Dandelion Iron Book One

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  April 27, 2037

  (i)

  The next day passed. Up before dawn, moving headcount until after dusk, barely sleeping in between. Twilight and morning light swirled together until it was like we’d walked all day in our sleep.

  No Moby Dick. No Wren. But no attack either.

  That next night, Sharlotte decided to set up one tent, a place where a few of us could sleep, while everyone else kept watch or slept on the ground.

  Our expedition tent measured eight meters long and five meters wide, big enough for most of our crew, but we didn’t want to work to throw that monster up. Instead, we set up one of our round all-weather four-women yurts. The smell of the waterproof canvas brought back a world of memories of cattle drives to Hays. We slid the stovepipe through a hole in the top of the tent and into the stove inside. With two bunkable cots, the tent could sleep four easily.

  Sharlotte insisted I join Breeze and Keys for a good, solid night’s sleep. I didn’t protest all that much. Too tired.

  Inside the tent, I noticed Breeze wore the little plastic and wire bracelet Keys had woven. I watched them closely. They never touched, but never strayed far from one another. Every glance was like a gentle caress.

  They were gillian. No doubt. I debated telling Sharlotte, but we didn’t need that kind of drama with everything else going on. And they were being discreet.

  Watching Breeze and Keys, petite and pretty, loving each other, wordlessly, deeply, made me even more confused. How could that love be bad? If only I had someone to look at me like they were looking at each other.

  Longing for Micaiah hit me. Only for a second, and then I laughed at myself. I hoped Sharlotte enjoyed such glances. I bet she was all a-flutter inside, despite her best efforts to remain cool and business-like.

  I was pretty proud of myself when I went to sleep that night. Letting go of Micaiah was going to be a process, but I felt well on my way.

  (ii)

  Another night. Another day.

  A nasty breeze blew off the Rockies, which were white where they weren’t bruised blue like our sleepless faces. Interstate 70 ran penny-nail straight toward the mountains on crumbling bridges of concrete and asphalt. The salvage monkeys were smart enough not to burn the asphalt on the bridges, thank God. Below us slouched the ruins of Denver, deserted, or so it seemed.

  To keep the fear out of my head, I played a little game of derelict-fast-food-building bingo. I started with “B” for Burger King. All the red was rubbed off the sign, so it was hard to read. “I” for Jack-In-The-Box. I loved their Oreo cookie milkshakes. “N” for Wendy’s. The wind and sun had wiped clean the freckles on the smiling little girl. “G” for Good Times, and back in Cleveland, Anju and I used to go there for their frozen custard. “O” for Taco Bell. The bell on the sign was bashed in. Broken glass twinkled in the morning sunlight on bare ground, all the asphalt long gone.

  We spent the afternoon in a hush, hurrying past downtown Denver to the south. One of the kings of the Juniper salvage industry, Crush Jones, swore he’d scavenge the buildings down to their sub-basements, but in the end it had turned out to be too much work. He started at the top but gave up, so what was left of the towers looked like broken teeth.

  We passed the old Purina rendering plant. The shattered windows stared at us with moaning ghost eyes. Funny, we also passed the old National Western Stock Show grounds, which Annabeth’s mother, the Widow Burton, talked about. Ours were prolly the first cows to go past there in thirty years. For generations, the National Western had been the biggest stock show in the country, if not the world, and you’d get a million people strolling through there, looking and buying a million farm animals and eating funnel cakes and watching rodeo. The National Western allowed city folks to enjoy the ranching life without getting their shoes dirty. After the Yellowstone Knockout, they moved the stock show to Hays, Kansas.

  I remembered how Widow Burton talked about the old National Western with a sizzle in her eye—all the flirting and dancing and kissing.

  My mind couldn’t quite imagine it. A dozen boys for every girl, all of them exchanging smiles. Wow. If I had lived in such a world, giving up on Micaiah would’ve been easier.

  I could’ve walked down five steps and found an even better one. But would I? I had a feeling even when boys were plenty, Micaiah would’ve stood out.

  We set up the tent again that night, put in the same four bunkable cots, and lit a fire in the stove to keep them warm. Pilate, Petal, and Micaiah would get a turn in the tent. The rest of us would camp out on the highway and keep watch or stay with the headcount, divided equally behind us and in front of us.

  My remuda lay between the tent and the first of the cattle. Like the cows, my ponies stamped restlessly and shook themselves, signs of stress. They wanted off the ramp. I couldn’t blame them a bit, but I was getting annoyed. Just when I got comfortable, Puff Daddy raised a stink, and I shucked myself out of my sleeping bag to go and get him under control. It was chilly, but pretty. Stars milked up the sky, while the moon rose from the horizon, spilling a silver glow over the elevated highway and the dead city beneath.

  I was trying to soothe my ponies, when Christina Pink ambled over, her reins tied to the horn of her empty saddle. She was Wren’s horse, a piebald Gypsy Vanner mare and one of our biggest horses with the endurance of a tractor. Wren liked her ’cause they were both snake-bit mean. Christina Pink loved to fight with my sister, but loved to fight Puff Daddy more. Had to keep those two separate.

  Which I did. But if Christina Pink had come back riderless, either Wren had fallen off or my sister had re-joined our crew in secret.

  I looked about and that’s when I saw Wren duck into the tent.

  Wren hadn’t left us! She was alive! My first thought was to go after her, talk to her about what she’d been doing.

  I took two steps toward the tent and stopped. The silhouettes of Wren and Pilate closed in an embrace. Just the two of them. Only saw them together for a minute. Wren turned off the sapropel lantern and the tent went dark.

  Petal was in there with them, but knowing her, she would be out cold, so it was like the two were really alone.

  And where was Micaiah? Not in that tent.

  My stomach turned, thinking about what Pilate and Wren might be doing. It wasn’t right. Wren didn’t want no baby, which meant Pilate really was a dog.

  Sure explained why Petal hated Wren. Explained that perfectly.

  I backed away, claws of disgust tore up my insides. Then I saw something that added poison to the claws.

  Sharlotte and Micaiah sat on the bones of a sofa, looking up at the stars. He put his arm around her, and she took his other hand in hers. They were all snuggled up and romantic like in one of my fantasies.

  Wanting them to be together and happy was a lot different than seeing them together and happy. I backed away, silently, and swallowed the hurt.

  I’d been the third wheel before, with Anju and Billy Finn, but that had been a whole different story. Billy Finn was fine, but not a boy for me.

  Micaiah?

  He was my first kiss, the first boy I’d ever held, or really talked to. He was smart, so smart, knowing about the steam engine and even guessing the cost of our headcount though it was clear he wasn’t any kind of rancher.

  His eyes. Those bright blue eyes. Bright as a sparkle. Like Sharlotte said.

  I let my horses lull me back into my right mind. Puff Daddy even settled down, and that was a great kindness.

  If only there were more boys, I kept thinking. If only I had more boys to choose from. If only.

  I knew the truth, though, deep down. I’d been lucky to kiss a boy like Micaiah. Sharlotte was even luckier.

  The next morning, Christina Pink was gone. So was Wren.

  (iii)

  Our cattle stopped moving on the early morning of the fourth day since the attack. They all stopped square in the middle of the freeway and wouldn’t move. Tongues drooped from open mouths and eyes were dull. They ne
eded water and they needed it right away. Their bodies packed in tighter and tighter as more cows caught up to the traffic jam.

  The stink of them hit me like a hammer—the plop and spray of them relieving themselves. Quite a noise, smelly and disgusting.

  Charles Goodnight had been walking slower and slower, so he’d been pushed to the back to walk near Aunt Bea and the chuck wagon. Betty Butter had taken over the front. She had simply stopped and apparently every one of the beefsteaks agreed with her decision.

  She glared at us. Snot leaked from her nose to drip onto the pavement. Others around her let up cries of complaint, wails of frustration. Betty stayed quiet and vexed.

  We’d made it to the western suburbs of Denver, near some major interchange. The buildings and houses around us were silent, eerily so.

  I didn’t know the name of the streets ’cause all the signs had been salvaged. My ponies and I were shoved to the left side, next to the concrete wall with Crete.

  Micaiah rode on the far right side with Sharlotte, both stuck there by the motionless cattle.

  Dolly Day called from the front of the herd. “Hey, boss lady, now what? Looks like these girls are done, and to tell you the truth, so am I!”

  Sharlotte didn’t answer. Tina Machinegun lay across her lap, and she had her head down. What was she doing? She couldn’t let Dolly Day talk to her like that.

  I yelled back. “Hey, Dolly, give us a minute.” I wanted to go and confer with Sharlotte, but the cattle jammed the freeway. Luckily, I’d saddled up Puff Daddy that morning. He was big enough to push through the beef, but his temper ran hot.

  The cries of the cattle grew louder. Thirsty, hungry, tired, some bashed each other, and others bashed back. A stampede on the highway might just kill us all. Or at the very least, we’d lose millions of dollars in beef left on the pavement to rot.

  “What are we going to do, Cavatica?” Crete asked.

  I had no answer, but I didn’t want my horses hurt. “Don’t know, but take my remuda back to Aunt Bea. Go slow. These beefsteaks are on a hair-trigger.”

  She didn’t argue and left with my ponies.

  Sharlotte tilted her head to talk to Micaiah as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Well, I did. I had a ranch to save, and I couldn’t do it stuck on a highway in enemy territory.

  I patted Puff Daddy and whispered into his ear, “Okay, Puff, we’re going to go slow and easy, yeah?”

  He snorted. Answer enough. I got my lariat ready, took in a deep breath to gather my shakti, and then maneuvered the stallion into the cows. They squealed at us, bawled, pushed away, pushed back, and their big, swaying, sweaty bodies pinched my legs.

  The day was warm, which didn’t help any, and dry, so dry.

  “Cavatica Jeanne, you okay?” Sharlotte called out.

  I wasn’t going to raise my voice to answer. Not when I was shoving my way through kilotons of horns, hooves, and hate.

  I reached Betty Butter. She stared at me like she’d love to stomp my head to mush. Her ear flicked, she snotted and sneezed, then returned to giving me the evil eye.

  I tossed my lariat around her. “Listen, Betty, I’ve known you your entire life. I was there, right there, when you were born in the south ditch. Now, we need you to move ’cause you are a natural leader. When you move, all your friends’ll move, even Bluto. I know you know Bluto ’cause you two like each other, well, like each other when you aren’t hating each other. You get me?”

  Too bad that big, nasty cow couldn’t tell me in English what she was planning to do.

  I turned my back on her, in complete trust, and stepped Puff Daddy forward. I would’ve dragged Betty behind him, but I didn’t need to. The minute the rope grew taunt Betty followed.

  And the herd moved with her.

  I trotted on past Dolly Day, who had her toothless maw open, laughing, and congratulating me. “Well, dang, Cavvy, ain’t you something. You got her going, and without too much fuss. And we all thought that fancy school might have schooled the cattle-drivin’ out of you.”

  My hands were shaking, sweat leaked down from my hat, and my heart banged about in my chest. “No, Dolly, not hardly. But you and I know we got lucky. Another bad day on this highway and we might find ourselves in the middle of a worser mess.”

  “We’ll just put you in charge,” she said back.

  “Not hardly,” I repeated. “I’m way too young.”

  I stood up on my saddle and caught sight of Sharlotte and Micaiah. My sister gave me a thumbs up. I’d been useful, and being useful meant a lot to a woman like her.

  Again, the debt I owed my family lessened a bit.

  Wendover, Nevada never felt closer.

  Something in the sky caught my attention. A zeppelin zoomed toward us. Machineguns on top. Machineguns on the bottom.

  Coming in fast.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Someday there won’t be anything left to salvage. Do you know what I predict? Ranchers, farmers, communities of strong people will come to work the soil and tend animals. If I’m lucky, I’ll see the day, and the Juniper will be a magical place.

  —Mavis Meetchum

  Colorado Courier Interview

  August 4, 2032

  (i)

  The zeppelin chugging into sight was a Jonesy, but I couldn’t see her name. Smoke belched thick from her steam engine.

  Then she turned, just enough for us to let out a happy yell. It was the Moby Dick, finding us right when we needed her. I’m pretty sure angels fly around heaven in dirigibles.

  Sketchy maneuvered the zeppelin down onto the highway, behind our bawling headcount, complaining, not knowing that they were about to be served a take-out dinner.

  We tied the zeppelin downwind from the cattle ’cause if they smelled the water and hay on the Moby Dick, they’d take off after it, and there would be chaos.

  Sketchy and Tech climbed down the rope ladder, and Tech hugged me hard. “Oh, Cavatica, we were so worried.”

  Sketchy then blasted out the story. “We saw the army of that goddamn June Mai Angel, and they took shots at us, and we had to fly up north, but we couldn’t find you, which is kinda funny, losing a big ol’ herd of cows. I kept bein’ mean to poor Peeperz, but I was just so scared. And then Tech thought maybe you’d keep on I-70, but that would be crazy, and then she said that you Weller girls are crazy, and we headed west. Which is good we did. But it’s dang strange. Denver is empty. I guess all the soldiers are out on the plains, which meant y’all picked the absolute best time to run west. It’s so great seeing you, and Pilate, and all your people again.”

  She didn’t ask about Wren, and I was glad. Thinking about him and Wren together hurt my heart.

  Tech gave me a final squeeze then took off to help Sharlotte and Micaiah secure the mooring lines.

  The boy’s nose was sunburned ’cause he didn’t have a hat. Made him cuter. Not that I cared any more.

  “Who’d you guys pick up?” Sketchy asked. “Or are they growing handsome boys in Denver now that June Mai is gone?”

  I told her the little we knew about him, and Sketchy put on a pout. “That damn outlaw and her Cargadors and grappling hooks. It’s a shame.”

  “Do you think he was headed to Vegas?” I asked.

  Sketchy shook her head. “Maybe, but such a trip would be a bundle of money and twice the cash. Folks would just as soon go suborbital across the Juniper for the same price.”

  I slapped my thigh. “That’s what I thought.”

  Micaiah asked Sharlotte something, which elicited a bright smile from my sister.

  “Well lookey there.” The Moby Dick’s captain breathed out.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, feeling pretty calm about the whole situation.

  “Dang, but he looks familiar. Hey, boy!” Sketchy called out. “You spend time in the ZZK?”

  He looked confused. And more than a little worried.

  “She means Buzzkill, Nebraska,” I explained.

  Micaiah wandered over and shook
Sketchy’s hand. “No, ma’am,” Micaiah said. “I’ve not spent much time in the Juniper at all.”

  Sketchy studied him for a long time. “You famous? Like in Hollywood video? I like video, but I never get to watch any, only when we venture out into the World, which isn’t often. Not sure if Cavvy told you, but we got a Kung Pao Eterna battery, which means we got the fastest Jonesy in the world. Pretty sure. Pretty sure.”

  “A Kung Pao?” His eyebrow perked. “Wow, I’d like to see that but not right now. Sharlotte wanted me up front, to keep stragglers in check.” With that he was off.

  Our boy, famous? Maybe that was why he had escaped into the Juniper. Got tired of the paparazzi. I did recall how he handled being the center of attention. Then again, he was a boy, and boys either got used to the instant fame or turned dreadfully shy, like Billy Finn.

  Sharlotte saw me idle, and she had a fix for that. “Hey, Cavvy, go help Micaiah at the front. The herd is getting restless.”

  That was an understatement. Our headcount was thirsty, hungry, mad for being run hard for days on end, and even madder for being crammed onto a freeway. The whining, piping, and moaning of the cows got worse and worse, while our team pulled long, blue collapsible troughs out of the Moby Dick’s rear bay doors. The Neofiber troughs could be set up in a second, and Tech had julie-rigged a system of hoses to deliver the water. Soon those beefsteaks would be happy enough.

  I threw a leg over Puff Daddy and pushed through to the front of the herd.

  A cloud covered the sun for a moment. My nose warned me of the snow.

  Micaiah spun around on Mick. Standing his stirrups, he scanned the remnants of houses.

  We were still elevated, but ahead of us, the road dropped down a gradual incline to where an off ramp led to the dirt of an old street and the tangled brush of a river glen. If the cattle caught the scent of the water, we wouldn’t be able to stop them.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He opened his mouth to answer.

  A gunshot answered for him.

  (ii)

  The report of an MG21 echoed across the landscape. Betty Butter let out a bellow that started in her butt and threw itself out of her mouth.