Dandelion Iron Book One

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  “You know about Pilate?” I asked, surprised.

  “I was in Chicago, and I heard an ARK district manager make a joke—if you can’t afford the ARK, there’s always Father Pilate in the Juniper. Good night, Cavatica.”

  But good night was a long time away and almost over anyway. People knew about Pilate in the World? What else did they know about him? And how could Micaiah have overheard an ARK district manager making the joke?

  “Who are you really?” I asked. “You said before that your aunts were looking for you ’cause you had something. Like what? Couldn’t be those boots, so what else do you have on you?”

  He didn’t reply. Kept his head on his hands. Kept his eyes on the stars.

  “It’s ’cause you’re viable, ain’t it?” I asked.

  “That’s it.” He let out a long breath. “And I don’t like to talk about it. Good night, Cavvy. That’s your cue to go to sleep—the good night part.”

  I frowned and curled up against Bella and her boys. Thinking about our conversation, I realized I’d answered the question before he could. Most boys were uncomfortable talking about their viability, but it seemed to me he seemed relieved to have escaped without having to say more.

  Great. Now he had me lying for him.

  However, if he was being hunted for being viable, it would make sense for him to hate Tibbs Hoyt. If the ARK gave Male Product away, well, his life might be very different.

  I didn’t know what to believe. Like with Pilate, I wanted to push Micaiah away, but I just couldn’t find it in me. He was so beautiful, so smart, so kind—even when he teased me, which I didn’t like, but somehow wanted.

  I was falling in love with him.

  Which made the next day’s hurt all the more hard to bear.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’m pretty sure it was Crush Jones who started the nickname. We both had watched those old Bonanza videos online growing up. We couldn’t call it the Ponderosa—not a lot of big trees on the Great Plains, but we have Juniper. Grows like a weed. Smells like money.

  —Dob Howerter

  Colorado Courier Interview

  August 4, 2034

  (i)

  Only a couple of hours of sleep and we were back moving the cattle down I-70 at first light on Easter Sunday morning. The highway widened to six lanes running through clusters of buildings, siding peeling off like sunburned skin. The skeletons of old hotels slumped like dinosaurs, all their flesh rotted away.

  At least the sky was blue and the wind was warm. Might’ve been a nice spring morning if not for the fact we were heading straight into June Mai Angel’s capital city.

  My ponies tripped along, exhausted. Felt bad, but I had to keep them going. I encouraged, prodded, and sometimes got real stern. Despite being busy, I noticed right away when Micaiah rode over to Sharlotte. On her horse, she rose above a sea of white-faced Herefords. Their red hides glistened in the sunlight.

  My sister and my boy looked like they were deep in conversation. What could they be talking about so intensely? Jealousy rose up inside of me. Sharlotte knew he was mine, didn’t she?

  I watched them close after that, and they never left each other’s side.

  Wren rode tail, making sure our flank was covered. Petal and Pilate scouted ahead.

  Aunt Bea drove the chuck wagon way out front, guiding Charles Goodnight, who in turn led our whole drive. I was a little nervous about the chugga-chugga of the truck drawing attention. The smoke rising up from the steam engine worried me less. Thank God for Colorado wind.

  Bella, Jacob, and Edward lounged in the cab next to Bea. They were good cattle dogs, but we worried that a cranky beefsteak might kick them if they got too close.

  Tenisha Keys drifted next to me. “Hi, Cavvy.” In her saddle, she kept one eye on the cattle, the other focused on weaving long pieces of plastic and several strands of colored wire together.

  “Hi, Miss Keys,” I said. “Did you and Nikki get any sleep last night?”

  “Nope,” she said. “Spent all night gathering strays.”

  She wasn’t complaining, but I wanted to, since I was so sleep-deprived and scared. I tried to forget about my discomfort by asking, “What’re you making there, Miss Keys?”

  “Just weavin’ some,” Keys said. “If my fingers are busy, it keeps my mind from wandering. The minute I think about June Mai Angel, I fall apart. So, yeah, busy fingers, focused mind. Don’t know how we’re gonna get out of this one. I keep telling myself … halfway. Just gotta make it halfway.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, that’s what we’re all thinking I guess. Too hard to think about all the kilometers ahead.”

  “You think we’ll make it through Denver?”

  I turned away, to keep my gaze on Sharlotte and Micaiah.

  When I didn’t respond, Keys moseyed on ahead.

  I got upset with myself for being so rude. I should’ve tried to comfort her. Like the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi—better to comfort than to be comforted. I prayed to be less selfish.

  It didn’t work.

  I glanced up just in time to see my sister, Sharlotte-work-yourself-to-death-Weller smiling at Micaiah. Oh, the smile she gave him—it was full of roses and wedding gowns. You’d think we were at an ice cream social rather than trying to run cattle through enemy territory.

  Couldn’t believe it came from Sharlotte. Even though she was twenty-four, it seemed like she’d been born an old spinster and was determined to stay the course.

  She smiled at him.

  He smiled back.

  For a minute, I wondered if someone else had joined our cattle drive. Couldn’t be my sister. My eyes got dry, I stared so hard.

  A voice wailed up inside of me. No, he’s mine. I kissed him. He’s mine! Had to swallow and swallow, but the hurt stayed stuck in my throat.

  I thought I would’ve had to fight Wren or Crete for the boy. Wasn’t fair for my big sister to be the competition. Maybe Sharlotte had been faking wanting to send Micaiah away.

  No. I closed my eyes and remembered family was more important than romantic love. If Sharlotte wanted him, well, who was I to stop her? I had to side with Sharlotte. Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe the smiles were more friendly than full of love.

  Watching the two together, however, didn’t put me at ease. I went back through every conversation I’d had with Micaiah and catalogued my mistakes. I should’ve been nicer to him. I should’ve tried to believe his story more. I should’ve been less suspicious. I’d blown my chance. Now Sharlotte would run off and get married, and I’d be alone forever. My fantasies of finding love seemed so empty.

  Even so, the day passed in a hard blur. When Sharlotte gave the signal to stop, I forgot about my anguish and obsessing long enough to be glad. I hadn’t known if Sharlotte wanted us to do another night of cattle driving.

  My eyelids felt sandy—I was so drained. Twilight chased away the warmth, and a cold night slammed down like a lid closing on a freezer.

  I had my remuda chores to do, but next up on the agenda was a long conversation with Sharlotte about Micaiah.

  Not sure what I was going to say, but I had to say something.

  (ii)

  Cast-off car parts and plastic-trash scatter lined the highway and the shoulder. Rotted King Soopers bags melted into the dirt next to brittle water bottles. Junk mail, thirty years old, lay half-buried or blew like leaves across the concrete. We found some grass, but our headcount and horses weren’t too interested in eating. They wanted to stop, rest, sleep.

  Aunt Bea told me Pilate planned the camp for maximum safety, and I needed to build my temporary corral west of her chuck wagon. I got the sledgehammer and pounded the aluminum poles into the ground. When the cowgirls brought in their horses, I took care of them. Both the horses and the cowgirls were sullen and scared, even Crete.

  Allie Chambers, Kasey Romero, and Dolly Day Cornpone turned in their horses and stomped off, talking about food and maybe sleep, if Sharlotte would let them. All three had MG
21s strapped across their shoulders and 9mm pistols in holsters at their hips.

  Keys and Breeze arrived next, but they dropped off their horses only to take two more out. It was clear they were going to work through the night again. Those women were iron-nail tough.

  Lastly, Sharlotte rode in on Prince, holding the reins to Katy, the horse Micaiah had been on all day. He was by the chuck wagon, talking to Crete. Her sullen hadn’t lasted long. She spun her hair around a finger and giggled all flirty.

  I wanted to growl. Instead, I grabbed Sharlotte in a glare and asked, “What are you and the boy talking about? You two sure are smiley.”

  The way my voice sounded, I might as well have said, Hey Shar, let’s me and you fight over Micaiah ’cause we both love him.

  My sister went dead-eyed. Her mouth crept away into a scowl. “We’re running for our lives, Cavvy. Or haven’t you noticed?”

  “Do you still want to send Micaiah away?”

  It was like she hadn’t heard me. Sharlotte shifted Tina Machinegun on her shoulder and pointed at her horse’s right front hoof. “Katy’s limp is getting a whole lot worse. Check for a hoof abscess, but I hope to God it’s just bits of asphalt in her frog. If she goes lame we’ll have to put her down, and I’d hate to do that. And while you’re at it, pick Prince carefully as well. He’s favoring his front left. I hate all the crap covering the highway. Those bits of plastic are bound to get into their hooves and make a world of mischief. I wish we were on dirt and on our way to Hays.”

  Just business. Like always.

  “You never mind about the boy,” she said abruptly. “We need to focus on getting our headcount to Nevada. It’s stupid for that Petersen woman from Sysco to give us so much money, like our beef was special, even though you and I both know it tastes the same—Colorado beef, Mormon beef, all the same. I still think your plan of going through Denver is foolish, but I was outvoted. I keep kicking myself, letting y’all bully me. Mama always said this family wasn’t a democracy.”

  “Mama’s gone,” I said forcefully, “and now it is a democracy. You got outvoted. So deal with it.” Not sleeping had filled my mind and mouth with venom. And I’d spent the day scared we’d get killed and it’d be my fault. Top it all off, watching her and my boy get all cozy had made me crazy.

  Sharlotte took a step toward me. She wasn’t quite in my face, but that step was to prove who was in charge. “I have been dealing with it. You haven’t. Mama let Howerter into our pockets, so you could go off and have fun at your school for the past four years. And Wren left right after to have fun of her own. Me? I’ve been here, dealing with it, but that doesn’t matter.” Then she got sarcastic. “As we all know, nothing matters, except our headcount and saving the ranch ’cause Mama left us with no other option.”

  Her tone silenced me. What was going on with her? I thought the ranch meant everything to her.

  She turned away. “Dang it, Cavvy, I just wish. Oh, how I wish …” Her voice came out chipped, soft, hurting.

  I waited for her to finish, but she didn’t. She didn’t walk away, either. She stood there, one hand balancing Tina Machinegun on her shoulder, the other in her pocket, fiddling with whatever was inside.

  Couldn’t quite believe Sharlotte was wishing for things. I figured that part of her heart had been turned off.

  “What do you wish for?” I asked.

  She sighed. “If wishes were diesel, how the Juniper would roar.” She turned around to face me. “I wish we didn’t have to do this. I wish I hadn’t let you come. If anything happened to you, I’d take it hard. But it seems to me you’re a part of this, whether we like it or not. You have to promise though, if any shooting starts, you run and hide, okay? You stay safe. I know you disobeyed me to go and save Micaiah, but you can’t risk yourself again for him, okay?”

  But I love him. How I wanted to say those words so she’d know the truth.

  Good thing I didn’t ’cause not a second later Sharlotte came as close as she dared to proclaiming her own love. “I’ll watch out for Micaiah. He’s a good guy, handsome, bright as a sparkle, and polite. Even though it’s risky, I’m glad he’s with us. You were right. It was the Christian thing to do.”

  I stood there awkwardly. She’d said we needed to focus on the cattle drive, and ended up talking about Micaiah. It seemed she was as conflicted as I was.

  Not sure how she took my silence, but her eyes fell on me, and for once, they weren’t hard or angry or focused on the next task to do. They took me in, fully, and I remembered the times Sharlotte would read to me from our copy of The Lives of the Saints. After showers in the evening, we’d light sapropel lanterns, and she’d curl up in my bed and we’d read until she thought I was asleep. Only I wouldn’t let myself drift off completely until Mama came in and prayed over me before kissing me goodnight.

  “I had to come, Sharlotte,” I whispered. “I couldn’t stay behind. If we all die, I want us to die together.”

  Sharlotte shrugged, hat covering her eyes. “Well, you may get your wish. Sketchy is going to be looking north for us, so we might never see the Moby Dick again. As for Wren, she and I had words. She still wants to sell Micaiah. She took off when I told her I’d rather die than give him up.”

  Sharlotte colored. Told more of the truth than she’d wanted. The blush on her face meant only one thing—she was falling for Micaiah. I had my answer.

  She went on, a hard edge to her voice. “If Wren did leave for good, oh well. All I know for sure is we gotta keep going. Even dead, Mama always gets what Mama wants. Good night, Cavvy.”

  Sharlotte marched off. The way she kept saying Mama, it sounded like a curse word. But how could that be? Sharlotte loved Mama. Didn’t she?

  I’d wept over our mother, but Sharlotte hadn’t, not that I’d seen. And sometimes uncried tears can be a poison. But something was changing in her. Micaiah might be the cause.

  If he could help my sister change for the better, I was right to step aside. If I kept on pining for him, I would change for the worse.

  (iii)

  Aunt Bea brought around a cold dinner—carrots going limp, beef jerky, cracker biscuits. I ate alone, working my remuda, combing down coats and picking hooves. If we had to take off in the middle of the night, I didn’t want any of my horses running with debris stuck in their shoes or burrs under their saddles.

  In the rope corral, my ponies seemed okay. Thirsty, jumpy, but okay. They’d sleep some, then wake up to nose through the spring grass.

  Sun was gone, but a gray light spread over the horizon, turning the sky into a star-filled midnight blue.

  That evening, Pilate did double-duty—Easter Mass and Annabeth’s funeral. He kept it fairly short and sweet and didn’t say anything outlandish. We stood for the whole thing.

  During the communal “Our Father,” I noticed Micaiah didn’t know the prayer, but he was watching Sharlotte’s lips.

  Sharlotte caught him looking at her, and she smiled shyly. She looked my age, not like a worn-out spinster, not heartsick and troubled, just young and in love.

  Sharlotte’s words echoed around in my head. She was right. I had gotten to leave, while she was stuck at home, dealing with Mama, who never made things easy. Who was never satisfied. Who never stopped to give a compliment or a word of encouragement. Who never stopped. Period.

  My better nature whispered to me. Let Sharlotte have the boy. Let Sharlotte win for once.

  As Saint Francis said in his prayer—it is better to love, than to be loved.

  I would love Sharlotte. And I would let Sharlotte love Micaiah. Losing him would be a death, but like Easter promised, I would be resurrected from the darkness. I just had to have faith, and right then, I did.

  Peace filled my heart when I got in line to get communion from Pilate, the round hosts in a cracked Tupperware container and wine from a small, wooden chalice.

  We sang “On Eagle’s Wings” and then Allie Chambers sang “Amazing Grace” which brought tears to all our eyes. That girl san
g so well even the angels were jealous. We wiped our eyes, hugged each other, and got back to work.

  While the cattle hands divided up the nighttime duties, I took my sleeping bag and found a place by a gold Chevy Camaro. The wheels were gone, and the body was rusting away into the soil, but it would protect me from the wind.

  My horses slept in their corral. I slept alone, no dogs, no boy, just me and my ponies near. It felt like enough.

  Coffee and crumble-butter biscuits for breakfast and we were moving again. Dawn wasn’t even blue.

  We’d only been riding an hour or two when the freeway rose up on bridges. Not just a simple overpass, but kilometers and kilometers of elevated highway. All the way through Denver, quick but dangerous. The two walls of concrete on either side created a perfect channel for a stampede.

  Made me swallow hard. If the cattle stampeded, we’d have nowhere to run, and twelve-thousand hooves might pound us into pulp.

  I was worrying about that, and Wren leaving, and the Moby Dick, when I got my first glimpse of downtown Denver. The buildings towered over the ruins like the thrones of hell, and though we thought the streets would be empty, they could be filled with June Mai’s girls, waiting to slaughter us.

  Sharlotte would die with her boy close, and I’d meet Saint Peter with a clear conscience. There were worse ways to go.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I was in Brooklyn. I had a little scrap metal business. I was watching the news after the Yellowstone Knockout. I watched all those refugees pouring out of the Juniper. I remember seeing that black sky on the video. Everyone was crying. I kept thinking, what about all the copper in the houses? What about the wiring? What about the highway guardrails? That’s kilometers of galvanized steel. No, that’s kilometers of money. I didn’t feel bad about the refugees. Maybe I should’ve. The government said they could go back in and get their belongings. But I knew no one would.

  —Calvin “Crush” Jones

  60 Minutes Interview