Machine-Gun Girls
Page 20
I expected her to punch me full in the face. Instead she turned away. “Well, who knows, I might just die today. I bet that’ll give you and Sharlotte a tickle.”
Tech lost her patience. “This is not the time for your goddamn family drama. We have to get Micaiah back.”
“I’m sorry, Wren.” It wasn’t her fault. We all should’ve been more careful.
Sketchy caterwauled through the communication tube in the floor. “Up ahead, four Johnny zeppelins. Good Lord, they’re big. That’s where them Vixx sisters are headed with the boy. And there’s a bad storm, worst one I’ve ever seen in this God-forsaken nothin’. And I can’t fight them four Johnny Boys. Not with the Moby sick. Gotta get the boy quick or lose him forever. Hit me last night. He’s the son of Tibbs Hoyt. Can’t believe I didn’t recognize him before. Should’ve flown him out of the Juniper right away, dammit!”
Wren and I stared at each other. “So that’s the big secret,” she whispered. “And you couldn’t tell me ’cause you were scared I’d run away with him. Well, you can go jack yourself, Cavvy. And jacker that damn boy.”
It was my turn to look away.
The Moby’s cockpit windows had been blown out after the train battle, but Sketchy flew the airship down toward those running horses with her flying goggles strapped across her eyes.
Wren yelled to Sketchy, “Sail the Moby over them, Sketch. I aim to use your ladder to fetch Micaiah or Micah or whatever his name is.”
“Are you serious, Wren?” Tech asked. “The wind will shake you off.”
My sister sneered. “Aw, Tech, I’m circus trained. This’ll be too much fun.”
Sketchy roared, “You Wellers aren’t right in the head, but I’ll get you into position.” She called into the communication tube. “Hey, Peeperz, you gotta guide me. Wren is going down the ladder to fetch the boy.”
“Gosh, Sketch, really?”
I pulled Wren to me. “You’ll get him and bring him back, right? You won’t take off with him, right?”
A smirk screwed up her face. “You know me, I’m selfish and erratic. Not sure what I’ll do, and, God, does it suck to be you ’cause you’ll just have to watch and hope. Ha!”
I latched on tighter to her, trying to get a promise out of her, but she shoved me back. She clambered through the mid-bay hatch and down to the bottom of the ladder, clinging to the last rung as we soared ever lower.
My jaws clenched. Yeah, all I could do was watch my sister play out another scene in a Hollywood action video and hope she didn’t run off with Micaiah and sell him to the highest bidder.
Peeperz’s voice came up from the tube. “Sketch, keep her straight. You’re right on them. But there are them Johnnies ahead. And you see the storm?”
“I see it all!” Sketchy yelled.
The sky in the distance boiled with black clouds where the four Johnny Boy blimps waited, ready to spirit my Micaiah away if Wren didn’t get to him first.
(iv)
Tech and I clustered around the hatch, looking down at Wren as she soared over the salt flats toward the ten ARK soldiers riding our own horses in a full gallop—two long lines of soldiers, spread apart like geese on the wing. They were prolly so intent on getting aboard before the storm hit, they weren’t looking behind them.
The Moby fought the growing wind. Wren was swinging about something awful. I would’ve been sent flying, but my amazing sister held on. Tech and I weren’t breathing. An errant gust of wind would smash Wren to the ground. Or if those riders noticed her, they’d shoot her down easily.
Wren hooked her left arm around a rung. In her right hand was a Colt Terminator. She took down the back two riders. Only the lucky or the damned could have made those shots. Wren Weller was both.
The rest of the riders couldn’t hear the gunshots over the noise of those hooves thundering and the wind shrieking like a banshee. One of the Vixx sisters rode Taylor Quick, and she held Bob D’s reins, where Micaiah was hogtied. The other Vixx hammered her boots against Beck. Damn Vixxes, hurting my ponies.
Wind bashed the Moby, and Wren was flung into a rider. Wren booted her off, and the soldier fell in a cloud of dust and hurt. My sister could’ve let go to get on the horse, but she didn’t.
She turned and kicked another out of the saddle. Four down. Six to go.
Two Regios saw Wren and pulled their guns.
One of the Johnnies drifted down low, prolly to pick up the Vixxes and Micaiah. Tech whispered. “Wren better hurry. We can’t fight those Johnnies.”
I was wordless. Staring down at my sister, I prolly had a ringside seat to her death. I should’ve been nicer to her. I should’ve tried harder. Time and again she had saved us ’cause maybe some part of her loved us, loved me, and if that were true, she’d rescue Micaiah and bring him back to me. But was it true?
Sketchy kept the Moby as straight as she could, but the wind slapped Wren about on the ladder, nearly flinging her off. She spun between two riders. The Regios weren’t thinking. They killed each other with their own crossfire as Wren whirled around again.
Only four left. Two Regios and two Vixxes on five horses, including the one Micaiah was tied to. Either they were so bent on getting to the airships that they didn’t care about Wren, or they hadn’t seen her. Who would guess anyone could come storming out of the sky on a rope ladder to deal death so efficiently?
I could almost hear Wren laughing, screaming, calling ’em skanks. Sure. That’s what she was doing. With her Colt Terminator backing up every word.
“She just might pull it off,” Tech whispered. “How can that be? This isn’t happening.”
My horses began to slow. Those ARK soldiers drove the ponies like they were motorcycles, but they weren’t. Horses can sprint, but not a full-on foamy gallop for all that long. Katy started to hitch her gait, her bad hoof acting up. And Mick’s sick eye wept in a sticky stream down his face. He was trying to close it and still run. Those ARK soldiers didn’t care about my animals. More importantly, they didn’t understand my animals. Wren did.
She waited a moment, and then both Katy and Mick slammed down onto the salt ground, throwing their riders. Poor horses.
All the Regios were gone. Only the Vixx sisters remained.
Wren dropped down onto Bob’s saddle, landing right behind Micaiah. I thought she was going to grab him and climb back up. Instead, she let the wind sweep the ladder away, and right then, I knew her plan. She was going to run away with Micaiah and sell him. Of course. I’d been right about her all along. She was too damaged to ever be trusted.
“We have to stop her!” I yelled.
Tech didn’t respond. She yelled into the tube, “Sketch, Wren is off the ladder, evasive maneuvers! I’ll get to the crow’s nest. We’re going to have to fight our way out of this one.” Tech sprinted toward the doorway and to the ladder which led up to the other machine-gun nest in the canopy above.
Sketchy howled back, “Hello, Johnny Boys! You come to fight? Good. The Moby is hurt, and you never wanna fight a hurt animal. Gonna badger the bejesus out of you, as God is my witness. Peeperz, light ’em up with the triple Xs. Light them up!”
The four Johnny Boy blimps blocked out the sky. The ground below me was empty. Had Wren gunned down the Vixxes, or had they turned on her? I didn’t know—couldn’t see a thing as the Moby swerved to the side. I gripped the floor-cleats to keep me from spinning across the floor. From above and below came the dull thud of the triple Xs. Fifty caliber bullets peppered the sides of the Johnny blimps.
Then the full force of the storm hit, blasting us with salt, sand, and debris.
“I gotta get on the ground, Sketch!” I yelled it. If she’d said no, I would’ve jumped.
But that big woman didn’t say anything—too busy flying.
In the swirling sky, the Johnny Boys opened fire on us, tracers, bullets, rockets, and it was the Fourth of July, with us in the middle of the fireworks. Bullet holes punched through the Neofiber all around, letting in light, making a whistling
sound from the gale force winds.
The staccato burst of Sketchy laughing vibrated through the tubes. How could she be laughing? “Lotta wind, Johnnies, and I reckon y’all don’t like that wind much. But me and the Moby don’t mind the wind. We’re Juniper-born. Now, Cavvy, I’ll get you down, but pardon my bump.”
We crashed into a zeppelin with a shudder, like rubber balls ricocheting against each other.
The gunners on the Johnnies went quiet, and Sketchy laughed. “Can’t stomach the crossfire, huh?” Then, “Hang on, people!”
I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Peeperz or Tech in the glass bubbles, staring death in the face. We bounced around some more, so hard I had to close my eyes and grit my teeth, waiting to die from the blimp bumper car madness.
Sketchy’s yell made me snap open my eyes. “Cavvy, we only got one chance, and it might kill us all, but here you go.”
The ground rushed toward me, coming up too fast, too fast, and we hit with a smash, the Neofiber shaking, snapping, deafening sounds of sheer, mortal destruction.
The Moby rose, but not before I rolled down through the mid-bay hatch and onto the crusty salt ground. Hurt my ankle all over again.
Eyes up, I watched as the Moby lifted off into the sky. Kevlar shards slapped in the windstorm, whole sections of Neofiber were gone, and the poor airship looked like a colander. Instead of running from the wind, Sketchy headed directly west, directly into the gale.
The four Johnny Boys opened fire again, but the howling wind pushed them backwards. The Johnnies, with their size and structural mass, could only inch along. The Moby was far smaller, and it might outrun those beasts.
Watching that brave zeppelin struggle away, I realized it’s the little people, the nobodies, who change history, and that’s where the power of God rests. In simple people and small things. Like Sketchy. Like the Moby. Like me.
(v)
I slipped on my cattling goggles, put my head down, and started off into the duststorm, or should I say saltstorm? Whatever. Couldn’t see a thing.
I growled against the pain of walking on my ankle. But nothing—not pain, not Wren—was going to stop me from getting Micaiah back. I tripped over the body of one of the Regios Wren had killed. I took her AZ3 and snapped the stock to its maximum length. I used it as a crutch, but figured I’d have to use it for real eventually.
Only took a few dozen steps when I saw I wasn’t alone in that swirling hell of salt and dust.
Two figures were coming toward me, one on horseback, the other walking with guns spiking out of her body like horns.
Nowhere to hide. I crouched, undid the safety on the rifle, and tried to not throw up.
The soldiers marched forward. Only they weren’t soldiers.
From out of the soup walked my sister Wren. Micaiah was upright, but still tied to Bob D. My deepest fears were confirmed.
Wren had said it herself—never let your heart get in the way of a paycheck.
I stood, pressed the AZ3 to my shoulder, and aimed at Wren’s chest. It was the worst kind of déjà vu. “Get away from him, Wren!”
The winds dropped for a moment. Emotion washed down Wren’s face like rain drizzling down a window. “MTAT,” she whispered.
She said it like a word, but it was an acronym, the very basics of gun safety: muzzle, trigger, action, target. Basically, it came down to two things—all guns are loaded, and don’t aim at anything you don’t want to destroy.
“Second time you done this, Cavvy. Put the gun down or kill me. I can’t stand—”
“I won’t let you sell him!” Rage boiled in my guts. I would kill her. My eyes showed it.
“I wasn’t gonna ...” Gunfire stopped her words. Gunfire from behind me. Wren dropped to her knees. Bob D skittered away carrying Micaiah who watched, wordless.
The world ended. God came down, kissed us, and took off. Gone to Texas.
Goodbye, God. Goodbye, forever.
Wren arched backward, and I could see the crimson dashes across her belly. Her intestines and stomach were shot full of holes—a long, hard, awful way to die.
I had to shoot her now. I had to put her out of her misery.
My mind went sluggish. This couldn’t be happening. Wren had just swung out of the Moby on a ladder to grab Micaiah. She couldn’t die. She and Pilate always said that heaven wouldn’t take her and hell was afraid she’d take over.
“Wren.” I whispered. I turned to see who had shot her. Two soldiers stood in the swirling dust storm, both their faces like squares of emotionless, bio-engineered nothing. Reb and Ronnie Vixx.
They would get me. They would kill me. My feet grew roots into the salt.
Then a deep voice inside of me yelled, Wren’s as good as dead. Now is not the time to jack things up. Now is the time to run. I don’t know if it was Pilate’s voice or Mama’s or Sharlotte’s or Wren’s. Sounded like all of them put together.
I threw myself on Bob D, Micaiah behind me, and we galloped away.
Wren’s last words plagued me ... I wasn’t gonna ... I wasn’t gonna ...
She wasn’t going to run off with Micaiah. She really had gone to rescue him for me, and she’d been killed in the attempt.
I’d left my poor sister behind to die alone.
Chapter Seventeen
I’ll let Sally Browne Burke and Kip Parson talk about morality. I’m here to save our species by any means necessary.
—Tiberius “Tibbs” Hoyt
Special Congressional Hearing on the Sterility Epidemic
April 12, 2039
(i)
MICAIAH AND I GALLOPED across the salt flats, deeper into the storm. No rain, just wind, horrible, terrible wind. The blowing dust and sand blinded us and stung our skins like hordes of fire ants. Surprised me that we didn’t start bleeding rivers from windburn. Once we’d put a fair distance between us and the Vixx sisters, I dismounted and cut Micaiah loose.
I could tell west by the smudge of the sun in the muddy sky. I couldn’t walk, but Bob D was tired, thirsty, done for. Still, I had to make him carry my weight. That added to my guilt. What kind of a sister was I? I should’ve bent down, held Wren one last time, apologized, and told her I loved her in such a way that she’d believe me. Then used the AZ3 to end her life quickly.
Every time I felt the lump of the .45 caliber bullet in my pocket, the guilt deepened. Like she’d said, I would keep it in memory of her.
Micaiah, walking next to me, pulled a pair of goggles from out of the saddlebags. The ARK soldiers must’ve stuffed their gear in there while in the cattle cars.
During a lull in the windstorm, I leaned down. “Micaiah, I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I know you’ll try to be honest.”
The wind swirled back up, and we couldn’t talk. He took my hand and squeezed it. We were okay.
When the wind took a break from trying to blow us back to Colorado, we talked a little, enough for me to know I was a horse’s ass.
Micaiah had told the Vixx sisters he had the chalkdrive in his pocket so they’d leave us alone, but they hadn’t taken it off him. Too busy trying to get to the Johnnies. He also made it clear—Wren had been trying to get back to the train as soon as possible, so she hadn’t untied him.
He didn’t say I told you so about no one letting Wren be good, but he didn’t need to.
Though I had plenty to cry about, my eyes remained dry. My insides were a rocky place where the seeds of sorrow could find no purchase.
I was getting harder, I could feel it. Maybe that’s growing up, when the soft parts of ourselves get calloused ’cause the world doesn’t care about our tears. All they do is wet our faces and make us thirsty.
And we were thirsty—boy, girl, horse, all of us so thirsty. My canteen laughed every time we cracked it open.
Bob D stayed tough. He licked water out of my hand and gazed at me with those long-lashed eyes, like he was begging me to explain life and its suffering to him. I couldn’t. His looks only made me feel harder inside.
I thought about trying to circle around to get back to the train, but it was a long ways away. We were already halfway to Wendover, halfway across a river of blood. Might as well try and trudge to the other side.
I wasn’t sure how the Vixxes could track us, but if anyone could, they could. Maybe the ARK spliced bloodhound DNA into their genes. I had a horrid image of them snuffling along the ground on all fours, smelling us out.
I thought that day couldn’t get any worse—that long, hard, wind-killed day.
I was wrong.
The Vixx sisters caught us outside of the Silver Mountain Casino, about three miles from Wendover’s downtown. On the very edge of the Juniper.
On the very edge of night.
(ii)
Micaiah saw the casino first.
Outside of Wendover, on the northern border of the Bonneville Salt Flats State Park, a bunch of jagged rocks rose from the flat, white plain. The Silver Island Mountains. On one slope sat the casino, which had been built before the Yellowstone Knockout, when Utah relaxed a little on their anti-gambling laws. Busloads of people from the SLC used to descend on Wendover to gamble ’cause games of chance were legal in Nevada. Once Utah had their own casino out on the salt flats, well, gambling twenty miles closer to the SLC might’ve been a good idea, but then the Yellowstone Knockout wiped out the power. Couldn’t keep a casino open when the electricity only worked randomly.
When Micaiah and I saw the Silver Island Casino in the hills, we started for it, but Bob froze. He turned his head to look behind us and whinnied as if to say, “Hey, guys, the Vixx sisters are coming for you. They’re faster than all of us put together, and I’m sorry I can’t run no more.”