The Breeders Series: The Complete Box Set

by Katie French

  I ignore Clay's concerned looks, swivel on my heel, and push through the doors into the hallway. Outside the chamber, the air feels heavy, like the sand storm is burying us.

  The doors swing closed behind the Messiah. As he turns to face me, I take in his sallow complexion and the dark bags circling his eyes. His normally shining hair looks lank and unwashed. He looks terrible.

  “What's down in the hole?” I ask when the weight of the silence threatens to choke me.

  The Messiah cocks his head, a strand of long hair slipping over his robed shoulder. “The lake. Our source of holy water. Why?”

  “Why? Because Andrew locked me down there, that's why.” I shoot an accusatory finger toward the doors. The anger I tried to bury breaks the surface.

  The Messiah folds his sore-pocked hands into the sleeves of his robe and shakes his head. “I thought he might do something like that.”

  “You did? Well, next time when you get an inkling, maybe send someone else to put me up!” I'm nearly shouting, but I know there are ears on the other side of that door. I drop my voice to a dangerous whisper. “He chained me in complete blackness like an animal.”

  The Messiah nods sadly. “I apologize for his behavior. He won't hold his position long.”

  “Who lives in the hole?” I ask, remembering. His breath on my neck was like cold, unwelcome caress from a corpse.

  The Messiah furrows his brow. “No one.”

  “You don't need to lie.”

  “I do not lie! The leader of the free people and the prophet of the Gods does not lie!” His voice is booming, his face fierce. Either he's a great liar or telling the truth. He doesn't know about whoever's down there?

  “Someone in the hole told me to tell you that they're still here.” I watch his face carefully. The look of confusion is still rooted in his features.

  “No one lives in the hole.” He runs a hand through his beard, once trim, now scraggly. Then he turns his eyes skyward. “It won't matter soon anyway,” he mumbles.

  I lean in close enough to smell the death on him. “Why d'you keep on saying stuff like that? You’re gonna kill everyone, aren’t you?”

  His face betrays nothing, not a twitch, not a flicker. “I'm not planning on killing anyone.” He unfolds his arms and his gown flutters. “The Gods, well…” he raises milky eyes to mine. Gooseflesh gathers on my arms. “That's a different story.”

  I shake my head. “You're not going to pin this on the Gods. Anything you do, you are responsible. These people depend on you. They want you to protect them.” Frustration throbs through the veins on my forehead. I want to hit something.

  Despair darkens the features of his face. He grabs both of my arms. “Don't you think I've tried? Don't you think I've asked them over and over to spare us?” He shakes me with his words. “Listen to it outside. They've spoken.” He holds a hand up to where the wind howls like a cyclone. His sleeve falls back, revealing small scars running down his bicep. Has he been cutting himself?

  “You have a choice,” I say, pulling my arm from his grasp. “We all have choices.”

  The Messiah falls to his knees. “Oh Gods,” he folds his hands beneath his chin and shakes them, “take this cup from me!”

  The shouting sends his guard barreling out. Andrew draws his gun. The Messiah grips Andrew's arm and uses it to pull himself up.

  “It is time,” he says, straightening his white gown, brushing back his hair. All traces of his despair are gone.

  Oh, masked man, I think, what game are you playing now?

  The Brotherhood peels out in different directions. Clay wraps his arm around me. “I should take her to her room to rest,” he says.

  I let myself fold into his warmth.

  “No,” the Messiah says. “Bring her. Bring everyone. The time of communion has arrived.”

  Chapter 19

  Drum beats echo down the hallways, a syncopated boom, boom, boom copying the beat of our frightened hearts. People shuffle out of their rooms and down the hallways behind us. I walk with Clay's arm around me. Right now being next to him seems like the best idea in the world. With the drums and the sand and the sad-eyed people, I feel it in my bones—we're being marched to our deaths.

  We walk through drifts into the food court. The wind above has died down and with it the swirling sand. Above us, the hazy sunset slices through the wood panels. Soon it will be dark.

  We should run, but the guards walk behind us like dogs herding sheep. Where's the rest of my family? How can I get them out of here?

  The Messiah steps up onto the carousel. Clay and I settle near the front of the crowd. The rest of the men arrive, still banging the drums with a boom, boom, boom that cuts through my chest like a blunt chisel. My cheek brushes against Clay's shirt collar and the smell of him fills me with comfort. God, please don't let them kill us. All I want is the open road with Clay and my family. We could mend the brokenness between us.

  Andrew joins the Messiah on the carousel steps. He's wearing a white gown similar to the Messiah's although more tattered at the seams. He holds the bronze wine bowl in his palms. Beside him sits a barrel of water.

  My heart pounds as my eyes catch the dancing reflection in that bowl. The poison we saw in the warehouse. Is it in that barrel? Is this the end?

  I pull away from Clay and shoot him a desperate look. “Clay, it's the poison!” I whisper through my teeth. “We gotta get out of here!”

  He frowns and brings his lips to my ear. “What're you talking 'bout? That's the same water we been drinkin'.”

  I stare at the barrel. It looks the same as the one I saw in the warehouse and yet this one bears no scrawled warning on top. But then they wouldn't label their poison here for everyone to see, not if they were going to secretly kill us with it.

  “It's not the same water,” I say, snapping my head back and forth. “He's going to kill us all!”

  Clay rolls his eyes. “Don't start that again. He wouldn't do somethin—”

  I grip his forearm. “Mage heard him say it. She confirmed it for me.” I step away and whirl around, panicked. Where's Ethan and Ray? We gotta run.

  “Mage confirmed what?” Clay asks, but the rest of his words are drowned by the frenzied beat of the drums. The crowd chants. A woman behind us wails like a wounded coyote in a language I don't understand.

  I tug Clay with me toward the back, but I'm stopped by a wall of muscle. Several Brotherhood guards stand around the crowd, shoulder to shoulder.

  “Let us by.” I try to shove past and a hand cinches around my bicep.

  “Hey!” Clay yells, but they grab him. Andrew steps up, his hand on the butt of his gun. Clay's eyes drop to the revolver and his face tightens. “What d'you want?”

  Andrew points toward the carousel. “You're being inducted. Time to drink.”

  No. No, no, no. I look at the barrel of shimmering liquid. When I swore to participate in his communion ceremony, I didn't think I'd pay with my life.

  “I changed my mind.” I shove forward, but one of them grips my shoulders and spins me around. Rayburn, Mama and Ethan are being shoved up onto the carousel, too. Terror blares through my brain. The giant jug of poisoned water jiggles as I step onto the platform.

  My heart thumps wildly as I search for a way out. The Brotherhood circles us. The people keep chanting. I can't think. I look into the faces of my loved ones. I won't let them die. I don't care what I have to do. The boom, boom cuts through me until I'm sure I'll scream. I scan the crowd looking for Mage. Looking for any help, anything. The crowd is frenzied. One old woman drags fingernails down her face, leaving red welts. One man tears at his shirt. And oh God, the chanting. “Sight, sight, sight,” echoes through the space and fills my brain like sludge until my thoughts are mired. Do they know what's coming? I look at women clutching their children on their hips. They can't know. Otherwise they'd all be running for the door. All these innocent faces. He can't be planning to kill them, right? Then I remember the terror on his face when he
cried, “Dear Gods, take this cup from me.” He thinks it isn't up to him. It's up to the Gods. And these Gods are vengeful.

  The Messiah holds his hands up and the drumming stops. A silence snaps through the crowd, leaving the air empty and vibrating with tension. Beside me, the Messiah has broken out into a sweat. His gown clings to him like wet paper. His golden necklace with its many religious symbols rests on his sharp collarbones. He lowers his trembling hands and clasps them at his waist.

  “Children, the time has come to induct these outsiders,” he waves his hand at us, “into the fold. Though they will be leaving us tomorrow, tonight they will perform the rite of passage into our brethren and become one with us. Then we will drink the communion water and pray for another year of the Gods' grace. They will pray for the Sight as will we all. Sight to deliver us from this plague. Tonight, everyone will drink, women, children, babies. All.” He surveys his people, nodding. They nod back, their eyes obedient like cattle.

  No. This can't be happening.

  He turns to Andrew. “The bowl, please.” Andrew dips it in the barrel of water. I watch in horror as the water fills the silver drinking bowl. The bowl meant for me. I look at Ethan, my mama, and her swollen belly. How can I stop this?

  He turns milky eyes toward me, his mouth moving in silent prayer. I stare at the rippling water. What would it feel like to die slowly from the inside out?

  He lifts the bowl. “Drink.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  The crowd murmurs. Andrew takes a step forward, his palm on the gun.

  The Messiah offers the bowl again. “Drink.”

  I reach up for the bowl, my hands trembling. I look over at my mama, my baby brother. If I drink, will they let them go? Could they leave even if I died?

  I slam my hands into the bowl and splash the water onto the Messiah. He stumbles back and bangs into a carousel horse.

  Andrew grabs my arm. He yanks the gun from his hip, points it at my head, and begins to thumb down the trigger.

  Clay shoves between us. His chest is inches away from Andrew's gun barrel. The awful black eye of the pistol hovers near Clay's heart. He keeps his eyes on Andrew. “Put the gun down and no one has to get hurt.”

  They stare each other down. My heart's pounding into my ears. Please don't let him shoot Clay. Please.

  Andrew swivels and aims at Mama on the other side of the platform. “Riley drinks,” he says, “or her mom takes the bullet.” He walks over and presses the muzzle of the gun into my mother's temple. My blood sizzles like fire.

  “Don't touch her!” I yell, stepping around Clay. His hand slips over my wrist, but I shake it off.

  “I'll drink!” I shout, my chest heaving. “I'll drink your poison, if they don't have to.” I point to my family. I drop my heavy arm as the weight of my words sink over me. “I'll drink if you'll let them go.”

  Brushing wet hair off his forehead, the Messiah steps up. His white gown clings to his chest, revealing dozens of sores underneath. “The water isn't poisoned,” he says, folding his hands.

  “Ha!” I turn to the crowd. “I know you plan on killing everyone.”

  Someone in the crowd gasps. A little child begins to sniffle.

  The Messiah looks shocked as if he has no idea what I'm talking about. “Why would I kill my people?”

  “Because the Gods told you to. You believe time is up. But what kind of Gods would want that kind of sacrifice?”

  A tiny smile reaches the corners of his lips before he can pull it down. Apparently his Gods want that kind of sacrifice. “I'll prove it.” He turns to the crowd, arms wide. “I'll prove the water isn't poisoned.” He takes the silver bowl from the carousel floor, dips it in the barrel, and raises the rippling liquid to his lips.

  No one breathes. We watch, stunned, as he slowly, slowly he drains the whole bowl.

  Someone shouts, “See?” Another shouts, “Make her drink.”

  Was I wrong? Or is he willing to be the first to die to carry out his insane plan?

  He fills the bowl and turns toward me.

  Heart pounding, I take it in my hands. The clear liquid looks so much like water, but yet, there's a smell I don't like. Chemical, like the water in the underground lake. I look over at my poor mother, the gun at her temple reddening the skin. She stares at me, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. I feel the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes on me as I lift the bowl to my mouth.

  There's movement behind me. Clay dives for Andrew. Andrew turns, but it's too late. Clay's body rams into Andrew's, sending them both flying into the horses. They rock the platform and the bowl falls from my hand and crashes to the floor. There's a scramble of arms and legs. Clay slams his elbow into the side of Andrew's head with a sickening crack. Andrew's fingers claw for Clay's eyes sockets.

  Where is the gun? I search the floor. If only I could grab it.

  Clay jumps up, the gun in his hands. He presses the black revolver to Andrew's skull.

  “I should pull the goddamn trigger now,” he says through gritted teeth, pressing the barrel harder into Andrew's temple. “After what you done to my girl, I should paint this stage with yer brains.” He digs the barrel into Andrew's head until the bastard cries out.

  “Stop!” the Messiah yells, striding up. “Any violence against my men and you will never be allowed to leave.”

  Clay pushes up, leaving Andrew cowering on the floor. He turns and aims the gun at the Messiah. The crowd gasps.

  “Step back or I'll shoot!” Clay yells. The Brotherhood obey, but their eyes could kill.

  Hands raised in surrender, the Messiah shakes his head. “I thought you were one of us, Clay.”

  Clay shakes his head. “My allegiance is to her,” he nods my way. “Always to her.”

  The Messiah lifts a sad smile. “I understand. Now, put down the gun, and we'll let you walk out of here.”

  Clay shakes his head, flashing his teeth. “Not so easy. You'll come with for insurance. Then, when we're a mile or two down the trail, we'll drop you off and yer boys can come pick you up.”

  The Messiah shakes his head. He takes another step forward, until there's only a foot between him and the gun barrel. My breath comes in shallow, strangling grasps. I flick my eyes between Clay and the Messiah. Does Clay really think we can take the Messiah hostage?

  “Back up or I'll shoot.” Clay's eyes are cold steel. He means every word.

  The Messiah's face remains unchanged, though he's a foot away from a lead death. He takes a deep breath. “It's time to go,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Clay. He raises his eyes to the ceiling. “Not my will, but Yours.”

  “Hell yeah, my will.” Clay wiggles the gun to the left. “Let's go, magic man. We need a truck,” Clay looks at Andrew. “Best get that ready.”

  The Messiah drags his eyes from the ceiling and centers them on Clay. His sore-pocked face has taken on a sadness I don't understand. Everyone member of his Brotherhood looks like he wants to rip Clay's head off, yet the Messiah looks like he's just…disappointed. The Messiah takes a step forward, his gown swishing around his ankles. “If the Gods have willed it, so it shall be.”

  Clay nods, but a raw feeling of dread has been spreading in my heart. Something's wrong. I place my hand on Clay's arm. “Let's just go.”

  “Yes,” the Messiah says, his voice faraway and robotic. “Time to go home.”

  With one step, he closes the gap between himself and the gun. His hand shoots out, wrapping around Clay's hand. Clay's mouth drops open in surprise. What is he—

  His finger curls over Clay's on the trigger. Before Clay can pull away, the gun fires, a flash of light and a puff of smoke. The bang rings in my ears. Blood sprays from the right half of the Messiah's head, so red in the setting sunlight streaming between the boards above. Hot liquid dots my face. The Messiah falls like a stone onto the carousel platform. It rocks beneath me and the floorboards vibrate. My eyes lock on his body: the white gown growing red, the bloody scalp, his brown hair clum
ping in red tangles. And the blood. Oh the blood, it gushes like a hose all over the wooden boards. It spills through the cracks and patters on the floor beneath the carousel.

  The Messiah is dead.

  Chapter 20

  Clay’s face is white, his hand slack. His eyes are glued to the body. The gun sags to his side and droops as if it weighs a hundred pounds.

  The crowd stirs. “He killed the Messiah!” a voice yells. “Papa!” calls another. It must be Mage, though I can't see her.

  Clay's eyes flash toward the voices. It doesn't matter that the lunatic killed himself. Some of the crowd didn't see clearly and the rest will be easily swayed. Only those of us close enough to see know the truth. It'll be the perfect way to get rid of us, a mob frenzy fueled by hatred. They'll draw and quarter Clay. They'll let the buzzards peck at his bowels while he watches.

  I grab his arm and yank. “Run!” I shout. “Run!”

  His eyes find mine, fear replacing shock.

  Andrew falls out of his trance. “Get them!”

  The men come out of their stupor and charge up the steps. I grab Mama's arm, pulling her along with me. Clay scoops up Ethan and limp-runs beside me. Rayburn skitters up behind. The platform jiggles as we jump off. The Brotherhood is steps behind.

  Clay reaches back and shoots. The gun cracks and sends a bullet slicing through the crowd. I look over my shoulder, expecting blood, but Clay shot to scare, not to wound.

  “Then next bullet won't be a warning!” he shouts as he runs beside me. Already his breath comes in raged gasps. His leg. How will we make it out? It doesn't matter. We must. To stay is death.

  When I don't hear stomping footsteps behind us, I turn. Half of the men are heading off down another hallway while a group keeps a boiling crowd at bay. I look into Clay's face, hopeful. He shakes his head.

  “They're gonna get the guns. The Messiah didn't allow 'em, but now that he's dead it'll be open season. Soon's they return, they'll mow us down like a combine through a field. We gotta get somewhere safe and pronto.” He wrinkles his brow, flicks the revolver's chamber out, and does a quick-count on bullets. Four bullets. He frowns and shakes his head at our meager firepower. My heart sinks like a boulder into my stomach. Beside me, Mama labors just to keep jogging. We won't get far. We'll be gunned down in the hallway.