Dandelion Iron Book One (31 page)

The wind killed that one dead as well as the next couple. Hands trembling, I dropped two more. Had to get a match to the igniter. Had to get a fire started to heat the water. Had to. Please, Lord Jesus.

The chemical smells of the FireForge soured my nose. I bent closer. I got a match going and touched it to the cottony accelerant. The tinder flashed into flames. I tossed in the oily rags and dry wood. The explosion of heat had me sweating. Good.

I emptied my canteen into the tank. Didn’t have water-tubes, another limitation to the 3.0.3. We were going to need more water, a lot more, but I could get what we did have boiling. The Fast Boil came in powdered form, and I sprinkled the chemicals in the water to loosen the molecules so they’d turn from liquid into steam quicker.

I stuffed snow down the top of the tank, added more wood to the firebox, and then started looking for why the salvage monkeys had abandoned the truck in the first place. I was dangerously close to my ten-minute mark, but I also knew Wren would give me a few extra minutes. She was right. Engineering time differed from normal time.

Scurrying on to the bed, I cleared snow away from the hole where the ASI pistons interfaced with the drive train. If there was a problem there, I’d have to grab Tina Machinegun and fight Micaiah’s aunts to the death. But no, the big pieces of the engine looked fine.

Must be a problem with the ASI itself. Heat from the fire was clearing away snow around the boiler, which gave me a clear view.

I saw the problem. All four of the pipes leading to the compression chamber had holes in them. Without sealed pipes, the steam couldn’t get enough pressure to pump the pistons. The salvage monkey had most likely died before he could fix the problem.

So the fix was easy. Sure. Got any auxiliary ASI 3.0.3 piping on you? I didn’t.

The FireForge burned like hellfire, the old logs burned like paper, and I kept having to refill the firebox.

Back in the cab, I rummaged through the debris, praying full novenas, before I found the piping tape, a whole roll, but how old? Ten years gone? Fifteen?

From under the seat, I dug out an ASI toolbox with pipe wrenches and two spare pipes. I needed four, but well, you know—beggars, choosers, all that.

I sprinted back to the pipes and jacked loose the bolts tightened by years of rust. God gave me strength and I got the two new pipes in. I taped up the other two with tape that wasn’t sticky at all.

Just had to hope it was heat-activated shrink tape.

I stuffed more snow into the tank. I had a fire. I had sealed pipes, hopefully. Now I just needed steam.

The diesel engines seemed like they were on top of us.

Please, God, help me.

In the driver’s seat, I checked the homemade gauges covering the electric displays. My pressure was bad. Prolly wouldn’t spin a bicycle tire.

Still. I clutched in. Geared in.

The Excelsior shuddered like a cow lurching out of March mud. Growled, spun, growled some more, then stopped moving. Not enough pressure. I threw her in neutral to wait for the needle to creep into the green on the gauge.

Every minute punched me in the belly. I didn’t want to pick up the rifle and fail fighting again. I wanted this to work, to be the unexpected hero, and come through in my own engineering way, just as Wren had always come through with her guns.

The wind died for an instant, the snow cleared, and in the distance, a dozen black all-terrain ATV’s barreled through the snow, coming right at us.

Now. It had to be now. Work.

Begging heaven, my bloody hands wet on the gear shifter, I threw her in gear again and drove the gas pedal to the floor.

The Ford wrestled forward, churning through the snow.

Not a second to lose.

I rocketed over to the apartment and tore into the courtyard. The ATVs hadn’t found us yet, but we only had seconds.

Micaiah and Wren got Pilate in the back. Petal climbed in, doped up, but moving. Wren threw a leg over Christina Pink. Micaiah slid into the cab next to me.

We raced out of the courtyard and headed north, into the wind, the snow, the storm. Wren galloped after us, her green poncho fluttering darkly against the white landscape.

We’d done it. We’d escaped. But we weren’t safe yet.

We still had some fighting to do amongst ourselves.

Chapter Twenty

Sexual ethics, the sanctity of human life, God, the Holy Roman Catholic Church—you cannot pull them apart. They are bound together by fate, history, and divine will. While we respect the work of the New Morality, we cannot tolerate their support of the ARK. God will save our species, not Tiberius Hoyt nor his Satanic research.

—Archbishop Jeremy Corfu
The Ecumenical Council on Ethics and Procreation
Baltimore, Maryland
October 7, 2057

(i)

A while later, the steering wheel was sticky from my blood. Dang gunshot wounds. Running for your life will do that to a girl. The second I remembered about the wounds, a rockslide of agony covered me. Left me breathless. Wren had warned me that once the drugs and adrenaline cleared my system I’d feel the full effects of being shot twice. Even so, I kept us going.

“You okay, Cavatica?” Micaiah asked.

I nodded. My brain had slowed down. Finally. “We’ll need you to take everyone’s water and get it into the tank and any snow that’s in the bed. And there’s a bottle of Fast Boil back there.”

“Does that stuff actually work?”

I swallowed, croaked out the jingle, and somehow managed a smile.

We stopped so Micaiah could take care of the engine and Petal could get Pilate into the cab. We cleared out the backseat and burned everything that could be burned. The wood was termited and dry, so it burned like paper and the ASI 3.0.3s were horribly inefficient. Like driving around a hungry brick fireplace.

Petal, gone to nodding town on Skye6, slept holding Pilate. His chest rose and fell, thank God. Petal’s Mauser lay on the floor, carelessly thrown there.

Wren rode up on Christina Pink, worrying over Pilate. My sister’s face colored gray going pasty.

“You okay?” I asked her.

She spit as if disgusted by the question, reined Christina Pink back and moved away, keeping her eyes to the south. Nothing but snow followed us. We’d left tracks heading out of the office complex, but the force and fierceness of the driving snow would soon wipe away our trail.

We drove until we found an old suburban neighborhood. Might’ve been North Arvada or Boulder, not sure, only that we found ourselves in the middle of a graveyard of houses, entombed in white. Most didn’t look salvaged at all, which made them seem even more creepy and silent in the blizzard.

Night was coming, and we needed more wood and fast. Also, I’d need something from Petal’s bag of tricks ’cause the pain buried me. Hopefully she had more medical adhesive without Skye6.

I chose a driveway at random and pulled in. The windows of the house were as black as the inside of a coffin.

Micaiah jumped off the bed and came around with Tina Machinegun slung across his shoulder.

I banged out of the truck and my knees nearly came unhinged. My head spun woozy from blood loss, thirst, hunger, full of agony. I should’ve stayed in the cab, but with Pilate down and Petal sleeping, I wanted to help the boy get fuel for the steam engine. Wren, as usual, wasn’t around.

I washed my hands off in the snow and swore I’d force myself to be okay. I was shot. No big deal. I was tough.

Micaiah and I walked right through the front door of the house. Sad to think about that unlocked door. In what kind of panic had the people left? The sky would’ve been black from the Yellowstone Knockout, ash covering everything, people throwing their possessions into whatever vehicle they had only to jam up the freeways. Others prolly didn’t even try and died in their homes.

Sure the houses in the Juniper were haunted. Standing in the kitchen, I could feel the sadness of the ghosts around me.

Micaiah took hold of a cabinet door and ripped it from its hinges. I tried to do the same, but ended up falling against the wall, eyes squeezed closed.

He moved over to me. Close enough to feel his heat. “I know you’re trying to be strong, but you can’t go on this. I need to give you a half-dose of the Skye6.”

I gritted my teeth. “No, we have to find Sharlotte and our headcount. We have to know if they’re safe. If the rest of your aunts found them, and if they started asking questions—”

Micaiah didn’t let me finish. “Sharlotte wouldn’t be able to tell them a thing. She doesn’t know who I am, what I have, or anything. Just a vague description of a boy wandering around the Juniper. My aunts would leave them alone.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I’m not positive, but what would they gain? Nothing. Because I’ve kept the apple to myself. It’s been hard, but you and Sharlotte are safe. At least in some ways.”

Hearing my sister’s name stung my soul. Sharlotte. Poor Sharlotte. The honesty in his touch, our
no matter what
, made it clear he wanted me, not her. Or did he think he could have us both?

What did I want? I wouldn’t share him. Sharlotte deserved him. I wanted to do the right thing, which was to side with my family, but I wanted him more than my next breath.

His gaze on me was soft. “If I left, you’d be even safer.”

An icy anxiety stabbed me at the idea of never seeing him again. “Do you want to leave?”

“Dammit …” he started in frustration. My head whirled as the dizziness got to me, and I fell against him. We tumbled to the ground with me on top. Perfect for kissing.

Even through all the clothes and jackets, I felt his warmth, his hot breath on my face, and all my parts wanting him. I was betraying my sister, but I couldn’t help it. I lost all my resolve in his touch.

Dizzy, so dizzy. Suddenly I was kissing him. But it wasn’t like before, that frenzy and moaning. This time I went slow, exploring his mouth, nipping his lips, all instinct and sexy hotness.

Before long, I had his taste in my mouth, and we were both gasping for breath and my heart played an orchestra of lust in my chest. I drew back. Looked him in the eye.

“Don’t cuss,” I said.

His eyes widened. “I didn’t cuss.”

“You said ‘dammit.’” It was dumb, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. It took all my strength to pull back and sit back against the cabinets. “You and I can’t do this. ’Cause of Sharlotte. You and I … it’s so good … but we can’t …” I stuttered and stammered myself into silence. Then I started to cry. “This is wrong. Why can’t I stop myself?”

He sat where the refrigerator would’ve been. “Cavatica.”

That one word. My name. It sounded like a song on his lips. I cried harder.

“Cavatica, it’s okay. It’s natural. Why can’t you let yourself be with me?”

Dumb boy, I could give him a list. My sister was in love with him. The kisses were just a gateway drug to the sex. And it wasn’t the right time for any kind of romance. I was bleeding and dying. Pilate was bleeding and dying. I’d watched Petal pull a bullet out of Wren. The headcount might’ve survived the stampede only to be killed by a blizzard. And where were Sharlotte and the rest of our people?

Lastly, and maybe most important, Micaiah was a liar. Lies of omission were just as hateful in the eyes of God as lies of commission.

I took in a big breath, all the wind I could get in me. “If you can’t be honest with me, I can’t be with you.”

He looked away, all emotion disappearing from his face. “Fine.” The word came out flat, resigned. “It’s better this way. I know what you would do if you knew the truth.”

“What would I do?” I asked, troubled he wasn’t fighting to keep me.

“You would join me on my quest and you’d call it sacred and you would kill yourself and sacrifice your family to see it all through. Like what you’re doing to save your ranch. Please. Please, just let this drop.” He begged so hard, I felt a lump grow in my throat.

He knew all about my Catholic determination to do the right thing no matter how heavy the cross on my shoulder.

He knew me, but I didn’t know him. It felt unfair and sad. I dropped my head and let myself cry and cry—I cried out all the hardness and sorrow and violence of that long, hard, bad day.

He waited with me while I wept. He didn’t try to touch me, and I was glad. Don’t know what I would’ve done. Let him have me. Or punch him in his liar mouth.

I sniffled away the last of my tears. “You said you weren’t the snake, fine, but what about Sharlotte? What about what you’re doing with the both of us? Which one of us do you want? ’Cause you can’t have us both.”

“You,” he said quickly. “You, Cavatica Jeanne Weller, you. No matter what.”

His words stole my breath away. But I just had to ask, “Then why did you go after my sister?”

There was a split second where I could breathe, but the silence felt like a horse hoof on my chest.

“Yeah, Sharlotte, about that.” Another long, long pause. “I had to get her on my side. You know I didn’t have any other choice, right? She was going to send me away. I had to get close to her.” The damn boy blushed. Right there in front of me.

That got my
shakti
going. I stood up and got hateful on him. “You know what, Johnson? We all have choices. You tricking my sister makes you low, no matter how holy your quest is. I’ll be out in the truck. Bring those cabinet doors and anything else we can burn. Since you’re the only one who ain’t bleeding, you might as well be useful for once in your goddamn life.”

I’d blasphemed, but I was mad. He had come out and said he’d tricked my sister into loving him, which was a foul thing to do when there were so many women and so few men. I turned to walk away.

“Stop!” It was the first time I’d ever heard him raise his voice. “I’m sorry for what I did to Sharlotte. I’m sorry for dragging you and your family into this. But who I am, what I have, I will do anything to escape the Vixx sisters. Anything. I
am
on a quest, and it
is
sacred, and it’s made me do awful things, but I have to protect the Tree of Life. I don’t have a choice.”

His mouth trembled. His eyes closed. And it was his turn to cry. I crossed back to him. He really was like a storybook knight, sent to do some great, impossible task. And he was right about me. I couldn’t say no to a sacred quest.