Dandelion Iron Book One (3 page)

“Well, Mrs. Justice,” Wren said slowly, “like I told you, I ain’t leavin’ without our money.”

With my heart pounding, I gripped my slate like it was a shield. “Wren, no.” Not sure what I was saying no to, but it seemed like the logical thing to say. What money was she talking about?

“Well, Cavvy, Mrs. Justice says that if you leave early she won’t reimburse us your tuition. I don’t think that’s fair, do you?” Wren popped the magazine out, snapped back the action, and then with practiced speed caught the bullet that ejected out the side. She regarded my principal. “Our conversation was making me tense. Firearms generally calm my nerves, but now that my little pistol ain’t loaded, there’s no reason for you to be scared.” She placed the pistol, magazine, and bullet on the desk.

Same old Wren. I hadn’t seen her in four years, not since she was sixteen, growing into her talons and fangs. Watching her, though, it seemed like yesterday.

Mrs. Justice didn’t say a word—too pale to talk. Guns do that to law-abiding people outside in the World. Inside, the Juniper was the Juniper, outside, for us, was the World, where electricity worked and there were actual laws.

“Why would I be leaving early?” I asked.

My sister shrugged, then, with that evil smile still on her face, she said, “Mama’s dead.”

A sharp shock swept through me, too big for me to feel. So I studied my sister’s smile, would’ve taken a picture of it, just to figure it out. The words my sister said were hard, but her smile was harder.

Mrs. Justice finally found her voice. “My condolences, Cavatica, for your mother. I know you two must both be grieving. However, that doesn’t excuse your sister for bursting into my office and demanding the rest of this year’s tuition. Moreover, I refuse to be intimidated. I know you both grew up in chaos, but Ohio has strict gun control laws, and our Academy has a policy of zero tolerance …”

Her voice became a drone. I couldn’t stop looking at Wren, wondering if she was telling the truth. Mama dead? Couldn’t be. Women like my mama didn’t die. There were too many chores to do. Too much money to chase. Death didn’t dare touch a woman like my mama.

“I’m calling security and the police.” Mrs. Justice got up and walked out. Wren and I didn’t move.

“How’d she die?” It was a dumb question ’cause of course she was alive.

“Heart attack. She got herself into big money problems, and then dropped dead. Now the ranch is in trouble, and Sharlotte …” Wren closed her eyes, shook her head, and grinned with hate. “Sharlotte said if I didn’t come and fetch you, she’d hire killers on me. But I wanted to come. It’s been a long time, Princess, and I was curious to see how you’ve grown. By the way, I for one appreciated your little display. That Becca Olson sounded like a real rich priss.”

Standing there, I tried not to believe her, but my denial was draining away like sand under my feet.

Then it hit me what Wren’s smile meant. Wren had issues with inappropriate emotional reactions, something we studied in my psychology class, but this was something more. Wren wanted to see my reaction, wanted to see what I looked like gutted and laid open by the news. For her, it was entertainment.

Fury filled me. But anger is what psychologists call an iceberg emotion. Underneath the rage, icy sorrow and colder despair gushed and swirled. If I had to swim in that freezing water, I’d pull Wren down with me. And I hated when she called me princess. So I reared back to slap that evil smile off her face.

Even sitting, Wren ducked it easily. “Oh, hell no, girl. What they been teachin’ you here? Not how to fight. I saw that comin’ a kilometer away.”

Rattler-quick, Wren was on her feet. With her free hand, she tweaked my nose.

The sour smell of liquor oozed from her pores. No surprise there.

Mrs. Justice’s office was not a place to fight—too crowded with furniture, books, and whatnot, but still, I tried to wrestle my sister down. Even half-drunk, Wren was stronger and meaner. She kneed me in the thigh and shoved me to the hardwood floor.

“Back in the day, you’d have dodged that,” Wren said. “Your time with these Yankees done slowed you down. Let me help you up.” She put out a hand, fingernails painted a bright cherry-red.

I knocked her hand away. “I don’t want to go home. I want to graduate. I’ve already started looking at colleges.” That was true, even though I was only a junior.

“I don’t care what you want.” Wren retrieved the magazine and slammed it back into the pistol. She chambered a round, then ejected the magazine, and pressed the spare bullet in on top of the others. She slid the magazine home into the butt of the 9mm. Once more fully loaded. “Sharlotte wants you, and what Sharlotte wants Sharlotte gets. You can argue with her.”

I couldn’t match Wren in a fistfight, but I had other weapons, nasty bombs with my sister’s name stamped on them in big black letters.

I stood up and wiped some sweat off my forehead, then started pushing red buttons, launching missiles, going to war. Fire one. “You drunk? Well, you are weak-willed, or that’s what Mama always used to say.”

A little of that self-satisfied smirk faded from Wren’s face. “What Mama said don’t matter no more. She’s dead. And yeah, I had a few beers on the train, but I’m far from drunk.”

“Sure Mama died of a heart attack. Worrying over you finally broke her heart.” Fire two.

Wren laughed, jiggling the Springfield 9 in my general direction. “Oh, you’re good. I see what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”

Fire three. “Sharlotte really did threaten to kill you, didn’t she? How does that feel? Your own sister wanting you dead? Just goes to show, you really don’t belong in our family—not when Mama was alive, and definitely not now that she’s … gone.”

My voice tripped on that last word, but still, it was a direct hit. This time, I saw Wren’s attack coming and ran behind Mrs. Justice’s desk. I didn’t think Wren would shoot me. At least I hoped she wouldn’t. Sisters shouldn’t kill each other, even if they want to much of the time.

“Let’s just go,” Wren said, smile gone. I had won, but it felt empty, which is why fighting with family is so useless. Every time you hit ’em good, it feels like hitting yourself.

“I’m sorry.” I breathed it out. “For what I said. But I ain’t going home. I’ll call Sharlotte on her next run to Hays.”

Wren’s pretty eyes were distant and that pretty mouth curled up in a chew. “Ain’t gonna be no more runs to Hays. When Mama died, she left us a whole stack of bills and no money, but Sharlotte has this crazy plan to save the ranch. We have to get home, right away. Funeral is Saturday.”

What Wren said, it was as if she was speaking Mandarin. No more cattle runs to Hays? Sharlotte having a crazy plan? Sharlotte Weller was Sunday-straight, a clear-thinking responsible woman. She made Sally Browne Burke look like a whiskey-headed party girl.

And it was Wednesday. No way could we get to Burlington in three days.

Since Wren was talking crazy, I figured I might as well join her. “I’m not going back, Wren. Never. I’m through with the Juniper. And if I have to have a sister like you, I’m through with family.” Yeah, I clung to my denial, but I was so comfortable at my fancy Academy, with electricity and gun laws and mostly nice girls, that I couldn’t imagine going back home. And I didn’t really want to believe Mama was dead. If I stayed in school, it meant Mama would still be alive and everything would be normal.

Right then, Mrs. Justice burst into the room. Behind her was campus security, two big women, scowling, dressed in gray.

Behind the security women, Ohio policewomen jogged over, carrying Armalite Thor stunners. They looked like silver guns without barrels, but fully charged, the stunners could throw electrical charges as far as ten meters, knock you down and leave you gnawing on your tongue. Non-lethal. Gun laws went into effect for everyone in the U.S., civilians and the police alike.

Mrs. Justice was yelling. “See! She has a gun! Arrest her. Arrest them both!”

“Ah, hell, here we go,” Wren whispered. I heard the danger-quiet in my sister’s voice.

“No, Wren!”

Her Springfield 9 coughed thunder.

I had completely forgotten how loud a gun was, and how much trouble one could cause in the hands of my gunslinger sister.

(iii)

Being in a gunfight is not like riding a bicycle. My glands had forgotten how to handle the spitfire of my adrenaline.

Back when I was a kid growing up in the Juniper, I got used to firearms and killed my fair share of deer and antelope. Even before June Mai Angel, we had Outlaw Warlords in the Juniper, and I grew up reloading Mama’s rifle during gun battles. I guess that made me tough. Gave me awful dreams, I’ll tell you what. Noise, blood, and bullets. Dreams about Queenie, the Outlaw Warlord my mama killed dead.

But that had been a long time ago, so when Wren started shooting, I didn’t react like I should’ve. Wren’s years of hard living had given her a tolerance for grit and gunfire. I’d grown as soft as the rest of the Yankees.

The security guards and policewomen didn’t realize that Wren was aiming high. All they knew was that a pretty girl in a yellow dress was shooting at them. One of the cops raised a stunner, and Wren shot it out of her hand.

“Out the window, Cavvy,” Wren yelled.

“No, Wren, we gotta give ourselves up. You can’t kill those women! They’re just doing their job!”

“Saturday, Cavvy, that’s the funeral. Can’t get there if we’re in prison. I got priors and they’ll get you for accessory.”

I was too blind from the violence to think her argument through, and I was right next to the window. Part of me figured if we could get out of there, Wren wouldn’t kill anyone. For one mad moment, I thought about trying to take her down myself, but how could I ever hope to stand up to Wren? She’d taken me in every fight we’d ever had. And it was clear God Himself had trouble keeping her in line. What chance did I have? So I followed along.

I threw open the window, punched through the screen, and jumped out into rose bushes. Thorns tore my dress and ripped my skin. Wren dashed out after me, her gun smoking in the February cold. The rotten-egg smell of gunpowder brought back too many memories.

Stunners zapped the grass around us. The sparkling blue of the energy bolts raised the hair on my arms. Wren turned and fired into the brick, keeping the cops and security guards inside.

“Okay, Wren, now that you got me expelled and on the run, what’s your big plan to get us out of here?”

Wren smirked. “Didn’t reckon on a shootout.”

Great, she didn’t have an exit strategy. Just like me. I’d have to save us.

More stunner beams flashed from other policewomen hustling toward us across the lawn.

Wren and I ran into the faculty parking lot filled with old elm trees and polished cars. We ducked behind a Dodge Imaginos resting on its hydraulic landing pads. I dashed my fingers across my slate, leaving sweat marks, and speed-dialed Anju.

She answered and her face filled my screen. I was about to tell her I needed help when I heard a policewoman’s voice close by. “Backup is on its way. Approach with caution. They are armed and dangerous.”

“Not as armed as I’d like to be,” Wren murmured. “But more dangerous than you could ever imagine.”

“Wren, it’s wrong to kill. Sixth commandment. We’re Catholic, remember?”

“Where are your ashes, Miss Mary?” Wren asked it in a laugh.

“Mass was tonight,” I said, then …

“Cavatica? Is that you? I can’t see your face.” Anju’s voice blasted out of my slate’s speakers. Dang it all. I thumbed down the volume and centered my face in the camera.

“Anju, where are you?” I whispered.

“In Billy’s car. In the student parking lot. He found me right away, once he heard your broadcast. What’s up?”

“Over here!” a policewoman yelled. “I think they’re over here!”

Didn’t have much time. The cavalry needed to come before Wren killed anybody.

Footsteps echoed. “I’ll cut them off on this side!”

“Amateurs,” Wren grunted.

She was right. Yelling and running gave away their positions. America had been so peaceful since the Sino ended that police training was bound to suffer.

I kept my voice low. “Anju, I need you and Billy to come get me in the faculty parking lot. And, um, there’s gonna be some shooting.”

“At least four shots,” Wren whispered.

“You didn’t bring an extra magazine? Who’s the amateur now?”

Wren twisted a lip. “Didn’t reckon on a shootout.”

“Cavatica, what’s happening?” Anju licked her lips nervously. “Shooting?”

Wren popped up and fired. A car alarm went off. She sank back down, nodding. “Just two of them cops are close by. Other four are hanging back, waiting on more firepower.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. More firepower on the way.

“Come and fetch us, Anju, please,” I pleaded.

“I don’t know. Gunshots?” Sweat beaded on her forehead. It was a lot to ask, but I was desperate. My heart felt like it was trying to crawl out of my throat.

“Please, Anju.” I paused, then knew the perfect thing to say. “You said you always wondered what it would be like to live out an episode of
Lonely Moon
, right? Well, here is your chance.”

She took in a deep breath. “Okay, we’ll come.” She glanced over at Billy and smiled. “I owe you everything. Billy knows I love him for him.”

“Wonderful. Now come get us, girl. Fast.”

A shoe slid over the asphalt. A policewoman whirled around the car, stunner in her fist.

Wren grabbed her hand, twisted her backward, and used the woman’s own stunner on her. The woman toppled over and shook like sizzling bacon on the asphalt. Wren looked at the silver half-gun. “Prolly better than killing ’em.”

Up again, she stunned the other policewoman who was creeping up on us.

Billy’s car swooshed into the parking lot, a sweet Ford Pegasus, frictionless and as red as Wren’s fingernails.

Suddenly, a Chevy Landspeeder next to us exploded as if struck by lightning. I could smell the air cooking.

I froze up like a rabbit on the road. What in the heck could do something like that?

Wren grabbed me by the hair and threw me into the cramped back seat of Billy’s Pegasus. She tossed the stunner into my lap, raised up her Springfield 9 to pop off another shot, then slid in next to me. Billy took off, pedal to the metal.