Chapter Six
The pioneers who ventured into the Juniper after the Yellowstone Knockout were artists. On this blank canvas of plain, they painted new lives for themselves.
—Mavis Meetchum
Colorado Courier Interview
September 7, 2046
(i)
When we left Burlington, we’d been afraid of the wrong things—weather, deserts, June Mai Angel, the Psycho Princess, and the Wind River people. Never even heard of the Vixx sisters, but they had shot us up worse than anyone. And they would do anything to get to Micaiah.
I lay on the ground, hogtied. My bullet wounds yowled while my shoulders strained.
The adrenaline and agony made every detail stand out crisp. Pebbles lay on top of the hardscrabble. A few weeds, a few thin blades of grass, and a dandelion grew out of cracks in the ground. For some reason, that dandelion was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Sunlight warmed the air, melting away the shadow of cold from the night before. Morning dew dampened the sagebrush, and spring grasses made the Great Plains smell green. For one brief moment, my senses gave me a little peace, but it was quickly taken from me.
Edger yanked me to my feet. I was determined not let out another cry and ground my teeth to keep quiet. She marched me into the Scheutz’s corral. Sharlotte’s dark eyes peered from a face as white as a toad’s underbelly. All our people stood with their arms zip tied behind their backs, Pilate and Petal included. The Schuetzes, too.
We were surrounded by Regios in sagebrush camouflage. Grenades, knives, pistols, and little cylinders of pepper spray hung from their harnesses.
Knew it was pepper spray ’cause of the sharp, spicy odor mingling with the smell of wet dirt and old animal crap. They’d hit Wren with the spray, and she knelt in the filth. Tears and snot streamed down her red face.
I gazed at all the soldiers, more soldiers than even she could fight.
Two women came forward. Both had angled Scandinavian faces under hair buzzed down to the scalp. Sunglasses hid their eyes. They looked exactly the same as Renee Vixx.
“How can we help you?” Jenny Bell asked, still polite despite the terror trembling her voice.
“As you know, we’re looking for a boy.” Not quite sure which of the Vixx sisters said it. The voice was cold and mechanical, like a killer robot. Well, couldn’t be a robot, no electricity in the Juniper.
“We haven’t seen a boy in a long time,” Jenny Bell said. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”
Troops came out of the house. “All clear, ma’am,” one said. Not sure when Micaiah had snuck away, but he was gone all right.
Edger held aloft the same picture she’d shown us before. The Vixxes shouted, “You have been asked this question already, but we will ask it once again. Have you seen the boy in this picture, seventeen, well-dressed, blond?”
Every eye went to Sharlotte. She was still in charge.
“We all told Edger the same thing. We ain’t seen any boys out here.” Sharlotte said. “Either the Psycho Princess kills them or June Mai Angel sells them.”
“Reb.” One of the Vixxes said.
“Yes, Ronnie.” Then the one, Reb, drew her big Desert Messiah pistol and shot Jenny Bell in the chest.
I felt a howl rise in me. My soul cat-scratched.
All of Jenny Bell’s daughters sucked in a breath, all at once, you could hear it. And then sobbing, shrieks, screams, and crying.
“Jenny Bell!” Sharlotte yelled it heartbroken, tried to pull herself out of the soldier girls’ grip, but they held her tight. “I’m sorry!”
Jenny Bell staggered, holding her chest even as blood oozed between her fingers. “I know you are, Shar. I know. Being Abigail’s daughter couldn’t have been easy. Don’t worry about me. Dying is easy. It’s the living that’s …”
Jenny Bell pitched forward and died right there.
I wrestled away from the Regio holding me and went for Reb Vixx.
She shoved the Desert Messiah’s barrel into my face, pointing it right between my eyes. I fell to my knees, cross-eyed, staring death down.
“We’re looking for this boy. I’ve proven my willingness to kill you all to get to him. It will make no difference to me. Talk now. Or die. You are nothing but dust.”
She wasn’t bluffing—dead eyes, dead voice, nothing human in it. Prolly had the human all trained out of her.
“No!” Both Wren and Sharlotte shouted. Both struggled against the Regios restraining them. Pilate took off for Reb, but he was tripped. On the ground, in the dirt, soldiers kicked him until he lay still. Petal let out a pathetic cry, powerless to stop them.
Wren lost it all to screaming. “Don’t you touch her, skank. Kill me, if you got the balls to kill again. Kill me!” She stomped on the foot of one of the women holding her and head-bashed another one. Wren didn’t take two steps before she was pepper sprayed again. She went down, puking into the dirt.
One of the girls drew her pistol and aimed it at Wren’s head, standing well away from her. Smart. The Regio waited to get permission to shoot. Both Vixx sisters shook their heads.
Sharlotte disagreed with the decision. “Kill her. Kill me. Kill us all. We don’t know nothing about a boy. We’re just moving our headcount west.”
Reb put her pistol to my forehead. Eyes on me, she talked to my sister. “You don’t remember me, Sharlotte, but we remember you. Before your mother’s funeral, you conversed with Robert Howerter in Burlington, to ask for lenience. We were there at the zeppelin port. We watched you climb the ladder on the Celebration Day.”
On our travels, Micaiah had mentioned the Celebration Day. That was the name of his zeppelin that had been shot down by June Mai Angel.
“Please,” Sharlotte begged. “We’re only ranchers on a cattle drive. We don’t know nothin’.”
All our people took Sharlotte’s lead. She was in charge. It was her gamble, with my life on the table, and we were going to play it out. For some reason, it felt like the right thing to do.
Micaiah must’ve snuck away in the night. He hadn’t promised to stay, and he’d left us. He did it ’cause he thought we would be safer. He did it out of love. What could he have done if he stayed? What could anyone do against the firepower and troops surrounding us?
Reb Vixx pulled the hammer back. Didn’t need to. That hand-cannon was a double action revolver. If it didn’t blow my head off, it would empty my brains out through the back of my skull. Knock my eyes out of their sockets in the process.
But cocking that hammer back was so very dramatic.
The sound triggered something in me. Might’ve been the pain in my arm and shoulder, might’ve been Wren’s spirit filling me, but in a strong, growly voice I told her, “Go jack yourself, skank. We don’t know crapjack about any boy.”
Us Wellers are contrary, contrary to the very end.
I locked eyes with Reb Vixx and didn’t glance away. I might die kneeling, but I was determined to die unbroken.
(ii)
“Jesus,” Pilate hissed the word. He was spitting blood, coughing, gagging. It wasn’t a prayer. It was disbelief in what we were doing.
I didn’t break eye contact with Reb Vixx. Not even when she eased down the hammer on her revolver.
In the end, I won. I beat her. I tricked her.
“We will be watching you,” Reb Vixx said. “If you find the boy, keep him with you and you will be paid handsomely. If you are lying to us, we will return and kill you all, like we killed Jennifer Scheutz.”
The cold nothingness in her voice sent chilly fingers down my spine.
We watched as the Regios, Edger included, took hold of ropes and, hand over hand, climbed back up into the Johnnies. Tough enough to lift your own body weight, but when you added the gear and guns, it made what they did even more impressive. And terrifying.
The Johnnies chugged off, morning sunlight glinting off the buzzing titanium propellers. Black smoke trailed from the steam engine’s exhaust. A fortune in manpower and equipment looking for Micah Hoyt.
Wren managed to get her Betty knife out, and she used it to cut the plastic ties off Pilate’s wrist. They didn’t stop until we were all freed.
Pilate held me tight. “Thank God, Cavvy, thank God you’re alive.” His lip was fat, his eye black, and his nose bleeding.
“I’m sorry, Pilate,” I said. “I’m sorry they beat you.”
He grinned. “Yeah, those girls tried to beat the hell out of me, but they couldn’t.” He touched his chest. “I can still feel some hell right here.”
The sound of weeping pulled me away from Pilate.
Sharlotte was bent over Jenny Bell, along with her daughters.
“Y’all best be leaving,” Zenobia said. “You’ve caused us enough trouble.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sharlotte said again. “We never meant—”
“Just go. No bad blood. But you best be leaving now, or there will be.”
Sharlotte stood, her jaw set. “Okay, let’s pack ’em up. Can’t wait to see what the Psycho Princess is going to do to us. We’ve pissed off everyone else in the Juniper.”
We packed. Fast.
I went inside, and I put the attic back the way we’d found it. Stuffed the blankets up at the very top of the house back into their plastic, discarded the mason jars and Micaiah’s leftover water and food, then grabbed Pilate’s and Petal’s guns and ammo.
I moved the hutch back into place. Maybe they wouldn’t notice the scratches. Maybe they’d never guess the boy had been in their attic all along.
Jenny Bell had died ’cause of Micaiah’s secrets. The guilt blackened my heart, and I prayed, with all my might, that her sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. That Micaiah’s quest would make her death noble.
In the end, I’d like to think Jenny Bell watched us from heaven for the rest of our journey, and in God’s perfect wisdom, forgave us.
Forgave me.
With the Scheutzes watching, heartbroke, we took off in record time. Zenobia was Christian enough to give me a bottle of pills for my pain. Ibuprofen mixed with Percocet. They tore up my stomach but kept the pain away.
Aunt Bea drove off in the Chevy Workhorse II, our chuck wagon. Wren was behind the wheel of the Ford Excelsior, puffing smoke.
The rest of us took to horses, pushing our cattle toward the Wyoming territory. No one said a word about Micaiah. We left the Scheutz’s ranch behind like it was a graveyard now. They’d bury Jenny Bell, and forever more, she’d sleep soundly in the dirt of the Juniper.
Petal left with a determination to kick the Skye6. Pilate left wanting to help her. I left behind my hatred for Pilate, and Sharlotte left any illusion of love she had for Wren.
No, Sharlotte left behind more than that. She left herself behind on the Scheutz ranch.
(iii)
That afternoon, I rode through the herd, trying to find Sharlotte. I wanted to talk about her plans and why we were moving north. Not that I wasn’t glad. I’d die before I lost the ranch, our sacred ground. We couldn’t sell our beef in Buzzkill, or to Mavis Meetchum, since she was being pressured by Howerter as well. Micaiah had disappeared, and his reward money along with it. Our only hope lay in Nevada, on the deal Mama had made with Sysco.
It seemed we were free of June Mai Angel, and, yeah, the Vixxes might be watching, but we had nothing to hide, not anymore.
Yet if we continued north, we’d eventually run into the Psycho Princess. One more enemy to face and we were down a gun. Unlike Pilate and Wren, Petal hadn’t put up a fight when the Vixxes grabbed us.
The longer I searched for my sister, the more afraid I got. Sharlotte was always easy to find, to answer questions, and to tell you what to do and how to do it.
Everyone had talked to Sharlotte but no one knew where she was. She’d told Dolly Day and our hired hands to go ahead of us to clip fences. No one had run cattle through this part of the world in centuries, and so the wire of former ranches still stretched across the land.
Then I saw Sharlotte walking Prince far behind the dusty cloud of our Herefords moving across the plain.
Couldn’t figure out why Sharlotte wasn’t in her saddle, unless Prince was foundering. Katy had recovered, or so I’d been told. Now it was prolly Prince’s turn to have something go wrong with him. Horses’ hooves could be fragile. Human hearts? Even more so.
I rode back to my big sister.
I thought she’d start talking right away, about what needed to be done, about why the Vixxes had let us go, where Sketchy and the Moby Dick might be, where Micaiah was, but instead she was wordless. Not a peep.
I didn’t know what to say. Sharlotte always spoke first, and generally, it started with, “I need you to …”
I got off Bob D to walk next to her. “Sharlotte, why ain’t you riding Prince?”
Her hat dangled from a string in her hand, so I could see her grin sheepishly. “The bounce from the horse is killing my head. Walking is horrible too, but not as bad. Now I know why Wren is so surly in the morning. Hangovers. Ugh.”
“Last night you said the cattle drive was over,” I said shakily. “Why are we still going north?”
True to form, Sharlotte answered my question with a question. She was not what you would call a good listener. “You read Macbeth in school, Cavvy?”
Such an odd question from Sharlotte. School for Sharlotte had been an inconvenience—a cactus sticker in her thumb while she was trying to work the ranch with Mama.
“Yeah, I read Macbeth, Shar. They made us.”
She nodded. “There’s a line and it’s always haunted me. Don’t know where I heard it. Maybe Pilate. He’s likely to quote Shakespeare, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Talking about Pilate felt awkward now that the truth was out.
“Someone in that play, Lady Macbeth maybe, says she’s swimming across a river of blood, and it’s as easy to keep going as it is to go back. Not like that, you understand, but in that old Shakespeare language.”
I didn’t say that the Shakespeare language was actually English. I didn’t want to shame her for not knowing.
Sharlotte stopped and sighed. We were in a little gully between two bumps of hills. All around us sprouted dandelions in a splash of yellow in the sunlight.
“I gambled you today, Cavvy.”
“I know it. Nearly had to change my underwear.”
Sharlotte smiled. Oh, she looked tired. “I’m a mystery to myself now. Getting drunk. Wanting to give up on the cattle drive. Basking in the love of that boy. Then risking your life to protect him and keep him hidden. He just seems important. More important than us somehow.”
“I felt it too. The Holy Spirit directed us, I think. Or maybe we’re just contrary.”
Sharlotte knelt down and brushed a hand over the dandelions. “If the Vixxes hadn’t attacked us and killed Jenny Bell, I prolly would’ve stayed on with the Scheutz’s. Sold her the headcount, made payroll, or we could’ve found a homestead near them, and set up selling beefsteak to the Outlaw Warlords, like Jenny Bell. Last night I said I’d go live in the World, but I can’t. Not just ’cause of the SISBI laws, but more I’m Juniper born and bred. I don’t reckon she’ll let me leave.” Sharlotte took in a deep breath. “And so, here we are, in the middle of a river of blood. As far to the other side, as it is to go back. Halfway. We all wanted it, but now the halfway feels like hell.”
We were in a mess all right, but I wanted to comfort her. “I’m okay with you gambling me, Sharlotte. I think all of us are okay keeping Micaiah a secret, or else someone would’ve come clean when Edger interrogated us. We made it this far. We can get there.”
“I love dandelions, Cavvy.”
That seemed an odd thing to say. Didn’t know how to ask if she’d gone crazy, so I asked, “Ain’t they just a weed, Shar?”
“Yeah, just a weed. But they can grow anywhere, and they’re pretty, and they’re tough. Like women in the Juniper. Like women everywhere. Tough, pretty, and we can bloom wherever we are. Don’t need a home. Just need land and the sunlight of love.”
I’d never heard Sharlotte talk like that, but here she was, emotion in her voice, saying such a pretty thing. It made me want to hug her, but Sharlotte wasn’t one for hugs. She only ever pet her cows. Never even pet the dogs.
She stared at the weeds around us. “Sally Browne Burke talked about the quiet strength of women, and I liked that. I clung to the New Morality ’cause it seemed like the only sane thing in the world. But I don’t know anymore. Breeze and Keys, their love is so pure. Watching them makes me feel alone. It made me doubt the New Morality even before Mama died. Now that’s she’s dead, I’m lost and gone.”
“You knew about Breeze and Keys?” I asked, shocked.
She grinned. “Why do you think I put them in the same tent?”
I couldn’t talk. How could Sharlotte accept their gillian love? And, in some ways, even encourage it? Both the Catholic Church and the New Morality saw any kind of homosexuality as the gravest of sins. Not venial, but mortal.
I was so surprised. Even more surprised when Sharlotte sat down in the dandelions. “When Micaiah was with me, I felt so good, like a dream come true, but I didn’t really believe it. Felt more like a story than the real thing. And you know, it was like I was supposed to want his love. Girl meets boy and they fall in love, especially if he’s handsome and viable. But it wasn’t him I wanted. Really, I only wanted someone’s affection. I wanted to be wanted. But that’s over.”
I suppose I should’ve been glad Micaiah was all mine, but seeing Sharlotte so hopeless, I didn’t much care. Our love triangle had come undone, but then, so had Sharlotte.
“Mama’s dead,” she whispered. “I feel dead.”
She lay back on the ground, yellow flowers around her ears. “I’m not going to cross to the other shore. I’m going to drown in this river of blood, right here. Dead, among dandelions.”
I dropped to my knees, my heart tossing around beats that left me breathless. “Shar, don’t talk like that. Please, I need you to be strong. If you aren’t strong, who will be? Wren can’t. She’s crazy. For real. Mentally ill, prolly. And Pilate, he’s uncertain. And the rest of them, they’re okay, but they’re not you, Sharlotte. I need you. Who else will lead?”
Sharlotte smiled at me. “What about you, Cavvy? You’re the best of us. Mama was right to send you to school. I was jealous and hated you for it, but it was the right thing to do. I love you, Cavvy. Hate Wren, but love you.”
“If you love me, be my big sister. Be the leader. ’Cause I can’t. I’m too young and feeling it.”
Sharlotte’s long-lashed eyes fell kindly on me. “Pilate says us Weller girls were born old warriors.”
“What does Pilate know, anyway?”
She sat up. “No, Cavvy, I don’t want to be the leader anymore. I got Jenny Bell killed. We shouldn’t have stayed as long as we did, and we should’ve told them about the boy.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. Please, Sharlotte.”
The wind blew a strand of hair across her face. “Maybe, you’re right. Still, I need to leave, take off and be like Wren for a while. Y’all go on without me.”
Just like that, I became the leader. Even though I was only in the spring of my sixteenth year, I had just been put in charge of the third largest cattle operation in the Colorado territory.
Our leader had quit. Our sniper took an oath to do no harm. We had hundreds and hundreds of kilometers in front of us. Deserts. The Psycho Princess. The Wind River people. The Vixx sisters.
Armageddon.
For a half-second, I thought about turning east, to follow through on Sharlotte’s promise to end the drive right there. But no, Mama had built our cattle operation from nothing. She had bled to give us a house, a life, however hard. She’d killed Queenie, an Outlaw Warlord, to keep us safe in a home she loved. I would not be the one to give up on the dreams she’d built, nor forsake the graves there. Never.
We might have been in the middle of a river of blood, but as long as I had breath, I was going to keep on swimming, so I could save our sacred ground.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, help me.
I got to my feet, quaking.
And ’cause I was a Weller to my bones, I got to work.