Inferno Girls

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  He turned on Mr. Beard. “These are my women. I own them. You want them, well, you’ll have to fight me for them.”

  No one spoke. A second ticked by. Then another.

  Mr. Beard’s laughter rang out, followed by the other men. Laughing and laughing.

  “You’re just some skinny boy,” Mr. Beard guffawed. “You think we can’t take your women from you?”

  “Maybe,” Micaiah said. “But I’ve heard about your laws. You don’t know what I’m capable of, so I would quit talking crapperjack, and take me to Aces. We’ll see what he says.”

  My wounded heart fought with my logic, and my logic failed. Why would he kiss my sisters and pretend all of us were married to him?

  Mr. Beard’s grin split his beard to show yellow teeth. “Oh, we’ll take you to Aces all right. You must be some kind of stud to have these three. Especially Pistols there.”

  “Mic...” Wren started.

  “Shut up!” Micaiah yelled her silent. “You will call me ‘sir.’”

  Wren went to pistol whip Micaiah, but something in Micaiah’s eyes must’ve stopped her.

  “And if you have to use my Christian name,” Micaiah said forcefully, “you will call me Michael.” He turned to address the men. “I’m Michael Carlsbad. And I want to talk with Aces.”

  “You got sack, boy,” Mr. Beard said. “And you’ll get your fill of Aces.”

  Three steam trucks came trundling down the freeway toward us, old Dodge Rams, their AIS steam attachments belching smoke.

  In short order, we were disarmed and dumped in the back, arms tied between our backs.

  Micaiah didn’t give us another glance. He sat regally, chatting with the men, smiling and laughing.

  Like we didn’t matter a bit.

  Say what you will, but that boy could lie. And like a chameleon, he could melt into any role he had to play.

  We didn’t talk to Aces. Micaiah did.

  (ii)

  In the back of one of the Dodge trucks, we sat around the AIS engine as it seethed and smoked. We got off I-70 at the West Glenwood Springs exit. Every foundation had been reduced to a pile of rubble, used as a quarry, no doubt, for building in the city proper. Empty dirt streets, piles of rock, no cars. I wondered at that until we came to another wall of vehicles, stacked ten meters tall.

  Standing in a caged tower, a man with an M16 stood watch. When he saw our convoy, he called down. A gate of welded sheet metal slid open in the middle of the car wall, and we drove through. Houses, buildings, asphalt streets ... Glenwood Springs was a city, alive, thriving, full of men, more men than I could comprehend. And not a single woman of any age in sight. Which confused me even more. I knew some men were still gay, and maybe a whole colony of them made sense, but the way the men were looking at us, they weren’t homosexual. Far from it. Every gaze hungered for my skin. We were fresh meat, brought in off the road.

  Then I wondered how many were viable? Could this Aces have rounded up a whole city of sterile men? But even sterile men enjoyed the attentions of women, in and out of the Juniper. Why come here?

  Maybe it was for the tech. I’d never seen a city in the Juniper so technologically advanced. Machinery ruled every aspect of the city, from pumps churning water through a tangle of aqueducts to a system of pulleys delivering food and parts to various parts of the city. A massive crane on treads moved from one section to another, adjusting cars on the wall, or slamming new ones on top.

  With all the engines working, I would’ve expected the valley to be full of smoke. Then it hit me: they were using the hot springs to power the engines. Sure, the boiling water coming up from the ground would make the perfect energy source. The aqueducts and piping fed a huge greenhouse up on the mountain on the north side of the canyon. Beyond the walls, cattle and sheep meandered, cropping the grass. We’d stumbled upon an undiscovered civilization deep in the heart of the Juniper, and it was ruled by men.

  Like the citadel at the center of a walled medieval city, the yellow-bricked Colorado Hotel lorded above it all. Below the hotel, the red stone complex of the Glenwood Spa and Hot Springs lay sprawled next to the old highway. In the middle sat the famous pool, half empty, half full of steaming, scalding water. Yet something was off about it. Bleachers had been dragged poolside, but what could they be watching? Some kind of swimming competition? Hardly, the way the water was frothing, it’d kill a person before they could take two strokes.

  Men hustled Micaiah away, delivering him to Aces. Wren, Sharlotte, and I were thrown into a hotel room, two queen beds, nightstands, and thick, clean carpet. The door was locked tight from the outside; no doorknob for us. Wren went for the windows, but metal bars had been welded over the panes.

  Sharlotte sat with her eyes closed, rubbing her leg.

  Wren paced. “I can’t believe Micaiah kissed me. Kissed us all. But whatever kind of game he’s playing, it seems to have worked for now.”

  I shrugged. I felt numbed to my center. He’d kissed my sisters in front of me. Right in front of me. Then pranced around like he owned us. My head struggled to overcome my jealous heart.

  Wren continued to pace and ponder. “You see all those men? What kind of place is this? Are they Mormons? Do you think they’re Mormons, Cavvy?”

  “No,” I said. “Or maybe. Maybe all of them are sterile and angry about it.”

  “Or maybe they’re gays? Prolly not, though, not with them stealing women. Unless they’re crazy like the Psycho Princess and just want to kill all women. You think that’s possible, Cavvy?”

  I shrugged my shoulders again.

  Wren didn’t like that. She stomped up and shook me by the shoulders. “Now you just pull yourself together, Princess. Shar and I know he’s yours. I’m just trying to figure out what he’s playing at. And what this goddamn place is.”

  “We’re his wives,” Sharlotte whispered.

  Wren laughed jaggedly. “That’ll be the day.” She paused. “You know, I bet that little rat is going to deal with Aces and then prolly take off. When he’s off his meds, he can be a soulless jackerdan.”

  I wanted to argue that but couldn’t. Micaiah could lie better than anyone I’d ever met.

  “And I’m Shannon,” Shar said. “We’ll see what he’s named you, but we shouldn’t call each other by our real names.”

  Wren growled. “I should’ve killed them all when we had the chance. There was only twelve of them.”

  “That we could see,” Sharlotte reminded her.

  “I ain’t worried about a bullet or two,” Wren said. “Still, we were stupid. When it’s time to shoot, you shoot, not talk.”

  I wanted to ask about Pilate and Rachel, but decided against it. Better for us if Aces and his men didn’t know about the last two members of our crew. But could they rescue us? Doubtful. Pilate’s chest infection kept him pretty well incapacitated, and Rachel hadn’t proven herself in a firefight now that she had emotions.

  But what if she didn’t have emotions anymore? What if we were held up here long enough for her to revert to her original imperatives? Would she kill Pilate and come for us?

  Every part of me was balled up—my face, my fists, my insides—all clenched up and confused.

  The day crawled like a wounded thing toward night. We were brought chipped plates of steak and potatoes along with jars of beer. We didn’t drink them and asked for water. The men laughed at us but complied.

  We talked it all out, but we didn’t really have much information to go on.

  The stars were winking on when keys jiggled the lock, the door opened, and we were led out by more rough men carrying sawed-off shotguns. The message was clear: If we ran, they’d cut us down.

  We were taken to the lobby of the Colorado Hotel, which had been turned into a throne room. Tall candles gleamed everywhere, giving it a dim, smudgy glow. Two fireplaces on either side of the long room popped and crackled. Deer and elk antlers decorated the place, an homage to violence and death.

  On top of a raised dais, on a big,
carved oily chair sat Aces. Had to be him. Standing next to him was our Micaiah, grinning.

  “There are my ladies,” Micaiah said in a loud voice. “Ain’t I a lucky man to own such pretty flesh.”

  Aces smoked a home-rolled cheroot cigar, prolly tobacco taken from the greenhouse I’d seen coming in. He was a lean, hardened man, older than Pilate, but not withered or aged, just older. Green tattoos covered his arms and neck. He was dressed in leather from head to foot: leather chaps, a leather vest, and big leather motorcycle boots. A Fu Manchu moustache dropped from his chin. Salt-and-pepper hair fell to his shoulders; sunglasses held it back from his face to reveal the green eyes of a tiger hunting prey in the night. Aces was a king, but it was clear he was also a predator. Tina Machinegun leaned against his throne and close to his right hand.

  “Tell them,” Aces murmured in a husky voice. I got the feeling he didn’t yell much. Didn’t need to. Everyone knew who ruled Glenwood Springs.

  “Bet you ladies are wondering what kind of a place this is,” Micaiah started out, his voice countrified in a twangy accent as he played his role. “This is the last piece of civilization left on Earth where things are done right. Where men rule.”

  “So it’s a patriarchal society.” I was done being quiet, and I let my shakti show. The fist in my stomach clenched tighter. “That’s why they steal women, ’cause no woman in their right mind would want to live here.”

  “Come on, Cathy,” Micaiah said. “This is the way things are supposed to be. Men are the dominant sex on this earth, always have been, always will be. Out there in the world, hell, in the rest of the Juniper, things are perverted ’cause of the Sterility Epidemic. Aces has set up a city ruled by men. For men.”

  Well, I had my name, Cathy. I didn’t like it. And I was having trouble liking Micaiah as well, but he was obviously spouting nonsense for a reason. I’d have to wait. I’d have to trust him. He had to have a reason.

  Aces breathed out smoke like a dragon appraising gold. He then asked Micaiah a quiet question. “How come they’re yours? All three of them. How did that come to be since they obviously don’t know their place?”

  Micaiah laughed. “Aces, I’m rich out in the world. You know how women like money, and the more money you got, the more women want you. And I’m viable, thank Jesus. But, in the end, I wanted to live in the Juniper. We’ve been wandering around, looking for a place to live like God wanted us to live. Never imagined in a million years I’d find such a paradise here.”

  “Where are the other girls then?” Wren asked. “I thought you guys were all gay when we came in. You mean you ain’t?”

  Aces grinned. “I like that one. She has a fire in her.” He stood up, hefted Tina Machinegun onto his shoulder, and moved down from the dais. “We put gays down like we put down crippled horses and mad dogs. Men are meant for women, women for men. Anything else is a perversion. But then we live in perverted times, with women in charge, controlling every little thing with their emotions and half-witted notions of justice and reality.”

  Evil. I was staring down small-minded evil spewing the poison of prejudice and hate.

  “You didn’t answer my question, Aces.” Wren hissed out his name. “Where are the women?”

  “Behind closed doors. Where they belong. Owned.”

  He flicked cigar ashes onto the floor. A small man moved forward to sweep it up with a whisk broom and then withdrew into the crowd.

  “Ain’t no one going to own me.” Wren held her head high.

  “You’ll take to the yoke eventually,” Aces murmured. He moved our mother’s M16 off his shoulder and studied it. “This is a wonderful weapon. My ancestors used such weapons in Southeast Asia to kill—”

  He said a word that I won’t write. Both sexist and racist—he was ancient and stupid and foul.

  And he wouldn’t shut up. “I come from a long line of fighting men, generations and generations. American warriors. We fought for what was right and just. We fought for what we wanted. With you standing there, full of spirit, so pretty, with such a pretty smile, yes, I’ll fight for you.”

  “Who you gonna fight?” Wren asked.

  Then I knew. What Micaiah was doing made perfect sense. He had embraced the role of our husband so we weren’t free-range females, needing an owner. It sickened me. How could these men be here? How could they think they could own people?

  But the answer was simple. Sexism was an old term, pretty much an outdated idea, with most of the males in the world gone. The very idea staggered me. We were slaves in Glenwood, all ’cause of our gender.

  But then I remembered Becca Olson from the Academy back in Cleveland. In a very real way, she wanted to own Billy Finn ’cause he was a viable male. And I thought about us calling boys “johnsons” to their faces.

  Sexism wasn’t just prejudice; it went deeper, into the roots of a society’s power structures. When men held positions of power, their sexism was aimed at women. Now, women held the power. And in some ways, men had become status symbols, now that you could purchase Male Product from the ARK.

  And yet, I doubted the female community in Grand Junction fought each other over boys or kept the boys locked away. Then again, the Psycho Princesses didn’t imprison males; they murdered them outright.

  My head spun. In the end, it seemed society had devolved into a struggle for power, who had it, and how they could show it.

  Aces let Wren’s question about who he would fight hang in the air for a minute, and then he turned slowly to address Micaiah. “Michael, if you want to live in our city, you will abide by our laws. Viable or not, we fight to keep our women. You may be rich out in the World, but your money is useless here. What matters here is the battle. The best men have the most wives. Are you one of the best men?”

  Micaiah wasn’t grinning or acting foolish, not anymore. He was deadly serious. “Men are measured not merely by their muscle, but by more. Even here. Would you agree?”

  Aces didn’t move. He took a long drag off his cheroot and let the smoke drift across those green eyes.

  Micaiah went on. “Your machines, your aqueducts, the greenhouse up on the hill, all of that was engineered by clever men. Surely intelligence should play a role in the quality of a man. Would you agree?”

  Aces uttered a single word. “Maybe.”

  “I’m seventeen years old,” Micaiah said. “I’m not trained to fight. If you wanted, you could take Cathy, Renee, and Shannon from me easily. I’m not a warrior. However, I am smart. That’s where my strength lies. That’s what makes me a man.”

  Aces didn’t need to say a word. A murmur drifted through the crowd. Then a few outbursts. They wanted battle. They wanted blood. The men of Glenwood weren’t buying what Micaiah was trying so hard to sell them.

  Micaiah didn’t take his eyes off Aces. “Don’t misunderstand me. There will be a fight. But I get to choose my weapon.”

  “What weapon would you choose?” Aces asked.

  Micaiah pointed at Wren. “Her.”

  (iii)

  I expected a gasp of surprise. Instead I got laughter. From everyone except Aces.

  He pinned Micaiah down with his snake eyes. “You’re serious.”

  “Fight her,” Micaiah said the words like a flung knife. “You’ll see.”

  Wren cracked her knuckles. “Yeah, Aces, let’s dance. You’ll see what kind of woman I am. Not some frightened girly ’strogen wifey looking for a yoke and a husband. But a woman lookin’ to put you on your ass.”

  “Not here,” Aces said, “but in the arena.”

  I remembered the bleachers around the pool. That must be the arena.

  Aces went on. “And we’ll fight for the youngest first. Who wants the little one first?”

  The little one. He meant me.

  Mr. Beard stepped forward. “I will, Aces. I saw ’em first. I got dibs.”

  “Okay, Myer. Tomorrow at noon.”

  Wren laughed. “Scared, Aces? You scared of little ol’ me?”

  He mo
ved forward and into her face. “You, I’ll fight for. Not your mouthy sister. Nor the ugly one, with the peg leg. Other men will get them. But I’ll get you.”

  I glanced to Sharlotte, feeling horrible for what he said. The worthless jackerdan.

  Wren didn’t move. She smiled, showing all of her new, regenerated teeth. “You have an extra cigar for me, big boy? I wanna save it and smoke it after I smoke you. While I’m standing over your dead body, I’m gonna light the match off whatever teeth I decide to leave in your idiot mouth.”

  Aces fished into his pocket and removed a cheroot. Wren snatched it out of his hand.

  “Fast.” Aces nodded. “Good. You’ll be a lot of fun once I get you.”

  “Won’t never get me, Aces,” Wren snapped. “Not here on earth and not when you’re burning in hell.”

  Our meeting was over. Men shoved us back into the hotel room.

  Micaiah and our guards were about to leave when he stopped. “You guys go on. I wanna give my babies a little sugar before bedtime.”

  The men grumbled but closed the door.

  We were silent for a minute. Then Micaiah spoke quickly. “I am sorry for everything, but it was the only way. Wren, are you okay to fight?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Me? Have you met me?”

  “Good.” He turned to me and took my hand. “Cavvy, I know this has been impossible for you, but like I said, I did not see another way out of this. Ajita mentioned something about the men fighting for women, and I figured I would gamble on that knowledge. I do have some good news.”

  I smiled. “Tell us. And I accept your apology. It threw me at first, but I get what you’re doing. Clever, as always.”

  Instead of a blush or shrug at my compliment, he talked quickly and quietly. “They have not seen Pilate or Rachel. I am not certain where they are, but we can only hope they escaped without being spotted by Aces’s men. And the ARK army passed through here, twice, looking for us.”

  “How come they didn’t try and take those women?” Wren asked. Then smirked. “Oh yeah, women in Acevedo tanks are prolly not the kind of girls these apes like.”

  Micaiah nodded. “Something like that. Aces talked to them, but us showing up here has raised his suspicions. We are lucky it was only us four, and not all six.”