The Breeders Series: The Complete Box Set

by Katie French

He takes me by the shoulder and leads me to the open doorway. I fill my lungs with fresh air as he speaks. “We should let Bran head in there alone. He seems willing.”

  I look at Doc and then Bran, who’s still peering into the darkness with his knife out. “That doesn’t seem fair. We’re in this together.”

  Doc frowns. “That man tried to attack you. We hardly know him. Sure, Bell knew him a long time ago, but that doesn’t do much for us now, does it?” Doc takes his sleeve and wipes a small trickle of blood from my forehead that I didn’t know was there. “Please just try to stay alive a little longer,” he says, looking at me with that longing in his eyes again.

  I look away, unable to keep his gaze when he’s staring at me like that, but maybe he’s right. I have Ethan and Clay to think about. And possibly another human life if my suspicions are right, though I really can’t think about that right now. But I can’t just sit here and let Bran go in alone. I’d never forgive myself. “We do this together.”

  But back inside the dark, decaying store, my confidence is sucked away. I scan the black hole and then look at Bran. “Thoughts?”

  “No easy way, lass. They already know we’re here. We’ll have to overwhelm them with force, three of us, two of them. And we have weapons.” He indicates his knife, smiling wickedly.

  “Let’s try to keep this as bloodless as possible.” When I reach back to Doc, he hands me the stun gun. I hand him my pistol with a twinge in my stomach. “This is my idea and my mission. I’ll go first. If I can stun Subject Seven, we can get to Eight easily. Let’s try not to shoot or stab it. After all, it only knocked me down. I don’t think it’ll hurt us on purpose.” I think back to the surveillance video they showed me. Subject Seven hadn’t minded ripping out that doctor’s eyes.

  Doc makes a face, but I choose to ignore it.

  “Stay close. A flashlight would’ve been a good idea, but it’s too late now.”

  Taking a few deep breaths, I scamper through the hole and into the darkness.

  The air is thicker in here and dank with mildew and something rancid. With the stun gun out in front of me, I slowly rotate. Large, glimmering eyes lock onto mine.

  I stumble back. My finger fumbles for the trigger, the red laser beam dancing on the chest of the huge creature before me. The probes shoot out, and the snap of electricity courses from the gun. The smell of burning is sharp and awful, like fabric caught on fire. There’s a pop and a small orange flame gathers on the creature’s chest. I expect it to charge me, fall, or scream—something—but it just stands there, burning, not moving. Its eyes are huge, round, and unblinking.

  “What in the hell?”

  Bran comes thundering up behind me. “Jesus and Mary, what’s going on?” He stops beside me, staring. I stare, too, as Doc fills out our circle.

  Orange and blue flames lick up the creature’s chest, illuminating its face. It’s a giant rat with huge buck teeth and a dirty snout as long as my forearm. He grins at us.

  “It’s stuffed,” I say, poking it. It really is a seven-foot rat with a stupid smile that was meant to be welcoming, but it’s terrifying in this dark room. “What the hell’s it doing here?”

  Bran finds a piece of wood, wraps cloth around it, and holds it on the rat’s flame until it catches. After, he beats the fire on the rat’s chest out. Bran waves his handmade torch near the rat’s face, curls of smoke still slipping past its awful smile.

  “Why would this be here?” I know I should be looking around for Subjects Seven and Eight, but I can’t seem to take my eyes away from this terrible creature.

  While Bran leans in to look, the torch glows orange in the black of the rat’s eyes. Bran steps back and waves his torch around the rest of the room. More stuffed creatures lurk in this building’s corners—a giant white bird with a yellow beak wearing a frilly dress, a purple monster with a white beanie and green shoes, a cartoony man with a giant black mustache and chef’s hat, and a hound dog holding a guitar. His glass eyes watch us suspiciously. I half-expect him to burst to life and smash us with his guitar.

  “What kind of place is this?” Doc asks, his eyes wide.

  We walk slowly around the room. In the dim light from Bran’s torch, more items appear—metal street signs, a store mannequin with a brown wig, and jugs of a yellow-brown liquid that I don’t want to identify.

  “Someone was collecting,” I say, spinning a hundred eighty degrees, taking it all in. “These things have been here a while.” I wipe dust off a naked baby doll with automatic open-and-shut eyes.

  Bran peers at a mannequin torso wearing a decayed bra and panty set in lacy pink. “One odd ducky made this collection. But I don’t think it was our target. Let’s move.”

  I follow Bran but can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched.

  We walk to the opposite side of the room, where another hole has been bored through the drywall, wide enough for two men. With Bran’s torch, we can see a few feet inside.

  We crawl through but find no comfort here, either. Whoever lived here spent his time collecting the oddest items possible. On one wall, dozens of lifeless clown masks peer down on us. Some have giant awful grins, some have horrible vacant eyes, but all of them seem to watch us as we pass. Bran swings the torch, revealing shelves containing items bobbing in amber liquid. I see a human fetus and shiver.

  “What is this place?” It’s taking everything I have in me not to bolt. “Did Subject Seven do this?”

  Doc picks up a mangled teddy bear missing a head and drops it. “Don’t think so. This stuff’s been here a while. Somebody got weird. Really weird. Being alone can do that to you.”

  “Some sicko liked this slag?” Bran asks, leaning close to see glass eyeballs floating in a mason jar.

  I wave him forward. “Keep moving.”

  We crawl through another hole and enter a room the same size and shape as the last two, but this one is nearly empty in comparison. Set up more like a living quarters, the corner near the boarded-up windows is a nest of blankets, decaying couch cushions, and plastic tarps. Bran pokes around with his toe and shakes his head.

  “If there’s anywhere I’d think they’d sleep, it’s right here,” Doc whispers, peering into the dark. He walks over and lifts a dust-covered plate, a meal of unknown origin still clinging to it. A chair is toppled over like whoever last sat in it jumped up in a hurry, but that was long ago. The dust tells us that much.

  We find a few outfits hanging on wall hooks and magazines that fall apart when Doc lifts them. Bran uses some of the dusty clothes to keep his sputtering torch aflame. “We need to move. I can feel ’em. Close.” His nostrils flare.

  As we walk toward the next hole in the plaster, Doc pulls up close beside me. “I don’t like this, Ri. They’re drawing us deeper and deeper. Now, if we need to flee, it’ll take us too long. There’ll be no escape.”

  “There are only two of them and three of us.”

  “Yeah,” he says, “you keep saying that.”

  We climb through the hole in the wall, Bran and his torch in the lead, me, and then Doc. We drop down only to find dozens of white paint buckets clustered by our feet. Bran swings his torch low, and we see the brown sludge. Their bathroom. But it’s so old it’s lost its stink.

  “Thank God for that,” Doc whispers, pushing a bucket aside with his boot.

  We move quickly. It might not stink, but nobody wants to hang out in a room full of shit.

  “Goddamn, how big is this mall?” Doc says as we cross the room to the hole on the other side.

  I shake my head. I should’ve counted the storefronts before we came in. So many things we should’ve done. Clay would’ve done better.

  We slip through the next hole and come out in a space much bigger than the last. This shop appears to be two or three times the size of the rest. And it still has shelves, clothes racks, and peeling posters on the walls with women posing for the camera. My eyes dart around cataloging everything, but Bran’s torch doesn’t shine very far. But when we
walk a ways in, there’s one thing I notice right away.

  I spin around, my heartbeat picking up. “Bran, no other exits.”

  He walks to the far wall, putting his hand on the plaster where the hole should be. “The last shop,” he murmurs, turning around, his knife out.

  I lift my Taser, aiming for the darkness. “They’re here somewhere.”

  Doc draws the gun. We circle up, back to back. Bran keeps his torch high.

  Where are they?

  We listen, hearing only our own breath. Beyond the torchlight, the darkness seems alive.

  Doc flicks a glance my way. He looks terrified. “Are you sure they’re—”

  An awful crashing sound. Bran whips his torch toward it. Across the room, a huge pile of debris topples over, blocking our only exit.

  “We’re trapped!” Doc shrieks.

  A blur of motion in the corner. Bran sweeps the torch toward it, but it’s too fast.

  “There!” I point toward a rustling sound headed our way.

  The three of us wheel around.

  When the torchlight finds her, we all gasp. Crouched in an attack posture is a naked woman. Her long, matted hair covers most of her and mud hides the rest. She’s camouflaged herself, covering her pale skin with dirt so she’s harder to see in the dark. She looks vicious, animal, and deadly.

  “S-subject Seven,” I stutter, not sure if she can understand me. “Surrender now and you won’t be hurt.”

  “Tase her, lass!” Bran yells. His knife is out and his torch high. But the flame is guttering low. Without something new to burn, we’ll have no light. “Hurry!”

  I aim the Taser and take a step closer. The woman—animal?—doesn’t retreat. From her crouched position, her eyes watch my every move.

  Movement distracts me. Doc screams.

  Bran whips around. As his torch falls, I see something I cannot understand. Two more creatures burst out of the shadows and fall onto us.

  There are three of them.

  Chapter 19

  Betsy

  Everything the nannies taught us is lies.

  I stand in a crowd of dirty, sweaty men, and not a single one looks at me. The way the nannies tell it, I should’ve been dragged by the hair into a cave the minute they saw me. Some look my way when the big guy, Mike, isn’t around, but no one comes over. No one leers or licks his lips. They’re all dumb bastards, anyway.

  I smile at one as he passes, though he looks like he’s been run over by a Jeep. This makes me giggle, and I hide my smile in my fist. Jeep, jeep, beep, beep. I rub my lips as I rhyme in my head. Nessa always said rubbing my lips was a dirty habit, but Nessa is probably dead. She deserves to be dead. A lot of people deserve what’s coming to them. Starting with Ethan.

  It’s Ethan’s fault Clay won’t look at me. Ethan’s not even correcting Clay when he calls him Cole. He loves being Clay’s little brother, even if it’s a damned lie. A very, very bad lie.

  And liars deserve punishment.

  The men stream by, working on some plan that no one shares with me. Why won’t they notice me? I hike up my dress, showing the white meat of my thigh. One glances, lifting his eyes to my face, but then looks down to the dirt and hurries away.

  “Shoot!” I say under my breath. “Dumb idiot bastards.”

  “Why’s your leg hanging out?”

  I whirl around. Hank, the kid Ethan and Clay hate, stands behind me, staring. He doesn’t want me, not in the way men are supposed to want women, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes. He’s amused. I lower my dress and face him. “Why are you talking to me? Shouldn’t you be humping Mike’s leg or something?”

  He stares at me like he wasn’t expecting my sass mouth, as the nannies used to say. He’s about a foot shorter than I am, but I have a feeling he’s older than he looks. The meanness in his face for one—the pinched, sourpuss look that comes when people have let you down over and over. His hair is dark and coarse, and his face is tanned. His eyebrows and eyelashes are thick and dark. His lips are bright red. He’d be a pretty girl if he didn’t make that ugly face all the time.

  I itch under my wig. He watches me with a strange look on his face. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

  “Nothing.” I tug on the ends of my curls to keep the wig in place.

  “Why’re you so fat?” He lifts his upper lip, smirking.

  “Why’re you so stupid?” I retort.

  A slow smile spreads on his face. “What’s your name?”

  “Betsy.” I offer my hand to shake, but he just stares, so I let it drop.

  “What are you doing with those assholes?” he asks, nodding to Ethan and Clay across the crowd of men.

  “Clay’s my boyfriend.” The lie sounds stupid, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

  His black caterpillar eyebrows come together as he thinks this over. “Your boyfriend is going to steal my place with Mike. Then the men who hate me will find a reason to kill me.”

  “Ethan took my place with Clay. Sometimes, I wish I could kill him,” I spit angrily.

  Hank’s smile widens, showing crooked teeth. “Sounds like we have a similar problem.”

  I lean in closer. “It’s a shame Mike likes Clay so much. I mean, you’re the one who talks for him. Clay couldn’t do the job you do.” My voice is honey laced. I bat my eyelashes.

  Hank is nodding hungrily. “What if we could solve both of our problems at the same time?”

  I link my arm through his. He stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away. When I start walking, he keeps up, glancing back to see if anyone has noticed. They haven’t.

  They don’t pay any attention to us.

  “Come with me.” I smile for the first time in a long time. “We have a lot of planning to do.”

  Chapter 20

  Riley

  Three creatures. How can there be three?

  Corra lied.

  I have no time to think because once the torch falls, it all goes black.

  Jesus, where are—?

  I’m blasted back, kicked in the chest and sent sprawling. I fly, slamming into something. A body. It writhes beneath me.

  “Get off, you gibby bastards!” Bran yells.

  I roll away, searching in the dark with my hands. “Bran, it’s me! Where’s Doc?”

  “Help!” Doc cries. The call comes from farther away than I would’ve thought, but I’m blind in the dark. I run toward the sound, my arms out. The Taser’s in my hand, but how can I use it when I can’t see?

  “Doc!” I hear struggling, but I can’t find him. We need light. I whirl around, seeing nothing but darkness.

  There. Beams of daylight slice their way through cracks in the boarded-up windows. I run, arms out. My leg plows into something that clatters to the ground, but I push through. Finding the boards, I grab on, put one foot on the wall, and pull. The nails complain as they tear out of old wood. A board pulls away from the window, spilling light into the room.

  “Riley, look out!”

  A creature plows into my side, spilling me onto the floor. Dirty hands claw at my face. White teeth gnash in a blacked-out face. Its wild eyes look more animal than human. It wants to kill me.

  I smash the board from the window into the creature’s back just as teeth sink into my neck.

  Screaming, I pull the board back and bash again. Its body falls on top of mine, hair, mud, and arms filling my vision. The stink is awful, unwashed human and shit. I shove back with my free hand and roll away. When I stagger up, panting, it does the same, squaring off with me. A naked woman covered in mud, her face contorted with the look of a predator sizing up a meal.

  Doc runs in, his gun out. “I have to shoot! They’re too powerful.”

  “No! We don’t know which is Eight. Where’s my Taser?” I’ve lost it. I scan the trash-filled floor.

  The creature charges, running at us with powerful strides, her hair flying back, her teeth bared. We run left. Doc aims. I reach to stop him, but something grabs me, wrenching me into a powerful embr
ace.

  God, they’re strong.

  I struggle against mud-caked arms, but it’s no use. The creature squeezes my chest until I can’t draw breath. Ribs creak. I suck air. Kick. Lurch. My consciousness ebbs.

  “Riley,” Doc says, aiming the gun in my direction. “I need to shoot it!”

  “No,” I mouth, still struggling against arms that feel like iron. Can’t breathe.

  Bran’s scream cuts across the room. I turn and see something drag him into the darkness.

  “Riley!” Doc yells, his gun aimed at the creature behind me. It drags me away. Into the darkness.

  I can’t breathe. It’s going to kill me. And how can I help Bran? I suck in a labored breath and scream, “Shoot!”

  A gunshot echoes through the abandoned store. The creature behind me stiffens and its arms drop away. I fall to my knees, gasping. When I look down, the creature’s lifeless eyes stare back at me. Doc shot it through the head.

  Doc runs up, the gun still in his hand. “You okay?”

  “Bran,” I say, standing shakily to my feet.

  We race to the back of the store where we last heard his cry. But he’s gone. So are the other two creatures. The store seems empty.

  “How can they be gone?” I yell, panicked.

  Doc runs to a clothes rack and pulls it aside.

  “What is it?” I come up beside him and peer down.

  Someone has dug through the floor, leaving a gaping hole and an expanse of darkness beyond. We can’t see what’s down there, but it’s clear the hole is big enough to drag a grown man into.

  “Bran!” I yell in.

  Nothing.

  I lean my head in a little farther. Doc’s hand on my shoulder stops me. “Don’t. They could attack again.” He points at the bite wound on my neck.

  I touch it, feeling warm blood on my fingertips. “It’s nothing.” I lean down again. “Bran!”

  “Riley,” Doc says, pulling me up. His voice is thick with fear. “We need to get out of here. This was a trap.”

  “We have the gun. Give it to me.” Frantic, I reach out, but instead of giving it to me, Doc holds it above his head and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens.