Marie Atlas, on my pony, was ahead of us, driving Miley toward the salvage yards.
We hurled after her, through the battle, and I caught glimpses of the fighting. The Acevedos and the APCs with more ARK troops had reached the main battlefield. As had our own reinforcements, the steam trucks and Cargadors from June Mai. Some had machine guns mounted in the back, others had girls shooting from the bed, and two of the Cargadors had heavy cannons mounted over the driver’s cage. June Mai’s troops started demolishing the Acevedos and Regios with shells.
Though not for long. The tanks responded. A Cargador was sent rolling end over end from an explosion. An old Mercedes Benz ignited from some sort of thermite charge. The Acevedos boomed again, blowing through cars, trucks, women, and horses. But we couldn’t stay to help.
I wondered for a moment who June Mai’s outlaws had been fighting. More ARK soldiers? Or the United States military?
No way to know. No one to ask.
While June Mai’s forces fought on, so did the Stanleys. One of the steam-powered battle machines, with a Chevy Camaro’s yellow hood, was on top of a tank. With its arm guns, the Stanley blew off the turret, then machine-gunned open the top hatch and wiped out the Regios inside.
Another tank swiveled and blew the yellow Stanley into debris across the plain.
The Jonesy zeppelin, still on fire, came dashing in and struck the tank with a shell and got vengeance.
Then I was pulled back into driving. Marie Atlas slammed her spurs into that poor horse. But no matter how much she brutalized that animal, we had her. Micaiah brought up his MG21 and fired off rounds. Some hit her, knocking her around on the saddle, but he didn’t hit her where it counted.
“Aim for the head,” I admonished.
“I understand your request,” he answered robotically, “but I am out of ammunition.”
I wished we had Wren. I wished Pilate had been able to join us. But no, it was just us.
Then I knew: I would need to clip Miley with the car. Unthinkable. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, hurt that pony.
We were right up on her, Miley’s hooves nearly hitting the front bumper of the BMW. Atlas turned with a pistol in her hand, to fire at us. Her eyes widened.
Micaiah shouted in my ear. “Brake! Now!”
I didn’t know why he would want me to, but I did. We slammed to a stop ...
Just as June Mai’s Jonesy zeppelin fell out of the sky above us, on fire, taking missile after missile into her side. Marie Atlas slammed her heels into Miley to get her going once more, and she had to duck—we both did—as that cigar-shaped behemoth came crashing down.
Then both Severin and horse were lost in all the Kevlar, plastic, and Neofiber of the demolished blimp. The heat of the explosion swept over us in a wave, and I could smell my hair singe. Sweat dripped down my neck. I’d been under an exploding zeppelin before, and let me tell you, it’s no fun.
I cranked the wheel to the side and drove the gas pedal to the floor, and we raced south, away from our quarry. The burning zeppelin struck the prairie behind us. Another turn of the steering wheel and we were back in pursuit, but I had to skirt the wreckage while avoiding the battle around us, as tanks, Stanleys, and Gammas exchanged fire.
The Jonesy crash had given Marie Atlas enough time to make it into the salvage yards.
And maybe, maybe, through to the border on the other side. If so, the chalkdrive was gone, and our war would be over.
(ii)
Both the boy and I were silent as I swerved onto a service road and headed toward the Plainville Salvage Yards. With dirt under us, I slammed gears until I found one that really threw the rocks under our spinning wheels. We shuddered up a hill and fishtailed, but I knew how to turn into the spin. I’d grown up driving where asphalt was mostly wishful thinking. Topping the hill, we got a view of the border and the ARK armada we faced.
That was where the Moby was headed—toward the SISBI fence and American airspace. I didn’t want her going up against those Kestrel gunships. About the size of the largest of military helicopters, the gunships were shaped like a Y, with wings and a tail like a lobster. Blue lights winked across their bodies. The blue-fire of their engines made the fence glow around them.
Under the Kestrels were floating MFV Havok military vehicles, completely frictionless. The Havoks were eight meters long, three meters wide, and squat, riding on a cushion of air instead of wheels. Machine guns, charge guns, and other armament dotted their metal roofs. Electric lights glowed along their edges and from their undercarriage. They were full of Regios guarding the border, waiting for Marie Atlas and the chalkdrive.
Micaiah and I careened down the hill as the Moby soared over the airplane hangars, junk piles, and dumpsters of the Plainville Salvage Yards. I could only hope Sketchy had guessed what had happened: Marie Atlas had the chalkdrive, and we had left our people to chase after her.
Sketchy stopped her airship right over the junkyard. Then her triple-X machine guns started up, tracers lighting up the sky, firing at something on the ground, hopefully Marie Atlas.
We sped through an open chain-link gate and into the salvage yard. Piles of debris surrounded us, matted clothes, ratty mattresses, sticks of ruined furniture, metal barrels leaking some kind of ooze, half tore-up mobile homes, cars, and RVs scattered here and there. But like the main street in a city of garbage demons, a central corridor opened where wind-whipped paper was caught in tornados of trash.
The sky was getting dimmer, but I could still see, thanks to the flicker of a stack of monitors. It reminded me of the train crossing outside of Buzzkill, Nebraska. The pile of screens would glow, show video, and then they’d go dead, only to wink on again. So that was the true border. The edge of the Yellowstone EM field, that was the border, and it was ragged, changing. The fence didn’t mean much. Those Kestrel gunships and the Havoks underneath them couldn’t get too close lest they wind up dead in the dirt.
But I wondered if they really understood how the Juniper border worked; I sure as hell did. And that might give us the advantage we needed.
Marie Atlas was pinned down by the Moby. The Severin was crouched down behind a dumpster that was rusted out but still intact to offer some protection. Miley, that fine horse, must’ve run off. Thank God.
Marie Atlas saw us and hit us with bullets. Micaiah and I ducked, and I braked. Then a bigger explosion threw fire and dirt into our faces; the impact of an explosive shell shuddered the ground next to us.
Pulling out of an airplane hangar was an old Dodge Laredo with an AIS attachment, followed by two tanks, their turrets swiveling. They hadn’t committed all their forces to the battle. They had saved some, just for us.
Just for me and Micaiah.
He looked on with mild eyes. Not a bit of fear.
I couldn’t say the same.
Another shell struck to our left. Hard-pack dirt pinged off the driver’s side door and slapped my left cheek.
Marie Atlas sprinted toward them. We’d have to cut her off, but I couldn’t charge straight at her, not with those tanks. We’d be blown to pieces.
I wheeled to the right, through an alleyway of wet stacks of drywall decaying into paste. Micaiah and I in our BMW headed east, toward the border of the Juniper—directly toward the Kestrel gunships and the frictionless Havoks. Directly into their line of fire.
Like a doe charging a line of deer hunters.
“What are you doing?” Micaiah asked calmly.
I answered just as serenely, “Oh, you know, just bein’ a Weller.”
(iii)
I threw the steering wheel left before I hit the border fence. There was a little alley between junked-out plastics and the fence. An old rocking horse lay rotting next to what looked like a slide from a playground structure.
The troops in the Kestrels and the Havoks saw us. The Moby was staying back, out of the range of the gunships and their lightning cannons, their scorpion missiles, and more machine guns than a body could count.
I stopped.
I stood up, and you might think me crass, but I gave them my middle fingers, both of them. “Come and get me, skanks!”
Wren would’ve been proud.
The Havoks charged forward to chase us; the gunships followed and were faster. Those Kestrels tried to hit us with their front charge guns. A lightning blast of pure electricity struck the area behind us, melting the plastics and sending bright ropes of energy sizzling across the ground. I stomped on the accelerator before they could fry us.
The SISBI fence came smashing down as the Havoks struck it in a squeal of metal. They chased after us down the narrow alleyway. The alley got tighter, but I didn’t stop. The BMW’s left front panel struck a rack, breaking through it, which sent toys, computers, and household what-not toppling down behind us ... right in the path of the floating Havoks. They smashed into the trash.
Saved by Juniper junk. Story of my life.
Still those frictionless assault vehicles were bound to follow us somehow.
I found an alley that led back to the main corridor and floored it. Derelict car garbage whipped by us.
In seconds Micaiah and I were back on the main avenue.
No sign of Marie Atlas, and the Moby was engaging the tanks. The triple-Xs cut through the metal of one of the tanks and into the flesh of the Regios inside. A rocket whooshed down from the Moby—maybe from the Torrent 6 I’d fired before—and it blasted the other tank into flaming pieces of carnage. Bits of tank plinked down. Well, I didn’t have to worry about those tanks anymore. Thanks, Sketch.
A Kestrel 15.2 gunship passed overhead. Bullets streaked down on either side of us. A Havok followed, guns blazing. I lowered myself in my seat. Sparking bullets riddled the BMW’s sides and trunk.
Things looked bleak ...
Until the lights on the gunship winked off. The fluctuations of the EM field saved us. Without power, the gunship fell out of the sky. That mass of technology struck the ground in a cloud of debris and death and destruction.
The Havok behind us slammed to the ground as well, lights off, frictionless engines useless, dead as a slate without a battery.
The soldiers climbed out.
Mistake.
The Moby’s triple-Xs tore them apart.
The Kestrel was done for, the engines destroyed in the crash, but the Havok’s light flickered on, and the vehicle floated back up. Driverless now but working again. Until the next EM fluctuation took out the electrical systems.
I floored the BMW but didn’t get far. Another gunship chancing destruction caught us, and her machine guns strafed our hood. The whole engine seized up, halting us.
I was thrown forward.
Then Micaiah grabbed me and pulled me out, just before a Havok full of troops came charging though. A Scorpion missile hit the BMW, creating a fountain of scrap metal.
The shock of that explosion stunned me.
Micaiah was yelling, but I couldn’t hear him, couldn’t think, as my racing mind tried to function despite the ringing in my ears. We had four more gunships to face, and three Havoks full of Regios, and Marie Atlas still had the chalkdrive. Micaiah yanked me to another Havok that sat empty. He threw me onto the passenger seat and threw himself behind the wheel as I tried to get my thoughts back online. Behind us were empty seats and hatches that led to the weapons on top. I had enough brain power to consider climbing back there and manning the guns, but I had no idea how long we’d have power.
Micaiah drove a foot down on the accelerator pedal, and we zoomed forward. The Havok didn’t get ten meters before the electricity fizzled out. We leapt from the dead vehicle as a gunship destroyed it completely.
But if we didn’t have power, neither did they.
Another of the gunships tumbled out of the air to join the trash and wreckage.
Three left.
We ran for the Dodge Laredo with the AIS we’d seen before. I pulled a dead Regio out of the driver’s seat—had to sit in her blood to drive. Micaiah rode shotgun. I slammed it into gear, and we chugged forward, picking up speed. We drove around a heap of plastic toys, brittle and faded from sunshine, a whole pile of dolls, toy soldiers, and a scatter of Lego bricks like a sea of hard-edged plastic.
The Havoks behind us went dead and dropped to the ground, but the Regios had gotten clever. They waited, but while they were stuck, me and Micaiah took off, heading north.
The Moby took a hit from a missile, but she swept around and headed for the fence line. There was no help for it. She was outgunned by the ARK airships, and I knew, once she got her electricity on, Sketchy could use the Kung Pao to become the fastest zeppelin in the world.
A gunship dropped. Then another, as they tried to get to safety. The last one roared over the fence, chasing the Moby, but like I thought, she had become supercharged and flew away into the night.
Where was Marie Atlas and the chalkdrive?
Couldn’t leave. Couldn’t. Not without the chalkdrive.
I spun the Laredo around. The last we’d seen, Marie Atlas had been in the main corridor, but she wasn’t there now. Most likely, she’d be heading for the border. We might already be too late.
I crashed through mattresses, making for the alley next to the fence. I knew a section had been blocked by the plastic wall of crashing leftovers. Had to get lucky ...
And we did. Atlas was on the fence, right in front of us, climbing it.
I floored the Laredo, giving the pistons every bit of steam the old girl had. I opened the door, and it punched the Severin off the fence; hit her so hard it ripped the door from its hinges.
I slammed on the brakes.
Dust swirled around us as Micaiah and I banged out of our truck to face her.
She was lying on the ground, struggling to get up. The bottom half of her had been twisted around and her hips were all wrong on her body. But she wasn’t crying out or grunting or anything, she was merely trying to follow her imperatives; to deliver the chalkdrive to safety, despite her destroyed body.
Around her neck was the chalkdrive, though not for long. Micaiah nimbly plucked it off and then threw it to me. I put it on.
The Severin didn’t respond, but continued to struggle pathetically. For a mad minute, I thought about putting her down. But no, not my call. Let her struggle. I wasn’t sure if she could heal a wound like that, not sure at all, but we had to go.
Back in the Laredo, I couldn’t turn her around, so I drove it in reverse, which, if you grow up on a ranch, you learn how to do.
The other Havoks were now silent. Ha, no electricity for them.
Once we were out of the alley, I spun the truck around, and we were back on the main street. The soldiers had piled out to cluster around their dead Havoks. For whatever reason, the EM field from Yellowstone must’ve had a long reach that evening, right when we needed it.
Lucky for us. For once, we had the vehicle and the Regios were reduced to shoe leather.
Micaiah and I drove away from them, the chalkdrive once again around my neck. I watched them getting smaller in my rearview mirror and then crashed through the northern gates of the salvage yard.
I made a left turn onto a road and silently thanked the Juniper. Her EM field had saved us. What was her greatest liability had become our greatest asset. I felt love for my troubled homeland and grinned.
“You still alive?” I asked Micaiah.
“Not really alive,” he said. “But not dead. Cavatica, you do know we can’t keep winning like this. We simply cannot continue being so fortunate. Our luck is bound to run out.”
“I know that,” I said. “I know.”
We drove toward the actual town of Plainville in the quiet. Missing the Juniper border by only about a kilometer, the little hamlet had gone to seed, but that’s luck or fate or God or whatever. A kilometer, a centimeter, a half second, and everything would’ve been different for us and for that town.
Wren was alive. Alice had mentioned Sharlotte, so I could only assume Rachel still lived as well. Prolly even Dutch had made it. I looked forwar
d to hearing the story of all them meeting up with Nikola Nichols and her Stanleys. I hoped to one day hear the tale. And I could only hope the battle of four armies would turn out well for my family and the people we loved.
Things were going good.
Then, a half second later, the pressure of the steam truck went bad. The needle took a nose dive to zero and we rolled to a stop.
It was the first of many things that would go wrong that night. Our luck had grown thin as a towel washed too many times.
(iv)
Micaiah and I took a minute to troubleshoot the piping but couldn’t find the leak. We finally gave up and started walking. The sun was heading toward the horizon, but there was a ceiling of clouds over us, so it felt like night already, like we were walking through a shadowy land of wind, gloom, and yellow grass. The ghost town in the distance looked like an old man, haggard and exhausted, waiting to die. My combat boots were far better than the cross-country ski boots I’d ruined my feet in, so it wasn’t bad. And I wasn’t alone. Micaiah wasn’t much company, but he was someone. I couldn’t help but hold his hand, just to feel something other than the chalkdrive around my neck.
In the chill air, I huddled closer to Micaiah. I had on my sage-colored army coat, but my gloves, hat, and other gear I’d left on Corwin. I hoped he and the other horses were okay.
Micaiah stopped abruptly, turned, and stepped back from me. He regarded me for a moment, in silence, his dead eyes searching my face.
“What now?” I asked.
“You won’t stop,” Micaiah said. “You will never stop, will you? Even if it means everyone you ever loved will die, you will never stop. I was correct in my assumption when I first met you. I knew if I told you about the nature of my quest, you would finish it, even if it meant the deaths of you and your family.”
“Kill me to stop me,” I said. Then I remembered what June Mai Angel had said about what she had done in her righteous cause. He was right. I didn’t have free will. I’d been given a task, and like Pilate had said, it was my sacred duty to carry it out. My imperatives. Get the cure to the Sterility Epidemic out into the world. Make the ARK find a cure for LaTanya and the other Gammas.
Storm Girls (The Juniper Wars Book 4) Page 23
