Before I knew it, my voice had become a vicious hiss. “According to who? You? I bet you told her there was no other side for her. How can you take away hope from people? And I saw Wren going into your tent, and I know about Betsy and all those other women. I know you ain’t no real priest, the way you tricked that soldier girl in Strasburg into running by quoting scripture. And you ruined Mama’s funeral with your atheism. Where’s your goddamn faith?” I cursed and didn’t apologize. I was wiping away tears as fast as I could cry them. If we hadn’t been surrounded by the enemy, I’d have screamed at him.
Pilate sat on his bed, face in his hands, not saying a word. And this was Pilate, who loved talking like he loved cigars and coffee.
“Well, say something,” I said.
He looked up at me. He was so gaunt now. The light had gone out in his eyes. Like a dog, whipped for no reason by a cruel master.
“Say something, dammit,” I said again.
He swallowed and rattled off another deep cough.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Sorrier than most.” He shut his eyes, then clenched his teeth and growled, “But you have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re young and stupid, and you think life is all going to come together like a paint-by-numbers picture of rainbows and unicorns.”
“I don’t think that,” I said, but I didn’t sound very convincing. I wanted to hate on him some more, but he looked brutalized.
“And here we are, once again,” he said. “The enemy is at the gate, and we are outnumbered and outgunned, and it’s all turned to crapjack. And the only thing that might save us would be how well we can shoot. All of us. Petal included. But in order to shoot, she’ll need her medicine.”
“I can’t.” When Petal talked, we both jumped.
“Sorry,” she whispered, “but I can’t wait until we reach Nevada to stop. Before the Regios came, Micaiah put me on a schedule to wean me off slowly.” She paused, took in a deep breath, and went on. “First, do no harm. I’m not going to harm myself anymore. And I’m not going to harm anyone else. No more shooting. No more drugs. No more rhymes.”
Once again, even if Micaiah and the truth had trouble getting along, my boy showed me how wonderful he could be by helping Petal get clean.
However, I didn’t want her to give up killing until after we figured out a way through Edger. I knew it was selfish, but Pilate was right. We needed every gun we could get.
Petal got up and crawled onto the bed so Pilate could hold her. He did, gripping her hard. His jaw muscles tightened.
Petal whispered, “I’m gonna find my other side, Pilate. I’m gonna find it even though you don’t think I can.”
He didn’t say anything else ’cause Petal had said the truth about him. Though his shirt folded on the rocking chair had a priest’s collar, he was a man who had lost his faith.
I should’ve pitied him. I couldn’t.
The tromp and clatter of troops entering the house ended our conversation. Edger appeared in the door.
“You.” She pointed a finger at me. She held out her hand. The .45-caliber bullet I’d had in my pocket sat like Judas Iscariot’s corpse in her palm.
I must’ve turned white as death ’cause she smiled at me.
“Bring them all outside,” Edger said.
Regios poured into the room.
Chapter Four
I wouldn’t call the women who keep the ARK safe mercenaries or soldiers. I prefer the term security advisors.
—Tiberius “Tibbs” Hoyt
President and CEO of the ARK
January 1, 2058
(i)
REGIOS USHERED US OUT of the ranch house. My mind squirmed. How could I explain the bullet?
Edger had made it clear, the .45-caliber ammunition matched the make and model of the other shells she’d found in Strasburg and Broomfield. In the police dramas my friend Anjushri Rawat had loved, they were always matching bullets.
Pilate stumbled and sank to his knees in the yard. The blanket and T–shirt covered his top half, but his bare legs showed pale white in the bright sunshine. He’d just come out of a sick bed and his muscles were still weak. I knew the feeling.
Pilate squinted up at Edger. “I’m sure the fine people at Winchester would be honored you think so highly of their ammunition. Perhaps, instead of torturing us, you could write them a kind letter.”
“Explain this!” Edger barked. She wasn’t looking at Pilate. She was looking at me. Petal stood by my side, but she had retreated into herself, a mouse standing on two booted feet.
“It’s a Winchester .45 caliber bullet.” When in doubt, play dumb. “I’m sure there are lots around.”
“We found it in your dress.”
Dumb wasn’t working. I had no other answers. All my cunning was nowhere to be found.
Pilate laughed. “So you’re going to kill us over one bullet? Come on. Kind of thin, don’t you think? Do you know how many bullets Winchester has made over the years? Enough to finance that creepy house in California.”
“Shut up!” Edger kept her eyes on me.
“I don’t shut up well.” Pilate laughed. “Just ask God. He thought making me a priest might keep me quiet, but that didn’t work too well. Now I’m always in His ear, but let me tell you, that Johnson can ignore me like nobody’s business.”
“Shut him up,” Edger said.
Two Regios rushed forward. One slammed a foot into Pilate, driving him onto his belly. The other stepped on the back of his neck and pressed her rifle into the back of his head.
Like that was going to stop Pilate from joking. “Oh, you mean I should shut up. Okay, no more, not a peep out of me. Shut up, shutting up.”
“Stop.” Both Petal and I said it at the same time.
It was time for either the truth or tears. I wasn’t going to give them skanks a thing, so I burst into well-timed tears.
Edger wasn’t impressed. “Explain the bullet. Now. Or we kill Pilate.”
Of course they knew his name. Everyone knew Pilate, in one way or another.
I couldn’t. No lie seemed good enough.
“Hey, there, ladies!”
All heads turned. Wren Weller came striding out from behind the house, leading Christina Pink by her reins. Wren walked steadily, almost jauntily, boots, jeans, vest, and long dark hair that hung dirty and limp across her back. A dark-green wool poncho covered her from her shoulders down to her hips, hiding her pistols. She pushed her cowgirl hat back to reveal a face deeply tanned where it wasn’t bruised blue from her encounter with Renee Vixx. Wren’s eyes were as dark as ever, full thick lashes, and perfect, though her face had thinned some. Even bruised, hungry-looking, and sun-roasted, she was gorgeous.
Instinctively, the dozens of Regios pointed their guns at her. They were right to. They were just lucky Wren was talking and not shooting.
But why wasn’t she? And if they searched her, they would find a lot more Winchester .45 caliber bullets and her twin Colt Terminators.
“Who are you?” Edger asked.
“Prodigal daughter,” Wren said, then spit into the dust. “But no fatted calf for me. Can’t eat too much beef and keep trim. But you don’t care about that. Or me.”
“Who are you?” Edger shouted.
I sniffled at my tears and muttered, “She’s my sister. She’s been out scouting,” Fear scrambled my stomach. We weren’t out of danger just yet. If only we’d been able to get word to Wren about her guns.
“That’s right,” Wren said amiably. “Three Weller sisters. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I’m the bad one.”
Well, dang, that meant Sharlotte and I would be drawing straws for ugly.
Wren went on. “About twenty klicks from here, there are a whole lot of your girls shot to crapperjack. You think we done it. Makes sense, since my little sister over there and Father Pilate both got holes in ’em. But if you check the bodies of your posse, you’ll know they were hit yesterday or the day before, and me and my family have been here for
days.”
“Search her.”
Wren threw back her poncho. She wasn’t wearing her twin .45 Colt Terminators with the cherrywood grips. Her hips were bare of anything but swell and denim.
They also went through Christina Pink’s saddlebags and came up empty. They found a couple MG21 assault rifles we’d pulled off June Mai Angel’s outlaws. But no pistols.
“Where are the bodies?” Edger asked. “Tell me exactly.”
Wren did.
“Have you seen a blond boy in a blue silk shirt, jeans, boots?” Edger asked.
“No,” Wren said. “Ain’t no boys out here.”
Edger frowned. Then addressed me. “Where did you get this bullet?”
“From me,” Wren said. “It was my lucky bullet. What’s the big deal?”
Edger explained her theories.
Wren laughed. “Good luck finding out who shot up your troops. If you think one bullet is the answer, then I feel sorry for you.”
Edger wasn’t laughing. In a quick flash she was up in Wren’s face. “What about you and your people? Maybe you killed them.”
“Me? Alone? Do you really think I’d stand a chance against a unit of your soldiers? I counted twelve bodies. Tracks led south to Denver. You want revenge, your best bet is June Mai Angel.” Wren didn’t back off a bit. I knew she’d done it. I knew that while I’d been unconscious, she’d tracked those last Regios on their ATVs and killed them all. Her alone.
Edger threw the cursed bullet at my sister who caught it easily. Wren grinned, as if she didn’t have a thing to hide.
The Regio officers and Edger all conferred while we were shoved back into the house.
Pilate sank heavily into a chair, coughing like it would kill him. Petal couldn’t do much but hold him while his lungs convulsed.
Wren stood at the door, looking out through the window.
I sidled up next to her. “Thank God you came when you did.”
“God don’t care about me, Cavvy,” Wren said. “And you don’t either. So don’t get friendly.”
Her words cut me.
Sharlotte joined us. Three Weller sisters. I would let Sharlotte be the good one, and I’d take ugly. Sure, just as long as we were alive and together.
“Do you think they bought your story?” Sharlotte asked.
“Prolly,” Wren muttered. “They don’t have a clue about me or what I can do. Stupid skanks. They’re tough. I’ll give ’em that. I’d have gone up against that Edger kutia and her girls, but there were a whole bunch of them, and they had you chicken-cooped up in here. I didn’t want to see any of you shot up.” She paused. Frowned. “First time I ever tried to talk my way out of a fight. Don’t like it.”
We watched as Edger gathered up her troops. They packed up, piled back into the Humvees, and sped off, the trucks, the ATVs, the whole contingent. They didn’t tell us why they left, and they didn’t leave anyone behind. That we could see.
I glanced over at Wren, my eyes full of questions.
“Either that’s really good news,” she said, “or it’s really bad.”
I had a memory of running from the police in Cleveland. Wren had gotten us out of the fix, at first, until the policewomen came back with a vengeance.
Jenny Bell let out a long sigh. We could hear it across the room. “Thank God. They’re gone. Wren, thank you for saving us.”
My sister shrugged. “Saved us for a minute. Maybe. They could’ve left people behind, or they might be back. It’s not like we can outrun them, not with three thousand cows.” She turned her eyes on me. She wanted to know what had happened to Micaiah.
I shrugged.
“What about the Vixx sisters?” Sharlotte asked. “If Edger is right, they’ll be coming tomorrow sometime.”
No one had an answer to that. But like Wren had said, how fast could we run with three thousand cows?
“I hid my pistols,” Wren said after a bit. “I figured they were piecing together what happened along the way. Now, I have to go fetch ’em. Feel naked without my holsters.”
She pushed out of the front door and strode down the steps and into the sunlight. She rode off on Christina Pink.
I slumped against the door. My wounds, the pain, the stress, all hit me at once.
“We should leave,” Sharlotte said. Her nose was red from her cold, and I knew she was drinking hot toddies to keep it at bay. That wasn’t really drinking, not really. Doctors might as well write a prescription for it—tea, a little liquor, and some honey; take as needed.
Pilate started up another round of coughing and before I knew it, I was on the floor. We were too busted up to be going anywhere.
(ii)
Wren didn’t come back. I didn’t think she’d try and go after Edger and the fifty of her soldiers, but with my sister, it was hard to tell.
I found myself in the yellow room again, bored out of my skull. Jenny Bell had plenty of books, but most were westerns or romances. She did have a few of the Gertrude Goodpenny novels, but everyone had at least one of the Wayward Wizardess series even in the Juniper. I wasn’t much for fiction, but I did find an ASI 3.0.3 manual and a thick overview of the modern train. Everyone frowned me back into bed. I was to rest while they all recovered from being prisoners. And of course, our animals needed to be managed. While the miles of barbed wire still strung across the plains might keep them relatively clustered together, cows had a way of wandering far. I knew Breeze and Keys would be out on ponies to check on them.
Sure, they get to ride out under a bright blue sky, and I was stuck inside, reading over the old ASI 3.0.3 manual, going over schematics. It was more funny than technical. I laughed every time the writers tried to tell me how wonderful the technology was when I knew for a fact the 3.0.3 was real buggy. I’d been lucky to get the Ford Excelsior running after our fight at the office complex.
The modern train book was both fascinating and fun. I’d studied the mechanisms before and how to convert the engine from using steam to using Eterna batteries.
The books kept me distracted some, but my mind would always go back to churning over Micaiah, the Regios, and the Vixxes. We didn’t know for sure they’d come for us. Maybe once they found the bodies of the unit Wren had killed, they’d head south and tangle with June Mai Angel’s troops. I prayed for that to happen, but we just didn’t know, and even if we left, they’d catch us easily.
I got tired of worrying about the Vixxes coming, so I switched to obsessing about the long kilometers ahead of us. Sharlotte might not care about the ranch, but I did, and I was going to get us to Nevada, all of us, Micaiah included. We had to save the ranch. My daddy, Mama, and my dead baby sisters were buried there. It was sacred ground.
And if we couldn’t get our cows to Nevada, we’d need the reward money Micaiah promised.
I snuck him jerky, biscuits, an old Gas ’n’ Sip travel mug of water and an empty mason jar. We didn’t talk. I stuck it up in the attic and retreated back to bed before anyone caught me. More thoughts of Anne Frank filled my head.
Downstairs everyone was planning, thinking, wondering what we should do. Let them talk. I needed to get on a horse, clear my head, and come up with a plan.
By mid-afternoon, I was feeling better, but I had to get out of the house. What started out as nice yellow accents to the room eventually would drive me insane if I had to stay one more minute looking at them.
I dressed in the jeans and cowgirl shirt, then carried my boots out into the hall and down the steps. Had to sneak or everyone would’ve raised a fit.
I made it outside, stayed hidden, and strapped a saddle on Bob D. I was a little worried about leaving alone, but I promised myself I wouldn’t go far. Even without the Regios sniffing around, the territory wasn’t safe. I was in the Juniper. Safety was a gamble, and if you lived in fear, you might as well live in a hole.
That wasn’t how my mama raised me, God rest her soul.
In the end, though, I prolly should’ve taken a gun with me.
(ii
i)
I managed to get my horse out of the corral without anyone seeing. The heavy scent of Bob D brought back a million memories, most good. I loved horses, everything about them, including their smell. I thought about trying to get Micaiah out of the house, but what if the Regios were watching? Better to wait until after dark.
Thinking about him made me consider his secrets. He was the son of Tibbs Hoyt. I tried not to draw connections, but I couldn’t help myself.
Micaiah had run away. Why would Hoyt kill to get his son back? No, something else was going on. But what?
I found an off switch to my thoughts. I’d done enough thinking trapped inside. I rejoiced in the wide blue sky above me, the endless horizon, and the strong horse next to me. I couldn’t wait to ride off across the plains, spring green and bees buzzing.
I led Bob D away by his reins, and he kept hurrying up to nuzzle me, to whicker softly, to let me know how much he loved me. Tears sprang to my eyes. If only Micaiah could’ve been like a horse, open and forthcoming, but he wasn’t. Thank God for animals. I swear, they were so much easier than dealing with people, even cantankerous horses like Puff Daddy and Christina Pink.
When I was a fair distance away, I shoved a boot into the stirrup and saddled up, wincing at the stiffness of my gunshot wounds. But moving helped ease the healing itch. I got Bob D going, charging across the plain, leaping over tangles of brush, swooshing through the greening grasses, streaking across the gray dirt. The sun baked my shoulders, warm and nice, and I took in a huge breath of fresh air, perfumed by the sage. I felt like I’d been released from prison. Our guards were gone, and I had a horse under me, feeling the strain of his muscles, the rough hide, the leather tack creaking. For a minute, I was glad to be in the Juniper. Easy to be happy right then ’cause no one was shooting at me.
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