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

“Pilate would love that,” Wren put in.

Rachel sighed. “We’ll get married at your ranch then, since you’ve all worked so hard to save it. And Pilate and I will have a whole family of girls. I will name the first three Sharlotte, Wren, and Cavatica.”

“Irene,” Wren sobered a minute. “Name her Irene, Rachel. Wren is a hard name to carry.”

“The next three can be Shannon, Renee, and Cathy,” Sharlotte said, recalling our fake names Micaiah had given us in Glenwood Springs.

“Never! I hate the name Cathy now,” I said.

“And I’m hardly a Renee. But remember, you’ll have to come up with boy’s names as well ’cause by that time we’ll have fixed the Sterility Epidemic.” Wren turned to Rachel. “So, you and Pilate? I can see it.”

Rachel blushed, then nodded. “Thank you.”

“How can you see it?” I asked. Even I had trouble with such an idea, and Rachel had confided in me right away.

Wren shrugged. “Pilate likes his skanks crazy. Always has. Always will. It’s why he gets along with us Wellers.”

Dutch watched us banter, a smile on his face, and a little bit of stew on his chin. Kind of made him look like a little boy. Maybe he was all right. Maybe.

Marisol stopped crying to take interest in our fun.

“I am not a crazy skank,” Rachel insisted.

And that made us all laugh harder. Warmth, food, laughter, it felt like a party.

Though I’d have traded it all to free our Stanleys and get us on our way. Every hour we tarried could prove lethal in the end.

At least I was sitting. My wounded feet started to throb.

(iv)

I woke in the middle of the night, checked my watch, and found it was a little before 5:00 am. The fire was chewing through a cabinet door but was nearly finished with it. I threw on a split piece of pine, dry enough that it wouldn’t be much more than a snack for the flame.

I was next up for guard duty. It was going to be a long couple of hours before I had enough light to really troubleshoot our Stanley problem, though I’d been pondering it nonstop.

Around me in the baby’s room, everyone was sleeping. Dutch held Wren, while Sharlotte comforted Marisol, even in her dreams. I set the baby doll I’d been cuddling next to them.

On my hurt feet, I limped out the door. My soles would heal, and that was all there was to it.

Outside it was snowing but not fiercely. We didn’t need any more accumulation, but the clouds kept it warmer than a blank sky. It wasn’t frigid, just freezing. I was happy there.

Rachel stood next to the backhoe, gazing down on the lifeless body of Praetor Gianna Edger.

“It’s fleeting, isn’t it?” she murmured.

“Life you mean,” I said. “Yeah, Rachel, it is.”

Rachel turned to me. She was bundled up in ARK gear, white and gray camouflage. “This could’ve been me. This probably should’ve been me. Thank you. Instead of killing me back in Utah, you spared me. You gave me emotions. You gave me life. Thank you.” Then she hugged me.

I expected her to cry—over our situation, over Pilate—but she didn’t. In fact, she’d started the party of the night before.

“Rachel, how are you doing?” I asked.

She pulled back and smiled. “I’ve been telling myself stories. And though it’s not logical, the narratives have brought me peace. I’m lying to myself, but I find that it’s far preferable than worrying and imagining the horrible things that might be happening to Pilate.”

“Faith, not fear,” I said.

“Hope as a weapon,” Rachel countered. “This is why humans tell stories of heroes, isn’t it? To trick themselves into hoping and making themselves feel better.”

I frowned. “Well, it doesn’t sound too good when you put it like that.”

She cocked her head. “I was created to be a weapon. Good or bad has nothing to do with my efficacy. Now, I have emotions, and I must alter my thinking to better handle this new configuration so I can remain efficient. Before, when I was becoming more human, I thought such stories were worthless. Now, I see their worth.”

“Yeah, humans like stories all right. It’s why Lonely Moon makes so much money even though it has nothing to do with reality.”

Rachel nodded. “Human stories shape reality. I see that now. Tibbs Hoyt should create his soldiers with an imagination to visualize their imperatives. Simply following orders might be efficient, but there is an added variable which they lack. It’s why us Wellers have been able to defeat the ARK army over and over.”

I loved that she was echoing what we said ... us Wellers ... that she included herself in our family.

“Let’s hope our luck doesn’t run out,” I said.

My newest sister held up a hand. “It’s not luck. You tell a better story than Tibbs Hoyt does. And you believe it. There is power in that.” She paused. “I’ve always been baffled, however, by the tale the Christians tell. Jesus was a hero who failed and was slain. How can people find hope in such a narrative?”

This one I could answer easily from my Catholic upbringing. “Jesus loved people, Rachel. He loved all people. And he gave up his life telling a story about the Kingdom of God, where everybody gets to eat, where there’s justice and mercy, and where all humans love all humans. The rich even wash the feet of the poor. He didn’t back down a bit, even when threatened with death.”

“He sacrificed himself for all of humankind, so that humans might love one another.” Rachel blinked. “If I altered my imperatives to be more Christian, I would expand them beyond our family. My Christian imperatives would be to learn how to be kind to everyone I meet, become part of the human family, and protect everyone from harm.”

“That’s right ’cause Jesus saw everyone as his family,” I said. “It’s a high ideal, and us humans have failed at even coming close, but now does it make more sense?”

“Self-sacrifice.” Rachel nodded.