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

It was a quick-draw duel, and only one would walk away.

(ii)

The clouds to the west had been blown off the horizon, and a line of sunshine appeared there, day dying into shadows and night.

And wind. That cold, hopeless Juniper wind.

Dutch stood with his hands above his pistols, his hat blown back, revealing his handsome face. The collar of his coat flipped back and forth across his chest.

And who was he staring down?

Wren Weller. She had on a serape over her cowgirl shirt and leather vest, and the serape, too, flapped in the wind, along with her hair, blown back from her face, her hat long gone, and her hands above her Colt Terminators, strapped low on her jeans.

“Step back, Dutch,” Wren called out. “You know I can heal most any wound you dish out. You can’t say the same.”

Dutch laughed and took a step toward me. “No, I can’t. But what are my two rules, Wren?”

Rachel’s corpse lay on my lap. But even if I had been unencumbered, I wouldn’t have tried to run. If I tried to escape, Dutch would gun me down, and Wren would have to shoot the only man she’d ever loved.

Dutch took another step. Wren didn’t draw.

“Never let your heart get in the way of a paycheck.” The words came out choked from her constricted throat. Tears filled her eyes.

It would blur her vision. It would make her miss.

“That’s right!” Dutch said loudly. “When those ARK women came to me, they offered me a payday I couldn’t refuse. You understand that, right? You understand the money involved, don’t you? They knew I knew you. Hell, they knew everything there was to know about everything. They drove me to Glenwood Springs in a gas car, not diesel, mind you, gas. Do you realize what that means? It means they’ve figured out a way to get electricity to work in the Juniper.”

The snowmobiles, they had been gas after all, and not diesel. Why would they not use the gas engines on all their military equipment? Unless they were hiding something. And it wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of diesel war machines to go around. Still, such a revelation meant Micaiah had more secrets. Dutch just confirmed it.

He shook his head, grinning. “Those ARK people have access to everyone. Everyone. Even President Jack. Even America’s current president, Amanda what’s-er-face.”

“Swain,” Wren whispered. “Did you know about Marisol?”

“Had no clue about that little girl. I wasn’t sure you had the chalkdrive until we were on Independence Pass. I was going to bide my time, then Marisol grabbed it, and bang, off she went. But come on, baby, the money. Tell me you ain’t thought about grabbing it and running.”

Wren nodded, shaking tears down her face.

“Don’t, Wren,” I called out. “We’ll let him have it. You can’t kill Dutch. You can’t. You love him.”

My sister didn’t look at me. I don’t think she even heard me.

“The little princess is a smart one.” Dutch’s face changed, but he was still smiling his snake-oil smirk. “I’ll take the chalkdrive, I’ll walk off, and, hell, you can come with me. Me and you, me a king and you my queen, living rich. We can do anything, go anywhere. Me and you, baby, out in the World, living large like you know we can.”

“Listen to him, Wren,” I said. “Please. Don’t kill him. If you kill him, it will kill you. Please.”

The wind drowned out my words, a frigid banshee-howl blasting through the cracks of the concrete foundations around us.

More tears coursed down Wren’s face. She didn’t move.

Dutch raised a cowboy boot, all dramatic, and took another fateful step toward me, then chuckled. “You going to let me get to her? You aren’t shooting. Not even going to wing me?”

“Rule number two,” Wren said. Said it quiet. The wind had blown itself mute for a minute.

“And what’s rule number two?” Dutch asked.

“Always, always, always get ’em ...” Wren started.

“... right between the eyes.” Dutch finished.

And he drew. That villainous jackerdan drew first. He pulled his right Colt Terminator, sneaky, snaky fast.

But he didn’t get the chance to pull the trigger.

Wren was faster.

Heartbroken, weepy, tears blurring her vision, she was faster, better, and she pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed across the concrete of the ghost town ... Felt like it took five minutes to stop its thunderous cry.

Dutch dropped to the ground. Shot. Right between the eyes.

Wren collapsed along with him.

I ran for her.

Sharlotte ran for her.

We both reached our gunslinger sister at the same time and fell onto her, held her while she wept. I rocked her to my chest, and Sharlotte held her hand, and Wren shuddered with sobs.

Sharlotte cried, but I didn’t. God was a famished beast, and all He ever wanted was to drink my tears, and I wasn’t going to give that son of a kutia one more meal. Not ever again.

He’d created a world where only the hardhearted survive, and I wasn’t going to feel ever again. If He wanted me to be hard, I’d be stone.

Emotions aren’t a liability, but sometimes the cost of feeling them is too expensive, and I couldn’t pay. My pockets were empty. Let Wren and Sharlotte do the feeling in the family. I’d carried the burden for years, but no more.

My clothes and my hands were stained red from holding Rachel. I was getting my sister Wren bloody, but it didn’t matter. We come into the world bloody, and most likely, we’ll leave the same way.

Sharlotte touched my hair. She had tears on her face. She was feeling, she was human, and I wasn’t going to be that anymore.

“Cavvy,” she whispered. Concern smoked in her eyes, fear for me, for what she saw me becoming: The killer. The soldier. A soulless thing.

“Cavvy, it’ll be okay,” Sharlotte said.

But it wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Wren forced to kill her love. Rachel dead and gone.

Right then, the horizon gulped down the sun, removing all light from the world.

(iii)

Pilate and Micaiah approached us quietly. Those boys stood over