Machine-Gun Girls

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  Pilate, however, preached a different, darker gospel. He climbed into the engine to talk with me. Every so often, a bad cough would rattle him. Frowning and sullen, he chewed his cigar instead of smoking it as he stood next to me.

  “How’s Petal?” I asked.

  “She’s clean. She’s better. She’s even stopped cursing Wren, probably because of what you said in the tent that night.” He paused. “Wren’s turned bad, though. If you don’t have a sufficient substitute for alcohol, sobriety becomes a torture.”

  “She thinks we hate her and want her dead,” I said.

  “Do you?” Pilate asked.

  “No.” Easy word to say. The truth couldn’t be boiled down so easily. Wren had told me our mama was dead with a wide smile on her face. Could I ever forgive her for that?

  I braked the train around a corner, and the sky painted a dazzling canvass of green trees and sharp red rock cliffs.

  “Gorgeous views, right, Pilate?” I asked.

  He made a grumbly kind of yes noise, then collapsed into coughing.

  “We’re so lucky,” I said. “Ain’t no way those Vixxes can catch us now.”

  “Don’t be too sure. If they get ahead of us, we’re in trouble.” He spit bits of tobacco on the floor. “I’ve been thinking about the ARK troopers. I wouldn’t be surprised if they bio-engineered the human out of those soldiers. No more PTSD. Just killing machines you unplug when you’re done. Maybe that’s not so bad. We don’t send humans to fight our wars, just clones. Maybe it’s better.”

  He was so down and tired, I couldn’t help but ask, “Pilate, don’t you feel lucky to be here alive? Don’t you feel blessed?”

  “I miss my pinkie finger.” Pilate laughed. It was a broken-glass kind of sound. “Yes, I’m lucky. I’m just about the luckiest man who ever lived. Blessed by God. Years in the Sino, and I survive. Then more years of combat in the Juniper, and I’m still here. Mostly.” He lifted up the bandage on his hand. “To top it all off, you somehow figure out how to steal a train without getting us all killed. Lucky again.”

  He paused and said something that rang true as a cathedral bell. “It’s not luck. It’s God. Rarely, Cavatica, do we see God using His evil left hand so clearly. His right hand is easy to understand. We’re alive and Petal is getting clean because of God’s right hand. I don’t believe in the Devil, or hell, but I do believe that a part of this world is completely and insanely evil—God’s evil left hand. As a priest of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, I have to explain God’s left hand a lot. You would think the Madelines were truly and insanely villainous, yet we’ve seen how that evil can be used for good. We’ve seen it with our own eyes.”

  I nodded. “Like you. Like Petal. Like Wren. Evil, but used for good.” I winced. I didn’t mean they were wicked exactly, but it’d be a stretch to call them good.

  Pilate sighed. “Me, Petal, and Wren. It’s kind of hard to hear myself partnered up with them, but I’d be fooling myself if I tried to argue with you. More PTSD to work through.”

  “So don’t argue. Just count yourself lucky. Looks like you found your goddamn faith.” I didn’t apologize for cursing. It was now a joke between us.

  Pilate leaned forward to kiss my cheek. “Yeah, it would seem so. But I’m scared about what’s coming up. Not scared for myself, but for you, your sisters, the hands. I can smell the Grim Reaper in the air, that old mothballed jackerdan. I know I’ll live. I always live. But the rest of you.” He sighed out long and hard, before a cough shook him. “It’s hard to feel lucky when everyone around you keeps dying.”

  Jenny Bell’s last words spun through my head. Dying’s easy. It’s the living that’s hard.

  “I’ll pray for you, Pilate,” I said.

  He laughed. “Please do. God would find such prayers a novelty. He generally only gets complaints.”

  He gave me another fatherly kiss and left.

  I whispered a prayer for Pilate. I could picture Jesus scratching His head. “Did someone really pray for Pilate? Gee, that’s a new one.”

  (ii)

  We stopped the train for the night on the west side of the Rocky Mountains. A nice, warm wind blew down on us. To the right of the train, a precipice dropped down to a river winding through a valley a thousand feet below. On our left lay a field of snow, five feet deep. The ARK had done a good job clearing the tracks. Thank you, Tibbs Hoyt.

  I tried to imagine what he was thinking, sitting on a throne somewhere, plotting to get his son and the chalkdrive back. I kept picturing a supervillain from a James Bond video. Prolly had a white cat on his lap.

  Our people started melting snow to put in the tanks while I remained in the engine, babying my right ankle and cleaning the coal dust off my face.

  Wren wandered over, stuck a boot onto the lip of the cab, folded her arms on her knee, and squinted at me. “I know you’re the leader and all, but I gotta plan. You wanna hear it?”

  “Sure,” I said, though I didn’t much like her attitude.

  “Sketchy was right. Having the boy with us is too dangerous. Once we get through the mountains, you and Micaiah should leave in one of the jeeps. We’ll finish the cattle drive. If we show up in Nevada without the boy, well, the ARK won’t have no reason to mess with us.”

  “Just me and Micaiah alone?”

  Wren shrugged. “You said it before. The hands are working for the Weller family. One of us needs to stick around to order ’em around.”

  “And you’ll do it?” I couldn’t believe Wren was willing to accept such responsibility.

  Wren’s face fell into a glare. “Yeah, I’ll do it. I’m not worthless. And I want that paycheck. We got beef to sell, and I’d be real surprised if your boy came through on his promise of reward money.”

  If she only knew. I sat in the conductor’s seat, pondering. I did like the plan. It was another killdeer ruse—Wren would stay with our headcount and people to keep up appearances, while the boy and I drove off to civilization.

  “Okay, Wren,” I said.

  Wren nodded. “Good. And I’d send Pilate with you, but I think we’ll need every gun we have if the Vixxes attack. You just be careful.”

  She whirled and left me alone. Quite a change for her. Maybe Micaiah had been right. Maybe Wren wasn’t as bad as we all thought.

  But she’d never be easy to handle. Wren would remain as hard and dangerous as the .45 caliber bullet in my pocket, the keepsake she’d given me. I wasn’t sure if that bullet was blessed or cursed.

  (iii)

  That night, we didn’t risk a fire. We sat in the dark on the railroad ties in front of the train and feasted on ARK army rations—Salisbury steak, chicken Marsala, and lamb palak. Hate to say it, but the MREs were a nice break from Aunt Bea’s cooking, though she did her best, day after day.

  We washed down the food with snowmelt, which had a dirty, earthy taste. A hooded sapropel lantern hissed in the middle of us, our faces lost in the gloom.

  Wren had found a bottle of hooch in the ARK supplies, and she said she was taking watch, but I knew it was an excuse to go off and drink alone, a last party before she took over our operation. Everyone else was there—our long-time employees, our new hired hands, and our family. Everyone except Sharlotte.

  Petal sat on Pilate’s lap, curled up on him. She was actually a person again, not a rhyming harpy with a sniper rifle or a nodding-off ghost. She gave me a secret little smile.

  Micaiah sat by himself across from me. I did my best to keep my eyes off him, but I’d fail every other minute. He’d catch me peeking at him, and I’d get all warm inside.

  I told them all Wren’s plan, and that she’d be taking over. No one really fought me, but no one got excited either. Dolly Day nodded, face stern. She thought boys were bad luck, and she’d be happier with one less male in our group.

  Pilate only sighed. He was prolly thinking one more time we’d have to hope God held us in His right hand and didn’t slap us around with His left.

  After we finished the di
scussion, Allie murmured in the quiet, “I’d like to sing a song.”

  “Well, Allie,” Pilate said, “you might as well try killing us before the Vixxes do. Take your best shot.”

  She sang a love song, sweet, determined, and passionate. “Nobody ’Cept You.” Nothing mattered, except her boy, and Allie sang it sweet.

  Pilate and Petal seemed to get closer as she sang it. Before I knew it, I’d locked eyes with Micaiah. Our connection was as gritty and strong as chains drug through mud. I could feel our words binding us together.

  No matter what.

  I got up and limped off. That darn Allie Chambers, every song she sang had a way of hitting us emotionally below the belt.

  Maybe that’s why Allie had left Lamar. Howerter kicked her out for singing songs too well.

  I shouldn’t be mad at Micaiah for telling me the truth—he’d try to be honest. But what did that mean? My love for him felt like a whole world inside of me, beautiful, but fragile.

  Another lie, even a small one, would destroy that world in me and I’d be left empty. I was as scared of heartbreak as of dying.

  Alone by the train, the darkness and the high-country air chilled me. I turned my eyes to the stars and prayed for guidance.

  I didn’t see Reb and Ronnie Vixx and their Regios climb aboard our train.

  Nobody did. Not even Wren.

  We didn’t know we’d been infiltrated until it was too late.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Who can forget their first ride in a zeppelin over the Juniper? So old and yet so new.

  —Mavis Meetchum

  Colorado Courier Interview

  September 7, 2046

  (i)

  WE DROPPED DOWN OUT of the Rockies and roared through Salt Lake City in the morning light. The SLC hadn’t been salvaged as much as re-colonized by the Mormon folk. It looked rather pleasant. The Mormon women had torn up the streets to plant crops. Funny to see avenues of green, tilled by women with their hair covered. Mormons in the Juniper had gone back to polygamy, which made sense I guess, given there weren’t many men around. I still couldn’t imagine sharing my husband with a dozen other women. Both Sally Browne Burke and the Archbishop Corfu hated the Mormons and discounted their religion as heresy.

  But what if people were people, doing the best they could? Sharlotte had accepted Nikki and Tenisha’s gillian love. Could I hate them for something that was beyond their control? And some New Morality women talked trash about Catholics, but I was Catholic, and I wasn’t evil. So should I hate Mormons? Why? I didn’t approve of their lifestyle, but then, I didn’t have to partake in it, so what was my opinion worth?

  All those thoughts filled my head as we left the SLC behind and chugged past the Great Salt Lake, stinking like hell’s own ocean.

  We didn’t stop until the lake was far behind us and the land flattened into an unbroken white plain. It was like another planet. I kept sniffing the air; didn’t smell right, didn’t feel right. No life to be seen, no birds, nothing, and the wind blew crazily around in dust devil swirls that smelled like salty rot.

  Then it happened.

  Micaiah and I’d packed to leave, and I’d given Pilate, Tenisha Keys, and Crete a lesson on the steam engine. We all were walking back toward the jeeps, so I could figure out how to get one off the flat cars—then gunshots.

  Time slowed, like sap dripping down a pine.

  Tenisha Keys looked down at her chest, clothes full of holes, but no blood for a moment. No blood. And then a lot.

  Pilate pushed me down. Crete fled to the train.

  All of that took seconds. No time for fear.

  Dozens of the ARK’s Cuius Regios, armed to the teeth, faces blackened, poured out of train cars near the back. They moved through us, wiping us out with martial arts and bullets. And with them stormed Reb and Ronnie Vixx. That was when I realized they’d climbed on during our last stop in the mountains. That way, they could pick the perfect time to attack. Most likely, they’d sent the Johnny blimps ahead to orchestrate the ambush.

  “Matthew!” Pilate’s Homewrecker thundered followed by Wren’s Colt Terminators. I tried to sprint to the train car where we’d stored the weapons, but my ankle wouldn’t let me. I half-skipped, half limped, but went as quickly as I could.

  Down from us, the doors of a cattle car rumbled open, followed by the ramp sliding out onto the salt. Horses neighed over the jingle and leather-snap of saddles being cinched. The Regios were stealing our ponies.

  Micaiah sped toward me but was knocked to the hard salt ground.

  Ronnie Vixx zip tied his hands before yanking him to his feet.

  I went for him, hardly feeling my bad ankle. If they wanted to steal him away, they’d have to kill me first. A Regio swiveled her Armalite AZ3 at me. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

  At the last minute, Petal darted forward, drove a foot into the soldier’s leg, and seized the rifle. Petal ripped the AZ3 away from the soldier girl and aimed it right between the Regio’s eyes.

  She didn’t fire. No. She’d taken an oath. First, do no harm.

  “Petal!” Pilate screamed.

  Petal’s body jerked, slammed by another Regio’s bullets, gunning her down. She fell to her knees, then slumped over.

  The Regio ran past her, grabbed a horse, and not just any horse, my Bob. Ha, they couldn’t take Puff Daddy and Christina Pink. Those two would throw off any Regio who tried to ride them.

  Ten soldiers rode away. Micaiah was slung across Bob D’s saddle. Reb and Ronnie Vixx led the pack.

  From first gunshot to last, it might’ve been five minutes. Suddenly, we were alone, and the Regios were gone. Took Micaiah with them. An incredible plan, well executed.

  The wind paused. The only sound was the hooves of hard-driven horses galloping across the salt flats, and then the wailing started. Heartbroken wailing.

  Tenisha Keys. Dead.

  Petal. Dying.

  (ii)

  My head wouldn’t believe what had happened, while my eyes couldn’t look away. The stink of gunfire never smelled so foul.

  Nikki Breeze hung her head over Tenisha and wept—her sobbing full of love and agony.

  Aunt Bea and Crete crouched beside Nikki, petting her and shushing her, and right then, it all became clear to me. Reverend Kip Parson and Sally Browne Burke were fools. To attack homosexuals with nine-tenths of the men gone was worse than stupid. It was evil.

  Body parts don’t matter. Gillian love is love.

  Even with our troubles, Micaiah and I had that love, and his bracelet dangled on my wrist.

  A gust of wind smacked me with a handful of heat. I took a step toward the jeeps, then stopped, when I heard Pilate whisper, “Petal.” He knelt by her on the salt.

  No, she couldn’t die. She’d gotten off the Skye6, and she was going to find the other side of her pain. She had sworn to do no harm. She shouldn’t be punished for it.

  Wren joined Pilate, standing over him. I couldn’t move to help. All I could do was bear witness.

  Petal raised a hand, blood pouring out of her. She cried out and twisted up in pain. “First, do no harm. I didn’t, Pilate. I kept my oath.”

  She wept. She was dying. She knew it. Pilate knew it. God knew it.

  She raised a hand and touched Pilate’s face. Left blood there. When her hand fell, Pilate grabbed it and put it back in place. “You did no harm, Petal, and I’m glad. You stayed true to yourself, and you beat the Sino. You got clean. You’re good, Petal, you’re good and wonderful, and it’s okay.” His voice chopped out the last word. A tear dropped down to mix with the blood.

  “Will I get to my other side, Pilate?” Petal asked in a whisper. “You said I couldn’t, but maybe, when I’m dead, do you think there’s a chance?”

  Pilate’s jaw muscles jumped. He couldn’t answer.

  “Is there a chance?” she asked again.

  Pilate nodded finally. “Oh, Petal, you’ve already made it to the other side. I was so wrong before, but this I know f
or sure: you’ll make it right into heaven, right to the other side of it all, and you’ll be like you were before the Hutongs, before the Sino.”

  “But I’ve hurt so many people. I’ve done so many horrible things. I’m not good enough to get into heaven.” Petal closed her eyes. Never to open them again.

  Pilate bent down and kissed her. “Heaven isn’t for the good. Heaven is for the broken.”

  Then she left us to find that other shore. Pilate let loose, and that battle-weary vet, that priest of God, wept with his face pushed down into her hair.

  (iii)

  Pilate lost Petal.

  Nikki lost Tenisha.

  I wasn’t going to lose Micaiah.

  I skipped in a hurried limp to the jeeps and started undoing the straps and figuring out the ramps. Thank God for my engineering mind. It would take a bit to get a vehicle off the flat car, and that was why the ARK Regios had settled on horses instead of jeeps.

  I didn’t hear the Moby come soaring down, dodging zephyrs and fighting the gales, but I saw the rope ladder strike the hard, salt ground. I knew what Sketchy wanted. She had seen those girls steal Micaiah, and it was time to get him back. Somehow, they had repaired the Moby without returning to the ZZK.

  The ladder slid across the salt as the Moby bounced around in the air currents. I limped over and caught a hold of it.

  I had grown so much, had become so strong and fearless since my first trip up that ladder outside of McCook. Even with a hurt ankle, I climbed up the rungs, through the mid-bay hatch, and rolled onto the Neofiber floor. They’d jettisoned most of the hay, but the sweet, dusty smell still drifted from the bales stacked near the back bay doors.

  “Move, Cavvy,” Tech said. “Wren is coming along.”

  Of course. Wren wasn’t about to miss out on the reward money, and I’d been right to wonder if she really had the moral fiber to follow through on her promise to lead our outfit.

  Losing Micaiah, watching two of my friends die, I was enraged. I took it out on Wren. “It’s your fault them ARK soldiers snuck aboard the train. If you’d been sober last night, you might have seen them.”