Storm Girls (The Juniper Wars Book 4)

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  I sent good luck to Sketchy, Tech, Peeperz, and the Moby. They hadn’t found us yet. Maybe they were leading the remaining ARK soldiers on a goose chase. No way to know.

  Then I missed all my cows, all of them, the whole batch, but especially Bluto, Betty Butter, and Charles Goodnight, the best steer ever to nose through sage to get to the good grass underneath. God bless my cows. And our dogs, Bella, Edward, and Jacob.

  Wren’s head was down. I knew she was thinking of Dutch, but there were no tears on her face. I had the feeling she was done crying.

  Well, me too.

  Wren raised her head. “Now, the good part. I can’t say nice things like Sharlotte or weird things like Pilate, and I can’t convince y’all of things like Cavvy or Micaiah. Hell, I’m the wrong person to be talking right now. But it’s important we celebrate. We beat all them kutias. Used our fists, guns, and three armies, and we beat ’em.”

  “I’m so very moved.” Pilate sipped and smirked, all at the same time.

  “You can go jack yourself, Peter,” Wren yelled, almost a growl, and yeah, she was changing, her voice came out thunderous.

  Made me tired. Made me sad. But I couldn’t give in to the sadness. Wren was trying to find her other side, and I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to try and help her. “You did good, Wren,” I said. “We’re alive. We did it. We crossed to Wendover and came back with armies and super soldiers and all sorts of crapperjack.”

  “Language, Cavvy,” Sharlotte said out of habit. Then corrected herself. “No, that’s about the right word. Cavvy is right. Wren, thank you for the speech. Thank you for trying to get us to celebrate. But I’m thinking we need a song. You want to sing your beer song?”

  “No. I have another song to sing. Y’all know it, but I wanna sing the Renee Crowell version.” Wren cleared her throat. And she sang the first verse of “Wayfaring Stranger.” Her voice was bad, but her feelings were true, and she sang it ’cause she knew the role of the outsider, the traveler, the stranger. She’d been playing it her whole life.

  “Now, let’s sing it together,” Wren said.

  And we did. We raised our voices in the night, and when we sang about our lost sister, I sang for Rachel as loud as I could, so loud that if heaven wasn’t empty, God would hear me, and He’d know my suffering.

  We sang the third verse:

  I’ll soon be free, a reformed stranger

  My mind at rest in my family home

  I’ll drop my hate and all my anger

  and no more will I have to roam

  I am redeemed by my mother’s heartache

  I am redeemed by my father’s love

  I’m going home just to see them

  ’Cause I love them, love them so.

  And we didn’t sing it like a religious song, but like a war song, ’cause we didn’t have a home. We felt destined to roam forever, and I clung to my hate and anger.

  More than that, our war wasn’t over. Unlike Wendover, we knew we’d find more battle in Hays, Kansas.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Hold me closer,

  Hold me tighter

  I’m a terrible web

  And you’re the spider

  —Lizzy Leigh

  (i)

  I STOOD IN THE SHOWER for a long time. I had the waterproof radio on, and I was listening to Pearl Cornell, a soft country music song, and I had to smile. Hot water, music, electricity, in the Hays’s Marriott Conference Center and Hotel. I couldn’t quite handle video yet, all the shows, all the channels, the whole library of video I could watch, overwhelmed me. I’d missed an entire season of Lonely Moon.

  Heck, I could call Anju, my friend in Cleveland, if I wanted to hear all I’d missed. I didn’t have my own slate yet, but the hotel room did.

  I dried off with a big, huge, fluffy towel; it was like a blanket for the bathroom. From the little coffee maker, I retrieved my mocha and took a sip. I closed my eyes at how rich and delicious it was.

  If you’re an atheist, sip a mocha, and you’ll believe.

  Damn, but Micaiah being rich finally paid off. We got a ride into Hays in frictionless SUVs rented from the Hays Avis, driven by one of his buddies, some slick, rich guy who had a collection of thousand-dollar sunglasses. A single phone call, and Paul had flown in and just grabbed us. He had even brought a frictionless flatbed truck for Alice, since no way could she fit in the Toyota Comanche.

  Micaiah had already had started notifying the Hays news outlets for an interview. He had a news conference set up in a matter of minutes. And so far, no Severins had come calling to murder us. We didn’t hear a peep from the ARK, the local authorities, or the FBI. It seemed our crimes had either been forgiven or forgotten.

  We still didn’t know what had happened to the Moby or her crew. Nor did we have any news on Nikola Nichols and the other survivors from our battle of four armies.

  Micaiah had booked us a block of suites in the Marriott and we’d gotten clean. We’d had to buy New Morality dresses, and I stood in front of the mirror, drabbed in gray, in a dress five sizes smaller than I’d had in Cleveland. The dresses were so stupid, but we were dealing with the public, and they had certain stupid expectations.

  I walked around, feeling at my protruding hip bones. My face was so thin, but so was my hair. It looked bedraggled, wispy and strawed. My eyes were big on my face, which should’ve made me cute, but instead, they were ringed by storm-cloud bruises ’cause I couldn’t sleep. Nightmares. Blood. Huge monsters. Mama’s grave full of rats and maggots. A haunted look filled my eyes. I was jumpy. I was a mess and looked it.

  Before I left the bathroom, I slipped Wren’s fateful bullet into the pocket of my dress. Funny, but having that bullet made me feel better.

  I found Alice sitting on the bed like an ogre, hunched over under the ceiling, but she was clean and smelled far better. She’d managed to fit through the double-doors of our penthouse suite. We couldn’t get her into the shower, so we gave her a bottle of body wash and a towel she used as a sponge. Drying her off took three more towels. Then we had to have a special gray dress made for her. Micaiah’s money made that possible.

  Alice was quiet mostly, staring off into space for long periods of time, like she was trying to remember when she’d been human. And she’d sing “Wayfaring Stranger” in murmurs. We’d kept her hidden, smuggled her into the hotel room up a freight elevator, ’cause we were going to unveil her at the big press release. She was proof of what Tibbs Hoyt and the ARK had been doing in the research facilities. If they didn’t have a cure I could give to LaTanya, they’d have to think up one quick.

  I kept pondering what Dutch had said about the gas-engine cars, about the fact the ARK had shielding which worked in the Juniper. And I kept thinking about things Micaiah had said.

  I figured there was a secret ARK research facility in the Juniper based on certain things Micaiah had hinted at. Like when he had talked about growing up and riding bikes on lava beds, and I couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t talking about a secret ARK clinic in Hawaii. No.

  And if the ARK did have a secret base in the Juniper, and if they had ties with President Jack, our four-term ex-president, he’d prolly know where it was.

  One thing I couldn’t quite figure out, though ... if the ARK could bring electricity back to the Juniper, why hadn’t they? Or was it only to keep their secret base a secret?

  Alice’s singing and murmurs roused me from my obsessing.

  I shook myself so I could focus. “Alice, you okay?” I asked. “This is the big day. You ready for the spotlight?”

  She didn’t respond. Her lips moved, singing the song.

  I walked over and put a hand on her furry arm. “Alice?”

  She moved her eyes, slowly, and finally looked at me. “I’m going coco again,” she whispered. “On the plains, running and fighting, Alice could forget. Now, in this place, Alice can feel it. Everyone so pretty, and Alice so ugly and big. Alice a monster. Monsters kill. I want to kill all the pretty.”
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  I shivered. If she lost it, I wasn’t sure what we’d do. She was huge, strong, and hard to take down due to her healing abilities.

  “Sissy,” I said quietly. “You’re my sissy, Alice. You saved me. You love me. And I love you. Only a little while longer, just a little while, and we can give you medicine. Please.” We had talked about it, and Pilate suggested anti-psychotics, or some type of powerful psychotropic drug. I thought it was a good idea, but what we really needed was a cure. Tibbs Hoyt needed to clean up his many messes, which included not just Alice, but LaTanya, the other Gammas, and most likely my sister Wren, as well.

  I’d asked Micaiah if Hoyt might have a cure, and he’d been honest with me: The ARK didn’t want to spend research dollars trying to reverse a mistake they could fix in the next iteration of the drug.

  Jackerdans.

  Alice sighed. “Okay, ’Teeca. Alice try. Alice try.”

  (ii)

  I got her off the bed. She had to crawl and squeeze herself out of the door, and then she had to walk hunched over. We took the freight elevator down.

  Micaiah had rented the entire convention center and had invited the press. Every news outlet, all the reporters, came flocking.

  Micah Hoyt, son of Tibbs Hoyt, finally found in the Juniper!

  It was big news.

  June Mai Angel had said the press had been silenced when she went to them before, and that the American people weren’t too keen on stories about the realities of the Sino veterans. Well, give the American people a celebrity lost for months in the wilderness of the Juniper and watch the ratings soar. Everyone would win. Except for two people: President Amanda Swain and the awful things she did to our vets, and Tibbs Hoyt and the awful things he had done to humanity.

  Sharlotte met us in the lobby of the empty convention center. We had it all to ourselves.

  Sharlotte stood on the very best prosthetic leg money could buy. She looked good in her dress, which wasn’t gray, but a pale peach with a little lace on the collar and sleeves. Not New Morality, but almost. Kinda surprised me.

  She smiled at me when she noticed me looking. “I’m tired of looking like a storm cloud. I’d rather have a little flair. And June Mai helped me pick it out.”

  “June Mai?” I asked.

  Sharlotte reddened. “Her. Yes. She’s being very nice to me. She knew all about Mama and our family from her spies.”

  “Where is June Mai? With Pilate?” I asked.

  Sharlotte scowled. “Now why would you say that? And no, she isn’t. We’re all meeting in Alcove B to get ready for the press conference. I’m sure they are in their separate rooms.” She seemed upset, too upset, about what I had said. Why should she be? Jealous of June Mai being with Pilate? It didn’t make sense, but I let it go.

  Alice stood over us, mouthing words, trying not to go coco and murder us all. My life had become very strange, that I wasn’t so much worried about Alice and her insanity, but more about what was happening between Sharlotte and June Mai Angel.

  “Where’s Wren?” I asked.

  Sharlotte sighed. “Still in her room. Can you go talk to her?”

  Then I got afraid, very afraid. Wren hadn’t left her room, and the way Sharlotte’s face blanched when I asked, it could only mean one thing.

  I put Alice’s hand in Sharlotte’s. “Take Alice over to Alcove B,” I said. “Be gentle. She’s having trouble.”

  “Just a poor wayfaring stranger, just a poor stranger, oh,” Alice whispered the song lyrics.

  Sharlotte agreed and led her away.

  Panic choked me. What was going on with Wren? How fast was she changing? Micaiah had said the genetic mutations could linger underneath the surface for months and then come out in days, with a rapid metamorphosis, turning humans into Gammas.

  Shaky, I walked from the convention center to the lobby of the hotel proper and found a complimentary slate. I swept my fingers over the screen to dial Wren’s suite.

  Wren picked up. Only I couldn’t see her. No, I could only see a shadowy face, thick and distorted, then a roar, and I was disconnected.

  I forced a swallow down my throat. She was changing. Terrible timing. Worst timing ever.

  (iii)

  The slate’s screen returned to the schedule of the convention center. There was only one event, Micaiah’s press conference at 10:00 am in the Grand Ballroom.

  I shivered. It was a mistake. Micaiah had set it for noon, straight up. I had joked that at high noon we were going to gun Tibbs Hoyt’s empire down, using tech and information instead of bullets.

  But on the slate, it said the fireworks would start at 10:00 am.

  I moved to the desk. I wanted to call Wren back, but I knew I needed to face her in person, whatever she was becoming.

  “What time is the press conference?” I asked the clerk.

  She checked her schedule. “10:00 am. It’s happening right now. All the news people are already in there.”

  My knees went weak. I’d been betrayed.

  I walked on my trembling legs past Alcove B, where my people were gathering to talk about something that was already taking place.

  Inside the Grand Ballroom, on the other side of the conference center from Alcove B, a crowd of people and reporters filled the room. Too many people to allow any seats at all. Everyone stood, packed in solid.

  All the lights were focused on the stage in front, at Micaiah, who sat at a table. Behind him stood Marie Atlas and Marisol, both dressed in New Morality dresses, looking prim and proper.

  I was mystified for a minute, and then I was pissed.

  Micaiah. Severins. Together. What was going on?

  What ... in ... the ... hell?

  I shoved my way through, pushing people out of the way viciously, trying to get to the front and the stage there.

  Security guards threaded their way through the crowds, coming for me. I was seized by two big women with dead eyes. Even though they wore police dresses, I knew they were Cuius Regios.

  I still held the complimentary slate in my hand from the Marriott, that was my only weapon. But who was I fighting?

  “Micah!” I yelled up to the stage.

  Micaiah smiled. “Yes, there she is now. One of the people who saved me. Cavatica Weller. Please, bring her up. I wasn’t sure they would show up. They are a very private family.”

  Instead of escorting me out of the room, they marched me onto the stage.

  Marie Atlas and Marisol smiled and kept masks on their faces, but their eyes remained dead. Marie Atlas had an earpiece like she was also working security even as she stood there smiling.

  I was plunked down next to Micaiah.

  The lights blinded me, the noise was so loud, the murmuring, the noise of the crowd, and I realized I was on live video, broadcasted around the world. And I looked terrible. Vain of me, but that was what I thought.

  Before I could say a word, Micaiah drew me to him and kissed me.

  In front of everyone, he kissed me, and I felt it, felt him, the emotion, the power, the wonder of the kiss. He pulled back. Tears were in his eyes. One slid down his cheek.

  He was back. He had taken his serum, and he was back, I knew it. It wasn’t a trick. He was feeling. An excited joy bubbled up through me, and I truly believed Micaiah had a plan and everything would turn out just perfectly. We’d win, and Tibbs Hoyt would lose.

  Then: “I am sorry,” he whispered. He then bent close and whispered into my ear. “I made a deal. My life and the cure for your safety. If you do not keep quiet and cooperate, your family will be killed. I love you. I apologize. But this is the only way.”

  It was a Judas kiss he gave me.

  He wasn’t medicated. He was his old, cold self, and I wasn’t being held by my Micaiah, but by the soulless clone, Micah Hoyt.

  I said he’d only ever get to sucker punch me once. No, he had just smacked me again. And told me he loved me while he did it.

  Micaiah pulled the chalkdrive from around his neck. “Cavatica Weller helped
me get this out of the Juniper. It is research data stolen from my one of my father’s research facilities. You are seeing corporate espionage at its worst. This chalkdrive contains some new data on how to use Male Product more effectively, so families can have more of a choice on the kind of children they have. Also, not only will we have healthier children, we will have children immune to various diseases, including cancer. While my father and the American Reproduction Knowledge Initiative hasn’t cured the Sterility Epidemic, they are closer than ever to making this world a better place.”

  I balled up a fist to hit Micaiah, to sock him in the nose, grab the chalkdrive, and then scream the truth into the cameras.

  Before I could do a thing, a fat man with a red face and a million-dollar suit emerged from a side door. The room erupted in chatter and camera flashes. Tibbs Hoyt climbed the stairs, walked across the stage, and pulled me up from my seat. Then he drew me into an embrace.

  My skin wanted to crawl right off my body.

  He released me and never looked at me again. He picked up the chalkdrive, and then in a shaky voice, held up the cure for the Sterility Epidemic. “Thank you, Cavatica, thank you for saving my son. Your past crimes have been forgiven, and your family will want for nothing. Now that the United States peacekeeping forces have freed Burlington, I promise you, I will give you the money you need to rebuild your ranch. Don’t worry, America’s troops will free Denver as well from the tyranny of June Mai Angel and her terrorists.”

  He sat down next to Micaiah. Stunned, I sat down on Hoyt’s left, like the unrepentant thief in the crucifixion. Micaiah, on his father’s left, was fully complicit in the drama.

  I could imagine what was going on in Alcove B. I could picture all of the soldiers, holding Pilate, June Mai, Sharlotte, and Alice at gunpoint. Not guns, but stunners and charge guns—one wrong move, either zapped or disintegrated.

  While Wren was in her room, mutating into something nothing on Earth could stop.