by Katie French
I sigh and kiss him. Then I go find the kids.
Ethan and Mage lean against the back garage wall. Mage gave him a haircut too, so that he no longer has to toss dark locks out of his eyes. He looks good. Older. I realize he's probably had a birthday by now. Is he nine? Did I miss it? I shake my head, feeling that pang of loss that always hovers just beyond my line of sight. Mama wouldn't have missed his birthday.
“Riley,” Ethan says, pulling his hand from where it rests on Mage's. A blush burns in his cheeks.
“Ethan.” I nod. “Mage. Sorry to interrupt. We're all packed.” Both kids' heads droop. “Ten minutes,” I say to Ethan. He nods. I don't walk over and muss his hair or pull him in for a hug. He'd kill me and rightfully so.
It'll be hard for Ethan to leave Mage, but I've promised him that once we have Auntie we'll come back here. Maybe by then Lavan will have the Citadel up and running. Maybe we could stay. But then, we'd have to be free of the Breeders.
I find Clay already in the truck cab, his cowboy hat pulled low, a twig clamped between his teeth. He nods at me as I open the truck door and slide in.
“Ho there, pretty lady. Can I give ya a lift?” He throws me a wink.
I press my palm to his cheek. “You better quit that pretty lady stuff when we get back on the road.”
He dips his head, his cowboy hat tilting down. “Whatever you fancy, ma'am.” He smiles big. Then his smile drops into seriousness. “Lavan says we got a couple days of rough drivin' 'fore we get back to town. That's if the old girl makes it.” He pats the truck's door. “And if we can find a place to refuel.”
I don't say anything, just stare out toward the road and the gentle uphill climb out of the valley.
“You scared?” he asks, his hand resting on my thigh.
“Nah,” I say, placing my hand on his. “We've gotten ourselves outta worse scrapes.”
He smiles, flashing his straight teeth. “We sure have, pretty lady. We sure have.”
I pat his hand. “I gotta do one more thing.”
He nods, understanding in his eyes. “Take all the time you need.”
I walk over the ridge, my heart heavy. When I see the two rock piles, brown and silent in the dawn light, my pulse picks up in my temples. I sink down beside Mama’s grave as the dawn light bleeds into the sky. How can I leave her here? I look at the mound of stones and think of Mama beneath them. All that weight, as if we wanted to hold her down, to tie her soul to the earth. I want a way to lift her body into the sky. Let her float somewhere far from this earth.
My eyes lift up to the sky. A bird skims the ridge, dipping low on a gust of wind. Above, the sky is turning orange.
My eyes trail to the west where the deep purple night hasn’t yet been washed out by dawn. There, in the cloudless sky, is a bright pinprick of light. A morning star? I stagger to my feet, my heart instantly beating. Could it be?
The star, like a diamond tucked in a sea of blue, winks brightly and I'm transported to that first night in the mall when Mama held my hand and told me about Arn, about feeling his love shine down from a morning star.
I stare up, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Please, Mama,” I whisper. “Give me a sign. Let me know you're up there. Let me know you love me.” Tears course down my cheeks in waves. I wait, my heart pounding, my chest tight. I want to feel her hands on me. I want to hear her whisper, I love you, baby.
There's no whisper on the wind, no hands on my body. And the star is fading with the spread of dawn.
I turn my eyes upward. The morning star, her morning star, seems to wink. Is it a trick of the light? The tears in my eyes? I kiss my fingertips and raise them toward the sky. I could choose to believe it is all in my imagination, that there's nothing in the sky but light, but instead I choose hope.
I choose love.
THE END
Epilogue
Lavan watched as the three outsiders drove away, their truck coiling a trail of dust. He’d given them more supplies than he'd wanted to spare, but then the Messiah's girl wanted them well stocked. He never could say no to Mage.
Footsteps drew him out of his thoughts. A Brother was running up with pink cheeks and wide eyes, something black clutched in his fist. Lavan turned, one hand instinctively reaching for the gun slung over his back. But then he saw the radio in the Brother's hand. Lavan closed the gap in three quick strides and reached for the black radio.
“There's a call?” The squeak in his voice betrayed the nervousness he'd hoped to hide. Lavan grabbed the radio from the Brother and felt the weight of it in his palm. He’d only heard the voices from far away a few times and each time it scared him. They'd never spoken to him before. He swallowed, not sure if he was ready.
“A call,” the Brother panted. He wiped sweat off his forehead and flicked it ground-ward. “They wanted to speak to whoever was now in charge.”
Something hitched in Lavan's chest. He was in charge now. This both terrified and excited him. His hand trembled as he leveled the radio with his mouth.
“Hello?” He hated the weakness in his voice. Clearing his throat, Lavan tried again. “Hello.”
Static. Then a voice crackled forth from the void. The voice, he realized, of a woman.
“With whom am I speaking?” the woman asked. Or more demanded. Lavan's arm hairs rose.
Awkwardly he thumbed down the talk button again. “This is Lavan. Lavan LaVue.” He let off the button and then hastily pressed it again. “I'm in charge.” Gods, he wished he sounded like it.
A long pause. When the woman's voice returned, she sounded even less pleased. “Lavan LaVue, this is Nessa Vandewater. I'm head of research and development for the Breeders. Do you know who we are?”
Lavan swallowed hard. Gods yes he knew who they were. Rumored to be monsters, maniac doctors who mutilated people for what they called science. The very people his followers were indebted to. The people who would come and kill them all if he stepped a toe out of line. The tremor returned to his hand. Thank goodness she couldn’t see it.
“Yes,” he said as evenly as he could. “I know who you…who the Breeders are. I know the Messiah worked with you. That you told him how to work the grow lights and where to find the outsiders.” He pressed the radio so close to his lips they brushed against the dimpled speaker. “I want to work with you too.” He didn't, not really, but for now he wanted her to think that he was on board.
“I'm glad to hear it,” her voice said. He wondered at her age. She sounded ageless, like a mountain and just as sharp.
“Lavan LaVue, we can help each other. I have a shipment of medical supplies already en route. I knew you'd need them.”
Lavan bristled as her message crackled over the airwaves. How could she already know what happened? Was she watching them? Unease crawled over his skin as he pressed the talk button. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Lavan, in return I need something from you.”
He knew this was coming. He flicked a glance at the Brother who’d stood all this time, listening. The boy shrugged. “What…what is it?” Lavan asked.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Finally, her voice squawked through the machine. “The outsiders.” Her voice was taut now, almost…angry? “I want to know where they were headed and exactly when they left.” She cleared her throat, an awful sound like metal scraping metal. “They have something that belongs to me.”
Lavan shivered, but he snapped the button down as fast as he could. “They left near abouts five hours ago, headed north on the old highway. Said they were going home.” Lavan wiped sweat off his upper lip. Thank the stars he wasn't those outsiders. From the tone in this woman's voice, he could tell whatever they had, they'd better be ready to part with it and quick-like.
“Home,” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. “Perfect. We'll be waiting.”
Part Three
The Benders
Chapter 1
Riley
Clay holds the e
mpty revolver in his fist. The determined look on his face makes me think if he stares at it long enough, he can conjure bullets from thin air. And maybe he can. In the last few weeks, I’ve seen him do some goddamned amazing things. But, if Clay could’ve done it, he would have, seeing as how bullets are the most valuable commodities in the land. Even Clay can’t make that magic happen.
And it’s bullets we need because over the hill a curl of campfire smoke rises into the dusk. The smell of crisping meat makes my empty stomach clench. We ain’t had a decent meal in five days, just jerky and water and that’s gone, too. Whoever’s on the other side of this hill better be ready for a fight. We sure are.
Our truck died over a week ago and our bullets ran out three days back. I think of the three square meals a day we had at the Citadel and wanna cry. Their provisions lasted us about a week. I look over at my brother, Ethan, and a knot forms in my throat. The little fat he put on at Citadel has wasted off his cheeks, leaving them hollow. His dark hair is dusty and coarse, and the nice clothes we were given have already worn through at the elbows and knees from skulking around cacti and climbing up rocky hillsides. He’s got his tan back, which out in the desert is a good thing. We’ve been away from the Believers long enough that their way of life’s been baked off our bodies. It’s some consolation to starving out in the desert.
When Ethan catches my eye, he throws on a little smile, but I know he’s suffering just like me. I dig into the pack on my back and hand him the water canteen.
He looks down at the water jug and shakes his head. “I’m fine. You drink it,” he whispers, shoving the jug back to me.
I shake my head and push it back. “Took a drink an hour ago.”
“Don’t believe you,” he whispers, blowing out a breath that stirs the sand in front of his face. “You always give me too much.”
“Do not,” I say, pressing the jug into his hands.
Clay shoots us both a will-you-hush-up look and trains his eyes on the crest of the hill where the smoke rolls into the heavens. “We can worry ’bout who drank what later. Right now I need your eyes and ears on this. Riley, come up with me.” He gestures to the crest of the hill. “Ethan, stay by the packs.” Ethan protests, but Clay cuts him off with a look. They’ve become like brothers over the last few months. Something I’m still getting used to.
I give Ethan’s arm a squeeze and press my hunting knife into his palm. Then I scoot on my belly to Clay. Slowly, we inch up until we can peer down into the valley.
Everything is just as it was twenty minutes ago. The hill rolls into a low, bowl-shaped valley about fifty feet wide. Down in the valley, a camp fire crackles inside a ring of rocks. On one side, a figure sits on a boulder, tending the blaze. From here we can tell it’s a man, though he could be a wizened old shell or a behemoth who’ll cleave us in half with his bare hands for all we know. I glance at Clay, who works his jaw back and forth. If we run into this scene, we gamble with our lives. But then, every damn day is a gamble.
On the other side of the fire the second of our worries lies wrapped in a tattered blanket. It’s a person, though definitely smaller. Could be a boy. Could be a woman.
We know nothing, and that’s what’s eating at me. We should just turn around and leave.
Clay points and draws my attention to the man tending the fire. A long black shadow rests at his feet, likely a shotgun, though we can’t be sure. I glance at Clay, trying to discern from his face whether he thinks this is a problem or not. Most guns around here are for show. Bullets are harder to come by than chocolate cake and even more desired. If he’s got bullets, we’re in trouble. I got a six-inch hunting knife and Clay’s got a nine-inch serrated blade. We’ll have to get close to do any sort of damage, and if he hears us, he can pick us off easy.
I scoot back down the hill and lie on my back. The night sky thickens with stars. Coyotes howl in the distance, a night sound I’m so familiar with it is usually soothing. But not tonight. I roll over and look at Clay.
“This is plain crazy. We’ll get shot up before we make it to the fire.”
Clay looks over at me, his sky-blue eyes finding mine. God, they soften me every time, but right now I don’t wanna be soft.
“Riley,” he says, smiling. “One old man and his boy can’t stop me. You know we got this.” He flashes white teeth in a look that would melt any girl from here to White Sands. If there were any girls from here to White Sands.
I scowl and cross my arms over my bound breasts. “You mighta got this if you had bullets, but you don’t.” I gesture to the useless revolvers at his hips. “What’re you gonna do, chuck those at him?”
Clay smiles again, unfazed. “If I need to.”
“This ain’t funny,” I say, frowning. “If he hears us coming down, we’re dead in two blasts. Ethan’ll starve to death beneath that cactus.
Clay’s smile fades. He scoots closer to me until his body is inches from mine. I refuse to face. Instead, I try to puzzle out my fate in the stars above.
“Riley,” he whispers, his breath on my cheek.
I don’t move.
“Riley.” His hand slinks under the fabric at my waist, fingers caressing the skin there. Tingles ignite where his touch meets my skin. Finally I roll toward him. His blue eyes match the last wink of day in the west and his stubbled cheeks make him look both rugged and manly. Any hint of the sickness from the Believers’ water has left. What’s left is a deep tan and wind-blown hair.
He slides a hand out and cups my cheek. “When I say we got this,” he pauses and runs a thumb from my cheekbone to my jaw. “We got this. I wouldn’t put you or Ethan in danger.”
I nod, but he insists. “Do you trust me?”
I think of what we’ve been through—the Breeders and the fight with Clay’s parents, the Citadel and how we fought side by side as the mall filled with poison. I press my hand to the gold band he gave me, resting on a chain beneath my shirt.
“Yes,” I breathe, my lips moving inches from his.
A voice from the valley below us stops my heart cold. We pull apart, eyes wide. Carefully we inch up to the edge and peer down.
The man leans over the fire, stirring something in the pot. He speaks to whomever is under the blanket. Clay and I watch for a moment and slide back down.
“I think I recognize the one by the fire,” Clay whispers, pulling out his knife and inspecting it. “He’s a trader. Ruthless one. Sells boys, too.”
I think of Ethan back down the ridge. “Does this change things?”
Clay shakes his head. A hardness has settled over his features. “That bastard down there deserves what I’m about to do to him.”
I put my hand on his arm. “I thought we said no killing.”
He doesn’t meet my gaze, just stares at the razor-sharp knife in his hand. “I never said no killin’.”
I tighten my grip on his arm. “Listen, killing for supplies, that ain’t right.”
Clay nods. “Won’t kill if I don’t have to, but I ain’t makin’ promises.” He looks up at me, serious. “Get ready.”
When dark has crouched down on the land, we crawl on our bellies over the rocky dirt hilltop with our blades tight in our fists. My heart’s flailing around in my chest like a lizard caught in a snare. I glance at Clay and he gives me a nod.
“If things go south, run for Ethan and hightail it west. I’ll come for you.”
Not if you’re dead, I think, but nod. “I don’t need to say be careful—”
“Ri,” he says, brushing his knuckles down my cheek. “I’d never leave you.” Then he’s crouching up, ready. “Let’s go.”
Down below, the fire has burned to flickering embers and the shadows are thick. The one under the blanket hasn’t moved. The man sits at his place by the fire, but his head has drooped into his chest. Asleep, hopefully.
Clay glances at the scene, then nods once.
We creep down the hill as stealthily as possible. My pulse jumps into my throat as I step over the scrub gras
s and rocks. One false move and Clay and I’ll both be leaking. Beside me, Clay follows my lead—arms out like a tightrope walker, eyes and ears alert. Above, the moon is nearly full and provides enough light to navigate. Every sound strikes my ears like the thwack of a gong—my boots crunching on a twig, my breath loud in my throat, a stirring of wings as bats flit off in the distance. I can’t look anywhere but at the man hunched over the fire. As we approach, he looks bigger, more filled out than I’d thought. His boots are new and polished, a hard feat out here in the bush. His cowboy hat is pulled low over his eyes and shades his face, which makes me nervous. The closer I get, the better I can make out his thick beard and the scar parting the hair on his left cheek. I study his hands laced together over his paunch. Will we have to kill him? Will these be his last dreams?
We make it to the bottom of the basin and circle closer. Clay motions for me to go at the one under the blanket like we planned. I’m to sneak up behind the mound and wait until Clay jumps on the larger one. Then I’ll pin down whoever’s under there and keep him still while Clay ties up the larger one. It seems like a simple enough plan, but we got no idea who’s under the blanket. I picture a man who cracks my skull with one blow or a roiling cluster of snakes that spill out to bite me. Suppressing these ridiculous images, I tiptoe over to the blanket and crouch behind it.
The smell of the sputtering campfire thickens the air, but another scent lingers too, the smell of unwashed bodies, a heady stink that rises up from beneath the mound that’s three feet from where I crouch. There’s definitely a human under there. But what kind?
My eyes flit up as Clay tiptoes around the fire to the sleeping man. Clay’s a skilled tracker and talented fighter, but stealth has never been his strong suit. He’s used to charging in, guns blazing, no need for quiet. Yet he does well enough, sidestepping a scraggly bush and slipping over a rock pile without disturbing a single stone. My heart pounds in my chest, as he nears the sleeping man. Five more steps. Four. My body tenses as I watch Clay take the last two steps, approaching the man from behind. He extends one hand out for a headlock while the other, his uninjured hand, holds his knife. Slowly, very slowly, he reaches his arms around the sleeping man’s shoulders.
