The Breeders Series: The Complete Box Set

by Katie French

  I need to breathe. I can’t focus anymore. I’m going to die. I push and yank the box, but nothing’s happening.

  Ready to scream, I push up for more air.

  This time I have to stand on tiptoes to keep the water from dipping into my mouth.

  I’m out of time.

  I suck air and plunge down again.

  When I pull myself to the box again, I want to smash it into a million pieces.

  As I tug at the side that’s already shifted, I get nothing. I swim awkwardly around it again, looking for more seams. Nothing. I tug on the small piece that was the first to slide and it moves! It’s just like the box Robbie gave me back at the hospital. I push on the side, and it shifts slightly. Elated, I’m able to do this two more times, inching the slider and the box’s side open. My heart pounding, I shove fingers into the hole it has created. There has to be a key or—

  Nothing. The socket is empty.

  I want to scream, to punch something.

  I’m going to drown.

  I push up. This time, I have to tread water to breathe. The ceiling is perilously close and fogs as I breathe. I have no time. What about Tommy? Through the fogged glass, he’s just a dark shape huddled underwater, digging at his box.

  We’re both going to die.

  Through the murky glass, Prentice’s warped visage comes into view. He has the placid, amused look of someone being entertainment. Like the Breeders girls watching their TV shows.

  I hate him. I hate him.

  I have to win his game.

  I plunge back down, swimming around the box again and again. There has to be another seam, another way to get in. I tug and pull on anything I can get my hands on. Nothing budges. I reach around the little socket. There’s still nothing there! Did he set us up to die? The crowd can’t tell there’s nothing in the box. But no. Prentice wouldn’t take as much pleasure in a rigged game. He’d want to watch us fail at a game we could win.

  I do the last thing I can think of. I put my finger in the little socket and push.

  I feel it give. Leaning around, I see a small drawer has opened up on the other side. And there’s something inside!

  My fingers sweep the tiny drawer and find a small, hard object. I grab it and push up, knowing without looking it’s a key.

  But when my mouth finally breaks the surface, my nose bumps into the top of my box. The air is almost gone. I have the key, but where’s the lock? Will I get to it in time? I suck, suck, suck at the remaining air as my eyes rove over the box. There, in the top right-hand corner, is a small glass window on a hinge big enough for a person to crawl through if it could be opened. And it’s secured with a keyed padlock.

  How did I not notice this before? In my panic, I must’ve missed it.

  I swim, but with my hands and ankles chained, it’s nearly impossible. It takes far too long to reach the window, and by the time I get there, the tank is completely filled. I bob up to the glass lock and figure out a way to get the key up to the lock by pushing off the bottom with my feet and curling them up as I float. When I have the lock in one hand, I cling on for dear life. I lift the key, aiming for the lock. My lungs burn, but this is it. If I get this key in, I’ll be home free. I feel metal slide toward the receptacle and catch. The key is in. I turn it.

  But nothing happens. The key doesn’t work. I’m trapped.

  Chapter 21

  Janine

  How can it not work? How?

  For a moment, my brain cannot compute what’s happening. There was a puzzle box to solve, and I solved it. There was a key, and I used it.

  Unless I was wrong. Prentice never wanted us to survive. He wanted to punish us both with a rigged game.

  Prentice’s face appears at the side of the tank. He smiles at me.

  Bastard.

  I swim to the side and bang on the glass. Bang, bang. It’s stupid and useless and it does nothing to Prentice. He’s still smiling. Meanwhile, my air is running out.

  My lungs ache with the urge to breathe. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to open my mouth. Never have I felt a desire this strong—not for food, not for water, not for sex. It’s all there is, this need. Air. Air. Air. I fight it, but soon, the fight will be over.

  I can’t even cry for my baby.

  Swimming to the other side of the glass, I face the crowd. I want to see Bell. I want her face to be the last one I see.

  But something isn’t right. Through the murky water, I can see the crowd surging back. People are fighting. People are running. Where is Bell?

  A huge boom shakes my tank and something smashes through the tank’s glass. A bullet.

  The tank cracks. I watch splinters run in all directions, my shock momentarily silencing my need to breathe.

  The glass shatters.

  It all happens so fast. The boom and the smash and the water flowing. I am sucked out by the world’s fastest river. The fall is fast, the landing hard. I spill out onto the platform. But there’s air here. I gasp and suck in big lungfuls. Rolling over, I push wet hair out of my eyes. Who saved me? My eyes land on a dark shape bobbing at the top of the tank next to me.

  Tommy!

  When I scramble up, the glass slices my feet. I pound on his tank. Tommy doesn’t move. He’s face down, floating. Frantically, I look for something to smash the glass. Prentice and his guards are gone, the crowd frenzied. I run around the stage and grab the stepstool. When I smash it into the glass, a tiny crack appears. I pull it back and smash it as hard as I can.

  It reverberates in my hands. Another crack.

  I haul it back and swing. It crashes against the glass. The glass shatters.

  The water hits me like a fist, carrying me across the stage with it. I fall over, and the water rushes past.

  Something large hits me next. Tommy’s lifeless body lands on top of mine. I flip him on his back and lean over him.

  “Tommy?” I shake his shoulder.

  Nothing.

  “Tommy?” I tap his face. Then I shake his shoulders. His head lolls back and forth, but he doesn’t open his eyes. I need help. I look up, desperate.

  Around me, there’s chaos—people shouting, people running. Tommy and I are alone on the stage, but on the ground, the massive sea of bodies surges and contracts as the people try to flee. But what are they fleeing from?

  Tuning out the insanity around us, I lean down, place my mouth over his, and blow in like I’ve seen nannies do in their trainings with baby CPR. Then I lock my hands together, place them over his chest, and push down. How hard I should do this or how often, I don’t know, but I keep trying.

  “Please,” I murmur. “Please, please.”

  His pale, lifeless face tilts to the side. It’s all I can do not to break into uncontrollable sobs.

  He cannot die. I love him.

  Tommy twitches.

  I stop pumping and watch, not breathing.

  Tommy lurches up and spits rancid water. He turns, retching. I’m so happy he’s alive that I hug his shoulders as he vomits onto the platform.

  When he’s done, he rolls over and stares up into my eyes.

  “Hey,” he whispers.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “My savior.” He reaches for my cheek. “Janine, the dynamo queen.”

  A horrible bang echoes through the place.

  I whirl around and see the crowd is lurching our way. Bodies scramble up and over the stage. Their faces are wild with fear. Gunshots drive them toward us like frightened cattle. They claw through glass, bleeding streaks of red, but keep coming. They’ll trample us.

  I curl over, not knowing what else to do. I’m smacked, pushed, and kicked as they clamber past. Tommy huffs and curls in toward me. We lay like that, circled in toward each other. When the kicks and shoves diminish, I uncurl. The crowd is mostly gone, but not what is chasing them.

  Standing at the bottom of the stage are men with guns. And behind them? A man I never thought I’d see again.

  “Hello, Jan,” Dr. Houghtso
n says.

  All the blood drains from my body. I stare at Houghtson, at his windblown hair and tanned face. He looks like he’s spent days out in the desert. His beard has gone to ruin and there’s a giant, black gun clutched in his hands. He’s wearing plain clothes—a T-shirt that says “The Good Life,” jeans, sneakers, and a baseball cap. But it’s him. Those eyes, those calculating, clutching, all-consuming eyes, lock on me.

  I can’t stand. I can’t speak.

  Tommy sits up, coughing. “Who’re you?”

  With the guards flanking them and guns aimed at Prentice’s men, Bashees and Houghtson takes their time tromping up the steps. Their feet sound like thunder on the rickety, wooden steps. Each is a staccato blow to my heart. Houghtson. He can’t be here. He can’t.

  When he gets to the stage, he stands over us. “I, young man, am her husband.”

  Tommy’s jaw drops.

  “No!” I shout before I know what I’m doing. “No, no, no!” I stand up and Houghtson’s eyes narrow. He grips the gun handle tighter.

  Dr. Houghtson clears his throat. “Janine D Hall, you are the property of Albuquerque Research Hospital. You and your nanny will return with me immediately. Anyone who stands in our way will be dealt with.” He eyes Prentice’s men.

  Houghtson leans toward me. “I found you. I’ve been searching all over for you, Jan. Do you have any idea how many piddly little towns there are?” He narrows his eyes, and when I don’t answer, he chuckles. “Too damn many. But when I heard of a girl who was good at puzzles, a clever, conniving girl,” the humor drains from his face, “I knew it was you.” His voice is so cold that my hands start to tremble.

  Tommy stands up. “Leave her alone.”

  Houghtson aims his gun. Tommy raises his hands up in defense.

  Prentice and his guards edge closer on the far side of the stage. They look wary, but calculating. I know they have guns, but none as good as the Breeders’ weapons.

  “I’m not yours,” I whisper. My words are paper arrows.

  Houghtson grabs my arm. “That baby might not be mine,” he nods at my stomach, “but you were bought and paid for.”

  I freeze. Everyone stares at me. Now they know my secret. My hand finds my stomach as if I could shield my child from their eyes. I don’t want to see Tommy’s face.

  “That’s enough,” Bell says from below.

  My nanny mounts the stage. Guards aim guns at her, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her swollen lips are purple and grotesque, dark blood dries at the corners of her mouth, and I know each step hurts her stab wound, but she’s a wall of granite.

  Houghtson glares at her. “Bell. So great to see you again. And it looks like all my prayers have paid off. Someone finally took care of your foul mouth.”

  Bell smiles with puffed lips. “My mouth’s still plenty foul, you hair pie.” Her words come out thick and muffled, but her eyes could kill.

  Houghtson runs a hand through his wild hair. “Jan is mine. I bought her.”

  Bell narrows her eyes. “Your mother must be so proud. I bet it was her dream for her son to have to buy someone to love him.”

  “My mother’s dead and she can rot in hell. Right beside you.” He aims at Bell.

  No, not Bell.

  My body coils and releases perfectly. Arms out, I land on Houghtson’s back. The gun goes off with an awful boom that ricochets into the rafters. I feel the recoil reverberate through his body. I cling.

  Other gunshots erupt around the warehouse. Both sides have started shooting because of Houghtson’s gunfire.

  The place breaks out into madness.

  Houghtson totters under my weight, and then rights himself.

  “Get off me!” He grabs my shirt and pulls. I let him tug and slip my arm out of the shirt. Clinging with one arm, I use the other to punch his head. My fist cracks against skull, sending amazing pain up my arm, but I keep hitting as he keeps clawing.

  Crack. Crack. Crack. My fist against his skull.

  He turns, stumbling.

  Boom. Boom. Boom. Bullets zing through the warehouse, pinging off metal and smashing into plaster. A man cries out and falls off the stage.

  Tommy grabs for the gun. Houghtson lets go of me and grapples with Tommy. Tommy’s wet fingers slip over the smooth sheen of the gun. Houghtson aims at his chest.

  The gunshot feels like an earthquake. Like the whole world is vibrating apart. Houghtson’s arm recoils, jilting us both.

  It’s so shocking I lose my grip and fall off his back and onto the stage. Someone else is falling, too. Both our bodies hit at the same time.

  He’s the only thing I see as I struggle to catch the breath that was knocked away—Tommy. Tommy’s beautiful eyes staring into mine. Blue, blue, blue. Blue like the sky, like the veins that pump blood to my heart. The blue that keeps me breathing. I stare, entranced. It’s just him and me. His eyes are a conduit and I flow into them. He’s the one I chose, the one I know was meant for me. Formed and shaped by God or the universe to be my mate. My puzzle to solve over and over.

  When the blood appears on his lips, it breaks the spell.

  The gunshot. It happened. It happened to him.

  My body comes unhinged as I reach for him. Prentice and his men storm up to the stage, but Tommy is the nucleus, the core. I scoot across the stage, littered with glass and blood. His blood.

  I draw him into my arms.

  But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink as I bring my face close, my tears brimming and falling onto his skin. There’s no saving him. No last words. No chance to tell him I love him. I love him. I love him. It isn’t like in the movies where there’s always that last confession. That last moment that sums up all that has been and all that will never be.

  I get nothing but empty eyes. Beautiful, empty eyes.

  He’s dead.

  He can’t be dead.

  But he’s dead.

  I press my face into his chest, trembling. Oh, God. How can this be happening?

  A hand grabs my wrist and yanks. I look up. Bell stands over me.

  “Run.” Her eyes flick to the commotion.

  Where’s Houghtson? He must’ve taken cover somewhere. Prentice and his guards have taken refuge behind pillars and under the stairwell. The Breeders guards have better firepower, but no cover. Several bodies lay dead on both sides. Bullets are flying everywhere.

  I wish to God they’d do the world a favor and kill each other.

  Bell tugs again, but there’s no part of me that can heed her. I need to stay here with Tommy. And I need to see Houghtson ended. Houghtson was supposed to die and I know if I run now, he’ll follow me. He killed Tommy. Someone has to stop him.

  I see him hiding in a far corner of the stage behind the shattered tank, getting ready to run like the coward he is.

  I draw my arms away from Tommy and run at him.

  Houghtson sees me. “Had enough of these savages?”

  My body is vibrating as I take the last steps. “I want to pay you back for all you’ve done.”

  He narrows his eyes.

  I run at him.

  He fumbles to raise his gun.

  I hit him hard. The gun clatters to the ground. Houghtson reaches, but I’m quick. When I grab the gun, the metal feels so right in my hands. I turn and pull the trigger.

  A gunshot cracks through the warehouse.

  When I look, his expression is stunned. His eyes are wide, his mouth open. He looks at me like I’m an alien. He’s never seen anything like me before. And I think how right that is. There’s never been a thing like me before.

  There’s blood everywhere. So much blood.

  There’s no peace on Houghtson’s face as he bleeds out.

  I can’t help but think of the differences between Tommy and Houghtson. Tommy’s death is still a knife in my sternum. Houghtson’s death is a balm to my wounds.

  He coughs and lurches and is gone.

  The remaining guards are still firing, but all that seems far away. Prentice is no
where to be seen. Gabe, who seems to be coming out of his stupor, stumbles up the steps and falls to the ground beside Tommy’s body. He hefts his twin over his shoulder, tears streaming from his eyes.

  “Can you run?” he shouts to me over the noise.

  I nod.

  We run.

  I move as if in a dream.

  My body floats on its own accord. It runs beside Bell and Gabe through the warehouse and out into the night. It climbs into a truck. It sits beside Tommy’s body, my Tommy, as we drive through the dark streets of Santa Fe.

  Gabe has covered Tommy with black plastic, but I find his cold hand and hold it. Somewhere in my head, I know Tommy is gone. Tommy, whom I love. Tommy, who will never be mine. I have not yet found the bottom to the well of my despair, but now, sitting in the back of the truck with the New Mexico wind whipping my hair around, I know that well could be bottomless. I have an ocean of tears to shed for Tommy Meemick. And for myself.

  I stare out at the dead buildings, the dead trees, and wonder if it wouldn’t have been better if the human race had snuffed out like a candle. What is the point of urging it on? Is it all just sorrow and sorrow and sorrow again? Is it all grit swirled up in a breeze?

  We drive for hours. For days maybe. I doze in and out of sleep. I let Gabe drive without once asking how he is or how he feels about the death of his twin. I know I should offer comfort, but I can’t find any inside myself. When the world is dead, comfort is the first thing to go.

  When the truck finally stops, I sit up and rub my eyes. It’s mid-morning. Gabe has pulled us into a large, open warehouse. I look around at the metal beams, flecked with bird nests, and shiver. It reminds me too much of Prentice.

  Gabe climbs out of the truck and looks at me. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed. He looks so, so tired.

  Somehow, my voice comes out. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

  He looks at me and then down at the tarp. “Me too.”

  I stare at Tommy’s curled fingers, whitish blue at the tips. “I loved him.”