Dandelion Iron Book One (19 page)

Well, let him quote scripture. He wasn’t a priest. Pilate was a trickster killer, a womanizer, and a dog.

Still, he had saved us. Without his Beijing Homewrecker, those outlaws would’ve finished us off in the gas station. I winced my eyes shut. This was why I hadn’t wanted to come home. Back in Cleveland, no war, no moral dilemmas, just my slate, Anju, and the only violence we saw was on episodes of
Lonely Moon
.

Wren, still on the minivan, scanned the horizon with her spotting scope. Pilate climbed up on what was left of the store, and did the same with his Sino binocs.

I chanced a look at Micaiah. “Sorry for grabbing you by your hair.”

He shrugged. “Sorry I froze. You saved me. Twice now. I won’t forget it.”

I got embarrassed and looked away.

Pilate finally called out, “Looks like we made it. Nothing’s moving, but we’ll secure the perimeter.”

Sharlotte let out a long breath. “How am I gonna gather up our headcount and secure a perimeter?”

“And what about our people?” I asked. No one had talked about the scream. Our dogs whined, an awful, heart-broke sound.

Sharlotte must’ve heard it, but she showed no emotion. Instead, she looked wearily at the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Micaiah.” No stuttering this time.

Sharlotte looked at him with a peculiar mixture of exhaustion and vexation. Then she said, “Limon is eighty kilometers that way. I’d get walkin’. There’s water there. And your way out of the Juniper.”

He didn’t protest. Just nodded. I wanted to protest. Didn’t get the chance.

Aunt Bea stumbled out from behind the gas station. Even at a distance, with only the leftovers of twilight in the sky, I saw the tears trickling down her face.

“Sharlotte, come quick. You have to see.” And then that big Mexican woman broke down completely. “Oh, Sharlotte, we lost somebody. We did, we did, we did.”

Arctic wind swept down and froze the tears in my eyes. It was our first casualty, but not our last. Certainly not our last.

Chapter Twelve

I know that Sally Browne Burke thinks romance is God’s divine plan to save our species, but I don’t believe in love. I believe in neurochemistry. I did meet Miss Burke. We’re almost the same age, but still, she kissed my cheek like I was her granddaughter. Personally, I like her.

—Maggie Jankowski
informal comments
February 14, 2058

(i)

We all stood around the body. Annabeth Burton lay on the ground, shot through the chest. Her mother’s curse was final—with Annabeth gone, the Widow Burton had outlived every single one of her children.

Breeze held Annabeth’s head on her lap. Keys held one hand, and Bella, Annabeth’s favorite dog, nuzzled the cold skin of the other. Jacob and Edward circled them all, whining something awful.

I recalled how pretty Annabeth had played the piano at Mama’s funeral party, how her smile had cracked open wide from her love of music. Up in heaven, I could see Annabeth and Mama singing some old-timey songs together, or maybe LeAnna Wright or Iris Heller. But on this earth, their voices had been silenced forevermore.

Pilate hustled over. “Wren’s going out to look for other survivors from the crash and to make sure more outlaws aren’t on their way. I’d love to get my hands on the anti-aircraft artillery they used to blow up that Jimmy, and I bet they also had a Cargador.” He turned on Micaiah. “What did you see up there before the crash? Were you hit by grappling hooks?”

My breath caught, recalling the
chunk, chunk, chunk
of the
Moby Dick
getting snagged.

“I didn’t see a thing,” Micaiah said, “I think they were trying to force us down with rockets so they could hook us, but they accidentally hit our zeppelin. That’s what the captain said, but she’s dead now.”

Pilate didn’t respond to that. He just went on. “We have to get out of here. Put Annabeth in the chuck wagon. We can bury her once we get away from June Mai Angel and her cutthroats. We confirmed that’s who attacked us. We found IDs on the bodies. IDs for a band of marauding criminals. Never thought an Outlaw Warlord would be so organized.” His voice dropped as his thoughts took away his talk.

Sharlotte didn’t move. The moonlight couldn’t get to her face under her hat, but I could guess what she was thinking—how do you sneak away in the night with three-thousand cattle spread about from hell to breakfast?

Sharlotte didn’t complain or cry, but started serving out orders. “Breeze, Keys, put Annabeth in the chuck wagon’s trailer like Pilate said. Then go out and find the rest of our people, the hires and Crete. I told them to take off once the shooting started. If I only would’ve had you all go …” She had to swallow hard. But of course, she kept her voice even. “Go and find them, and please, Lord Jesus, let them be safe. Aunt Bea and I will start packing it up. Gonna have to move our headcount in the dark. Three quarter moon is helpful, but I’d have preferred a full one. Cavvy, try and get our remuda back together. With the fighting over, the horses’ll come looking for you. Lucky for us, those ponies love you.”

For a minute no one moved. Annabeth was dead. Moving cattle at night was slow, impossible work. In the darkness, we might lose as many as fifty cows to coyotes, prairie dog holes, and general stubbornness. That’d be 1.6% of our total headcount. Rounding up, two percent less money.

I figured we’d only do it that one night, but still, it would hurt our total profits.

Sharlotte continued to throw orders like Mama would’ve done. “Get Charles Goodnight moving out front. Get his bell ringing. The herd’ll follow. Go slow. Be careful.”

Our hands got to work. I expected Sharlotte to leave with them, but she didn’t. She raised her head to address the boy, but her face was still lost in the night. “So, Micaiah, you’re gonna get on out of here, right?”

“If that’s what you want.” Micaiah shuffled his trendy faux-alligator skin cowboy boots in the white dirt. Those boots were meant for nightclubs and big cities, like the rest of his clothes—French fashion jeans and a nice, blue silk shirt. Knew it was silk. I’d nearly torn it off him. Got all hot again, thinking about how his shirt and skin felt. I prayed to Jesus for a minute, for strength and forgiveness.

“It’s what I want,” Sharlotte said, “and I’m in charge of this operation.”

“I know,” the boy said. “I could tell that right away. You’re a natural leader.”

Sharlotte fell silent. Quite the compliment.

“Shar, we can’t send him away,” I said. “He’ll die of cold.”

“You got a coat?” Sharlotte asked him.

“I did.” He pointed in the general direction of the Jimmy crash.

“Please, Sharlotte,” I pleaded.

My sister ignored me and addressed the boy. “I’ll get you a blanket and a canteen, and you can get on out of here.” She stomped away, which left us standing there alone. Just the two of us.

Yikes.

I couldn’t talk to him, just couldn’t. I’d kissed him and done more. Nope. Better to get back to work. While waiting for my horses to return, I could pack up my aluminum pole corral.

I followed the paths of white dirt between clumps of dark sagebrush. To my surprise, Micaiah trailed me.

I found my rope and started coiling it up. He stood watching until a question bubbled up out of me. “So, Micaiah, is that a Bible name?”

“I guess,” he said. “What kind of a name is Cavatica?”

“It’s from my mama’s favorite book,
Charlotte’s Web
, only she just passed, so it’s hard to talk about and I’d rather not.” I shouldn’t have started the conversation in the first place.

I jiggled the poles to loosen the dirt. The boy helped, and we piled the poles by the rope. My parka warmed me despite the chill. He stood there shivering. I knew a way to heat him up.

Ugh. I shook my head at myself. I never knew the depth of my desire, and I couldn’t keep the lustful thoughts out of my mind. My only recourse was prayer, but that felt like trying to stop a prairie fire with a bottle of Coke.

Eons of awkward silence later, Sharlotte came back and threw Micaiah a wool blanket, army green and itchy, but warm. “Couldn’t find a canteen. Good luck.” She pointed east. “Like I said, Limon is that way. You’ll find water there, and your way out of the Juniper.”

“I can’t go back that way,” he said in a low voice.

That surprised me. I figured he was on his way out of the Juniper, but then I thought about it—his Jimmy had been going west, toward the mountains, which didn’t make sense. Everyone knew you couldn’t fly through central Colorado, not with June Mai Angel and her Cargadors.

Sharlotte didn’t seem to care about the mystery. And all his good looks seemed completely lost on her. “Not our problem sorry to say. Goodbye.”

He didn’t move. “Maybe if I stayed with you, I could make it worth your while. I have some money—”

Sharlotte cut him off. “We don’t need your money. We have enough worries. We can’t take you on.”

Once more, I had to save him. He’d die on the plains if we cut him loose. And I needed his touch in some hungry way I couldn’t explain. “Sharlotte, we can’t send him away. It’s not Christian. He’s not prepared to travel.”

“It’s either him or us,” Sharlotte said in a bleak voice. “Traveling with boys is too dangerous, especially if June Mai Angel is looking for him.”

“That’s nonsense,” I said. “We have Pilate. He’s a boy and he’s along for the ride. We knew we’d run into Outlaw Warlords. Especially June Mai. She’s been stealing zeppelins out of the sky, so she has air reconnaissance. Only a matter of time before she sees us. And you know she’s heard about our grand cattle drive as well. Thank you, Juniper gossip.”

The boy cocked his head to listen to me, but it seemed his eyes were on Sharlotte, gauging her reaction. She was in charge, after all.

“We can’t help him,” Sharlotte replied. “Yeah, it’s wrong, but once again, we don’t have a choice.”

Wren galloped up on Mick, a sorrel gelding. Mick was a calm pony, but none too bright.

“Y’all talkin’ about the boy?” Wren asked, holding up a sapropel lamp to see us better. She swung off the saddle, and set the lamp down in the middle between her, Sharlotte, Micaiah, and me.

“What are you doing with the light on?” Sharlotte demanded.

“Please,” Wren said, “we have three-thousand cattle. We’re not exactly inconspicuous. And if them outlaws do come? Good. More for me to kill. We searched the wreck and the boy was the only survivor. Pilate found their Cargador and their horses. He and Petal are going to drive it out a-ways, confuse them when more come lookin’. Don’t worry, I told him to scavenge the fuel and weaponry for us.” She held up an MG21. “Get more like this one. He’ll load up a couple horses, but not all. With that big truck and all the horses, it will make a better false path for June Mai to follow.”

“Not if they have zeppelins,” I said.

“Better than us stealing it all and leading them right to us.”

I felt my jaw go tight. How on earth could we sneak away without June Mai finding us?

The light was definitely a bad idea. However, now I could see Micaiah’s face. He was looking hard at all three of us. We were about to decide his fate, and he was smart enough to keep quiet.

Sharlotte stood in her duster and hat, tall, like the statue of Justice at the Cleveland courthouse. “He can’t come with us.”

“The hell he can’t,” Wren said. “Now that June Mai Angel might know we’re out here, we best turn the hell around and head back to Burlington. Rest up the headcount, then take ’em to Hays. Sell the cattle, sell the boy, divide up the money. That’s the only plan that makes any sense.”

My mouth dropped open. Dang. I thought it was awkward before. The lamp seemed to hiss louder. Micaiah shifted a little under his blanket.

“You’re serious.” Sharlotte’s eyes were hidden by the brim of her hat.

Wren nodded violently. “Yeah, I am. This cattle drive is to save the ranch, right? A viable boy is goin’ for hundreds of thousands of dollars. I bet we could get a million for this particular johnson. They milk ’em and sell it on Craigslist. Tibbs Hoyt and his ARK sure hate it, but they can’t stop it. So, if we can get the johnson out of the Juniper, we could find a buyer for him. We all win. We pay back Howerter, you save the ranch, I get to go back to Amarillo, and Cavvy can go back to school. The end.”

“What happened to you, Wren?” Sharlotte asked. “We all came from the same mama, but it’s like you’re devil spawn or somethin’.” Her hand went into her pocket. She had something there, but I didn’t know what it was. At the time, I thought it might be a pistol. It wasn’t. A gun would’ve caused far less trouble.

“Come off it, Shar,” Wren spat. “I heard you and Cavvy. You were gonna send him away to die. At least with my plan, he’ll live.”

“Sending him off is one thing, selling him is another.” Sharlotte’s hands were out of her pockets and curled into fists.

And still it wouldn’t be enough. We needed more than a million dollars. A lot more.

“Seems my way is kinder,” Wren shot back. “Someone is gonna make a fortune off him, and I say it should be us. Besides, June Mai Angel knows we’re out here now. This cattle drive is over.”

“No, it’s not,” Sharlotte growled and took a step toward Wren. “We knew we’d have to fight through June Mai Angel, or somehow pay her off. Either way, we wait and see if she comes at us. In the meantime, we’ll just have to move quick. Push our headcount fifty kilometers a day. Yeah, some’ll die. But we can make it. Having a boy makes our situation worse, can’t you see that? June Mai makes her money by peddling drugs and boys, and if she sniffs out we have not one, but two viable males, she’ll come at us hard.”

My two sisters, once again, about to go to blows. And me, standing there watching. It was re-run video of my childhood.

In the sizzling quiet, Micaiah asked a question. “How do you know I’m viable?”

Wren chuckled. “Ain’t you?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

A sneer spread slowly across Wren’s face. “Good-lookin’ guy like you, figures you’d be viable. And who are you anyway? That was a nice Jimmy and you got nice clothes. Born rich, viable, and alive after that wreck? Well don’t Jesus just love you?”