Inferno Girls by Aaron Michael Ritchey

Author:Aaron Michael Ritchey [Ritchey, Aaron Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: lgbt survival stories Social & Family Issues, metaphysical visionary theology spiritual, science fiction dystopian action adventure, coming of age religion religious spiritual, sister small town clones cyber punk genes
Publisher: Shadow Alley Press Inc
Published: 2019-08-19T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

So much water

In teardrops falling

An ocean inside us

Always calling

— Pearl Cornell

(i)

WE ALL TURNED ON WREN.

For one awful moment, I thought she might follow through on her promise to shoot Rachel.

But then Wren motioned for us to follow her. She dashed into the sacristy and pushed aside a remnant of yellow shag carpet. Underneath was a trapdoor which led to a crawlspace below.

We bustled down through the hole, helping Sharlotte. Wren came last and pulled the carpet into place so when she closed the door it would lay flat.

Only Sharlotte’s wheelchair was left behind.

Ribbons of dim light from the dying day illuminated the chipped concrete of the foundation, the dirt floor, the cobwebs. The dirt under our feet smelled musty, like a graveyard.

Truck and tank engines grumbled outside. Doors slammed. Voices muttered in a muffle. Footsteps clacked into the church, echoing above us. Pilate hadn’t lit candles, or they would’ve smelled the lingering smoke. Shouldn’t have been any signs, but something bothered me. Something other than the wheelchair.

I grabbed Sharlotte’s hand. Then I remembered the tears, Sharlotte’s tears, my tears, had dropped on the floor. If they saw our tears on the hardwood floor, they would know someone had been there. And what about the shouting? Had they heard Pilate and Sharlotte? What if they had sent soldiers on foot to recon the town in secret?

I wanted to warn Pilate and Wren, but I couldn’t.

The only thing I could do was hold Sharlotte’s hand tighter. And pray. Pray with all my might while we crouched in the gloom.

Footsteps. A pause. More footsteps. It sounded like Hitler’s Stormtroopers marching around. Someone walked into the sacristy. Dust shook down from the trapdoor.

An ARK soldier stood not two meters above us.

From the front part of the church, a woman called out. “Bravo Four. Report.”

Wren’s face curled in a snarl. Hiding was not in her nature. But I think she also knew we were pinned down. Those tanks could blast the house down and bury us.

I looked at Pilate and saw he had a hand over his mouth. He was trying not to cough.

If he coughed, we were dead.

The soldier above shuffled a bit. Rachel’s back was to me. Even though I couldn’t see her face, I knew what she was feeling. Her shoulders, her whole body, trembled. Fear owned her, but she was fighting it to stay quiet.

“Bravo Four. Report.”

Pilate didn’t believe in an interventionist God, but I had to believe there was some loving force in the universe, and whatever that was, it loved me. Loved us all.

I prayed to that force, pleading that the ARK soldiers wouldn’t see our teardrops on the floor. How horrible would that be? To be betrayed by our tears.

I prayed Pilate wouldn’t cough. And I prayed Rachel didn’t snap and start screaming angrily at her terror or let it overwhelm her in loud sobs.

Tina Machinegun hung off my shoulder. I didn’t sling it around ’cause going out in a blaze of glory wouldn’t mean much. So what if we killed a few Regios along the way?

Something Wren said drifted through my mind .

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