Storm Girls (The Juniper Wars Book 4)

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  Kill me to stop me.

  I grinned at him. “You gonna hit me again and take off?” I backed off and raised my fists. “Better come at me good ’cause you only get to sucker punch a Weller once.”

  He shook his head. “No, but maybe I love you more than you love me.”

  That made me laugh, else I would’ve started bawling right there. “How do you figure? You can’t feel anything at all. I would imagine love is pretty far outside of your normal parameters about right now.”

  “Maybe. But this war is unnecessary if we give the chalkdrive back to my father. You and your family can go on living. I can get my medication and be Micaiah again. And maybe that is the most logical course of action.”

  Wind came and blasted us, cold and dry. I took a deep breath and let it out. “This is our Gethsemane. You are asking God to take away this cup of poison we’re to drink from. Only thing we’re missing are tears of blood.”

  “You are making Christian references from the gospels.”

  “You’re a jackerin’ genius.” Sure, I cussed, but he was making me so tired, his emotionless slow despair ... only it wasn’t despair, it was his logical mind weighing our odds of success versus the price we’d have to pay to succeed. Even after we had pulled a miracle out of our butts to get away at the salvage yards. Even after three armies appeared out of thin air to help us fight our way through the Regios.

  Micaiah then quoted from the Mass, from hearing Pilate saying it over and over, “He took the cup, gave it to his disciples and said, ‘Take this, all of you, and drink it.’”

  I finished it: “‘For this is my blood, which will be poured out for you and for many.’” I nodded. “Jesus could’ve run, but he didn’t. He saw it through to the cross, all the way to the end.”

  “Are we to be crucified?” Micaiah asked.

  I stepped forward and rested my head on the thing’s chest. It wasn’t a boy anymore; it was a thing. And I missed Micaiah. I missed his laugh, his tears, his hope. My boy. My sweet, sweet boy.

  “Rachel didn’t understand the Gospel,” I whispered into his chest. “It’s about sacrifice. It’s about faith, hope, and love. And though Pilate might think his Lord of the Rings fairytale is the best story ever told, it’s not. The Bible has always been a bestseller, and it still is.” I leaned back to gaze into his face. “If we are crucified? If we die? We will rise again in fulfillment of the scriptures. That’s the promise. We can’t be stopped. And your father knows it.”

  Micaiah didn’t respond. He seemed to have made up his mind about something.

  “Let’s just walk,” I finally said. “Let’s just walk to Plainville and let it all be what it will be.”

  And we did. We walked toward the town of Plainville, on the edge of the Juniper.

  I’d crossed her again, the whole way. Not many people did that even once, and I’d done it twice.

  I felt it in my feet, felt it more deeply in my heart, all those kilometers.

  Sunset. Twilight. We hit the outskirts of the deserted town, whispering with wind and ghosts. The houses were cairns, piles of cement rubble and old drywall and moldering siding. The buildings on the main street were gravestones, concrete foundations and nothing else. Being so close to the World, the salvage monkeys had taken everything of any value out. What was left had been carted down to the airport to join the other piles of scrap and crap there.

  A tall shape loomed over the weedy dirt road between the dinosaur-like cement skeletons of storefronts on either side. At first, I thought it was Alice, but no, it was even bigger and squatter. It was a Stanley, and by the looks of her, the Marilyn Monroe.

  Standing under her were Wren and Sharlotte. I recognized the arrogant stance of Wren’s body, and Sharlotte—my Sharlotte—her one leg, her New Morality dress from Eryn Lopez, her everything.

  And Rachel was there, that soulless Vixx who we gave a soul, and even Pilate, in his duster and hat, sipping from a coffee cup and his cigar stinking up the town; the smoke suddenly hitting me as the wind shifted.

  And the wind will shift, always. A good wind will turn bad, and an evil wind will turn blessed. Always.

  I left Micaiah behind and ran to them.

  My family. Alive. We’d come back together one last time. My people, my family, my friends, my blood.

  I melted into their arms and saw that Dutch was there as well. Didn’t know where Alice or June Mai were, but I hoped they’d lived to see the night come.

  Sharlotte held me the longest, and I held her, and I’d never felt closer to her.

  Pilate had his arm around Rachel. The two of them together ... well, it looked right.

  “Hi, Cavvy,” Rachel said in a soft voice. “It’s so good to see you. I hoped we would. I really did.”

  She still had her emotions and tears glimmered in her eyes.

  “She dug us out,” Sharlotte said. “Rachel saved us all. Marisol fled, but Rachel dug us out, and we got Marilyn working, and here we are.”

  “I used hope as a weapon,” Rachel said shyly.

  Sharlotte continued. “We got down out of the Rockies, though, and met Nikola Nichols in her Stanleys walking toward Denver. You made quite an impression on her, and she wanted to make sure the cure got out into the world. As did Alice. Her and her rogue Gammas found us in Limon.” Sharlotte laughed suddenly, and it sounded like a song. “When Alice heard we were Wellers, she said she was a Weller, too, and we were sisters.”

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  No one knew. And no one knew what happened to June Mai or Nikola, either.

  I said a prayer for Alice, and it felt like such a natural thing to do, to pray for others, for my other big sister, Alice. Ha. And Sharlotte always thought she was so big.

  “Hey, Pilate,” I said. “Back in Burlington, did you know they were alive?”

  He nodded. “I caught Wren running recon outside of Burlington, and we came up with the plan. Sorry I didn’t tell you before, Cavatica, but we thought the less people who knew about our plan, the better. To tell you the truth, it was just me and your boy who knew. That’s why I made us go slow, and I dropped cigars so your sisters—all of your many sisters—could follow us. June Mai didn’t tell me she had troops in reserve, as well. Lucky we did. We needed that third army.”

  Wren grinned, showing perfect teeth. “I know they call themselves Gammas, but hell, those girls smell like hogs all right.”

  I frowned at Pilate. “And you yelled at me for not having faith. And you knew all along, you rat.”

  “I do like cheese,” he said, grinning.

  As for Wren, I couldn’t help but frown at her as well. Was she taller? Was the hair on her arms thicker? She didn’t seem chilly even though the wind was frigid. Had her face changed? It seemed wider.

  I let go of my worries and went to hug her. “Glad you made it, Wren. So glad.”

  “Do you have the chalkdrive?” Dutch asked.

  Such a question, right then, what did he care anyway?

  I pulled back from Wren. “Yeah, I have it.”

  “That’s good. That’s real good.” Dutch opened his hand. Something the size of an apple rolled off of it.

  It took a moment to see what it was. Then, inside, I froze up solid. A snake had slithered into my family.

  Lying in the dirt was a grenade.

  And Dutch had dropped it right in the middle of us.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bury me with family, don’t bury me alone

  My heart is heavy with sorrow, and my soul is just a stone

  —Renee Crowell

  (i)

  DUTCH GRABBED ME BY my hair and yanked me away.

  A second later, the grenade went off. Thank God, it was only a flash-bang. Still, it was loud enough and had enough concussive force to send everyone to their knees.

  Dutch pulled me down the street fifteen meters before tossing me into the dirt. He plucked another grenade out of his vest. He pulled the pin out with a click and sent this new grenade roll
ing into the middle of my family.

  This one wasn’t a flash-bang. This one was an M67 anti-personnel grenade.

  It would kill them all. I launched myself up, running to throw myself onto the grenade.

  Dutch wouldn’t have that. He kicked my legs out from under me. I hit the ground and ripped my palms open on the gravel.

  I looked up.

  I expected to see the people I loved most in the world blown to hell. Instead, I watched as Rachel did what I had failed to do. The grenade detonated under her.

  A cloud of smoke, dust, and debris hid her sacrifice. She could heal most wounds, but she wasn’t going to heal a grenade in the belly. The shrapnel would shred her spine.

  Micaiah and Pilate had been close to her. Both were on their backs, unmoving. Sharlotte was crouched down, hands on her ears, dazed from the flash-bang, then dazed again by the grenade. She couldn’t get to her feet. At least she was alive. So far.

  Didn’t know about Wren.

  I skittered away from Dutch’s reach. I heard a gunshot but didn’t feel any pain as I ran to Rachel where she lay, a mess of flesh and bone. A mess I won’t describe.

  My hand found hers. “Oh, Rachel, Rachel, I’m sorry.”

  She was fading, blood in her hair, blood on her face. She raised her other hand and touched my cheek.

  “I’m not afraid any more, Cavvy,” she said, “I don’t feel the pain either. All I feel is love for you. For you, my sister.” A tear slid down her face.

  “And I love you, Rachel. Always and always. You saved us.”

  Once again, I was going to have to watch a friend die, but she wouldn’t die alone. No. I scooped her splintered body into my arm, my lap, and I rocked her.

  Dutch wasn’t going for me. Didn’t know why.

  “Emotions aren’t a liability,” Rachel whispered to me. “They made me human and more. What I feel now, I am a part of you all, and in that, I feel eternal. Always and always, like you said.”

  “Always and always.”

  She closed her eyes. “Tell Pilate I love him.” Wind blew down onto us. She didn’t flinch; she was smiling. “He was going to kiss me and marry me, and I was going to say I do. And I do. I will see him soon in your silly heaven.” Her eyes opened and took me in. “‘For God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten Son ...’”

  John, chapter three, verse sixteen ... Seconds left, and she was quoting scripture.

  Her smile widened. “For God so loved the world that He gave the world me, so I could save you. I understand your Christian story, Cavatica, I understand it now ...”

  She leaned into me, right close next to me, and breathed her last breath. I felt it leave her body.

  The last of the Vixxes, turned good, turned into a real girl who laid down her life for us all. Who became a human, despite her genetics, with a heart full of love.

  I bent and kissed her forehead. “Say hello to heaven for me, Rachel. If you’re not there, I won’t go.”

  I wanted to cry, but my tears were gone, my heart and soul locked again in a cage of ice, too cold for sorrow. I wanted to feel. I couldn’t.

  Which really was for the best. Feelings on a battlefield are a liability.

  Only two warriors still stood in the last light of day. And me, right in the middle.

  Dutch on one side; Wren on the other.

  That villain hadn’t gone for me and the chalkdrive ’cause my sister had stared him down.

  Both Wren and Dutch stood, eyes locked, fingers hovering over their matching sets of Colt Terminators.

  It was a quick-draw duel, and only one would walk away.

  (ii)

  The clouds to the west had been blown off the horizon, and a line of sunshine appeared there, day dying into shadows and night.

  And wind. That cold, hopeless Juniper wind.

  Dutch stood with his hands above his pistols, his hat blown back, revealing his handsome face. The collar of his coat flipped back and forth across his chest.

  And who was he staring down?

  Wren Weller. She had on a serape over her cowgirl shirt and leather vest, and the serape, too, flapped in the wind, along with her hair, blown back from her face, her hat long gone, and her hands above her Colt Terminators, strapped low on her jeans.

  “Step back, Dutch,” Wren called out. “You know I can heal most any wound you dish out. You can’t say the same.”

  Dutch laughed and took a step toward me. “No, I can’t. But what are my two rules, Wren?”

  Rachel’s corpse lay on my lap. But even if I had been unencumbered, I wouldn’t have tried to run. If I tried to escape, Dutch would gun me down, and Wren would have to shoot the only man she’d ever loved.

  Dutch took another step. Wren didn’t draw.

  “Never let your heart get in the way of a paycheck.” The words came out choked from her constricted throat. Tears filled her eyes.

  It would blur her vision. It would make her miss.

  “That’s right!” Dutch said loudly. “When those ARK women came to me, they offered me a payday I couldn’t refuse. You understand that, right? You understand the money involved, don’t you? They knew I knew you. Hell, they knew everything there was to know about everything. They drove me to Glenwood Springs in a gas car, not diesel, mind you, gas. Do you realize what that means? It means they’ve figured out a way to get electricity to work in the Juniper.”

  The snowmobiles, they had been gas after all, and not diesel. Why would they not use the gas engines on all their military equipment? Unless they were hiding something. And it wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of diesel war machines to go around. Still, such a revelation meant Micaiah had more secrets. Dutch just confirmed it.

  He shook his head, grinning. “Those ARK people have access to everyone. Everyone. Even President Jack. Even America’s current president, Amanda what’s-er-face.”

  “Swain,” Wren whispered. “Did you know about Marisol?”

  “Had no clue about that little girl. I wasn’t sure you had the chalkdrive until we were on Independence Pass. I was going to bide my time, then Marisol grabbed it, and bang, off she went. But come on, baby, the money. Tell me you ain’t thought about grabbing it and running.”

  Wren nodded, shaking tears down her face.

  “Don’t, Wren,” I called out. “We’ll let him have it. You can’t kill Dutch. You can’t. You love him.”

  My sister didn’t look at me. I don’t think she even heard me.

  “The little princess is a smart one.” Dutch’s face changed, but he was still smiling his snake-oil smirk. “I’ll take the chalkdrive, I’ll walk off, and, hell, you can come with me. Me and you, me a king and you my queen, living rich. We can do anything, go anywhere. Me and you, baby, out in the World, living large like you know we can.”

  “Listen to him, Wren,” I said. “Please. Don’t kill him. If you kill him, it will kill you. Please.”

  The wind drowned out my words, a frigid banshee-howl blasting through the cracks of the concrete foundations around us.

  More tears coursed down Wren’s face. She didn’t move.

  Dutch raised a cowboy boot, all dramatic, and took another fateful step toward me, then chuckled. “You going to let me get to her? You aren’t shooting. Not even going to wing me?”

  “Rule number two,” Wren said. Said it quiet. The wind had blown itself mute for a minute.

  “And what’s rule number two?” Dutch asked.

  “Always, always, always get ’em ...” Wren started.

  “... right between the eyes.” Dutch finished.

  And he drew. That villainous jackerdan drew first. He pulled his right Colt Terminator, sneaky, snaky fast.

  But he didn’t get the chance to pull the trigger.

  Wren was faster.

  Heartbroken, weepy, tears blurring her vision, she was faster, better, and she pulled the trigger.

  The gunshot echoed across the concrete of the ghost town ... Felt like it took five minutes to stop its thun
derous cry.

  Dutch dropped to the ground. Shot. Right between the eyes.

  Wren collapsed along with him.

  I ran for her.

  Sharlotte ran for her.

  We both reached our gunslinger sister at the same time and fell onto her, held her while she wept. I rocked her to my chest, and Sharlotte held her hand, and Wren shuddered with sobs.

  Sharlotte cried, but I didn’t. God was a famished beast, and all He ever wanted was to drink my tears, and I wasn’t going to give that son of a kutia one more meal. Not ever again.

  He’d created a world where only the hardhearted survive, and I wasn’t going to feel ever again. If He wanted me to be hard, I’d be stone.

  Emotions aren’t a liability, but sometimes the cost of feeling them is too expensive, and I couldn’t pay. My pockets were empty. Let Wren and Sharlotte do the feeling in the family. I’d carried the burden for years, but no more.

  My clothes and my hands were stained red from holding Rachel. I was getting my sister Wren bloody, but it didn’t matter. We come into the world bloody, and most likely, we’ll leave the same way.

  Sharlotte touched my hair. She had tears on her face. She was feeling, she was human, and I wasn’t going to be that anymore.

  “Cavvy,” she whispered. Concern smoked in her eyes, fear for me, for what she saw me becoming: The killer. The soldier. A soulless thing.

  “Cavvy, it’ll be okay,” Sharlotte said.

  But it wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Wren forced to kill her love. Rachel dead and gone.

  Right then, the horizon gulped down the sun, removing all light from the world.

  (iii)

  Pilate and Micaiah approached us quietly. Those boys stood over us sisters for a long minute.

  Pilate squatted down, and he held Wren’s hand, now almost as big as his. I knew he was smart enough to guess what was happening to her. And the last thing in the world Wren needed were nice words or a sermon.

  Micaiah looked on with calm eyes, taking it all in for a minute.

  Pilate put a hand on my back. “Did you hold Rachel when she died?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “She said something about kissing you in our silly heaven. And she said God gave her to the world to save us. She said she finally understood the Christian story.”