Machine-Gun Girls

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  Most fears are lies at the end of the day.

  Sharlotte and I talked more and then fell quiet. I got to thinking about Micaiah. Was he human? Was he really Tibbs Hoyt’s son? In the end, it didn’t matter. The world saw him as the heir to the ARK throne, and who was I to say anything different? But of course, my curiosity got the best of me.

  “Okay, Micaiah,” I said, “Sharlotte told us her story, now tell us yours.”

  “You know everything already,” he said, eyes dropping. “What else is there?”

  “Try,” I said. “This is your chance to try.”

  Micaiah took in a deep breath. “I’d heard rumors that my father had a cure for the Sterility Epidemic.”

  Sharlotte hissed. This was all new to her.

  “I did some sniffing around, and I found out the rumors were true. I hacked into the ARK’s servers, downloaded the Oracle database, along with some samples of the various Gulo serums, mostly the Gulo Gamma, and took off.” He paused. “But I lost the samples in the zeppelin crash, so I couldn’t have helped you. I found the syringes on Ronnie, just now, in the casino.”

  “I understand,” I said gently.

  “I can heal like the Vixxes. In that way, they really were like my aunts, but I’m not immortal. When you found me after my zeppelin crashed, I really did need your help. Starvation, dehydration, exposure, all could’ve killed me.” He stopped talking abruptly.

  Everything he wasn’t saying shouted at me, but at least he was trying to be honest.

  “I wouldn’t have given Wren the Gulo Gamma,” he said. “The test subjects didn’t react well, and most of them had to be isolated and terminated. There were ... mutations.”

  Sharlotte caught my eye in the rearview mirror.

  Micaiah hurried on. “But the Gulo Delta seems safe. Hopefully. We’ll just have to watch her.”

  “So, Wren might not be completely human anymore.” I shuddered to think what Wren would be like as a mutant. And I prayed for her to be okay. If she had to mutate, maybe she’d mutate her soul a little. It could use it, but then you could say the same thing about all of us.

  “The cure,” Sharlotte muttered. “The cure for the Sterility Epidemic. And carried around in the pocket of Tibbs Hoyt’s son. Dang.”

  We lapsed back into silence. I had so many more questions, I didn’t know where to start, and I didn’t have the chance to ask more.

  The jeep roared across the salt flats in the moonlight, and it wasn’t long until we found our train. Empty. Wendover’s electric lights glowed on the horizon.

  Had they abandoned the train? Or had Rachel Vixx and her Regios found them?

  We followed the cattle tracks, all of us hushed, praying for yet one more miracle.

  (iv)

  Micaiah saw our cattle first, wandering in the wilderness.

  Still no people. My heart felt sick inside of me. I needed to see Pilate again, to hug Aunt Bea, to see our employees and hired hands who were now family.

  The smell of cigar smoke brought a big smile to my face.

  Our people on their horses, our family, came into view.

  We pulled up in the jeep, and the celebration began. Laughter echoed through the night. I found myself in a big party of hugging, kisses, and tears. Dolly Day howled and gave me a stinky hug. Pilate threw his arms around Micaiah. Aunt Bea and Sharlotte held each other, them strong Juniper women. Allie Chambers laughed. Kasey Romeo told me she was glad to see me in a scratchy voice. For the rest of her life, she’d talk in a scratch ’cause of the sniper’s bullet.

  Nikki Breeze embraced me and smiled, though she had tearstains on her cheeks for Tenisha.

  I even kissed Crete, ’cause I was so happy.

  Aunt Bea and Pilate told us how they had to abandon the train after the engine failed and they didn’t know how to fix it. Besides, how could we pull into Wendover on a stolen train? Prolly not a good idea. We wouldn’t have all the correct paperwork, which outside of the Juniper was very important. Our people thought other ARK assets might come after them, but no one did. No sign of the four Johnny boy blimps that had chased the Moby Dick through the storm.

  Pilate held me for a long time. “I thought I’d never see you again. I can’t believe you’re still alive. I wanted to run to help, but Sharlotte ...”

  I pulled back. “You let Sharlotte leave. I can’t believe you didn’t go with her.”

  “Believe me, I argued with your sister, but in the end, you can’t argue with a Weller woman for long. She wanted me to take over the drive, and I agreed.”

  “Dang, Pilate, are you losing your contrariness in your old age?” I asked.

  “If so, thank God.” The way he said it, bittersweet and wistful, brought new tears to my eyes.

  “You reckon we ever run out of tears?” I asked Pilate. “’Cause I’ve cried oceans in the last few weeks.”

  “Nope, never, but then the well of laughter runs as deep or deeper,” he said. Coughing rattled his lungs, and he had to hock and spit.

  “Prolly shouldn’t smoke no more,” I said.

  “Prolly not,” he said, echoing my grammar. He then took in a deep breath. “Smell that, Cavvy.”

  I sniffed the air. “I don’t smell nothin’ but that foul cigar.”

  He laughed. “It’s life we smell. We’re alive. Alive. Even Wren. Even Wren.”

  I told him how Micaiah gave her the Gulo Delta serum.

  “Sounds like a college fraternity ... those damn Gulo Deltas,” Pilate said, smirking. And I wanted to kiss that smirk.

  More tears for us all. And maybe getting older meant getting more calloused, but maybe the point of maturing isn’t not to cry at all. Maybe it’s to cry as much as we laugh.

  (v)

  That night, with no food, no water, we let the cows lead us, which they did. They knew the lights of Wendover meant food, water, and rest. A bright moon glowed in the sky over a plain of salt that smelled like the leftovers of an ocean, long gone.

  Two horses, Elvis and Prince, carried the bodies of our dead, wrapped in cloth. We didn’t want to bury Petal and Tenisha out there in that salty soil. Nope. Like that old song about being buried on the lone prairie. Along with the fallen bodies of our friends, I mourned my eleven lost horses. Poor Katy. Poor Mick. I prayed they’d be strong and follow their noses to water and get to good Mormon people who would take care of them.

  I rode and petted Puff Daddy. Sharlotte on Maddy trotted next to us. Sharlotte caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back.

  “You okay?” I asked. “I mean, after you left ...” Didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

  Sharlotte knew what I needed to hear. Her words came out velvety. “Yeah, I’m okay. I worked through some things, including how hurt I was that you and Wren got to leave. You went off to school, Wren went to hell, and there’s big, reliable Sharlotte with Mama, working on the ranch. Left behind. I thought I’d like leaving, being like Wren, always gone from camp, doing her own thing, but you know, Cavvy? It’s lonesome. Without family and work, it can get real lonely.”

  “And now you’re back,” I said.

  “Yes, I am,” Sharlotte said. “And if it’s all right by you, I’ll take over running things. Is that okay?”

  “Be my guest,” I said. “You can deal with Dolly Day and her mutinous ways.”

  She let out a long sigh. “Yeah, it’s a lot of work, but it was work I was born to. I prolly won’t ever get to leave again, and that’s fine.” With how she sounded, I knew she didn’t think it was fine at all. But then she got a little smiley. “You know what I realized, when I was alone, walking the plains? We did better than Mama would’ve. You and me, Cavvy, we did better. I heard how well you did leading. I’m proud of you. And I know Mama would’ve been proud of you, too.”

  “Shar,” I said gently, “you don’t hate Mama, do you? She was a hard woman, I know, but she loved us. You felt that right?”

  Sharlotte’s face fell into stone. “I can’t talk about that now, Cavvy. I’m hurt by
her dying, and I just can’t talk about it.” She closed her eyes to settle herself and then opened them, like she opened her heart to me. “I love you, Cavatica. I’m grateful that you’re my sister.”

  “I love you, too.” I had to whisper it ’cause emotion clogged my throat.

  The silence that followed glued us together.

  Some sisters don’t automatically love one another. Us Weller girls were examples of that. For some, the love of sisters must be built, brick by brick, minute by minute, out of nothing but tears and blood. If you can build that love, it will outlive the pyramids, and nothing will be able to tear it down, ever.

  As we rode, my thoughts turned to Wendover—electricity, money, civilization, but also the end of our journey, where me and Micaiah would split up.

  It was early morning, none of us had slept, and the headcount started having trouble. We needed water. Our beefsteaks weren’t getting all they needed—more and more were dropping. Great, we’d get to Wendover with half of our headcount gathering flies on the salt flats.

  Talk was low, spirits dull, as we counted our wounds and remembered our dead.

  Until the Moby Dick came floating out of the sky as quiet as a cloud. She was bashed in, shedding Neofiber panels, her skin patched, re-patched, patched again, sagging, drooping, no windshield, flying low.

  She landed. Tech slid down the ladder with stakes and a sledgehammer to anchor the zeppelin down. We rode over to them. Peeperz followed. And once Tech got the zeppelin secured, Sketchy climbed to the ground.

  And more hugging.

  Sketchy kissed my cheeks. Peeperz wrapped himself around my leg and then fell into a pile of dogs as Bella, Edward and Jacob licked his face. Tech smiled warmly at me.

  Sketchy talked like machine-gun fire. “So them Johnnies wanted to play rough. Tech and Peeperz on the triple Xs shot two of them out of the air. The other two got blown back, prolly to the SLC, and Lord, did we look for you, but the wind was so bad, and we sprouted leaks, and Peeperz on a rope, patching what he could find, and Tech helping, and oh, it’s horrible about Tenisha and Petal, and oh, I’m family now. Like it or not. And we made it. And I got some water and some hay, but we had to jettison most of it....”

  And on it went.

  I could have listened to her forever. They’d made it, along with the Moby, which I loved as much as I’d loved Bob D.

  Now the real work of the night began. We bucked the last of bales of hay from the Moby and set up the collapsible troughs for water. Before long, our beefsteaks were slurping and eating like it was a discount buffet line.

  Aunt Bea started a fire against the cold desert night—wood pallets, cottonwood logs, and some old sagebrush taken from the Moby. The smell of the wood burning, so distinct, made me think of Mama starting the stove on cold winter mornings. I thanked her for having daughters, all of my troublesome sisters.

  Something made me look for Micaiah, but I couldn’t find him. My heart trembled. Would he just leave us without saying goodbye?

  No, I found him picking Delia’s hooves, like he’d done it all his life. When he was done, I watched from a distance as he combed her, patted her, and walked off, gazing up at the night sky, hands on his hips. Right then, with his cowboy hat on, he looked as Juniper as beans, green chili, and buffalo jerky.

  I knew what was coming. Sure I did. He’d go away to the World. I’d take my paycheck and maybe try for Cleveland and get my life back at the Sally Browne Burke Academy for the Moral and Literate, though I’d have to settle the warrants still out for my arrest.

  I steeled myself, limped over, and started off with a joke.

  “You’ve gone country,” I said to him.

  He smiled, a little shyly. “Prolly need new boots.” Those awful alligator boots had nearly disintegrated off his feet.

  “Prolly? Do you mean probably?” I stressed the b’s. “I’m very firm on correct pronunciation.”

  He looked me in the eyes and smirked, almost as well as Pilate. “Yes, very firm.”

  He took me in his arms and kissed me like we’d never part. Or maybe he kissed me like he knew he’d never see me again.

  Sweet, but oh so sad.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I’ve worked my whole life, every day, no vacation. My fondest memories aren’t of paychecks or victories, but of my daughters. Back when they were little, I’d check in on my girls before I went to bed. They still don’t know it, but I’d look at them while they slept. Sharlotte, Irene, and my little Cavatica. I’m blessed. Not because of my successes, but because of my children. In the end, the Juniper teaches us what’s important, but shame on me, it’s a lesson I needed to be taught over and over.

  —Abigail Weller

  Unpublished Notes from the Colorado Courier Interview

  June 6, 2057

  (i)

  STANDING UNDER THE moonlight, in the still of the night, Micaiah kissed me one last time, then pulled me close to him. I put my head on his shoulder.

  He asked an obvious question. “Do you think we can get the headcount into Wendover tomorrow? Do you think we’re close enough?”

  “Yeah,” I said sleepily. The bloody eternity of the day before, the long night, it was catching up to me. My eyes felt pinched and dry. My ankle and shoulder ached like they’d never heal, but the pain grew distant with my boy holding me.

  “It all will change in a few hours,” he said. “I figure I’ll catch a plane to San Francisco. Well, that is if you’ll lend me airfare.”

  I pulled away so he could see my grin. “Richest kid in the world looking for a handout. Now that is what I call irony.”

  “My dad will still be looking for me. And Rachel Vixx—the last of the Vixxes—along with the Severins.”

  “Yeah, but you’ll outwit ’em. You’re clever like that.” I put my cheek back up against him, so warm and comfy.

  “Not as clever as you. You saved me, Cavvy. I can never repay you.”

  “Prolly not,” I muttered. Felt like I could drift off to sleep right there.

  “I’m still serious about the reward money. I promised you six million dollars, and I’ll get it. Somehow.”

  I had to chuckle. “I suppose you better, but I don’t think we’re too worried about it. We have all our beefsteaks to sell. To think, in a few hours we’ll have ten million dollars. Dang.” And I knew Micaiah would get us the money he’d promised. With who he was, with what he had, drumming up cash would be the least of his worries.

  “Sharlotte and I talked,” he said quietly. “I apologized for playing her. She said she understood. She also said if I hurt you she’d take Tina Machinegun and blow my head off to make sure I stayed dead.”

  I laughed. Sharlotte would make it. She didn’t need to be Mama. And she didn’t need a boy to be okay. She was strong and sure in herself.

  His body vibrated as he asked me another obvious question. “If I left you, if I rode off into the sunset like in some old cowboy video, well, that would hurt you, wouldn’t it?”

  I nodded against his warm body. “Yeah, it would.”

  “Then I won’t leave you.” He pressed himself against me harder. “I won’t leave you. No matter what.”

  Our words. Our covenant.

  “No matter what.” I echoed. Emotion filled my throat so I couldn’t swallow. I stepped back, to look him full in the face. “Micaiah, you don’t mean ...”

  He nodded. “Let’s take the truth to the world together. Come with me. Please, come with me.”

  “You won’t be able to get rid of me,” I said, and we kissed again.

  This time the kiss went from sweet, to passionate, to more—got dangerously close to complete immorality—but I wasn’t ready for that, and I dang sure didn’t want to lose my virginity on the Great Salt Flats. Maybe on Juniper dirt, but that was a different story. Whole other book if you want to know the truth.

  “Micaiah, I need to know more about your past.”

  His eyes went down. He pinched his lips together into a line.
I waited, watching him struggle to be honest. Trying.

  “Are you human?” I asked.

  “With you I am.”

  Right then, that was good enough for me.

  (ii)

  Sunday, May 12, 2058, we were less than three miles outside of Wendover. Thanks to some grand larceny on my part, it only took us six weeks to get there. Later, we’d hear everything that happened while we were gone.

  Burlington fell. Three days of fighting and our little militia, bolstered by Dob Howerter’s people, surrendered right around the time we were trying to sneak through Denver.

  Two weeks after that, June Mai Angel marched into Lamar. Worse fighting, but Burlington beef and new conscripts gave June Mai Angel the advantage. She set herself up as Governor of the Colorado territory.

  And dared President Amanda Swain to come and take it away.

  Dob Howerter escaped to Hays to gather guns and an army.

  On the other hand, Mavis Meetchum, like Jenny Bell Scheutz, made June Mai Angel a deal and got to keep her land. Everyone took to cursing Mavis, but she was a tough woman and could take the abuse. She prolly liked the poetry of June Mai Angel’s cause.

  Even in Nevada, we’d hear rumors of giants and strange things in Denver. Bloodthirsty things. People called them Hogs.

  Micaiah had said he’d stolen tanks of the Gulo formula to use as evidence of what his father was doing. He thought that the chemicals had gone up in flames when the zeppelin crashed, but in the end, as we’d learn, that wasn’t the case.

  In my mind’s eye, I could see one of June Mai Angel’s girls or a Psycho Madeline coming across the tanks, opening them up, and getting sprayed by gas. They’d change. Mutate. Making all the fairytales and scary stories of the Juniper come true.

  For us, that was hundreds of kilometers and many months away, but we’d face them later on; those Hogs and June Mai Angel as well.

  (iii)

  Outside of Wendover, we all gathered around the fire, sitting on our saddles. Wren was awake, laughing weakly, open-mouthed, so we could see where Renee Vixx had busted out her teeth.

  Kasey Chambers sat next to Nikki Breeze, holding her hand. Nikki didn’t smile, since she was missing Tenisha something awful.