

  Sharlotte inched down the arm toward me. “Okay, genius, show me how you think you’re almost done.”

  I gestured through the gearing and armament to the damaged pipe. I had dismantled the right missile launcher enough to get my hands down to the broken piping. A belt of thin red-tipped rockets dangled from the Marilyn’s arm.

  “The duct tape should be enough to seal the pipe. If not, I’ll have to take off the machine gun ammunition feed and wrench off the whole pipe at the joint, then try using the tape to seal the end. I wouldn’t bet on my chances on that working. Not one bit. See? Almost got it.”

  I got the duct tape around the pipe and ripped off enough to cover her. Sharlotte was there, helping me, joking with me, talking about food until I begged her to stop.

  Once I fixed the Marilyn, I used the last of the water to fill the boiler.

  Then we waited to see if my patch held. If it didn’t, or if there were other fissures in the pipes, we’d have to give up and leave the Marilyn and trust our luck in the Audrey Hepburn.

  Then Sharlotte asked me a question out of nowhere. “If you had to choose between Aunt Bea’s corn tortillas or her flour tortillas, which would you choose?”

  I yelped in hunger and frustration but showed her a smile. “Shar, please, stop. But if you must know, her flour tortillas, if they were fresh. Corn if we had to heat ’em up.”

  Sharlotte shook her head. “Nope. Wrong answer. Warm or cold, old or new, Aunt Bea’s flour tortillas with butter and honey. The end.”

  My belly spiked with hunger, and I winced. “Dang, Shar, you’re killing me.”

  From the other side of the Marilyn, I heard Marisol giggle, heard Dutch’s low voice say something, and then Wren laughed loudly.

  Then, of course, Rachel asked, “I don’t understand why that’s funny.”

  Right then, they all truly felt like family, even Dutch, playing his part as the long-lost uncle with a checkered past.

  With my family there, with my repairs finished, the sun came out for a minute to sparkle, and I was getting suckered in all right by the blue sky. Even the air felt warmer.

  Maybe the worst of the storm was over. Maybe my repairs on the Marilyn would fix her. Maybe we really would make it over the pass, past the hogs, and back to Burlington.

  A gunshot rang out.

  My heart went cold. And everything changed in a minute.

  (ii)

  Wren laughed. “You missed. Dutch Malhotra missed! I never thought I’d see the day.”

  I relaxed some. Just target practice, but I could feel bad omens closing in. Something was coming. Something bad.

  “You think you can do better?”

  Sharlotte and I walked around the Marilyn to see Dutch with two empty green-bean cans in his hands.

  It was warm enough that Wren had taken off her coat, and she stood there in her blouse, too tight, showing cleavage despite the leather vest over it. She motioned at her boyfriend. “Throw ’em both. Two cans. Two rules in life.”

  Dutch threw the cans. Wren drew both Colt Terminators and shot both cans out of the air.

  “And what are those two rules, darlin’?” Dutch asked.

  Like an Old West hero, Wren blew smoke off the barrels of her Colts. “Never let your heart get in the way of a paycheck. And always, always, always, get ’em right between the eyes.”

  Dutch grabbed her, kissed her hard. Then laughed. “You are a smart one, but you’re also getting hairy.” He brushed a hand over her arms. “Were you always this hairy, or were you being a good girl and waxing? Or are you turning into a hog?”

  Wren blushed, clearly at a loss for words. Yeah, that Dutch had a magic about him, an evil sorcery that my sister couldn’t resist. She didn’t say a word, but shuffled on her coat again, clearly embarrassed. I wanted to go down there and punch Dutch right between his eyes. Just ’cause I trusted him didn’t mean I had to like him.

  My sister seemed to gather herself, then hit him with her shakti. “Hairy or not, I’m still a better shot than you and quicker to the draw. You want to try me?”

  “Never.” Dutch grinned. “Always.”

  Marisol watched them, sitting on the Audrey.

  Rachel came over. “It’s foolish to be shooting your guns.” She motioned to a ridge of snow high above us. “There’s a chance of avalanche. You should stop.”

  “If I stop shooting, I’m going to have to kiss him again,” Wren said. “It’s either one or the other. Did you ever kiss Pilate, Rache?”

  Rachel colored. “I don’t think I should talk about this in front of everyone.”

  “That’s a no,” Dutch said. “Or else she would’ve said yes.”

  Wren clicked her tongue. “That Pilate, what a dog. If he knew Rachel wanted him that way, he’d have moved heaven and Earth to get at her.”

  “Wren!” I yelled. “Enough! Marisol is here.” And I didn’t like the idea of Pilate taking advantage of Rachel like that. Newly human, or close to it, she was vulnerable, and Pilate had promised to counsel her.

  But was Wren right? Had Pilate fooled around with her? I didn’t want to think about that. If he was dead, it stained the memory of him.

  I climbed up into the Marilyn and checked the gauges. Almost there.

  Then Marisol came over and touched my leg. She asked in a small voice, “Cavvy, what are we doing this for? I never asked, but now I’ve been thinking about it. I know the ARK soldiers want you, but why?”

  I immediately glanced over at Wren and Dutch, hanging on each other.

  No, I couldn’t talk about this in front of him. Not one bit. Dutch had said it himself: never let your heart get in the way of a paycheck, and what I had around my neck offered the biggest paycheck imaginable. I’d lied to Edger, but Dutch had mentioned the cure.

  Wren caught me looking at him. She saw the suspicion in my eyes, and of course, she knew what I was thinking. She knew the last thing in the world I wanted was her to show them all the chalkdrive and tell Dutch it had the cure to the sterility epidemic on it.

  The very last thing.

  Yes, I was smart about engineering, and I was a pretty good leader, but when it came to Wren I was still so stupid. If I wanted her to keep our secret, I would’ve encouraged her to shout it to the four winds. And just ’cause she wanted to change didn’t mean she had changed. No, she was still as contrary as ever.

  I wanted her to keep q
uiet, and so she did the opposite—grinning at me the whole time.

  “Wren,” I pleaded, “please don’t.”

  Wren talked anyway. “So, Marisol, Cavvy has this chalkdrive around her neck. On it is ...”

  “Wren!” I shouted to cut her off.

  Too late.

  Marisol changed, right before my eyes. Her face went blank, and the light in her eyes turned off, like a light switch. One minute she was a nice but sorrowful twelve-year-old girl, and the next?

  Something not human.

  Severins. Micaiah had warned us, the Severins were the next model of cloned super soldier, designed by the ARK to look like anyone, anyone at all.

  Even a twelve-year-old orphan girl.

  Now, the friendly fire during our fight with the ARK convoy made sense. Marisol had seen a chance to remove Wren from the equation but had missed. And most likely Marisol had encouraged Rachel to follow close behind us in downtown Aspen. All to sabotage us from the inside. But now that she had confirmed we had the chalkdrive, she was following through on her imperatives with deadly, cold efficiency.

  Marisol ripped me down off my Stanley, threw me into the snow, and in less than a second, she had the chalkdrive. My ears stung from the savagery of her ripping the necklace off me. I remembered how heavy and solid she’d seemed when I’d held her. How muscled. ’Cause she was engineered to be a warrior, no matter her size.

  Rachel paled; she had Tina Machinegun, but she wasn’t going to use it. Marisol appraised her in a heartbeat, snatched the M-16 away, and opened fire. She was aiming for her head, but Rachel stepped back and took every round in her chest. Dropped her.

  If Marisol clipped Rachel’s spine, she’d be paralyzed. The Vixxes couldn’t heal spinal cord or brain injuries. She’d die.

  Both the sucker hole and the sun were gone. Clouds sealed up the heavens, and the snow returned, the wind, the blizzard, coming to join Marisol in murdering us all.

  (iii)

  I went for the chalkdrive dangling around Marisol’s arm while she held our family’s assault rifle. But everything was moving so slowly, the snowflakes hung in the air like someone had painted them there, each one.

  Both Wren and Dutch fell back, going for their Colt Terminators, matching semi-automatic pistols of cherrywood and polished stainless steel.

  Sharlotte tried to wheel around, but her peg leg slipped in the snow. She fell.

  Still, I went for the chalkdrive.

  I moved so ridiculously slow that I felt animated, a stop-motion doll, my arms, my legs, ticking along, frozen in time.

  I wasn’t going to get to her in time. I couldn’t stop her.

  Marisol spun on Wren and Dutch. Tina Machinegun was on full auto, and she was going to unload the clip into them.

  At the last minute, Wren clutched Dutch to her, and turned her back on Marisol. Bullets pounded into Wren’s back, and she twisted, turned, so even if the bullets shot through her, they wouldn’t hit Dutch.

  Wren’s sacrifice gave me the chance I needed. I seized the chain in Marisol’s fist.

  She turned, face dead, no emotions, just like the Vixxes we’d fought before.

  I was too close for her to get the M-16 around, so she drove the stock into my belly and smashed the wind out of me. I fell into the snow on my knees.

  Marisol went to put a round in my head, but a split log sailed over and struck her in the face. Sharlotte had thrown it and thrown it true.

  Blood covered Marisol’s face, blinding her for a second, until she fired at Sharlotte. My sister ducked behind the Marilyn, and I slithered under the Stanley’s legs, trying to get away.

  I heard a barrage of Colt Terminators, four of them, throwing bullets.

  Wren screamed, “Dutch, between the eyes. She’s like a jackerin’ zombie. Only way to kill her is between the eyes!”

  And then Tina Machinegun’s grenade blast. Then no more Colt Terminators.

  And Rachel? Silence. She wasn’t getting up. Was she too scared? Was she paralyzed? Or was she dead?

  The wind blew a blizzard of snow into my face, and I couldn’t see or hear a thing for a minute. I was on the other side of the Marilyn. Sharlotte was by her firebox in the back. Marisol was between the Marilyn and the Audrey.

  As for Wren and Dutch? I didn’t hear their guns. Which meant most likely Marisol had taken them down with the grenade blast.

  “Cavatica Weller.” Such a calm voice. The little girl’s lilt had vanished.

  “Yeah, Marisol. Or is that your real name?”

  “My name does not matter. I have disabled Rachel Vixx. Wren Weller and Dutch Malhotra are unconscious. If you do not give me the chalkdrive, I will shoot each of them in the head.”

  Snowflakes struck my face like sharp pennies. I dropped to all fours. Between the Marilyn’s legs, I could see the bottom half of Marisol standing over Wren. My sister was sprawled out in the snow next to Dutch.

  If I didn’t think up something quick, I was going to have to give the chalkdrive to the monster Marisol had become ’cause I loved my sister, no matter how troublesome.

  “How about you just kill Dutch? I hate that guy.” I had to get her talking. I had lost track of Sharlotte. Maybe I could give her time to get at Marisol.

  I moved around to the back of the Marilyn, but Sharlotte wasn’t there.

  “Hey, Marisol,” I called out. “Who were those people we found burned and dead? Did you even know Eryn Lopez at all?”

  Wind. Silence. Then the thing answered me. “Before the ARK neutralized the uncooperative elements in Aspen, ARK intelligence agents were interrogating locals about the nature of Glenwood Springs. We were searching for the Weller Sisters, Peter Pilgram, and Micah Hoyt. We had to ensure we were being told the truth. And I needed a cover story for my infiltration into the Glenwood Springs community. The death of the locals was necessary. It allowed me to ingratiate myself to you until I could confirm you had the chalkdrive. Once I had confirmation of the chalkdrive, I executed on my imperatives.”

  I had to keep Marisol distracted. “Even if you do beat us, Marisol, how are you going to get off this mountain alive?”

  She didn’t need to answer. She’d been designed to survive. And she was done talking to me. Her next words came out strong and clear. “You have ten seconds, and then I will kill your sister Wren.”

  The countdown began a heartbeat later.

  “Ten ... Nine ... Eight ...!” Marisol’s mechanical voice was then swallowed up by the wind.

  “Five ... Four ... Three ...!”

  And I couldn’t stop myself. I had no choice. It was my sister or the world, and like at the Silver Island Casino months before, I chose my sister.

  I stepped out. Dutch lay in the snow next to Wren, and Marisol had the assault rifle pressed against the back of Wren’s head. Rachel lay in red snow to my right, unmoving. Dead. Sure, she had to be. Marisol spun from Wren and turned the sights on me.

  She wasn’t going to let us go. It was all just a ruse. No matter what I did, she was going to terminate us with extreme prejudice.

  Marisol pressed the trigger, but not before the Marilyn’s left arm gun came to life. The Stanley swiveled, and Marisol leapt aside, ducking the barrage of .50 caliber bullets. Sharlotte, up in the Marilyn’s gunner’s roost, shot up the snow, trying to get to the Severin as she fled. Snow leapt and danced in the splash of the bullets.

  The Severin disappeared around the other side of the Audrey. She was going for the other Stanley.

  I didn’t pause. I dashed up the Marilyn’s ladder, pulled open the door, and threw myself into the driver seat.

  Pressure was good. My fix had worked. I took a second to loop the chalkdrive’s necklace around my neck. Then I threw the sticks forward, going for the Audrey.

  Marisol’s blank face was visible through the glass of the other Stanley. She dashed it toward us. Her Audrey struck my Marilyn, and we came together in the clash of iron and steam, smoke and hate.

  (iv)

  Sharlotte o
nly had the left arm to work with. The right arm was disabled, with the missile-launcher system dangling off her.

  Marisol didn’t have the use of the Audrey’s arm guns, just her legs, her feet, but she did have Tina Machinegun and prolly our last clip. However, Marisol’s arms were too short to stick the rifle out the window and still be able to drive. Her height was a definite design flaw and one of the lesser reasons why twelve-year-old children shouldn’t fight wars.

  Marisol used the Audrey’s knee to strike us, over and over. Sharlotte couldn’t get the left arm around. Bits of metal pinged off the windshield. One of the many cracks deepened until chips of glass dropped into my lap.

  I had to get us some breathing room. I pulled the sticks back, and we retreated from the Audrey, but Marisol had spent hours and hours at the controls. The Stanley leapt into the air as Sharlotte opened fire. We missed her. The Audrey landed on us, and the squeal and howl of the metal made me wince.

  “Sharlotte,” I called in a panic, “you gotta hit her and push her back. If she destroys both the Stanleys, we’ll all die. You got that?”

  No answer. The Audrey was pushing us, back, back from our people.

  I felt Marilyn’s legs fail, and we fell; must’ve hit a drift of snow, and the crust gave way. We were on the edge of a precipice, after all.

  Nice thing, though, the Audrey lost traction as well in the shifting snow. She didn’t go down, but her legs whirred, churning up powder.

  From Sharlotte, “Cavvy, above us!”

  A wall of ice and snow arched over us, the one that Rachel had pointed out earlier. If we weren’t careful, we’d bring the entire slope down. An avalanche may not kill Marisol, but it would kill us for sure. And she’d be able to pluck the chalkdrive easily from my frozen corpse.

  I got the Marilyn upright, but it took a minute. By then, the Audrey had stomped through the drift and kneed us again. Then she turned and kicked a foot into the windshield. The tangle of tools and metal mesh stopped only a few centimeters from my nose. A digging bar got wedged in wrong, or she would’ve jammed that foot right through my skull. Sharlotte got the Marilyn’s left arm around and drove the machine-gun barrel through the Audrey’s windshield. Missed Marisol.