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

The Severin disappeared around the other side of the Audrey. She was going for the other Stanley.

I didn’t pause. I dashed up the Marilyn’s ladder, pulled open the door, and threw myself into the driver seat.

Pressure was good. My fix had worked. I took a second to loop the chalkdrive’s necklace around my neck. Then I threw the sticks forward, going for the Audrey.

Marisol’s blank face was visible through the glass of the other Stanley. She dashed it toward us. Her Audrey struck my Marilyn, and we came together in the clash of iron and steam, smoke and hate.

(iv)

Sharlotte only had the left arm to work with. The right arm was disabled, with the missile-launcher system dangling off her.

Marisol didn’t have the use of the Audrey’s arm guns, just her legs, her feet, but she did have Tina Machinegun and prolly our last clip. However, Marisol’s arms were too short to stick the rifle out the window and still be able to drive. Her height was a definite design flaw and one of the lesser reasons why twelve-year-old children shouldn’t fight wars.

Marisol used the Audrey’s knee to strike us, over and over. Sharlotte couldn’t get the left arm around. Bits of metal pinged off the windshield. One of the many cracks deepened until chips of glass dropped into my lap.

I had to get us some breathing room. I pulled the sticks back, and we retreated from the Audrey, but Marisol had spent hours and hours at the controls. The Stanley leapt into the air as Sharlotte opened fire. We missed her. The Audrey landed on us, and the squeal and howl of the metal made me wince.

“Sharlotte,” I called in a panic, “you gotta hit her and push her back. If she destroys both the Stanleys, we’ll all die. You got that?”

No answer. The Audrey was pushing us, back, back from our people.

I felt Marilyn’s legs fail, and we fell; must’ve hit a drift of snow, and the crust gave way. We were on the edge of a precipice, after all.

Nice thing, though, the Audrey lost traction as well in the shifting snow. She didn’t go down, but her legs whirred, churning up powder.

From Sharlotte, “Cavvy, above us!”

A wall of ice and snow arched over us, the one that Rachel had pointed out earlier. If we weren’t careful, we’d bring the entire slope down. An avalanche may not kill Marisol, but it would kill us for sure. And she’d be able to pluck the chalkdrive easily from my frozen corpse.

I got the Marilyn upright, but it took a minute. By then, the Audrey had stomped through the drift and kneed us again. Then she turned and kicked a foot into the windshield. The tangle of tools and metal mesh stopped only a few centimeters from my nose. A digging bar got wedged in wrong, or she would’ve jammed that foot right through my skull. Sharlotte got the Marilyn’s left arm around and drove the machine-gun barrel through the Audrey’s windshield. Missed Marisol.

The Severin crouched low when Sharlotte hit the trigger. Rounds ripped through the Audrey, through the seat, through the back. The sound was deafening. The stink of gunpowder and my own adrenaline hung in the air. I prayed Sharlotte’s barrage would rip through the Audrey’s engine, but that wasn’t meant to be.

The Audrey kept chugging with Marisol at the controls.

The Severin reversed her Stanley. She was retreating. Sharlotte kept firing until our arm guns clicked empty. We’d torn up the Audrey, blown away the windshield, but the damage seemed to be all cosmetic.

Now Marisol had a chance to respond. She jammed Tina Machinegun through the smashed front window of the Audrey. She fired the assault rifle at us, point-blank.

I ducked, and the bullets tore across the seats above me. Stuffing and seat-cover leather sprinkled down on me.

I couldn’t see, but I jammed both joysticks forward, and we careened into the Audrey. Sharlotte, out of ammo, threw punches with the left arm. We bashed the other Stanley, back and forth, until Marisol escaped by jumping the Audrey right on top of us. Dang, but I kept forgetting about the jump pedal. The thunder of the crashing steel was eclipsed by the crack of the snow and ice above us, a horrendous, treacherous, snapping sound.

We’d become tangled, both Stanleys married in carnage and twisted metal. Then I felt the Marilyn moving backward toward the cliff’s edge.

Sharlotte’s voice boomed through the cockpit. “Cavvy, she’s gonna take us down. She’s gonna get us. You have to get out and run.”

“No way, Sharlotte. I’m not leaving you.”

Sharlotte tried to pivot our top half while I tried to drive the legs forward, but the Audrey was on us but good. And Marisol was working her forward. A huge block of ice came shuddering down and landed right next to us. Half a meter to the left, and it would’ve crushed us.

Ice pinged off my window from the Armageddon of frozen snow above us.

Marisol drove us toward the edge of the highway, and I managed to get Marilyn’s foot back behind us, wedged into something under the snow. However, one of the legs wasn’t working so well. Prolly damaged in the fight. I glanced at the gauge. Our pressure was still good. For now. But Marisol was driving us, meter by meter by meter, toward the edge.

Both of our engines roared. Smoke and steam swirled around us.

Sharlotte’s voice filled the cockpit. “Cavvy, get out. Now. Get out, get to safety, ski down the hill. I can hold her. Please. It’s like Pilate said. You have to leave us. We have a duty, and I can’t let this skank win. If you get away, we win. We win.”

“I can’t.”

“You have five seconds,” Sharlotte said in a deadly voice. “Then I’m taking her down, taking us all down, and that avalanche is going to bury us. You go. Now.”

We were at the edge of the cliff. The Audrey