Storm Girls (The Juniper Wars Book 4)

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  Those boys had been so close to us, not even a hundred meters away, but they hadn’t seen us, hadn’t heard us. Of all the rotten timing and luck.

  But then the fog of war, the dark of night, and the snows of a blizzard had hidden us from Edger and her soldiers as well.

  And if Pilate and Micaiah had come with us? Would they have been killed in the battle with Marisol on Independence Pass? Would I be mourning them along with Sharlotte, Wren, Dutch, and Rachel?

  Maybe it was better we had missed each other.

  After the ARK convoy moved on farther south, Pilate and Micaiah knew what they had to do. Couldn’t go east on I-70; they’d be caught for sure. Micaiah had suggested they head west. Pilate had laughed. It was what I would’ve done: retrace our steps, go over the Rockies via Steamboat Springs and Kremmling and avoid I-70 altogether.

  Micaiah had agreed. He knew me, knew how my mind worked, and certainly, I would’ve executed such an impossible plan. They didn’t consider Independence Pass ’cause of Edger and her troops. They figured that was where she was headed.

  So, Micaiah and Pilate took the long way around. They found bicycles, found people to help them, Pilate charmed his way around innumerable women until they made their way across the Rockies and into the Fort Collins area in the northern part of the Colorado territory. They came upon the Scheutz ranch, but it had been burned to the ground. Not sure who or what had done it, but the Scheutzes were gone. That made me sad and worried for them.

  Strangely enough, there hadn’t been a single sign of the Psycho Princess. But they had seen Wind River People in the distance, watching them on painted horses.

  Before those girls could come for them, the Moby Dick spied the boys on the plains, drifted down, and whisked them away.

  Luck. But that was Pilate—all luck and survival.

  Micaiah knew I was bound for June Mai Angel ’cause who else had an army? Who else in the Juniper needed international media attention? He figured June Mai Angel would take credit for finding the cure to the Sterility Epidemic. That didn’t matter; she would have justice for her people, and women would have the cure for the Sterility Epidemic.

  I listened, and my hands went to the chalkdrive.

  Micaiah watched me. “I know why Pilate gave you back the chalkdrive. He called you a Frodo with hips. It’s a reference to The Lord of the Rings.”

  I remembered those old videos. Anju had made me watch them with her. She also insisted I read the books, but I didn’t even try to wade through those thick volumes. I could read technical manuals that fat, but not a fairy story about little people with hairy feet.

  And don’t get me started on those Gertrude Goodpenny novels. I’d rather read a dictionary than any of the Wayward Wizardess series.

  From The Lord of the Rings video, I remembered how heavy the ring was on Frodo, how it cursed and ruined him, finally driving him insane.

  I closed my eyes. “I’ll keep wearing it. That way, if it gets taken, we still have you, and maybe we can use you to get the media’s attention. But the chalkdrive is heavy on me,” I whispered. “Will you help me carry it? Will you help me carry it for a little longer?”

  He held me, but I didn’t cry. I’d had a nice rest, but I knew we had to get back on the road, and the thought of more travel, more war, made me feel rocky inside.

  “I will help you, Cavatica,” he said in an even voice, so distant, so gone-away from me. “But we cannot be together, can we? Not with how I am.”

  “No, we can’t. Once you get your meds, once our lives aren’t running and being shot at, then maybe, but only maybe. Until then, though, we can still be friends.”

  But even that was a lie. Most of the time “we can still be friends” is a lie, no matter how sweet and well-intentioned.

  He knew it, too. “I was correct in my assumption. If you knew the truth about me, it would make a romantic attachment impossible. Which was why I was reticent in my sharing. Now you see me as a thing, foreign and troubling, and not a person. That is correct. I am not human.”

  All of those big words spoken in a mechanical tone drove home his point. I remembered Rachel telling how the ARK had been splicing the DNA from other creatures. She wasn’t human, and neither was Micaiah.

  Only, he could be.

  I chanced to look into his eyes, now dull and dark. I moved some of his hair away; it had grown long. Somehow with him so gone-away, it gave me courage to say what was the truth. “I don’t love you. I love Micaiah. He’s inside of you, waiting for the meds, and when you get them, we’ll cry together ’cause we can, and we’ll laugh, and maybe I’ll kiss you, and maybe we might even try the sex. Until then, I’d like you to know, I appreciate what you’ve done and what you’ll keep doing, Micah.” I called him by his old name, and he understood. There were no messy emotions to get in the way.

  “Micaiah misses you, and I miss him,” he said. “Rachel said emotions were a liability. If that is true, why do I want them so much?”

  “Pinocchio could’ve lived forever as a puppet. Instead the little puppet chose to be human, even if it meant he would die.”

  Again, I thought of Rachel, telling herself stories, and I went back over my conversation with Micaiah. How many stories had we referenced? Human stories did shape reality. Or at the very least, they helped us to try to make sense of it.

  We sat in the quiet, while I rested, getting my shakti ready for this last part, this last dead run toward Kansas. I thought about how we felt as we walked those last kilometers into Wendover, how invincible, how victorious.

  Now we knew the truth. The ARK would be waiting for us in Kansas.

  I was done being stupid. We’d tried to take the chalkdrive out of the Juniper once before and almost got killed ’cause we’d been stupid.

  Now? I had a plan.

  I just had to convince June Mai Angel to listen to me.

  (iv)

  Micaiah left, and I dressed up like one of June Mai’s recruits: sagebrush camouflage pants, a shirt made of synthetic material of the same color, a nice coat, and a pair of thick-soled combat boots with pointed toes for stirrups. I missed my old cowgirl boots, lost in Glenwood Springs, lost forever. They had a thousand kilometers on ’em, if they had a millimeter.

  I wouldn’t miss Eryn Lopez’s evil ski boots of torture, I’ll tell you what.

  I descended the familiar steps of the Chhaang House, recalling when Wren and I had stayed there before, when we’d come back for Mama’s funeral. Seemed like so long ago; it hadn’t even been a year.

  The war room was gone, only an empty bar room was left—empty chairs around empty tables, the bar empty of booze, the stove cold in the kitchen. I thought of Old Man Singh, the man who’d owned and operated the hotel and tavern, wondering what happened to him. He was prolly just another refugee in Sterling, fleeing the war June Mai Angel had brought down on our town. Or had he made it to Kansas? Would the Americans let him in? I didn’t know.

  Five years before, when I’d been sent away, I’d been young, naïve, and I had money and paperwork, which made border crossings easy no matter where you’re at. Without money and paperwork? Borders became walls.

  I wandered out the batwing doors and onto the street. Morning sunshine was cold on a steaming ground. Didn’t know if it was November or December. It made me sad to think I might’ve missed Thanksgiving.

  Around me was a flurry of activity that would’ve made ants jealous. The entire town of Burlington was packing up, which was a sight to see. Soldier girls hurried to load tents and gear onto every type of vehicle, most steam-powered, but we had some old diesel cars running on canola oil, which never quite caught on. The World didn’t want to waste crops on energy for the Juniper, and inside the Juniper, cow patties were far more plentiful than corn or canola.

  Micaiah stood with Pilate and June Mai in the street, a calm eddy in a running river. Micaiah was dressed in black clothes, which seemed fitting. June Mai was in her soldier gear clothes like me, and of course, Pilate looke
d like Pilate: jeans, boots, and a duster so big and stiff you could stand it up in a corner and swear it was a man.

  They were sipping coffee out of mugs and Pilate was smoking, which made me mad at him, with how weak his lungs had been.

  I took a step off the sidewalk to cross to them, but I never made it.

  Someone grabbed me, hugged me, and then another, and then another. I was suddenly swamped by friends. Sketchy’s face was coal-dusted, her goggles around her neck, a wide smile showing her frog mouth, and her blue eyes full of tears. She still wore her bulky New Morality dress under layers of jackets. Big engineer boots swallowed her feet.

  Sketchy attacked me with words of rapid-fire love. “Cavatica Weller! I thought I’d never lay my eyes on you again! We had to leave you in Wendover, and we went back and forth, but out in the World, goddammit if those ARK sinners wouldn’t have impounded my beloved zeppelin, so we took your people on over to Mavis, and then she was working with that goddamn June Mai Angel.” Her eyes flickered up for a minute on the very woman she’d just cursed. Then, more words: “I hate every mother’s daughter in her God-forsaken army, but Tech is more forgiving. She talks to them, but not me. Can’t believe my lovely BUE is now a warzone.”

  BUE ... Took me a minute, but then I remembered that Sketchy referred to towns as their airport code.

  She fired on. “Word has it, Cavvy, the United States military is coming to restore order. Hell, more soldiers means more fighting and less order. Aw, it’s just so good to see you!”

  The United States military? That made me tremble a bit, ’cause Hoyt and the U.S. were real tight. Couldn’t really consider her words, ’cause then I was pulled in to hug Tech.

  She was as gorgeous as ever in her overalls, clean and free of coal dust though it was her job to keep the Moby Dick running and powered. She had tattoos on her neck and arms, even behind her ears. At one time, I’d found them shocking, but now they were just a part of her. She petted my hair, kissed my ear, and whispered, “So good to see you, Cavatica. So good.”

  I blushed. I knew Tech was sweet on me.

  Peeperz held my hand. Bad scars pinched all his features together, but his eyes were sparkling and cute. “Cavvy, we left your pups on one of Mavis’ ranches, and I miss ’em, but gosh, I miss ya more.”

  I wished I were three people, so I could hug them all, and I wished I wasn’t so thin ’cause if I were thicker, I could’ve felt more of them around me, my friends, my comrades in arms. There’s a reason veterans continue to meet, year after year, even after the wars are all over. ’Cause combat creates sisters, brothers, family to the end.

  All their faces, all their smells, everything about them, reminded me I’d always have some kind of family. Even if the one I’d grown up with was dead.

  Sketchy rattled on about hearing how I’d lost track of Sharlotte and Wren, and that Wren had a beautiful boy named Dutch, who Sketchy had heard was a rake and a ne’er-do-well, and that we’d turned a Vixx into not only a friend, but a sister.

  “Don’t lose hope, Cavatica,” Sketchy said. “Pilate doesn’t think they’re dead, and he says to have faith, and though I don’t believe in God, I think they’re alive. But Cavvy, you’re still a Christian, right?”

  “Sure,” I said. Didn’t want to argue the point. In reality, I was a disciple of Pilate’s and his church of silence. Such a religion fit us at the time, though it would never fill churches or pack the collection plate with dollar bills.

  June Mai, Pilate, and Micaiah hustled us into the Chhaang House for planning. Marie Atlas, June Mai’s right-hand woman, also joined us.

  We all clustered inside and sat at a table next to the cold fireplace. June Mai and Marie Atlas sat next to each other, across the table from me and my people, and it felt like a negotiation between enemies, not a strategic meeting among allies.

  Micaiah had a protein bar for me, still in a wrapper, and it made an okay breakfast. Pilate shared his coffee with me.

  “It’s okay, Cavvy,” he said. “I’m a priest. I don’t have any sexually transmitted diseases. Jesus saved me from syphilis.”

  I sighed at his joke and took a sip. It was strong, bitter, and lukewarmish, but I liked the jolt of caffeine. It got me talking. “So, June Mai, I reckon you plan on waltzing down I-70 to Hays, isn’t that right? Take your army down the highway and either blast your way across the border or stare them down until they open up the gate and let you in. Once you’re back in the World, well, you can tell everyone about the chalkdrive. That about right?”

  June Mai nodded. Didn’t say a word. Her eyes bored into me.

  I went on. “We have to assume a few things, assumptions we should’ve made before we blundered into Nevada.”

  I paused. Everyone was listening to me, and for a minute, I forgot I was a leader. I felt like a stupid seventeen-year-old girl. My cheeks glowed until Pilate touched my shoulder, Sketchy, Tech and Peeperz all grinned at me, encouraging me, and then there was Micaiah, who could prolly guess my every word.

  “Go on,” June Mai said.

  I did. “We have to assume there are Severin spies in your camp and that your plan is being sent on to Hays. Even now, I bet they have a runner with news that Micaiah is in the camp, that I showed up, and we have the chalkdrive, and we’re making for Kansas.”

  Marie Atlas couldn’t suppress her laughter. “That’s impossible. Our soldiers are loyal. We’ve vetted each and every one. Those we can’t trust or have severe issues, we used to send to the Psycho Princess. Now, generally, the hogs grab them.”

  At that, all eyes went to Micaiah. He’d told them about the Gammas, and how they were the accidental mutants of genetic manipulation.

  June Mai didn’t react to her lieutenant’s outburst. She fixed those dark eyes on me and made a twirling gesture with her index finger, which meant she wanted me to keep on talking.

  Again, I felt how surreal the situation was. Why was June Mai listening to me? I was just some high school girl, some piece of Juniper trash.

  I continued talking anyway. “Hays is going to be crawling with ARK soldiers and I would imagine—since Tibbs Hoyt is in bed with the U.S. government—there will be American military forces, too. Sketchy mentioned something about that. If that’s the case, we’re looking at tanks, gunships, charge guns, full-on tech and electricity with perfect communication, laser targeting—all that and a bag of chips. And once you hit the border and they see you, more reinforcements will be sent. Hoyt isn’t going mess around. He’s had months to prepare for our return.”

  Marie Atlas wasn’t convinced. “Nonsense. They have thousands of kilometers of border to protect. Why would they choose to focus all those forces on some cow town in Kansas?”

  Sketchy erupted, “The HYS ain’t no cow town, well, it is, but it’s also a major hub in these parts, and those Kestrel 15.2 gunships can cover hundreds of kilometers in no time. If the ARK skanks get wind that Cavvy is coming through, they will descend upon you like the hosts of hell. Not that I believe in such things as hell and the Devil, mind you.”

  “I was without cigars for months,” Pilate said. “There is a hell, I can assure you. And I heard about Wren’s gladiatorial games in Glenwood, so there’s the Devil right there.”

  June Mai didn’t flinch. She stared into my eyes, and it wasn’t like a dead Vixx stare, or a Severin, but it was alive, curious, and sparkling with intelligence. June Mai was eerie smart and focused. I could see why she ran most of the Juniper and how her girls put their faith in her. She was a force of nature, and I was locking eyes with her.

  “This is your chance, June Mai,” I said. “You walk out of the Juniper with the chalkdrive, you will have the world’s attention. But if we get shot up and killed, all of our suffering and struggle will have been for nothing. The media can make up any story they want. Juniper terrorists stopped at the American border by brave U.S. troops.”

  “Let me guess,” she said softly. “You would suggest we split up our forces, give them multiple targets, a
nd keep this information silent. Because of the Severin spies that are undoubtedly in our midst. Is that correct?”

  I had to grin a little. I was both impressed and a little intimidated. “You’re right on all counts. Your main force should go up I-70. Another contingent should go south and try the border at La Crosse. And us? With the Moby scouting, we head for an old ghost town called Plainville. But we don’t go through the town proper, no, we cross the border at the Plainville Salvage Yards.”

  Pilate laughed. He knew what I was talking about. Roughly twelve million people had lived in the Juniper before the buzz was killed by the Yellowstone Knockout. Twelve million humans can generate a lot of junk. What could be sold was sold, other stuff got collected and shipped off to the Plainville Airport, which had been converted into a junkyard for Juniper leftovers, for the maybes and possibilities of future technological advances that might be able to process the plastic and garbage of one point five million square kilometers of people’s yard sale stuff.

  Everyone in the Chhaang House went quiet, and even Pilate stopped chuckling.

  “Why not cross in the Moby Dick?” Marie Atlas asked.

  Sketchy spoke in a rattle. “’Cause everything in the sky outside of the Juniper is tracked. ’Cause of them goddamn SISBI laws. Every airship has a unique signature so they can be tracked. But even if we disabled our beacon, the U.S. has a grid of sensors, and you can bet Hoyt and his ARK have every satellite radar station monitoring the airspace along the Juniper’s border. We wouldn’t stand a chance. Since this all started, I haven’t been out of the Juniper ’cause I’d have to swap out my beacon, or else I’d get stopped and my beloved zeppelin impounded. She’s wanted, dead or alive. Always knew the Moby would be famous one day.”

  “Yeah, we can’t get out on the Moby, so we go on horses,” I said. “Let all the steam trucks and explorers and your armament go down I-70 and south on State Road 4. We take only a few troops on horses and sneak through Plainville, real quiet like.”