Storm Girls (The Juniper Wars Book 4) by Aaron Ritchey (best books to read for students TXT) 📕

It was Dutch who finally brought up our situation. He hadn’t been privy to our plans before. “So, since we didn’t find your boys, I reckon we are going to turn around and head back to I-70. Maybe they went west with this cure our friend Edger mentioned. Maybe they tried to cross the Rockies up near Steamboat Springs.”

Wren froze at the mention of the cure, and I thought she might spill the beans about my lie, but she kept her mouth closed. And continued to pace.

“Sorry, Dutch,” I said, hugging the doll against the chalkdrive on my chest. “We’re heading over Independence Pass to Leadville. Then we’ll drop down to I-70. What’s done is done. We’ll pray for Pilate and Micaiah.”

The idea of losing them choked my throat closed.

Rachel winced but didn’t weep.

Dutch shook his head, grinning. “Independence Pass? You trying to kill us all, little sister?”

“I ain’t your sister,” I rifled back. Oh, he could get to me. Shar was right, he was like Pilate, and he could push my buttons just like my father did.

Dutch seemed unperturbed over my outburst. “If we try to make it over the pass without supplies, we’ll die. You understand that, right? If we get snowed in, we’ll end up eating one another.”

“We’ll have to chance it. It’s still autumn. Roads still might be okay. What other choice do we have?” I was having a hard time breathing; what Dutch was saying scared me, but there I was getting mad at him for saying it.

I was just glad we’d fought together. I trusted him more, though I still had a hard time liking him any.

“We have lots of choices, Princess,” Dutch said evenly. The firelight painted him in a red glow, devilish.

Wren struck a concrete wall.

“Wren!” I hollered.

She whirled. “Jesus Christ, Cavvy, we can’t give up on Pilate. He’s our Pilate.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “But you know as well as I do, going back to I-70 is suicide.”

Wren softened and took a deep breath. “It’s awful leaving them. It’s so jackering jacked up.”

“We don’t know where they are.” Sharlotte spoke over Marisol’s head. “They might be just fine.”

I recalled what Pilate had said before. “Yeah, Shar, faith, not fear. We’ll make it over the pass.”

“I like the Holy Bible as well as the next man,” Dutch said, “but Daniel didn’t waltz into the lion’s den and expect the Lord to save him, Princess.”

I erupted and glared at him while I addressed my sister. “Wren, dammit, you need to deal with your boyfriend. He needs to understand that he’s just along for the ride, so he don’t get any kind of say about what we do or where we go.”

Dutch smiled at Wren. “I’m assuming Cavvy doesn’t like to be called princess or little sister. Do I have that right?”

Wren found her own smile. “No, she don’t. Let me guess, Dutch, you think all her plans are crazy bad and will get us killed.”

“Something like that,” he said with a subtle sneer on his handsome face.

“You know who you’re dealing with, don’t you?” Wren asked.

“Wellers.” He sighed.

Wren nodded. “And you can take that to the bank. So, shut up, do what you’re told, and hang on to your dangle. I can’t promise you’ll live, but I can promise you the time of your jackering life.”

And they both started laughing.

Which disgusted me. Yes, everything Dutch said was right, but still, I couldn’t think of another way. Heading back to I-70 would take us right into the den of ARK lions.

If we could make it over Independence Pass, we could get through to Denver without the ARK knowing. It might already be too late. It had dropped twenty-five centimeters of snow down here, but up there, there could meters. We wouldn’t know until we tried.

Problem was, going to take a peek might get us all killed. We’d wind up dead like the bodies in Aspen lying in their graves of snow.

(iii)

There wasn’t much to salvage in the apartments, but we did scrounge up a couple of sapropel lanterns, and Wren took them out to scavenge more. Dutch went with her, thank goodness. They came back with backpacks of ammunition and, wonder of wonders, three freeze-dried dinners for the six of us.

We boiled water for our banquet of MeadowHome dishes: Chunky Beef Stew, Spicy Tamil Lentils, and Blanca’s Burrito Blast, which was a big sack of Mexican-food goodness full of shredded chicken, green chiles, and refried beans.

We were eating in silence when Rachel spoke up. “We won. We aren’t dead. And Pilate and Micaiah aren’t dead. Tonight, they’re feasting and enjoying life. Right now.”

At first, I was confused. How did she know?

But Wren took over. “You got that right. Pilate is smoking a cigar and drinking coffee, though it keeps him awake. He’d say that he’d sleep when he’s dead if God lets him. ’Cause God throws big parties up in those mansions in heaven, mostly for the sinners since the saints only like church.”

I took up the story. “Of course, Micaiah will tell him that drinking a stimulant before bedtime isn’t logical.”

That brought laugher, though it hurt my heart a little. Micaiah without emotions was a sorrowful sort of creature.

“And cigars don’t make any kind of sense,” Sharlotte put in.

“Eating smoke!” Us Wellers sisters all cheered, repeating what Pilate would sometimes say when anyone tried to argue his nicotine addiction away.

Rachel then imagined a nice story for us. “We’ll get our Stanleys out, and we’ll cross the pass without any trouble. We’ll be so far ahead of the ARK they will never catch up. We will walk into Kansas free, where we will see Pilate and Micaiah again. Pilate and I will get married.”

“You could get married at our house in Burlington,” I said. “We’ll have paid back Howerter by then, somehow. We’ll have a big party, invite the entire Juniper, and Dutch can preside.”

The scoundrel smirked. “I am a licensed minister.