by Katie French
The boss’s office is a giant flat surface on one of the smaller peaks of the mountain. The area’s been blasted flat and decorated with thousands of intricate carvings—stone vines, birds, sea creatures and dragons cavort on the walls. There is no roof, but about twenty feet away, a red canvas awning has been erected and flutters in the wind. Under the tent, a man sits in a lounge chair, not made of stone this time but of wood and fabric. He sits back casually sipping something and having a conversation with a man standing a few feet away. There are two armed guards on either side, sweating and trying to look happy about it. A power play if I ever saw one. Make your inferiors sweat and burn while you lounge. So they know who’s boss. So they never forget.
“What’s this?” the man who must be Barrage asks as he sees us. He sits up in his chair and puts his drink on a table.
“Sir, this guy said you wanted to see him. Said he’s new, didn’t know how to find you.” My guide starts wringing his hands together nervously. Barrage dismisses him, and he scampers off.
I stand there in the heat, trying to look dumb while thinking about ways to murder this man. I still have my gun. It’s pressed against the sweaty skin of my lower back.
“You just came in? With the shipment? Where are the others?” the man asks.
I shrug and squint up at him.
He’s not what you would expect a warlord to be. With Sheriff Tate, he was a gunslinger, ruthless and a master of the bullet. He could kill a man at forty paces and wouldn’t think twice about it. Lord Merek was huge and imposing. And ruthless with those that disobeyed him, concocting horrible ends for his enemies. And Nessa was smart and powerful.
This man appears to be tall but slender, with ropey, muscular arms and thin, birdlike legs. He wears circular glasses on his face that give him an intellectual air. But then his silken, cream-colored bathrobe confuses the look. He’s bald like his men but sports no tattoos or scars. His hands, at his lap, are soft. Uncalloused. But then I remember he inherited this land.
“Did you hear me, boy?” he repeats, standing up and coming over.
I start to sweat. Nodding my head, I stammer, “I h-h-heard.”
He keeps walking toward me. His men stand back where they are. They don’t think I’m a threat, so dumb and small and insignificant.
This is my chance. As he’s coming toward me, I keep my head down, but reach around for my gun. Yanking it out, I start to take aim.
He moves lightning fast. Some sort of complicated kung fu move where his hand flies out and chops mine just as I’m about to pull the trigger.
The gun flies from my hand. Before I have time to recover, a kick lands in my stomach, sending me flying.
My body hits the rock hard.
On my back, I struggle to try to refill my lungs with air.
A shadow crosses over me. I realize my bandana has fallen off. He can see my face.
“Well, what do we have here?”
I stare up at him, stunned. Still struggling for the air that he knocked out of my lungs, I try to scramble away, but he puts a boot on my shoulder, pinning me.
“You’re not one of the new guys,” he says, taking his glasses off and leaning down to get a good look at me. “You’re something else entirely.”
“I-I’m s-sorry,” I stammer.
The other two gunman are there now, pointing their rifles at me, but he waves them back.
“No, you’re not some simpleton.” He leans down and pulls my bandana and goggles away, nodding. “Yes, just what I thought.”
I stare up at him, still trying to figure out what he’s talking about through my dazed brain. “I’m new here.”
“You certainly are.” His foot comes off my chest, and he snaps his fingers behind him. “The photo.”
The man returns with a snapshot in his hands. Barrage looks at it and then my face, a smile breaking out on his. “Exactly.” He flicks the photo with his finger. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” I ask.
He turns the photo over. It’s taken from far away and zoomed in until the lines blur a little, but the subject is still clear.
It’s a picture of me, holding Mo.
His face smiles down at me over the photo. “You, my little lady, are precisely the person we’ve been looking for.”
Chapter 26
Riley
I thought I was brave.
I thought, all this time, that if it ever came to torture, I could handle it. That I wouldn’t break. That I’d rather die that give up information on my loved ones.
But once they started doing what they did, I broke. I told.
I betrayed everyone I love.
Alone in my cell, spitting blood onto the floor, all I can feel is despair. They wanted to know where Mo was. And I didn’t tell them. At first. But now they know.
My broken hand, throbbing in my lap, does nothing to turn my mind away from what I did. I sold out my family to keep my fingers. I didn’t even mean to do it, but now it’s too late.
So I cradle my hand and spit out the blood to keep it from slicking my throat and making me gag on it.
And I cry.
I don’t know how long I’ve been down here. I don’t know where Clay and Ashki and Desi are. All I know is I am broken. They broke me.
Time passes.
The cell is rock. The door is solid wood. The flickering torch on the wall is my only light. It’s the only thing in the room besides my blood and tears. Besides my anguish.
Did they catch Clay? Is he dead? Will I be soon?
I’m sure they’ve gone to Broken Arrow’s place. They probably took a whole load of men and ambushed them. And who will die? Who already has died in the fight? It’s awful, not knowing. Sitting here in my misery.
All my fault. I couldn’t stop the words pouring out of my throat even though I wanted to. Even though I wished I could rip out my own tongue to keep them from pouring forth.
What have I done?
Hours go by.
They bring water and bread. A guard dresses the wound on my hand. They clean it. They leave me. I don’t drink or eat. I can’t make myself do it.
Finally, someone comes to the door. There’s the creak of hinges and then I look up.
Barrage leans against the door jamb, looking smug. “It took some doing, but we’ve managed to acquire what I’ve been searching for all this time. And you helped us do that.” He pauses, looking down at me. “I’m not a terrible man,” he says, looking away from me. “Would you like to see her? Your . . . What do you call her?”
“Mo.” I look up. “She’s alive?”
“Very much so,” he says, holding out a hand that is red and bloody. “Bit the hell out of me. We thought you might help with that, keep her calm during the procedures.”
“If you think I’m going to help you cut her to pieces,” I say, looking up with tears in my eyes, “you must be dumber than I pretended to be.”
He smiles humorlessly. “Oh well. We don’t have medical drugs to sedate her, so it’ll have to be done manually. I wanted to avoid it, but, alas. It won’t go well for her, unfortunately. She already very agitated. Maybe if she saw a friendly face, she would calm down. But if you won’t see her . . .” He turns to go.
“Wait,” I croak. “I want to see her.”
He smirks. “I thought you would.”
I stand up weakly, holding my broken hand. Maybe if I’m out of this cell, I can set her free. Or help find the others. It’s the only chance I’ve got. I follow him out into the corridor. A guard is standing by.
Barrage nods to him. “Just in case you try to kill me again. Though we all know how well that went. I’m a black belt in karate. A master, if I do say so myself. It helps keep me alive.”
I snort. “Christ, torture is bad enough, but I have to listen to this shit, too?”
He narrows his eyes, but doesn’t reply.
We walk, this time down a winding staircase sputtering with torchlight. We finally get to a long hallway. I can hear howli
ng echoing from down the hall.
“Mo.”
I start to run ahead, but Barrage holds his hand out. “Let’s not be hasty. We go in together.”
Keeping myself restrained, I walk beside Barrage; all the while her cries cut into me like knives. He leads me into a big, open room, glowing with electric light. My eyes swing past several doctors who look at computer screens, pouring over vials of what look like blood and operating machines. These must be the Breeders’ doctors he kidnapped.
As one steps aside, I see her.
The cage is big enough for a large dog. The first thing I see are smears of blood on the wire bars. What have they done to her?
I can’t keep myself from rushing forward. I run to the cage and grip it, peering in. “Mo, it’s Mama,” I say, choking on a sob. “I’m here, honey. I’m here.”
She looks at me but sees nothing she recognizes. Continuing to shriek, she throws herself around the cage like mad.
“Calm down, baby. Calm down.” I reach in, trying to touch her with my non-broken fingers through the bars, but she’s lurching so much it does no good. She’s too upset.
“I thought you could calm her down,” Barrage says, standing next to me, frowning.
“What have you done to her? I’ve never seen her so upset. Maybe if I held her.”
“And let her out? Are you crazy? Just calm her down, or you’re going back to your cell.”
I look at all the faces waiting on me. I get close to the cage and start to sing the song “You Are My Sunshine.”
At first it does nothing, but as my voice carries into the second verse, her thrashing slows. She turns big, scared eyes at me. Seeing her now, not moving or thrashing about, I can tell what the last few days have done to her. She’s skin and bones, her face skeletal and her collarbones poking out like jar handles. Her hair is knotted and lank. Big dark circles rim her bloodshot eyes. She may be acting wild, but her movements betray her weakness.
It breaks my heart into a hundred jagged pieces. When I finish singing, tears stream down my face. “Can I hold her now?” I ask quietly.
“For a moment, while they draw blood. You keep her calm like this, or she goes back in the cage.” Barrage nods at a doctor, who unlocks the door and swings it open. I reach in and draw out my baby. She weighs almost nothing.
Cradling her, I rock back and forth, murmuring the song over and over. When a doctor comes with a needle in hand, I want to kick him in the stomach, but instead I hold her as he inserts the needle into her arm. She barely flinches. It’s like without the fight she’s got nothing to keep her going.
“She needs food, water,” I say, turning to Barrage. But he’s talking to the doctor, reviewing medical charts. He cares nothing for her health or safety. He’ll only keep her alive to test her, poke and prod. Once she’s of no use, she’ll be tossed aside.
It’s the life I tried to save her from. And failed.
So I hold her and rock her, trying desperately to think of a plan.
My eyes skim the room, noting the Breeders’ medical equipment shoved into every corner. It looks so out of place here in this ancient rock city. The good news is we are low enough that if we can get out of here, I might stand a chance of getting a truck or making a run for it without having to scale down hundreds of feet. But there are guards. My eyes sweep around, finding three—two stone-faced bald men and . . . Ashki?
When he sees me looking, he widens his eyes slightly. It’s all the sign I need. He is free. That means that Clay and Desi might be, too.
A seedling of hope sprouts in the desert that was my future.
I look at him too long, and he looks away. I know it could break his cover, but I can’t help myself. And it doesn’t seem like anyone is paying us attention now. Once they get all the blood they need from Mo, they’ll focus on making use of it. Getting the secrets they need to take over the world.
We have to stop them.
I edge toward Ashki with my back to him, rocking Mo and singing. When I get close enough, I glance back. He won’t look at me, but he whispers something so low I almost don’t catch it.
“When you hear the tapping, take cover.”
I frown, not sure of what he means. Wanting to ask him more, I glance back over my shoulder just as I hear it.
Tap, tap, tap on the wooden door.
Barrage looks up.
A guard goes to answer it.
Ashki grabs me and yanks me down hard.
The room explodes.
There’s a terrible boom and the rock around us rumbles. The lights go out, plunging us into darkness. Mo shrieks, trying to tear away from me. I hold her tight, enduring the clawing and scrambling as smoke fills the room. Boots thunder in. Someone is yelling.
The pop of a gunshot. The room lights up with the blast of gunpowder only enough to illuminate the chaos—doctors scrambling, guards fumbling for guns, equipment spilled everywhere.
An arm on my bicep. Ashki’s voice is in my ear. “Come with me.”
I scramble up, letting him lead me.
Another gunshot. This time close.
We run, tripping over things in the dark, bumping into equipment. The smoke chokes us. The darkness blinds us. Yet somehow Ashki is able to know where he’s going, or at least it seems like he does. Soon, we’re stumbling out into fresher air. There’s a light ahead. He pulls me toward it.
Another gunshot. Suddenly Ashki’s hand is not on my arm anymore.
I turn, fumbling. In the dim light, I see him fall, hitting the hallway wall and sliding down. I reach back for him, but he pushes my hand away. “Go. Get her out of here. Clay is waiting.” His hands fumble for his gun as he loads it and aims back into the darkness.
He opens fire.
I can’t just leave him, but the other side is shooting now. Bullets blast into the stone all around me. I can’t carry him and Mo. And I have no weapon. Gripping Mo, I turn and run toward the light, praying he’ll make it out alive.
When I get to the entrance and fresh air, a guard appears, aiming his gun at me. “Drop her.”
Still wild in my arms, I look at the guard and nod. “Okay, okay.”
He lowers his gun. I let go of Mo.
She springs out of my arms, attacking his face. He screams, reaching up to grab her, but the gun in his hand is loose. I yank it away. When it comes free, I turn it around and fire.
The man falls backward, blood coating his shirt. I pick up Mo, wincing at the pain in my broken hand. I run.
Ahead, things open up. Rock cliffs surge upward. A blue sky skims past long stretches of carved stone. The path slopes down, stopping at what appears to be a stone pen with wooden doors, guards on either side. They haven’t spotted me yet, but will soon.
As I’m watching, one of the guards jitters and then keels over, blood pouring out of his front. The other one looks over, shock spreading on his face, but his body jumps, and he too is falling over in a pool of blood. I swivel back and there he is, Clay on an outcropping of rock above the entrance, his sniper rifle on his shoulder, silencer on the barrel.
I run out until I’m no longer in the shadow of the hallway’s awning.
When he sees me, the gun drops. He climbs down.
In moments, I’m in his arms.
“Oh God, Riley. What have they done to you? I tried to get you out, but there was no way. Oh Jesus.” He pulls me to his chest, shaking.
I’m so glad to see him, more tears burst to my eyes. But this isn’t the time.
“They’ll be coming, Clay. From there.” I point back to where I’ve come from. “Ashki, he . . . I don’t know if he’s okay. He’s injured.” Now I’m shaking.
Clay moves me until his body is facing the dark hallway, pressing a gun into my broken hand. I slip it into my pocket, ignoring the pain. He talks to me over his shoulder. “We have to get out of here. They have more guards than we thought. We can’t kill Barrage. It was stupid to try.”
“But what about the prisoners? Sissy’s mother? Desi’s?”
His blue eyes dart to the doors. “They’re in there, but there’s no time. What would we even do with dozens of defenseless women?”
I think, scanning all my knowledge of the place. “A truck. Can we get a truck?”
He sucks in a big breath. “Maybe. But it’s a big risk.”
We hear gunshots. Then footsteps. They’re coming.
Not really thinking, I hand him Mo, who’s gone limp again, and rush forward. The giant doors are locked with a tongue and groove lever larger than my forearm. With my good hand, I lift it up. When it falls free, I yank open the door.
Dozens of faces turn to me. Women, girls, nannies. Every age, color, shape, and size. They’re sunburnt and dusty. They’re tired and hungry. But they’re alive. Dozens, maybe a hundred.
I shout at them. “We don’t have a lot of time. If you want to be free, you need to run now.”
A few blink at me. One runs forward. Another. Soon they’re all piling up, spilling out of the open door.
I get to Clay just in time to see him turn and fire on the first guard who appears in the hallway. The guard dies with a shriek. Many more are behind him.
“Run! I’ll hold them off.” He hands me Mo. I want to drag him with me, but there are all these women, surrounding me, tugging on me, begging. And Mo is limp in my arms.
“Clay!” But I can’t see him anymore. I’m surrounded by pleading women. An ocean of them.
More gunshots. We have to get out of here.
“Clay!”
“This way!” someone yells.
I have no choice. I’ll get them to the trucks and go back for Clay.
We run away from the gunfight. I take the slope down, knowing that ground level is where the trucks are. I need to find where we came in, steal a truck, and load as many of these women as I can into it. Then I’ll get one of them to drive it, and go back.
There’s gunshots from above. A man with a rifle spits bullets down on us. Women scream. Some scramble for cover. One falls and doesn’t get up.
“Find cover,” I shout, but we’re in an open area, rock on either side, with nowhere to shelter from the bullets.
