The Breeders Series: The Complete Box Set

by Katie French

  I concentrate on not burning my fingers on my own leg, unable to meet his gaze.

  “Let’s see,” he says. “Where to start? How about explaining your aunt to me. She seems … interesting.”

  “Auntie’s wonderful,” I say, a bit indignant. Then I think of her bashing the cupboard to capture the bat. “She’s a bit off, but she loves us. She makes fantastic cornbread.” I take a bite of the leg and the savory roasted meat fills my mouth. I don’t realize I’m smiling until I wipe the corners of my mouth on the sleeve of my jacket. How long has it been since I’ve smiled like this?

  “How’d you keep your ma a secret for so long?” Clay eyes trace a falling star streaking across the dark blue sky.

  The smile drops from my face. This question is not one I want to answer. It touches too close to my secret.

  “Oh, you know, traveling around a lot.” My next bite is huge, filling my mouth.

  “Had to be more than that,” Clay says, watching me. “Breeders have spies everywhere. Had to be hard to keep her hid.”

  I turn my eyes to the stars and note the constellation, Andromeda. My mother called her the chained lady. Where is my mother tonight?

  “We did everything we could to keep her free. In the end, it wasn’t enough, was it?” Now it’s my turn to slip my eyes away, the emotion welling up, choking me.

  Clay’s eyes linger somewhere in the stars. “I lost my ma, too.”

  “What happened to her?” I ask, shifting to face him.

  He sighs, still looking up. “I was too young to remember, but my pa said the Breeders just came for her one day. Said if he didn’t give her up, they’d kill the whole town. Guess they pack a lot of firepower, weapons we ain’t even seen. So,” he blows out his breath, “he gave her up. My pa don’t get emotional, but sometimes I see him lookin’ out and I know he’s thinking about her, the only woman he ever cared about.”

  I nod and let the silence hang around us. We sit and look out at the stars and think of our mothers. Could they be together? The thought gives me a little comfort.

  Clay turns to me, his face set in reassurance. “We’ll get to your ma.” His voice is so kind.

  I nod. “Yours, too.” There it is again, that warm feeling that floods me when he gives me that look—eyes sparkling, smile comforting. A burn runs up my cheeks.

  I miss the first words Clay says as my thoughts spin. “Huh?”

  “I said, what’s it like being a bender?”

  I scan Clay’s face for malice, but he’s just curious. I’m curious about benders, too, never having met one. I swallow hard. “People don’t look at you the same. It’s pretty … lonely.”

  Clay finishes his hog leg. He chucks the bone off in the distance. He scoots down in the driver seat, a revolver over his lap and stares sleepy-eyed over the moonlit landscape. “Good talk, but I’m tuckered. Can you take the first shift?”

  He falls asleep within seconds, his hat down over his face, his revolvers hugged tight to his chest.

  I let my eyes wander to the crescent moon hung in the sprinkle of stars. Alone with my thoughts again. I expect that they’ll turn to Mom or Auntie, but they keep turning to Clay. The way his mouth turns up in his sleep. The moonlight in his brown hair. Before I know it, I’m watching the rise and fall of his chest. I turn my eyes to the road and try desperately not to think of the boy murmuring softly beside me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I wake to a strange sweet smell, distant and musky. I nuzzle closer, my cheek rubbing against the warmth. It smells like home.

  My eyes flicker open. My face rests on the soft suede of a worn leather jacket. It rises and falls rhythmically. My eyes fly wide open. My cheek rests on Clay’s chest, my body pressed to his across the Jeep seat.

  I snap upright, the panic skidding through me. What’ve I done? I was supposed to keep watch, not cuddle. My jerking wakes him and he blinks at me.

  “Mornin’,” he mumbles. He rolls over and goes back to gently snoring.

  He doesn’t know. Relief floods me as I slump back in my seat. I must’ve just fallen asleep and snuggled into him for warmth. Yeah, right, warmth.

  With my heart pounding, there’s no way I’ll fall back to sleep. Looking back, I find Ethan in the same spot. I slip my hand under his nose and feel the soft puffs of breath against the pads of my fingers. Satisfied, my eyes travel over the first lights of dawn stretching out over the rocky landscape. I slide out of the Jeep and take off toward the pink horizon. I hike over the dusty ridges, trying to shake off my unease. I spot a large clump of cactus that will give enough cover as I empty my bladder. Up ahead a roadrunner skitters across the sand, his legs pumping into a blur as he darts over the hardpan. A lizard bolts under a rock as I approach. Dawn is a busy time in the desert. I need to be careful.

  I drop my pants and duck down behind the bush. I try to keep my mind on the sounds of the desert, but it keeps turning elsewhere. Mostly back to the Jeep. My brother is still knocked out, and if Bennett weren’t already dead, I’d think about killing him. What if Ethan doesn’t wake up? I know Clay cares about Ethan, but what lengths would he go to save his life?

  Then there’s Clay. God—Clay. I’ve developed a pretty severe crush on him. It’s impossible not to. He’s handsome, talented, kind and smart. The reasons not to like him are weighty, but I find myself coming up with excuses for his past. After all, he can’t help how he was raised.

  The real reason you shouldn’t like him, the voice inside pipes up, is he thinks you’re a bender. That if you told him you were a girl, he’d turn you in faster than you can say “horrible scientific experiments.”

  I want to tell myself to shut up, that he’s not the type, but I can’t. I’m worth a lifetime’s salary. Even if he doesn’t turn me in and actually wants to be with me, he’d have to devote the rest of his life to protect me from, well, every other person in the world. It’s a lot to ask.

  I’m still contemplating all this when Clay calls my name. I snap upright and almost pee on my boots. I pull my pants around my waist and spin around, hoping Clay hasn’t seen.

  He’s running to me at a full clip. My heart pounds again. Why is he sprinting? I run. “What?” I say, breathless. “What is it?”

  A smile breaks over his face. Out of breath, he points to the Jeep. “Ethan. He’s awake.”

  We run to the Jeep. In the butte’s long shadow, the Jeep looks miniature and my brother looks even smaller in the passenger seat. When I scramble to the door, his face breaks into a huge smile. “Riley,” he says, groggily. He wraps his arms around my neck.

  My hands shake as I clutch him to my chest. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” I whisper into his shoulder.

  When I let him go, his eyes slide from me to Clay. The delight on his face rivals what he had for me. I’ll have to take it. If I’m falling for Clay, I can’t deny Ethan his big brother.

  “Thanks, Clay.” He turns to me. “He got you for me. I was worried you were gone.”

  “I told you I’d never leave. Are you okay? Hungry? We need to get you something to eat.” I sound like my mother. I dig in the back for some food.

  He holds up a hunk of bread. “Clay got it for me.”

  “Oh.” I pull out a jug of water from the pack and hold it up. “How about some water?”

  Ethan lifts the water jug sitting next to him with the other hand.

  I keep smiling, but something’s shifted inside of me. I turn away from the boys and busy myself with folding the blanket. It keeps me from snapping at Clay who’s only trying to help. Maybe that’s one thing not to like about Clay—he’s too efficient. But if someone doesn’t give me something to do soon, I’ll go crazy.

  By mid-afternoon, I wish I’d never longed for something to do. Clay’s driving when the car slows. At first, I think he’s spotted road trash, but no. He glances at the fuel gauge, then back at me. “We’re out of gas.”

  “Pull over and we’ll fill it with the reserve can in the back.” I glance back
at Ethan who’s busy counting abandoned cars. “How many so far?”

  “Thirteen. Why are we stopping?” His bright eyes follow mine.

  “Just out of gas,” I say. “We have more.”

  “We do?” he asks.

  “Yep.”

  “More than what was in here?” He holds up our reserve gas jug. He turns the red plastic jug toward me. It’s empty. The large bullet hole at the bottom right corner took care of our gas. It must’ve been hit in the shooting. We’re screwed. I look back to Clay.

  “No gas?” he asks.

  “No gas.” Panic bells ring in my head. Stranded on the side of the road is bad. Not getting to my mama on time is worse.

  Clay glides us to a stop and turns off the Jeep. For a moment we all sit on the side of the road without speaking. Ethan’s the first to break the silence.

  “What’ll we do now, Clay?” he asks.

  I’m already worked up about running out of gas and now he’s asking Clay, not me, what to do. I can’t take it anymore. I swear and I punch the Jeep’s dash. All it accomplishes is a loud thud and some throbbing knuckles.

  “Hey, relax,” Clay says to me.

  I want to tell him where he can shove his advice, but he’s already turned to Ethan, giving him that reassuring smile. “Listen, bud, we’re fine. There’s a town about ten miles up. We’ll just hike on up and crash in some beds for the night. In the morning, I’ll catch a ride back and gas up the Jeep. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

  Yeah, right. Easy? He doesn’t mention to my brother that three kids on the side of the road are open to any number of hazards—coyotes, snakes and road gangs to name a few. He doesn’t mention that we’re walking on the desert blacktop in the heat of the day. That ten miles will feel like a hundred in this weather. Nope. He just keeps smiling at my little brother.

  I don’t smile. I concentrate on the throbbing in my knuckles and try not to hit anything else.

  We throw the most important supplies in our packs. Water, of course. Then food. Then Clay packs bullets, antiseptic, the amber bottles with little white pills he brought to trade for gasoline and shelter for the night. He slings his rifle over his back. He hesitates for a moment and then hands me Bennett’s father’s rifle.

  “Just don’t shoot me in the back,” he says with a crooked smile. He slips on his pack and helps Ethan with the lightest one. “Okay, bud, let’s go. Bet we see some lizards if we keep our eyes peeled. First one to spot a scaly buggers gets this.” He holds up a red and white peppermint wrapped in plastic for Ethan to see.

  Ethan’s eyes grow big. “I’m good at spotting lizards. Aren’t I, Ri?”

  “Yep, the best,” I say, as I pull on my pack. I can’t manage the enthusiasm he’s looking for, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s beaming up at Clay. “Let’s go. Sooner we start, the better.”

  We walk. The land here is flat, with dirt and scraggly cactus and bushes in either direction. The sun sears the top of my head and heat rolls in waves off the pavement’s black surface. This must be what it’s like inside a furnace. Even with several water breaks in the shade of some tall cactus, I’m dying. My leather jacket traps so much heat I’m sure to pass out. My breasts are still bound and my long-sleeved cotton shirt would mostly cover me to passersby. Yet, anyone up close might get suspicious. I glance at Clay and then, finally, shrug off Arn’s jacket. It’s too bulky to fit in our bulging packs. I smell the collar once for his scent. An image of him standing at the kitchen window, his hands in the pockets of his overalls floods me until I’m nearly choking on it. Arn. I fold his jacket and set it on a rock. When I leave it, I feel like I’m burying him all over again.

  Clay and Ethan wait for me to catch up. Clay gives me a nod. “I know your pa’s jacket meant a lot to ya, but it’ll kill ya out here.”

  I glance back at it once more. It’s just a brown lump in the distance now. I could run, pick it up, carry it until I collapse. “I shouldn’t just leave it,” I say more to myself than to Clay.

  Clay looks back. “I’ll snag it when I come back for the Jeep.”

  The grumpiness from the past dissolves. I offer him a look of gratitude. Good, solid Clay. I’d hug him if I weren’t worried he’d feel my secret through my shirt.

  Ethan and Clay spend the hours spotting lizards or pointing out vultures circling in the sky. Clay gives him a few lessons on the local flora and fauna. He teaches Ethan how to get the fruit from a prickly pear. I keep my eyes on the strip of highway beside us. Any dust cloud and we’re running for cover.

  After an hour of trekking through the heat of the day, Ethan’s asthma kicks in. I try to carry him, but he waves me away, wheezing slightly with his purple lips. At the two-hour mark, he tumbles into the sand. I run up to him and roll him over. The fine sand crystals dot his flushed face. His cheeks blaze bright red on his pale face.

  “Ethan, you alright?” I gasp.

  He blinks at me. “I feel dizzy.” He struggles to sit up.

  I put a hand on his chest. “You need to drink. Just hold on.” I pull his head onto my knees and use my body to shade his face. I hand him the water jug.

  “Sip slowly,” I say when he takes it.

  Ethan drinks and rests for a moment. Then he sees Clay blocking out more of the sun.

  “Sorry, Clay,” he says, still wheezing.

  “No problem, hoss. One time when I was your age, I got sunstroke, blacked out and pissed my pants. Try explaining that to your pa.”

  Ethan smiles, but at the mention of his dad, his face falls. He looks up at me. “I wish we were home, Riley,” he whispers.

  “I know.” The emotion chokes in my throat. I push the sticky hair out of his eyes. He would normally bat my hand away if I did this in front of Clay, but not this time.

  I lift his pack and mine. It’ll be a struggle and my boots have already worn blisters on both big toes and the left heel. I smile at my brother. “Come on,” I say. “I bet in town they might have caramels. If you’re good, I’ll get you one.”

  His face lifts. “Clay, do they have caramels?”

  Clay lends him a hand up. “Any town worth a damn’s got caramels.”

  When Ethan falls the second time, I run over to him again, pick him up and get him the water. I glance up at Clay who’s leaning down with concern on his face.

  “How much longer?” I ask Clay, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

  Clay scans up the road. The sun’s growing fat and orange in the west which means we’re close to dusk. When the sun goes down, we’ll be forced to camp without shelter while the nocturnal predators prowl for their suppers. This situation can’t get much worse. I fight the panic that’s clawing at my throat.

  Clay takes off his hat and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Think we got another mile or two.”

  “Which is it?” I ask, the panic gathering. “One mile we can do. Two, he’ll never make it.” I grit my teeth and brush the sand off Ethan’s cheeks.

  “One mile,” Clay says. He picks Ethan up and puts him on his back.

  I scan up and down the road again. The fact that there’s no traffic to this “town” is a bad sign. If there is some bustling city center one mile away, wouldn’t trucks be coming and going? Clay probably has no idea what he’s talking about. Good thing he’s a crack shot. He’ll need to be to defend us from the swarms of coyotes.

  Only when we begin to spot road trash do I believe there’s a chance Clay might be right. The tumbling bits of paper, old mufflers, rusting food cans—all mean people have been here. Clay points to an empty water jug. “See,” he says, giving me an I-told-you-so look. Then he picks up the pace. Even with my brother on his back, he’s hard to keep up with.

  In the distance, a decrepit house comes into view on the side of the road. As we approach my stomach sinks. The house looks like a blackened skull in this ruddy light. The warped wooden beams sag and bulge. The house hunkers in a yard of weeds and thorns. Thin, tattered curtains flutter like ghosts in glassless windows
that trail us like sunken eyes. Goosebumps break out over my arms.

  Stripped of anything useful, the sagging house is likely infested with bats, rodents or a starved vagabond who will kill us for our shoes. As we stride past, our gait quickens. I peer in, wondering what lurks in those shadows. Who’s watching us as we walk by? A mile down the road, I still feel eyes on the back of my neck.

  When the town wall appears, a brown scar across the face of the horizon, I know something’s wrong. The broad stretch of wooden wall has a gaping hole in the center like a mouth widening in a scream. The gate creaks mournfully in the breeze. No town would leave a gate open like that. Clay’s eyes lock with mine and we exchange a look. The fear in his eyes is unmistakable.

  “Do we keep going?” I look around at the gathering dusk. The first stars peek through the navy canvas above. “It’s getting dark.”

  He shifts Ethan up on his back and wrinkles his brow. “I guess so. Can’t bed-down roadside or we’ll be coyote food. And our water’s ’bout as dry as a dead dog’s dingo.”

  Up until now, Ethan’s been dozing on Clay’s shoulders. He lifts his head, rubs the hair out of his eyes and peers toward the town. “Why’s the gate open?”

  “Maybe it’s busted,” Clay offers.

  Maybe they’re all dead, I think. I nod along with Clay, but I pull the rifle into my arms.

  When we reach the gate, Clay puts Ethan down and draws his guns. “You two stay put.” He takes a step forward, tightening his jaw.

  I shake my head and turn to Ethan. I think about telling him to stay behind, but we can’t leave him alone outside the gate.

  Ethan shakes his head as if reading my mind. “We stick together.”

  We turn toward the gate as the twilight thickens around us. The two massive wooden doors on either side of the road give phantom sighs as they sway in the breeze. The slow screech sends more goosebumps over my arms. The long stretch of road leading into town is empty. On either side are squat brick structures lining both sides of the street in various states of disrepair. A broken stoplight, drooping on a few fraying wires, jangles in the breeze. A rusted car with a smashed front end sits off to the side as if someone got in an accident as they were trying to leave. And leave they should. The eerie quiet—not even animal sounds break the stillness—makes the thudding of my heart too loud. The smell of decay hangs on everything. Warning bells blare in my head. Turn tail and run.