The Breeders Series: The Complete Box Set

by Katie French

  Riley stops the car and parks it along the side of a tall stretch of businesses, out of sight from the hospital’s gazin’ windows. We were countin’ on the noise of the streets to hide our approach. Now it’ll be just us walkin’ up desolate alleyways.

  The crew piles out of the car. While the others eat and drink, Riley, Desdemona, and I convene.

  “What the hell is going on here, Clay?” Riley asks, pullin’ down her black bandana so I can see her face. “What did you see?”

  “Dead bodies,” Desdemona says, taking a swig from a metal army canteen. “Butchers came in and cleared house from the looks of things.”

  Riley winces. “Everybody?”

  I shake my head. “No tellin’ how many were here, but it was a lot.”

  “Shit,” she says, runnin’ a hand through her chin-length hair. “That’s awful. And we don’t have cover for our approach.”

  “We can still go in quiet,” I add, “but we’ll probably be seen.”

  “We can split up,” Desdemona says. “No one knows how many of us there are. Two teams of three can make west and east approaches.”

  “Ethan, Betsy, and Auntie are staying here with the car,” I say, and Riley nods.

  Desdemona shrugs. “Then you two can go in on one side, and I can go in on another. One can distract while the others ambush.”

  “That could work, but it’ll be dangerous for you if you go in first.”

  She gives a wry smile. “Not if the best gun in the West has my six.”

  I smirk. “We’d cover you. That’s for sure.”

  “When do we go?” Riley asks.

  I look at both women. I’d give anything to go this alone, but Desdemona could be helpful and Riley would have to be hog-tied before she’d stay behind.

  “Well, as one of my extremely shitty parents used to say, there’s no time like the present.”

  Chapter 15

  Doc

  The guard’s hands on me make me want to scream as he ushers me into the dark hospital. Captured. Corra’s plan meant nothing.

  The minute we’re inside I see how run to riot things have become.

  I was always told the hospital was the last place where things existed like they used to before the fall. Things like civility and cleanliness. But those things are gone, leaving behind just one more battered building falling steadily into shit.

  The guards shove us through a side door and into a dark hallway filled with the smells of human excrement and decay. The electricity still works, but only in certain places, flickering on and off in others as we’re pushed forward. My boots slip on something foul spilled across the black-and-white tile floor, but the guard doesn’t seem to care. He gives my shoulder a shove, pushing me further into the dark hallway, smeared with things I don’t want to examine.

  As we skid forward, I shift my gaze to Corra. Just a look to see how she’s handling our sudden capture. Her face is stone, defiant and resolute, but there’s fear under there. And probably regret. She was surviving in the bunker, even if it was on bugs. We may not make it past this evening the way things are going.

  “Take a left,” the guard says, shoving me again.

  “Where are we going?” I eye the long, dark corridor. The deeper we go in, the harder it will be to get out.

  He answers with another shove.

  We get to the end of the hallway where a set of doors sits propped open. Once inside, I can see that this room used to be a medical area—hospital bed frames and smashed computer equipment are stacked in loose piles along one of the walls. The left side of the room has mattresses scattered haphazardly along the floor. On the other side, it looks like someone attempted to have an indoor cook fire. The tiles here are charred, and there’s a big metal barrel kicked over, ashes spilling out.

  Four men are in the room when we enter. Two stand up when they see us. The two others appear sick, injured, or very asleep. All the men look malnourished and run ragged. They all wear matching guard uniforms, but some are ripped and stained. One has only the standard-issue black pants. On top he wears a red T-shirt that reads, “Don’t worry, be happy,” in comic letters.

  “What’s this?” says one of the men. He walks toward us in quick, short steps, stopping abruptly before Corra and I and giving us a once-over. He turns to the two holding us. “Who are they?”

  The one holding Corra speaks up. “They came in asking to see the Boss Lady. We took ’em prisoner.”

  The man in charge narrows his eyes. “They came to see Nessa?”

  “We came to see Dr. Vandewater,” Corra says firmly. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take us to her right away. I hear she can pass swift judgment on those who disobey her.”

  One of the guards chuckles.

  The one in charge shoots him a sharp look. He turns watery brown eyes on Corra. “What did you say your business was?”

  “I’ve brought her something. Something only she would understand or find value in. But trust me. She will find it very valuable.” She raises one eyebrow.

  Behind her, the guard starts to protest. “Nessa ain’t in charge here anymore. She’s nothing without us, and she knows it. Give us the valuable thing.” He presses his gun to Corra’s temple.

  “Hold on,” says the one in charge. “Let’s think this out.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Corra says, holding herself stiffly as the gun digs into her temple. “Let’s all assume that you have mastered the powers of deduction. If you had listened to me, you would know what I have has no value to you. But it has value to Nessa. That means that you could use us as bargaining chips to get something you want from Nessa. I assume there is something you want from her?”

  The man behind me begins nodding vigorously. “The food rations. We’ve been trying to break into that floor for weeks. If she unlocked the doors, we could eat.”

  The man in charge shifts his thoughtful gaze from the man speaking to Corra. “You sure she wants what you got?”

  Corra nods.

  “Then go get it and bring it here,” he demands.

  “That I can’t do,” she says calmly. “If you have it, then you don’t need us anymore.”

  The man behind her presses the gun so hard into Corra’s temple even she winces.

  “Take it easy,” I say, feeling the panic in the room building. These men are desperate and not thinking clearly. Corra makes a good point, but it might not matter. They might be so hungry, we’re on the menu.

  “Hold on,” the man in charge says. “If we call up to Nessa, she’ll answer and then you can talk her into giving us the food rations. Then you and her can hash out about the item you have that’s so precious.”

  “Let me speak to her on your behalf.” Corra looks him hard in the eyes. “I know her very well. She’ll listen to me.”

  A slow smile breaks out on the man’s face. “You think we’re real dumb down here, huh? Just like Nessa. Well, we’ll see what Nessa has to say. If she don’t want you, we can think of some things to do with you.”

  Corra’s face hardens, but I can see that all the confidence she built up over the course of the conversation is gone.

  Dammit.

  The guard walks over to the side of the room where the destroyed computer equipment sits and digs out a phone. He punches a few numbers and puts the receiver to his ear.

  “Nessa,” he says, “someone is here to see you. Two benders. They say they have something you want.”

  He listens.

  “Right. So, here’s the thing. What are you gonna pay for their safe passage? We were thinking access to the second floor.”

  Again there’s a long silence as he listens for quite some time, starting to interject, but he seems to be cut off by the woman. Finally, he says, “All right, fine.”

  Hanging up, he turns to us, gripping Corra by the arm. “She says get your cargo, and we’ll take you up to see her.”

  Relief washes over me. Even though I’m not sure Nessa is our ally, at least we’ll be rid
of these lunatics. And hopefully their groping hands.

  The leader starts to lead Corra back toward the garage and our car where we’ve hidden Mo. I start to walk with her, but a hand on my arm stays me.

  “Let me go,” I say, looking at the guard who has me.

  Their leader stops herding Corra out and looks back at me. “No, pretty. Nessa didn’t say anything about wanting you. You we get to keep.”

  “No,” Corra says, starting to struggle. “He comes with me.”

  But their leader drags her forward, through the open doors and down the hall.

  I struggle against the guards, but it’s no good. A burly one drags me back, by the wrists. When he stares down at me, revealing a smile of rotten teeth, a pit forms in my stomach.

  “You can scream all you want, bender,” he says, grinning, “but won’t nobody care.”

  “Corra!” I yell and get rewarded with a backhand across my jaw.

  The slap is hard, shocking. Blood fills my mouth as I stagger and clutch at my face as it begins to blaze.

  His expression is daring me to fight back. One glance around the room lets me know the rest of them will egg it on and get some kicks in for good measure. They’re bored, slowly starving to death, and mean.

  Instead of fighting, I stand up and make myself as still as possible. They can still kick me, slap me around, but it’ll take all the fun out for them. My only hope is that they’ll be too tired to give me a good beating.

  “Just get ’im out of here,” one of the men calls from a dark corner full of dirty mattresses. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  The guard who hit me grabs for my arm. “You can get cozy with the others.”

  The others?

  He pulls me out of the room and down the dark, dirty hallway.

  I judge from their conversation that Nessa has locked down the other floors remotely somehow. It means she can’t leave, but they can get to the other floors where there are supplies they need. The men are frustrated. And they’ll take it out on whoever they can.

  As we walk, I want to ask this man how things got to be this way, but I know better. Bringing up past losses is a great way to get slapped in the mouth again. I say nothing and make myself as inconspicuous as possible as we navigate the main-floor hallways. He finally stops in front of a closed door and digs out an old-fashioned metal key.

  The first image I’m greeted with is a set of eyes as someone skitters away. Stumbling in, the door is closed and locked behind me. I whirl around, not sure what to expect.

  Three women huddle together along the back wall of a storage closet. The women stare at me with huge, frightened eyes. One is young, maybe fourteen with a very closely cropped hairdo, big brown eyes, and a bony frame. She clings to an older woman, maybe Auntie’s age, wearing a gray uniform, her hair in a gray ponytail at the nape of her neck. The last woman is in her late twenties and is very clearly pregnant. She has a shock of red hair that radiates off her head in wild curls, and her face is covered in thousands of freckles.

  They all stare at me like I might kill and eat them.

  “Hi,” I say slowly.

  The older woman is the first to speak. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Doc,” I say, and when I see them physically shudder, I change tactics. “It’s just a nickname. My real name is Jason. I’m not really a doctor.”

  “All the doctors are dead,” the girl says.

  “Hush now, Sissy,” the older woman says. Then she turns her attention back to me. “Did you come from the outside?”

  “Outside the hospital? Yes. We were captured.”

  “We?” the pregnant woman asks. One hand rolls over her round belly.

  “My partner. She was taken up to see Nessa.”

  “But you were handed over to them,” the pregnant woman asks, bitterness thick in her voice.

  I take a deep breath. “I guess so. Who are ‘them’?”

  The old woman slides over an overturned bucket and offers me a seat as they settle themselves on the floor again. After we’re seated, she begins talking quietly.

  “My name is Nanny Grace. This is Sissy.” She touches the girl’s shoulder. “And this is Tonya. We are some of the survivors of the massacre that happened here a few weeks ago.”

  “Only three of you survived?” I ask, feeling horrified.

  Tonya, with the red hair, speaks. “They killed some women that would not go peacefully. The rest went. The children, too. That’s after they killed all the guards they could find.”

  “Some doctors escaped,” Sissy says, her eyes still wide. She looks like she’s in shock. “They’ll come. They’ll rescue us.”

  Nanny Grace runs a calming hand down Sissy’s short hair. “Dr. Vandewater locked down some of the floors, but many were breeched. We don’t know how many are still alive up there. And she hasn’t come for us.”

  “She will!” Sissy says shrilly, lurching forward.

  Nanny Grace pulls her in her arms for a reassuring hug. “Sissy has had a rough time with the . . . transition.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it. This must all be awful for a girl so young. Especially one that grew up sheltered in the hospital.

  As Nanny Grace rocks Sissy, Tonya continues the story. “The men you met are what’s left of Nessa’s guards. They watched most of their compatriots die. They watched Nessa lock them out of the upper floors and leave them to be killed by the Butchers. They’ve turned on her. It isn’t surprising, but it is worrisome. We think they’ll try to use us as bargaining chips, but heaven knows if Dr. Vandewater even cares about the likes of us.”

  “Hush, Tonya,” Nanny Grace says, shooting her a sharp look.

  “Well, it’s true and Sissy might as well get used to it,” Tonya says, a slow rage building. “No one is coming to rescue us. No one cares.”

  Sissy starts a low wail while Nanny Grace rocks her.

  This is all too much for me to process. I put my head in my hands. When I look up, Tonya is staring at me.

  “Are you a bender?” she asks, studying my face.

  Slowly I nod, waiting for the canned responses I always get when I meet someone. What do you have down there? Are you a boy or a girl? Is it hard to pee?

  “And are you really a doctor?” she asks, skipping over all the questions I was expecting.

  “No,” I say sadly, “but I know a lot about medicine. Self-trained.”

  Tonya leans back against the storage room wall, rubbing her large stomach. “Good. ’Cause if I have this baby in this closet, I’m going to need someone to deliver it.”

  “We aren’t staying here that long,” Nanny Grace says.

  Tonya rolls her eyes.

  “Listen,” I say, a slow plan forming in my mind. “There’s only a few guards, and they don’t look very healthy. If we come up with a good plan, maybe we can all get out of here.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Nanny Grace asks, looking alarmed.

  “What I’m suggesting,” I say, the plan coming together nicely as I talk, “is that we get us all the hell out of here.”

  Chapter 16

  Riley

  The hospital gives me the same feeling it did the first time I laid eyes on it—a sick twisting of my guts, like a knife is slowly turning in there.

  It isn’t the tallest building, or the stateliest. But it’s the one that’s withstood the test of time, standing nearly untouched as the rest of the city falls to ruin.

  Or so it was. Until now.

  Now as we look at it, we see the signs of decay—the blown-out windows, the ripped-open fencing that shows us someone has recently breached her perimeter. There is a white Breeders truck in the front parking lot with bullet holes running up its side and four flat tires. There is garbage blowing around in piles. Some of the famous spotlights that illuminated the hospital for miles around are shot out and no longer functioning.

  When I was a prisoner here, all of this would have been pristine. No one went up against the Breeders. They had superior
firepower, superior manpower. They had technology that didn’t exist outside those four walls.

  Something has brought the behemoth to her knees.

  This has to be good for us. But I wonder what awaits us inside. Is Nessa even still here? And if she is, what’s her army like now? Without the surrounding city and its constant supply of workers, how is the hospital able to staff the positions it needs to survive?

  Then I think of the girls I met inside. Hundreds of girls. Where are they? And if this is what the outside looks like, what are conditions like inside?

  I turn to Clay, who’s loading up more guns and ammo than any one man should. “Do you think the girls are still alive?”

  He looks up at the abused building. “Girls are the world’s last valuable commodity, Ri. If someone came for anything, they came to take the women.”

  I shudder. “You think the Butchers took them.”

  He shrugs. “I think that any organization knows that to continue, they need reinforcements. The best way to do that is grow ’em yourself. Plus, men love women.”

  “Geez. You make having a family sound so romantic.” I lean back against the solar car and try to contain my rage, my worry.

  “The Butchers don’t care about family. They care about pussy, numbers, and guns. That’s all that’s ever mattered in war. At least we got two out of the three.” He holds up some metal beast that’ll spit bullets like that’s its job.

  And he’s right. It’s a brutal world.

  Desdemona walks up, swinging her bow. “We ready?”

  Clay looks at it skeptically. “How about I give you something better than a stick of wood?” He holds a handgun out to her.

  She scrunches up her face. “No thanks. I don’t need to compensate for something with a massive weapon.”