We both sank to our knees at the same time.
The pain made me gasp—felt like hot coals in my body, and someone was blowing on them to fan the flame.
Above me in the bridge, Petal peered through the scope of her rifle. Pilate and Wren stood next to her.
Through the haze of agony, a plan crept into my head. I heard footsteps running toward me. Good. Let them come and kill me, then my posse could gun them down. They’d escape with Micaiah and save the ranch, and bury me next to Mama, Daddy, and the babies.
Blood dripped down my arm and dribbled down my chest. I figured I’d bleed out, but not before I drew the rest of those soldiers right to me.
The bike rack behind me finally gave way. Christina Pink and Windshadow ran free. Too bad I’d been so cowardly and Mary B and Lambchop had died. Just like I’d done all my life, I’d messed up during a gunfight. Shame on me.
Well, I’d try and make up for my mistake.
I stood and triggered the M320 grenade launcher underneath Tina Machinegun’s gun barrel. An MX2 shell floated through the air. It hit the westernmost building and blew a chunk out of the wall.
It was loud, but I wanted to be louder. “Hey, you skanks!” I screamed. “Come and get me!” Dang, but I was so Wren at that moment.
Soldiers charged around the building, armed and firing. All were dressed in the same uniform.
Bullets splashed all around me, but I dove behind Mary B’s body, still warm, her flanks smelling like sagebrush. I fished more grenades out of her saddlebags. My fingers were slippery with blood, but I managed to slip a grenade into Tina.
I launched another shell out behind me and another explosion rumbled the ground.
My blood warmed me in my parka, and I grinned. Least I wouldn’t die cold.
Pilate, Petal, and Wren opened fire. I prayed to God my plan worked, that they’d get rid of the soldiers and get to Micaiah.
Never seeing Micaiah again made my heart weak. But Sharlotte would. I’d done the right thing. I had to ignore that, so I could reload Tina. I fumbled with a grenade, but my left arm failed me. I dropped the shell. My head was fogging up.
The wind howled sorrow.
More gunfire.
Snow on wet ground.
I could smell Queenie’s brains.
I whispered, “Sorry, Mama. Sorry I ain’t better in a fight.”
Darkness snatched me away.
(v)
I woke to being carried through halls of the office by the scruff of my parka and my feet. Cotton-headed and cotton-mouthed, they must’ve given me something ’cause the pain felt distant and my mind moved slow, sluggishly dreamy. Snow fell on my face, only it wasn’t snow, but flecks of rotted-out ceiling tiles.
Funny, maybe it was the drugs, but I wasn’t scared, not right then. Remembering my ponies, though, shot so I could live, I got weepy.
“Don’t cry, Cavatica.” Pilate’s voice broke through muffled and wavering. “You saved us. Divide et impera. Divided them up so we could cut them down. Those soldier girls went right for you. Good work.”
“But I ran behind Mary B and Lambchop to save myself,” I said, “and I dropped Tina Machinegun first thing. I should’ve been better, but I didn’t … I didn’t …”
“But you did. You’re alive. And Mary B adored you, Cavvy. She would’ve wanted to sacrifice herself to save you. But we have to focus now. I have something important for you to do.”
“I’m shot up, Pilate. What can I do?” I asked weakly.
“Don’t die. And that’s an order.”
They carried me across a big room. Collapsed cubicle walls were stacked in the corners. On them lay the bodies of soldier girls, the leftovers of the soldiers who’d grabbed Micaiah. Pilate and Petal stuck me in the next room, a corner office on bare concrete. Rolled-up carpet lay in one corner leaving the floor covered in fluffy backing like yellow mold. Coils of CAT-6 wire snaked around in a loop near the window.
Stupid salvage monkeys, they’d left behind cabling like they left their Ford out front. Either they’d been lazy or they’d gotten unlucky.
Through broken windows, we had a clear view east into the courtyard and south into the snowstorm blowing.
They put me down into Micaiah’s arms. I could tell right away by the hair on his arms and his thick, male fingers. The power of Micaiah’s touch made me weepy all over again.
“Hey, Cavatica.” Tears thickened his voice. “I heard about how you insisted on coming to get me—how you were going to save me, no matter what.”
“No matter what,” I said.
“No matter what.”
His touch and those words sealed up our love inside them, our treasure chest of a poem only three words long.
Petal peeled off my parka and ripped down my dress top. For a scared second, I thought she’d pull off my brassiere as well. But she didn’t. Micaiah could see my underwear though, and my cleavage. I should’ve been shocked, but it felt so good just to be close to him again.
Petal whispered, “Keep pressure on her shoulder, boy. Little Jack Horner, sat in a corner, bleeding down his thighs.”
“I will,” he said. He bent down and whispered into my ear, “We’re going to get out of this, Cavatica. When we do, things will be different between you and me. I promise.”
I closed my eyes at those words and sighed at my need for him. All my desire had been re-ignited by his touch. Then I realized we were missing someone. “Where’s Wren?”
Pilate knelt by the east window. “We think more soldiers are coming. If so, she’ll flank them like she did in Strasburg and on I-70. Wren’s good at that. Shooting people in the back.”
“Besharam besiya,” Petal spit.
“Love you, too,” I murmured. Oh, I was drunk, drugged, sorrowful for losing my horses, in love with the boy nearly standing on my shoulder. Poor Sharlotte. Poor me.
“Cavatica got lucky, Pilate. Her wounds are really nice.” Petal’s voice scratched out.
“Why’s that?”
“Two shots, clean through. Arm’s only a flesh wound. The one in her upper chest, the bullet glanced off her clavicle, but didn’t break it. She’ll live.” She ripped open a package of U.S. military-grade instant sutures and pressed them into my skin.
I had nice wounds. I found that funny. I laughed.
“Can she fight?” Pilate asked.
“Yes. I have something to help her.”
I stopped laughing.
A heartbeat later, a woman’s voice called from the courtyard through the wind, whistling across the broken glass. “To our enemy in the office building!”
Pilate jerked himself back from the window. “Reinforcements,” he said in a hiss.
“We know you are in there! We know you have the boy!” The voice cut cleanly, sharpened by a precise, Yankee accent.
We fell silent in our corner office. Of course we weren’t going to give away our position by answering. Micaiah and me were up against the western wall, the full spread of windows before us. Pilate and Petal were crouched against the north wall.
I swallowed against my fear, then whispered, “Pilate, those aren’t June Mai Angel’s girls. They ain’t dressed right, and they have AZ3s, brand new by the look of ’em. Do you know who they are?”
“No,” Pilate said, “and I hate being shot at by people I don’t know.”
“Micaiah, were those women sent by your aunts?” I asked.
Before he could answer, the woman’s voice lashed out again. “We have one of your people. We will shoot her in the head if you do not answer.”
Wren. They’d captured Wren.
Pilate spun on Micaiah. “What do you know?”
Micaiah met his gaze. “You have to be careful. They can fight better than anyone you’ve ever met. And aim for the head.”
“Why is that exactly?” Pilate’s mouth twitched like he was holding in a snarl. “Dammit, kid, you should’ve been straight with us from the beginning. If we die, I’m going to beat the truth out of you.
” Pilate paused, grinned. “Wait, no, I’ll beat you before we die. It’ll work better that way.”
The voice from below. “You will give us the boy. You have sixty seconds to bring him out, or we will kill your woman.”
Not just a woman. My sister.
“I’ll deal with you later,” Pilate said to Micaiah. Then to Petal, “Okay?”
Petal nodded. And suddenly, they had a plan. I guess if you spend years fighting wars together, you too can have such telepathy.
Pilate took off out of the office, Petal came over and started wrapping a bandage around me. Where did she get a bandage? She wrapped it tight, quickly and well. “Cavvy, you and your boy, you’ll have to shoot from this office. I’m going to find another place. Maybe in London, to see the queen. Don’t let them see you in here. Don’t fire until you hear me. You’ll hear Mickey Mauser. Hickory dickory dock. Mickey shot up the clock.” Petal leaned in close. She reeked. “We took the AZ3s off the soldier girls, and we have a bundle here, so don’t re-load. Just grab the next one. Quicker. Make sure the safety is off. Aim lower than you think. The kick will buck the barrel. Buck the barrel. That’s fun to say. Buck the barrel.” Then she fell into a rhyme.
Oh little soldier
come play with me
and bring your bullets three
Climb up my rifle
Slide into your grave
You’re dead if you’re a sally
You’re dead if you’re a dave
Petal pressed a strip of EMAT against my neck. EMAT stood for Emergency Medical Absorption Tape, and it was a way of delivering drugs to someone in a combat situation. My skin would absorb the drugs. Petal whispered, “A little pick you up and up and up. To the sky, smiling. But the sky is falling, the sky is falling, the sky is falling down.”
Not sure what chemical was on the adhesive, but my heart thudded up, kickstarted, and suddenly I could see everything around me in crystalline detail.
Petal left the room lugging Mickey Mauser and murmuring rhymes about Chicken Little.
Micaiah crawled over and pulled an AZ3 out of a pile. I slid over up against the north wall with Tina Machinegun pressed against my good shoulder. Out the south window, I could see the horses of the soldier girls, tied to the handrail of the southernmost building. The horses sure were pretty in the snow.
I blinked and found myself staring at Micaiah. He was sweaty, pale, my blood crusting on his hands. I felt embarrassed by that. Not sure why. My blood on his hands. It felt so intimate.
“Looks like your forbidden fruit might get us killed even though you’ve kept the apple in your pocket,” I said.
“I’m sorry.” He winced.
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but now was not the time for any sort of deep discussion. I gripped Tina Machinegun, and slowly inched myself to my left until I could see out into the courtyard.
Two dozen soldier girls in sagebrush camo stood ready to fight. There were so many. How could we fight them all? We needed to get out of there, run away like Chicken Little ’cause it certainly felt like the sky was falling down.
Two soldiers restrained Wren. One of the soldiers pressed my sister’s own Colt Terminator against her head, hair frosty with snowflakes. Her hands were bound behind her back.
Next to them stood the leader. It was the same woman who had killed the horses to get to me—the very same woman that Petal shot. But how could she still be standing? I could see the bloodstains on her chest. Even if Kevlar covered her chest, Petal’s bullet had hit her.
Aim for the head. Micaiah’s words. A shiver tickled my neck.
“You are out of time,” the leader woman shouted.
Pilate’s voice boomed from under us. “Hello ladies, I’m Father Pilate. If you kill me, well, first of all, that’s a sin. Sixth commandment I believe. Or is that the one about coveting thy neighbor’s manservant? I can never remember.” A pause. “Kill me, we kill your rich, viable boy.”
“He’s just bluffing,” I whispered to Micaiah. He nodded, all nervous. I was too drugged for nervous.
Pilate ambled into view, his bandolier of ammo crossing his chest and his Homewrecker dangling in his hand. “I’m Father Pilate. And who may I ask am I fighting today?”
The leader woman didn’t answer. “All we want is the boy. Give him to us and you will live. Refuse us and you will all die.” She chose each word precisely, without a hint of emotion.
Pilate laughed. “Shy about who you are? Well, I see you certainly are well armed. And you all have very similar fashion sense. Very military. Answer me this, though. How do we know you won’t harm the boy? Some of us like him. I don’t, personally, but I can’t just give him to you.”
The woman opened her mouth.
Before she could make a sound, Pilate spoke five words as casually as you please.
“Mary had a little lamb.”
Chapter Eighteen
We made good money recycling brass, nickel, and aluminum from shell casings. Sure were a lot of bullets lying around in the Juniper.
—Calvin “Crush” Jones
60 Minutes Interview
April 27, 2037
(i)
Mary had a little lamb
She also had a gun.
That was how Petal had started the nursery rhyme before.
Not sure where she was or how she finished it this time, but she failed to make the headshot. The leader woman took the bullet in the neck and wheeled backwards.
Next to me in the corner office, Micaiah opened up on his AZ3, and the noise made my head explode. Gunfire in a tight room is like having your eardrums plucked out of your head, hit with a hammer, and then stuffed back into your ear canal with an ice pick.
Since my left arm was iffy, I rested Tina Machinegun on my knee and took aim at the soldiers in the courtyard. I pressed the trigger, but it wouldn’t press.
“Dammit.” Forgot the safety.
The horses of the soldier girls screamed, trying to get away, but they were tied down. Well, not for long. I took aim and fired burst after burst until a bullet snapped through the braided rope tied to the handrail and the horses disappeared into the storm. Good.
I turned back to the courtyard battle.
Wren head-bashed one of the soldiers near her, then drove a knee into another. The soldiers scattered as Petal’s Mickey Mauser tore them apart. Pilate yelled, “Matthew! Mark! Luke! John!” as he took ’em out in groups.
“Gospel writers,” I said. That was how Pilate kept track of his ammunition.
More soldiers were pouring in—or running away—it was hard to tell. I fired twice before the action on Tina Machinegun snapped open. My clip was empty. I’d used all my bullets to free the horses.
Bullets pocked the walls of our hideout.
I dropped Tina and grabbed an AZ3, following Petal’s orders. Back against the north wall, I looked out.
Wren stood with her hands over her head, handcuffed. She’d wriggled herself through her own arms, to get the cuffs in front of her. Then again, handcuffs on Wren were like Hello Kitty charm bracelets on most girls.
She held her hands over her head, but only for a second. The chain melted—Petal aiming true. Wren was thrown back. Either ducking or shot. I aimed at anything around her that moved.
My gun clicked dry, and I slammed in another clip.
“Cavvy!” Pilate shouted. “Petal! Get out of the offices! Now! Get out now!”
“What the …” Micaiah started, but I wouldn’t let him cuss.
I cradled Tina Machinegun in my bad arm and used my good arm to shove him out of the room.
A second later, I found myself on the floor, face first, blinking away concrete dust, ceiling tile snowflakes, general explosion debris. They’d hit the corner office with some sort of artillery shell.
Micaiah helped me up. I leaned on him, and we hurried through the big main room, toward the stairs.
I couldn’t swallow. Dust coated my throat. My left hand on Tina Machinegun was tacky with blood,
from my wounds bleeding again. Didn’t feel the pain and my thoughts were still moving slippery quick from the patch on my neck.
Micaiah and I shuffled down the steps and out into the courtyard. Petal didn’t join us. Wren was also gone. I prayed both were okay.
Pilate and the leader woman stood there, guns in their hands, both staring each other down before they reloaded, feeling each other out to see who might be quicker.
The torn flesh of the leader woman’s neck wound made me wince. What was she? Surely not human. If we hadn’t been in the Juniper, I would’ve sworn she was some cyborg thing, but robotics like that would need electricity.
She held a speedloader for her revolver, a Desert Messiah. Pretty much a hand-cannon packing huge bullets with a diameter base of 13.9 millimeters. Blow a woman’s head clean off.
Pilate held another shell for his Homewrecker.
Of course, Pilate started chatting.
“Nice trick, coming back from the dead,” he said with a smart-aleck grin on his face. “Zombie much?”
The woman answered as if she were following a script even though her voice gurgled horrifically. “If you do not give up the boy, you will die. Others assets will come for him.”
Pilate laughed. “Assets. Aren’t you just so black-ops? I have to know who you are. Actually, a better question is what are you? And why do you want Micaiah enough to come back from the dead to get him?”
The leader woman was sweating. Good. At least she was human enough to sweat. Her eyes flickered over Micaiah and me in the doorway of the building. She sure wasn’t acting like he was her nephew.
“Stay there, Cavatica,” Pilate said. “I’ll get her. Or I might not have to. She should be about to drop any minute from her wounds.”
Didn’t look like it to me. Her color was good, like she’d been dancing at a party and spilled fruit punch down her chest.
Pistol shots. Wren’s Colt Terminators pocked from the other side of the buildings.
“Pilate,” Micaiah said. “Aim for the head. The other women can’t heal as well as my aunts can.”
I felt my eyes go wide. “Is that one of your aunts?”
He nodded. Lines of sweat etched through the dust on his skin.
Dandelion Iron Book One Page 22