By dawn, our fence was built, from the South Platte to Cherry Creek all along the north side of Colfax; covered in snow, the mines lay in wait.
In an empty warehouse on the east side of the Platte, under the tangle of overpasses where Colfax and I-25 met, we drank coffee warmed on the engines of Stanleys. Hopefully, we wouldn’t need the battle bots. If all went well, we’d escape with President Jack, and our armies would disperse since most of our enemy would be trapped in the prison we’d created.
Pilate chewed a cigar and drank more coffee than anyone else.
“You sure like coffee,” Baptista said.
“I blame AA,” he said. “They call it sober speed.”
“Good thing you’re not Mormon,” I added.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Pilate said. “Now that is one interesting religion. Part pioneering, part Protestantism, they do community like no one else.”
We kept our conversation light until June Mai and Sharlotte joined us.
“We have our teams in place to blow the charges,” June Mai said. We had to use manual fuses, lighting the blasting caps the old-fashioned way ’cause we couldn’t use any kind of electronic detonation technology.
“Tell us more about President Jack,” I said to Baptista.
She nodded. “They’ll fill the Pepsi Center, wait until everyone is ready, and then they’ll fly him in on a zeppelin, The Battle of Evermore. He’ll give his talk, people will take notes and draw sketches, and then they’ll get him out quick. The whole thing might last ninety minutes.”
“So, do we get him before or after?” I asked.
No one said anything for a long time. I answered my question. “Before. We should get him right when he lands. The sooner the better. If the Americans or the ARK find our fence, they’re going to be on high alert.”
Everyone nodded.
“I’m going with you,” Pilate said. “My leg and my arms are better, thanks to Doctor Jan.”
“We can’t risk it,” I replied.
“And yet, I’m going.” Pilate smiled at me around his cigar.
“Sharlotte? June? Are you going to back me up?” I asked.
“Arguing with Pilate?” Sharlotte shook her head. “I didn’t sign on for that kind of action.”
June Mai wasn’t going to help me. “We need every gun. And I tried to kill Pilate for years. I don’t think it’s possible.”
“Because God dearly loves me,” Pilate said.
“Tolerates is prolly a better word,” Sharlotte muttered.
We all wore American uniforms. Pilate had slipped on an all-white snow suit. He’d need the camouflage.
I watched his face, and I knew he was hurting, but I was wrong about what.
He caught me looking. “I miss Petal,” he said. “And I miss Rachel.”
“How many of us are going to make it out alive?” I asked in a low voice.
“Not many,” he said. He raised a Mauser sniper rifle. “But I will have your back.”
Twelve of us left, our strike team, Baptista and me, June Mai and Sharlotte, and eight other outlaws, the best of June Mai’s soldier girls. Aunt Bea, Nikki Breeze, Kasey Romero, and Allie Chambers would stay with the Stanleys’ strike team.
Nichola Nichols gave me a long hug before we left. “Stay safe,” she said.
I worked the action on my G18. “No such thing.”
We left the warehouse with the dawn doing her best to fight the storm. With shadows fading into the fringes, we slipped down a slope and into enemy territory, the hidden prison we created.
The Auraria college campus lay trampled under snow to our right. Those buildings had hidden our late-night wall-building well. Special thanks to the Metropolitan State University of Denver.
Pilate stayed back behind us, moving like a shadow. We might pass as American soldiers ’cause we were all women, but not Pilate. As a man, he’d stick out.
We headed east on what used to be Auraria Parkway but was now dirt. We saw the brown flecks of mud crushed into the snow under our feet.
Elitch Gardens amusement park junk lay scattered around. We walked by a carousel pony’s plastic nose sticking out of the white. Not sure what had happened to the salvage operation. The salvage monkeys prolly ran into trouble. Mama talked all the time about outlaws hitting scavengers or rival salvage companies coming in to rob and kill and plunder. Whatever had happened, Elitch Gardens crap was sprinkled all around in our prison.
On the north side of Auraria Parkway, rows of snowy tents filled every bit of space not taken over by rollercoasters and water slides. It wasn’t twenty-five thousand tents, but there were a whole bunch. Helicopters buzzed through the sky; they didn’t seem to notice the razor-tipped fence we’d built overnight.
We’d walked by Humvees, Athapasca troop carriers, and Cargadors loaded down with weapons on loan from the ARK. These were not American-issued assault vehicles, not by any stretch of the imagination.
It was a hive of activity. Thousands of troops filed into the Pepsi Center.
And there we were, just a few more soldiers marching with Sergeant Baptista, looking forward to one of President Jack’s historic speeches.
We stopped when the first guard called us out.
Baptista walked right up to her, fearless, and gave her the credentials we’d need to pass.
And we got a pass, heading toward the sports arena. Not sure what happened to Pilate, but he had his sniper rifle and he knew the risks.
American soldiers formed lines to get in. We blended in as best as we could.
Until we got inside. The bustle of the Pepsi Center put us all further on edge. Sharp-eyed women commanded their soldiers and made sure their uniforms were as crisp as their boots. We looked a little bedraggled, but no one approached us. And we kept our heads down, but not too much. Problem was, June Mai, Sharlotte, and I were some of the most famous people in the Juniper. Not
