Machine-Gun Girls

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so,” he said. “Wren is a hard one, but I don’t think anyone ever gives her a chance to be soft.”

  I felt guilty about Wren and Sharlotte for a minute. I should’ve been nicer to them, more tolerant, tried more—but our family never seemed like a family, more like a foot race, and whoever ran the fastest won all the love.

  I changed subjects to talk about something easier than family. “So what is your daddy going to do with his super soldiers? Take over the world?”

  “He already owns it,” Micaiah said. “Now he just needs to protect it. If the U.S. government demands he give up the cure for the Sterility Epidemic, he has the troops to defend himself. And he’s not just going to give it away, not when he can sell Male Product for a fortune. He says he’s trying to improve all of humanity, but if that’s the case, why clone soldiers? No, he’s a greedy egomaniacal jackmaster, and I have to get the truth out.”

  His words, his rage, surprised me. Calling your father a jackmaster was a far cry from honoring your mother and father, thank you fourth commandment. However, if your father really was a jackass, what did you do then?

  “Tell me about Edger.” I said. “Last night, she was flat on her back, shot to pieces. And here she is today, up and at ’em. What’s that all about?”

  Before he could answer, Wren slid from the coal car into the cab. Micaiah and I got quiet—that silence that tells the person who walked into the room that they weren’t invited to join in the conversation.

  “I checked the train again,” she said, “and we’re alone. Those poor kutias. It’s a long walk out of the Juniper.”

  “Yeah,” I said. Could Wren be soft? I didn’t know. Micaiah was right. I never gave her much of a chance.

  Wren nodded again, knowing me and Micaiah were in the middle of something. “I’m gonna get on top of the train to watch for our people. Any sign of Pilate or the Moby?”

  I shook my head.

  She frowned and left.

  Once we were alone again, Micaiah touched my shoulder. “Cavvy, we have to get something straight.” The way he said it, it was a break-up start. My questions about Edger went unanswered.

  Right then, it didn’t seem important. I prepared myself for whatever he had to say; I felt strong. So far, my plan was working. We were on the train, and I had the feeling God held the Moby afloat in His great guiding hand. We’d find our people. It would all work out.

  “I know, Micaiah, I know, you can’t get involved with some young Juniper girl from a crazy family. I getcha.”

  He touched my hair and ran his fingers through it. I melted.

  “No,” he said, “I don’t care about that. I’ve met about a million girls in my life, all of them wanting me, but with you it’s different. I feel like we’re hands laced together.”

  The image of that felt strong in my head. I wanted to say something, but I had no words, none as nice as his.

  He went on. “And I’m stronger for being with you. Being with you, I feel like who I should’ve been from the beginning. Not Micah Hoyt, heir to an empire, but Micaiah, some lost guy in the Juniper running for his life and taken in by angels.”

  His words broke through to the very heart of me, and for once, I didn’t cry. Pride puffed my heart, swollen with love. Not a weepy, girly ’strogen love, like in a song or a soap opera, but a woman’s love, sure, steady, and badger-mean if something or someone got in the way.

  “Juniper angels have broken wings,” I said. It was a phrase I’d heard all my life. “You didn’t want to talk about such sweet things, so let’s get it over with. Hit me quick.”

  “Jenny Bell is dead because of me. And Sharlotte, I manipulated her. With you, I’m not sure I can be the boy you deserve. Now that you know what kind of a person I am, if you want to walk away, I’d understand.”

  His words rattled me for a second.

  “See? You have doubts,” he said, mistaking my silence.

  “You’re on a sacred quest,” I said. “You want to cure the Sterility Epidemic. Yeah, you ain’t perfect, but you know it. It beats a guy who thinks he walks on water. Only one man who could ever do such a thing. Maybe pray to Him for forgiveness.”

  “There’s going to be more death. More killing. Because of what we are trying to do.”

  “We,” I said the one word and left a quiet behind it.

  “We,” he echoed. “No matter what.”

  No matter what. Our treasure box of a poem, sealing our love inside.

  “As long as you can be honest with me, I’m with you until the end and beyond. Can you be honest with me?” I asked.

  I expected a definite answer, a definite yes.

  The train clacked down the tracks, the sagebrush a bleary blur from the speed. I couldn’t see it, but I could still smell it.

  “I’ll try.” Bad omens and a fearful evil poisoned his whispered words.

  My jaw tightened. “You’ll have to do better than try.” Maybe it was cruel to say, but I couldn’t tolerate any more lies or half-truths, not from him. His deceptions already weighed on us.

  “I’ll go back and start prepping the rear engine,” he muttered. “We’ll need it once we load in all the cattle.”

  “Good thinkin’,” I said back a little too quickly.

  He left. I kept the train thundering down the track, and we hit Little America as the sun touched the horizon.

  Little America. Full of ghosts and sorrow.

  (ii)

  Little America had been a series of hotels and travel complexes spread about the West. The Laramie one was new, or had been, thirty years prior. A big rambling gas station slumped next to a convenience store, which leaned drunkenly against a hotel. They looked like tombstones plunked down in the middle of the Wyoming plains—sky, sagebrush, coyotes howling out their lonesome, and not much else. Along with gas and trucker music, Little America also sold ice cream cones. A peeling-paint sign welcomed us in, showing a cartoon penguin holding up an ice cream—ninety-nine cents. Cheap.

  Only no ice cream for us—hadn’t been any for decades. We stopped the train and waited.

  Wren climbed into the engine room. She carried a couple of sleeping bags and over her shoulder were two AZ3s. “I saw Micaiah. He looked like he’d lost his best friend. Trouble in paradise, Princess? I figured you and the boy would be all lovey-dovey with Sharlotte out of the picture.”

  I flashed her a glare. “Keep out of this, Wren. It’s none of your business.”

  She smiled, mouth closed. “Go easy on him, Cavvy. Sometimes life doesn’t let us be good, even when we don’t have bad in our hearts.”

  “Wren,” I said, “I’m sorry we ain’t been close. I know something happened between you and Mama—”

  She cut me off. “You don’t know jackercrap, so just keep your opinions to yourself. You think I’m evil, like Sharlotte does, and maybe I am. I didn’t choose it at first. But then it became habit, and now I am what I am. I’m used to being hated, and you know what? I hate me, too. So if nothing else, we all agree on that.”

  She turned and threw a sleeping bag at me. That was Wren, always throwing stuff—curses, words, sticks, machine guns. “I brought you some gear and a rifle. It might be a while before the others find us. I’ll run recon. Micaiah agreed to keep watch, so you best sleep while you can.”

  She paused to take in a deep breath, her back to me. She talked over her shoulder just like Sharlotte. Sure, ’cause they were sisters. “Cavvy, I do have a favor. God don’t care about my prayers, so you talk to Him. Tell Him that we need Pilate and our people to find us.” She took off.

  “Wren, wait.” I limped out after her, but she was gone. Once again, I’d tried to talk to my sister and it ended in a disaster. I regretted every word I’d said and felt terrible about what I’d heard.

  I wasn’t tired, and I wanted to keep watch as well. I could see better from on top of the train, so I hopped up the ladder on my left foot and sat on top, with the sleeping bag under me as a cushion.
I cradled the AZ3 in my arms.

  The moon was nearly full, and the stars swirled milky from horizon to horizon. It was a warm May night, real pretty and gentle, no wind. In the Juniper, that was a rarity.

  I thought about Laura Tucker, the little girl back on the train in the Buzzkill, asking her mother all sorts of questions about the Juniper.

  Well, yes, Virginia there were mutants in the Juniper, bio-engineered, super-soldier mutants. And Santa Claus? Well, maybe. Maybe not.

  My eyes traveled over the gas station, the hotel, the little scatter of derelict businesses, dusty with wind and dirty from time and neglect.

  I thought back over the entire cattle drive, from start to finish. I prayed to God for forgiveness, for all the cussing and lusting. I prayed for Wren and for Petal, so they could get to the other side of their pain. Mostly I prayed for Sharlotte, for her to be okay, for her to find us or for the Moby to find her, so we could be together again. I liked the new Sharlotte. I remembered her poetic words about the dandelions—Juniper girls, like dandelions, could grow and be pretty wherever you planted us.

  I took in a deep breath. I breathed in those miles of sagebrush and smelled the Great Plain with every part of me. Though it was a prison to some, for me it was home, and I loved it. Fear I could feel any old time, but I’d only get to feel love for my troublesome homeland every now and then.

  I finally climbed into the sleeping bag and slept on the roof of the train, drifting off, praying and thinking and feeling bad about Micaiah. If honesty was such a chore, he might never get it right, and we could never be together.

  Wren’s shout woke me.

  (iii)

  My heartbeat jumped into high gear until I realized she was yelling, not shooting, so it might be good news.

  Pilate, Petal, our hands, and all of our headcount, came riding out of the east in a glow of warm morning sunshine. The Moby Dick floated over them. She was scarred, patched together rough, but still flying.

  I struggled down the ladder off the train engine and limped into a storm of hugs. I even hugged Crete.

  Puff Daddy and Christina Pink knocked each other to get to me, so I could hug ’em. Then I had to push them apart, none too gently. I kissed Bob D and loved the feel of his scratchy hide on my cheek. I petted the rest of my ponies, old and new. Only Prince, Sharlotte’s horse, was missing.

  Nikki Breeze and Tenisha Keys came along with Dolly Day, Allie, and Kasey. Kasey’s wounded throat must’ve been hurting, ’cause she didn’t talk—she rubbed my shoulder to let me know she was glad to see me. Our beefsteaks meandered around us, crying and calling, mad for walking day and night.

  Pilate told us his story about the merry chase he gave the Madelines. Those girls really did seem to have one mind ’cause it wasn’t long before a hundred were chasing him across the plains. Once they saw the train and all the women, fresh recruits in their minds, they’d jumped into the battle. Pilate said war can be an addiction, and the Madelines were like an addict looking for a fix. And that was what I’d been counting on.

  He and Petal hadn’t been able to get on the train, but the Moby had found them, following the tracks west.

  “Aunt Bea, how did it go with you?” I asked.

  She shook her head and laughed. “I thought we wouldn’t get to say two words to those Wind River people, but your idea of a white flag helped. We told them about the train, and how your mama was friends with Mavis Meetchum, and how I’d even had dinner with Mavis. Thank God they believed me. I think that’s what convinced them to let you take the train. At first, they wanted to destroy everything and kill everyone, but they still remember Mavis giving them the buffalo all those years ago. Thank you, Señora Meetchum.”

  She went on to say she and Crete got lost, but the Moby also found them, took them aboard, and then they met up with Breeze and Keys and our headcount. We laughed as Sketchy went into excruciating detail about loading the horses into the airship. The ponies had fought them every step of the way, even Bob D.

  “Any word on Sharlotte?” I asked.

  Everyone suddenly got real interested in their feet.

  Aunt Bea cleared her throat. “Headcount is real thirsty. And we have to load them on the trains, and there is a lot of work to be done, Cavvy. Maybe she’ll find us before we have to vamoose.”

  “Never thought you’d get us a train, Cavvy,” Dolly Day said. “Maybe you aren’t such a bad boss after all.”

  “Thanks, Dolly.”

  Even though we’d survived my crazy plan, I kept having to swallow the chunk of grief stuck sideways in my throat. Sharlotte gone. It’d kill me to leave her. Petal sat me down in the doorway of the train engine while she looked at my ankle. Her eyes were so clear and sparkly now. “It’s not broken, Cavvy, just sprained. Try and stay off it, okay?”

  I nodded.

  She stood and pushed her cheek against mine. “Thank you for staying strong when I would’ve used again. Thank you. I’m feeling cleaner than I’ve felt for a long time.”

  While I rested my ankle, our people got out the collapsible troughs from the Moby and watered down our headcount. Plenty of water. No one had touched the aquifer under Little America for decades.

  By mid-afternoon, we had the train loaded with our headcount, from Betty Butter to Bluto to Charles Goodnight. Our water tanks were full, and we had enough Old Growth to get us all the way to San Francisco if need be.

  Still no Sharlotte.

  We stood around the engine, quiet, eating MREs taken from the ARK’s food supply. Sketchy, Tech, and Peeperz ambled up—I could see the trouble on their faces. I knew what was coming.

  Sketchy sniffled, then got to it. “Okay, this is gonna hurt to say, but me, Tech, and Peeperz had us a talk. The Moby can’t take no more fightin’. Her heart is strong, but her arms and legs are busted. We can fix her, but to fix her right we’d have to deflate the damaged air cells, and we don’t have the thelium for it. We have supplies in the ZZK”—otherwise known as Buzzkill, Nebraska—“but that’s far away, too far to go and come back. So, this is hard. Oh, Lord, this is hard on me, but we can’t go on. We just can’t. And about Miss Sharlotte, we looked and looked, but we couldn’t find her.” The big woman started blubbering, and before long we were all blubbering along with her, well, those of us who were girly ’strogen soft. The rest, like Wren and Tech, looked around uncomfortably.

  Sketchy blew her nose into a dirty, red handkerchief, then gestured at Micaiah. “We can take the boy back to the ZZK. That should make y’all safer.”

  Micaiah stood away from us, quiet, troubled.

  We waited until he said something. “I can’t go to the ZZK. The ARK has agents in every eastern border town, looking for me. If you can give me a horse and some supplies, I can head off on my own. West.”

  “No, Sketchy,” I said abruptly to her. Couldn’t say it to him. “He’s coming with us. His fate and ours are entwined.” Like the fingers of two hands, the hands of lovers. That image hadn’t left me, even though I was having trouble with what he’d said.

  I’ll try.

  Wren and I glanced at each other. For her, Micaiah meant reward money. For me, it went far deeper.

  “Thank you, Sketch, Peeperz, and you too, Tech,” I said. “Thanks for everything. We’ll make it.”

  “But how?” Tech asked. “The Vixxes know you’re heading for Wendover. They’ll be waiting.”

  “God will provide,” I said. Sharlotte was gone. I was the leader, and it was my job to sow hope. I smiled, even with tears in my eyes. “We have a fast train, and we have God’s grace, so we’ll make it.”

  We had to. It was our destiny to end the Sterility Epidemic. And save our ranch.

  More hugging, more crying, and we all watched as the three climbed on board. Soon the Moby was bumping across the sky, dog-tired and done for.

  We loaded up one of the train cars with musty-smelling cushions from the motel, so our people would have a place to sit. We’d have to leave the chuck wagon behind, which was
sad. I touched the metal of the Chevy Workhorse II one last time, recalling how much time Mama and I had spent working on her.

  I took my place in the engine up front. Micaiah manned the rear engine. We spoke through communication tubes, like in the Moby.

  Our engines were hot, our pressure good. It was time to leave and get a few more kilometers under our belt before dark.

  “Are we ready, Cavvy?” he asked.

  My grief was still stuck in my throat. Couldn’t choke it down. I closed my eyes. Please, God, take care of Sharlotte.

  “Cavvy, are you there?”

  Tears dribbled through my closed eyes. “Yeah, I’m here. Just giving Sharlotte a little more time. You and I both know, if we take off in this train, there ain’t no way she’ll be able to catch up.”

  He didn’t say anything else. That boy was a genius.

  I waited a minute more. Then I released the brake and lowered the throttle lever. Like before, the train stretched out, clanging and squeaking as the couplers pulled tight. We chugged away from Little America, a ghost town once more.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Women in today’s world have a unique opportunity to re-invent themselves. Without the yoke of men and traditional gender roles, women can be anything, do anything, and in truth, necessity is forcing this metamorphosis on the willing as well as the resistant. Case in point, Sally Browne Burke. Could she be as active if she were saddled with a husband and four kids? Morning carpool and afternoon soccer practice certainly would get in the way of pushing her misguided, reactionary agenda.

  —Dr. Anna M. Colton, PhD

  Professor of Sociology, Princeton University

  December 30, 2055

  (i)

  THE NEXT DAY WE HIT the Rocky Mountains, and the train chugged up inclines and past craggy rocks to give us breathtaking vistas of wide valleys green with spring.

  I think we all felt a little drunk from the speed. We’d crossed Wyoming in a day. On horseback, it would’ve taken us weeks. Even though Sharlotte hadn’t found us, I was feeling good. I knew we’d outrun the ARK’s army of Regios and Vixxes, and we’d pull into Wendover without a problem.