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 cherry-wood 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’d 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. 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.
(iii)
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.
I rode Bob D until Jenny’s Bell’s house was only a small red box behind me, and then I stopped to let my pony catch his breath. I’d gone far enough. Around me stretched the plains, so familiar—the sage, the house, even the few clumps of Herefords I saw in the distance. While Herefords are known for their red bodies and white faces, from a distance they look black.
Sitting astride my horse, I breathed in the leather of the saddle and watched cattle amble across the wide plains in front of a house rising like a citadel above the scrub. Every part of me felt at home for a second. This was what I was made to do. This was my destiny.
A great peace settled into my spirit. I knew we’d make it to Nevada, and I knew we’d return to our ranch house in Burlington, rich and victorious, and with the resources to gather up another herd and maybe do it all again.
Bob D tossed his mane and nickered. He wanted to run more, and so we did, until we found a little creek in a gulley below the edge of the plain—a good place to lie low for a minute. The path down to the water had been trampled into a tangle of muddy hoofprints. Most likely our own cows had come here to drink. Dead cottonwood skeletons, trunks thick and gray, surrounded us. I sat on the old wood while Bob D drank. I lifted my face to the sunshine and sighed.
A stick snapped behind me. I wasn’t alone.
(iv)
I whirled to my feet.
Wren stood on a broken limb. Christina Pink meandered behind her. The pony nosed at some grass as if we humans didn’t matter a bit.
Wren and I spent several long moments looking at each other, not saying a word. Was she glad to see me? I couldn’t tell. As ever, Wren’s face showed no feeling except for a shallow little smirk which could mean anything. None of it prolly any good. She slouched a little, her right hand resting on the Colt Terminator holstered at her hip. Bullets filled both belts, the one for her right holster and the one for the left. I wasn’t sure where she had hidden her guns, but they were back on her, tied around her thighs.
What should I say to her? Thank her for saving us? Apologize for pointing a gun at her? Maybe. Prolly. But seeing her, I remembered who she was and how violence trailed her like a bad stink. I couldn’t have watched her beat the truth out of Micaiah, though it did make a certain amount of sense.
She bent, picked up the bone-white cottonwood branch, and threw it at me. I ducked.
Wren’s smirk grew cruel. “If I’d been an unfriendly, you’d be on the ground right now with my Betty knife in your throat. You bring a gun on your little trip, Princess?”
I shook my head slowly. Her being there, throwing stuff and reminding me of my stupidity, completely unnerved me.
“You glad to see me again?” she asked. She kept her lips together when she talked, to hide the teeth she’d lost when she fought the Vixx. I’d seen Wren cry twice. Once when Pilate hugged her. And once over her vanity.
Was I glad to see her again? Not sure.
“Surprised to see me?” she asked.
“Definitely,” I whispered.
“Wondering why I came back after what you did?”
I nodded slowly.
Wren spit into the dust. “There are two rules in life. I learned them from a bad man I fell in love with during my time in the circus. You wanna hear ’em, Princess?”
“Don’t call me that,” I said. I’d already been fighting with everyone—Sharlotte, Pilate, Edger—if Wren wanted a battle, I’d give her one. She’d beat me, but I was feeling tired enough and hopeless enough to go up against her one more time.
Wren talked on like I’d never said a word. “He told me to never let your heart get in the way of a paycheck, and always, always, always, hit ’em right between the eyes. I ain’t never been a part of this goddamn family, not really, and I never will. That’s fine. But at the end of the road is a big paycheck. Ten million dollars for our headcount and another six if your boy ain’t too much of a liar. Where is he?”
“Not sure,” I said.
“Uh huh,” Wren said, clearly unconvinced. “Anyway, my heart wants me to put as much distance between me and you as I can, but I will not let it get in the way of a sixteen-million-dollar paycheck. Not never.”
“That’s a double-negative,” I said. I couldn’t hit Wren with my fists, and I didn’t have a gun, but I could hurt her in other ways. “If you’d stayed in school, you might not sound like such a hillbilly.”
She frowned and spit again. “It wasn’t my goddamn grammar that saved your asses time and again. It was my guns and my fight, which I learned by bleeding. Like I said on the Moby Dick, you got your education and I got mine. Maybe both are just what this cattle drive needs to get us through.” She paused. “You hurt me, pointing that gun at me. Don’t do it again.”
“Or what?” I asked.
She stepped closer to me, eyeing me. I eyed her back. What did I have to lose?
“Or maybe I won’t be able to forgive you next time. Maybe I’ll let my heart decide such a paycheck ain’t worth it. You need me. You need what I can do. So don’t be stupid. Besides, I thought you were a Christian.”
“You’ve never cared about that.” Getting Wren to church on Sundays had been one of the forgotten labors of Hercules. Still, she’d admitted I’d hurt her, which was one of the forgotten miracles of Jesus.
“Good to see Pilate ain’t dead,” Wren said. “I was worried. I was around even before the Regios got here, but I couldn’t get a bead on Pilate in Jenny Bell’s house. Didn’t see no fresh graves neither.”
“That’s a triple negative,” I said in a whisper.
“Whatever,” Wren said. “I watched your boy until he went into the house and didn’t come out. That was the day you woke up and the Regios came. I hung out, watching, trying to figure out what I should do. Them pulling Pilate out forced my hand. Oh, well.”
“Why’d you stay away so long?” I asked harshly.
She answered me just as rough. “For being smart you sure are stupid. You know anything about strategy? If I’d been there from the start, I couldn’t have shown up to help provide you an alibi. Jesus, Cavvy, think.”
“You could’ve checked in with us and then left.”
“Why? You hate me. So quit pretending you don’t. All you hypocrites. You hate me until it’s gun time, then you’re all real grateful. Like how I just got you out of this last jam. After the blizzard, I found that unit of Regios chasing us. I found ’em. I got ’em. They kept coming after me, and I kept shooting, while the bodies piled around me. It was a party …” her eyes went away in the memories. “Such a party. A good fight, maybe my best ever.” She talked about it like it was a date and the boy she loved had taken her dancing. Wren didn’t want love out of this world, she wanted mayhem, and she got it. Which was the only reason she came back to us. She was far more interested in shooting people right between the eyes than she’d ever be in a paycheck.
She leveled her gaze at me. “They’re tough skanks, Cavvy, and if they get us all together, we won’t survive it. I didn’t like spying on you, and I don’t like being out here, sleeping hard, but it’s better I’m out here alone watching over you.”
She waited for me to reply, but I couldn’t find the words. My anger had faded, and I was feeling bad. I needed to tell her I was glad she was alive, that she’d found us, and that I appreciated her watching over us, but I couldn’t.
“That boy tell you anything more about the Vixxes?” Wren asked.
I shook my head.
“His whole talk about the Vixxes being his aunties is a load of crapperjack. I know you and Sharlotte love him, but that boy is bad business, and if it weren’t for the money he’s promising, I’d grab him and sell him off. Get two hundred thousand dollars, easy.”
She could do it, sell another human being like he was a prize bull, collect the money, and not look back. Even though I’d known her my entire life, Wren had always been such a stranger. I swallowed hard. Tears crept into my eyes. Seeing Wren again was sad. She made everything so difficult. Right then, I wanted her gone. God forgive me, but she was too hard to handle.
“He still in the house?” Wren asked.
I gave her a long shrug and nothing else.
She didn’t press me. What she knew or didn’t, I couldn’t tell, but once again, only me knowing the truth felt like I was keeping her safe. I wonder if Micaiah felt that way when he kept his own secrets to himself.
“I should be getting back,” I whispered. “I’m not feeling well. They said I should’ve stayed in bed, but I got bored.”
“Yeah, we got shot up back at that office complex, but we heal,” Wren said. “We Wellers always heal real good.” Her eyes went to the ground, and she stood aloof, awkward it seemed.
Guilt stung me. I was being mean, and I needed to be kind. What would Jesus do with someone like Wren? Not sit sullenly or say mean things. I needed to reach out, but with Wren, too often when you reached out, she bit you.
Could I take her bite? I could. I’d spent the first part of my life with her teeth in me.
It was all so exhausting. Why was family so much work?
I wanted to be back in bed, eating chicken noodle soup, and reading about modern trains, but I couldn’t give in to my selfishness. I had to invite Wren back into the fold. She’d questioned my Catholicism, and surely, I needed to do the Christian thing. “Wren, come to the house and be with us for a bit. Just for dinner. Then you can come back out here and do what you do so well.”
Wren dropped her head. Her cowgirl hat covered her face, and her raven-dark hair hung stringy and filthy over the muted colors of the wool poncho.
I remembered what Pilate had said a lifetime ago in our bathroom after the funeral when I’d spent the night throwing up. He’d said that Wren was afraid of being a part of our family ’cause no matter how hard she tried, she always brought chaos with her.
“Maybe this time will be different.” I approached her like a spooked horse and slowly slid my hand into hers. Both our hands were hard, calloused to leather, but hers were softer to my surprise.
I expected her to strike me, or cuss me, or march off to streak across the plain on Christina Pink.
She didn’t. She raised her head but didn’t catch my eyes. She looked off across the grass, mussed by the wind. The shake of the sagebrush brought the sweet smell of home to us both. Only for her, it didn’t seem sweet.
“Different? No, it’ll be the same.” Wren cleared her throat. “They have showers in the house?”
“Yeah.”
Wren patted my hand with her other. “You did real fine with the truck, Cavvy. Real fine. I’m even glad you went to that fancy school, and I never thought I’d say such a thing.” She sighed then pulled away.
“I’m sorry for pointing the gun at you,” I whispered.
“I accept your apology, Cavvy, but you be careful with that boy. He’s pulled us all into trouble deep.”
I nodded. She was right.
Wren fished out of her jeans the .45 caliber bullet that had almost got us caught. “You keep this, Cavvy. In memory of me.”
I didn’t like how she said it, as if she were quoting Jesus from the Last Supper.
Before I could say a thing, my sister grabbed ahold of Christina Pink roughly, finding her role to play again, always so tough. “You know I stepped on that stick on purpose, right?” she asked.
“Hadn’t really considered it.”
“Jesus, Cavvy, you have to be more careful and a lot smarter.” She grinned at herself, showing her ruined teeth. “And maybe I’ll work on my grammar.”
I had to smile, too. “You don’t have to. Your education has saved us again and again.” Yes, Wren was a horror show, a wreck of a woman, and yet, she played the gunslinging hero so well.
Wren saddled up. “Remember that when you talk crapperjack about me behind my back.” She dug her heels into Christina Pink, and instead of going up the slow steady rise, she went right up the ridge, straight up, with her mare squealing, fighting, afraid she’d stumble.
She didn’t. Wren wouldn’t have allowed it. She knew all about taking the hard way out.
She cleared the top of the ridge and Christina Pink’s hooves pounded the ground back toward Jenny Bell’s ranch. A dozen of our Herefords took to running away from her, spooked by her speed and the vibrations on the ground.
I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. Wren might save her worst sins for her family, but more and more, I was seeing I did, too.
(v)
Back in the yellow room, the bed looked like a prison cot so I sat by the window. I drew back the lace curtains and watched our cattle, our horses, our people. I felt such love for them, and I was glad Wren was with us. With Petal done shooting, we’d need every bit of Wren’s awful education to see us through.
Kitchen noises from below relaxed me again. They were so familiar, so much like home, like when Mama was still alive.
I was dozing when a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” I said.
Pilate stood in the doorway, a little sheepish. We hadn’t said two words to each other since our fight. “I heard you went MIA even though the Regios are dying to find us in a lie and kill us all. Not very bright, but I won’t try to parent you. That ship has sailed.” He colored some, cleared his throat, and went on. “Not sure if you’ve heard the news, but Wren finally returned with her pistols and her sweet disposition.”
“Yeah, I know.”
The light from the window had grown soft with evening. I’d slept all afternoon in the chair, and I was feeling lazy enough to want more.
From downstairs a voice shouted up at us. “Cavvy! Pilate! Dinnertime!” It was Sharlotte, yelling. She sounded drunk. That couldn’t be though. Yeah, she’d been sipping on hot toddies, but Sharlotte drunk? Might as well call Sally Browne Burke a besharam besiya.
“Sounds like a party,” he murmured.
“Sounds like trouble,” I said.
We were both right, but I was righter.