Storm Girls (The Juniper Wars Book 4) by Aaron Ritchey (best books to read for teens .txt) 📗

headshot. But her eyes blinked open—so white compared to the red. “Just a cut from the fall,” she said. “I’m okay. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Marisol and Rachel had already fled the Audrey. Both climbed out of the pit on shaky legs. Sharlotte and I followed.

The loader’s backhoe towered over us. It had smashed Audrey into the pit, but dang it, Rachel had been too close. What had she been thinking?

Sharlotte, Marisol, and Rachel ran for the shelter of the loader’s metal, but I paused, pondering how I’d get the Marilyn and the Audrey out of the tiger hole trap, until machine gun bullets chewed up the dirt around me. I fled across the street and into the rat’s maze of a mall, partially destroyed, completely tore up, but not salvaged.

The mall had been converted into houses for the town. I ran through a nursery, stepping on a baby doll as I went. All the pink, from the comforter on the crib to a needle-point picture on the wall, had been blackened by the war and trouble.

Maybe I hadn’t stepped on a baby doll, but an actual baby. Didn’t stop to look. Didn’t really want to know.

“Cavvy!” a familiar voice called.

Dutch. He’d taken shelter there. He waved me over, leading me into a basement shop so dark it looked like a place where light went to die.

Gray dust covered his face. His fancy fringed leather jacket had blackened from the snow melting off him. His backpack of ammo was slung over his shoulder still, and he seemed okay. But what was he doing down here?

And could I trust him?

He stood in the darkness, waiting to lead me on. But lead me where?

Then I heard the stomping combat boots behind me. Regios, coming for us.

I fled down through a cracked concrete hallway, and we disappeared into the dark, but not before I glanced behind me. My boots had tracked in a trail of mud. They’d bring those soldier girls right to us. I turned and saw them.

Six Regios were crouched in the baby’s room, AZ3s close to their chests, their white camouflage not hiding a thing. It made them glow. I slipped off Eryn Lopez’s pink down coat. In my black wool sweater and skirt, I’d blend in better with the shadows.

Dutch pulled me over behind a big dresser. We were in someone’s bedroom, a woman’s, and her perfume must’ve fallen ’cause I could smell its sweet lingering.

Adrenaline sharpened my senses.

My eyes scooped up every bit of light from outside, and I knew we could see out but them Regios couldn’t see in. I was close enough to Dutch to feel his heat and to smell him, that man smell. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it.

“What’s the plan?” I asked in a hiss.

“We wait, little sister,” Dutch whispered. “They’ll come. They saw our footy-prints. And when they all crowd in, we blow the crapperjack out of them.”

“What were you doing down here?” I asked. “How come you weren’t out there, helping our people?”

Dutch sighed. “Dammit, Cavvy, you’re going to have to trust me at some point. Did you choose to walk your Stanley into that hole? No. In battle, things happen. I got pinned down, and I ran in here to get away.”

“Shhh, we don’t want them to hear us,” I whispered.

“Yes, we do,” Dutch said. The little light reflected off his grin. “We want them to hear us whispering, planning. They’ll think we’re scared, so scared, and they’ll get overconfident. When they come in, you stay low and take ’em out on the right. I’ll stand and give them a nice target and take ’em out on the left. See? I can play the self-sacrifice game. So, when are you going to trust me?”

“When you do something trustworthy,” I said.

“Shush now,” Dutch said abruptly. He pulled me down behind the dresser. Our boots scratched in the glass below us. It seemed so loud.

Dutch turned my head to a mirror hanging on the wall. A woman’s dressing mirror. The top half had survived the bombing, and in its reflection, we saw the doorway. We saw the Regios.

One was at the entrance to the basement room. She was coming in, slowly, and I knew we’d have to wait, wait until they all crept into the darkness. Then we’d start shooting.

More killing.

Thou shalt not kill.

If that’s true, God, why did you give me a trigger finger and limited choices?

Us or them.

Pilate’s ten-second boot camp.

It was us or them.

A second Regio crept behind the first. They were spread out. Well-trained, but then, of course they were. Wasn’t like the Regios had learned bridge or Canasta or Texas hold ’em. Their only skill sets were combat and murder. Born, bred, and trained for one purpose: to follow their imperatives.

A third Regio entered.

The first had passed us. My heart hammered insanely in my ears. My breath came quick, and to me it seemed so loud. So, I tried not to breathe. Then my heart got louder.

It was like I could feel the blood pulsing through my veins.

Sweat dripped from my nose. I wanted to shoot her, right in the back, but we had to wait. Had to wait.

It was a long room, longer than I first thought. Back in the day, it would’ve been a ski shop, prolly, selling warm clothes to the rich so they could zoom down the slopes on plastic. From what I heard, it had been hundreds of dollars a pop to ski down through the snow. It sounded like throwing money away on just a few minutes’ fun.

Focus. Had to focus. Had to keep my breathing quiet. Had to stay perfectly still.

It was awful. It was pressure and tension crushing down on me like I was under an ocean of fear and hate.

Finally, the fifth one stepped into the room. Then the sixth. It was time.

Dutch knew it, too. He stood up. “Remember, Cavvy, always, always, always ...”

I didn’t let him finish. Crouched, I triggered my rifle.