by Katie French
Kindy looked away, feeling sick. Had she meant to kill him? She didn’t know. But she knew staying with him would eventually mean her death in one form or another. Death of her spirit would be just as bad as the death of her body.
“Should’ve listened to me, you bastard. Safety first,” she murmured before she turned and walked toward the road.
She could see the other car about a quarter mile away. And someone was running toward her.
Nolan
Nolan watched the truck careen off the road and tumble into the scrub with increasing horror. It fishtailed and then hit the curb, sending it sprawling onto its side. He couldn’t see it any longer, then. There was a terrible crunching sound. Black smoke began to trail into the air and waft his way.
Kindy.
After a glance at the baby sleeping on the floor, Nolan took off running. He had felt weak and defeated before, but now his body was alive, surging forward as panicked thoughts raced through his head.
The truck rolled over. She could be pinned. It could catch on fire. What if I don’t make it in time?
But halfway to the place where the truck tires met dirt, a figure shuffled up the ridge and onto the road.
She looked half-dead. Her gown was stained brown at the hem and hung loosely off one red shoulder. Blood trickled from a cut above her eye. Her hair was a wild tangle of gold, blowing back from her shocked and sunburned face.
When they got close enough that he could see her eyes, his worry compounded even more. Kindy did not look okay, not by a long shot. What had his dah called that faraway look? Shock? She’d been through so much—the Breeders, the baby, the car accident.
But then Nolan remembered his anger. She’d left him twice. Left the baby to die. Now that he knew she was alive, his pace slowed. He walked the rest of the distance between them.
When Kindy finally reached him, she was panting and looking like she might faint. Every instinct told Nolan to go to her, help her. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Hey,” she said, sounding out of breath.
“Hi.”
She looked at him and then at the truck. “Crazy driver. Am I right?” She offered a weak smile.
Nolan said nothing.
Kindy blew out a breath. “Can I sit? I need to sit.” She half-sat, half-crumpled into the dirt on the shoulder of the road. “Jesus, it’s hot. Is it always this hot?”
Nolan continued to stand, looking down at her.
Finally, she looked into his face. “Look, I’m not much good at apologies. If I do give you one, even if I mean it, it probably won’t sound sincere. It’ll probably make you even madder than you are.”
“Try me.”
“Okay.” She peered up into his face. “I’m sorry I left you.”
“Twice.” He held up two fingers.
“I’m sorry I left you twice.” She shaded her eyes, meeting his. “Really.”
“And what about the baby?”
Kindy stiffened. “You found the baby?”
Nolan looked over his shoulder. “Sam is in the car.”
“Sam,” she whispered. “Is he alive?”
“For now,” he said darkly. “That’s why I came after you. I didn’t want you back, but he needs you. I can’t feed him.”
She picked at the jagged hem of her bloody gown, emotion gathering on her face. “What makes you think I can?”
He pointed to the wet patches on her shirt over her breasts. Seeming to notice them for the first time, she looked embarrassed. Crossing her arms over them, she curled in on herself. “Oh.”
“So?”
“I’m… not good at that. I’m not a mother. I’m not even a good person.” She looked at him pleadingly. “You… you’re a good person. Sam needs you. I’ll just screw him up.”
“Do you think he cares about that? He just wants his mother. He deserves that much.”
“Why? So he can live like this?” She waved her hand over the sweltering desert. “Does he deserve to turn into a marauder and an abuser of women—to learn to take what he wants by gunpoint or because he has something she doesn’t? Does he deserve to be just as bad as every man I’ve ever met in this world?”
Nolan could feel the implacable expression on his face, but he couldn’t soften toward her. Sam needed her. “All I’ve ever done is take care of you. Now I’m asking you to come back to the car and feed that baby.”
Kindy kept her head tucked down, but he could see the tears streaking down her nose and wetting the fabric that covered her knees. “What if I mess it up?”
“Fine,” Nolan spat, turning his back on her. “I’ll find another way.” He started to walk toward the car. He didn’t know how he was going to save the baby’s life, but he would die trying.
“Nolan, wait!”
He stopped, shuffling his feet in the dirt. Back rigid, he didn’t turn to look at her. He couldn’t or he wouldn’t keep moving forward. Sucking in a deep breath, he took another step. He wasn’t going to be manipulated by her. Not again.
He heard her running up to him before he felt her hand on his arm.
Red faced and exhausted, she looked more like a hollowed-out shell of a girl than she had when he’d rescued her. She gripped his arm hard, almost shaking him.
“I’ll try, okay?” Her voice hitched with the threatening onset of sobs. “That’s all I can promise. I’ll try.”
“Kindy,” he said, taking her hand. Hers was shaking. “Trying is all any of us can do.”
Kindy
She had no goddamned idea how to feed a baby.
Yet, there she was, in the backseat of the car Nolan called Greta, trying to figure out how.
“Wake up,” she whispered, picking the baby up from the floor and uncovering it. Naked, the pitiful thing looked like one of those mole rats from the nature shows her friend Andrea used to watch. She thought of the baby clothes at the hospital, the diapers, all the supplies she needed, but didn’t have. Nolan had found supplies in Greta’s truck, so, combined with what Smith had, they had a decent stock going—clean clothes for her, rags for the baby, but not much. But even at the hospital she wouldn’t have been able to keep him. Never been able to go up to the nursery and then the toddler room to play with him, sing to him like Mother had done her. He’d have been given away to the men in town.
Just like Nolan had been.
No wonder he felt a kinship with this tiny human he called Sam. A second chance? A redemption story? Kindy would like to believe so, but she’d seen enough of the world to know the chances of that were about as good as theirs were of trying to live in this desert.
She held the baby to her, attempting to figure out the mechanics of getting him to nurse.
It turned out not to be half as hard as she feared.
As the baby fed, she watched Nolan tinker with the engine. He’d announced that if he could get working parts from the truck, they might be able to get Greta to drive. Then he’d set about swapping parts from Greta to the truck, or vice versa, she didn’t know. But he worked hard all day, sweating and wiping his brow with the back of his arm. Occasionally, he’d bring her water to sip while he took a drink in the small patch of shade Greta offered. And he’d smile and coo at the baby. He was back to his old self—happy, helpful, and hardworking.
“Is it going okay?” he asked on this pass, handing her Smith’s water jug.
“Going fine. I’m a natural,” she said, taking the water.
“Or he is,” Nolan said, smiling down at the baby.
She took a sip from the hot-as-piss water. “Any whiskey left?”
He gave her a look.
“Just kidding,” she said, handing the container back to him. “How’s it going with the truck?”
“I’m making progress. We should be able to be on the road by tomorrow. The next day at the latest.”
She nodded. Nolan began to walk back to the open hood, but she reached up and caught his hand. He stopped, turning and looking with great curiosity at her fing
ers wrapped around his skin.
“I just… wanted to say I’m sorry again.” She set the sleepy baby on the seat of the car.
“There’s no need,” Nolan began, but she cut him off.
“There is. When I left, I really thought it would be a better life for you. But I realize that was just stupid. Being alone isn’t better. Life is better when it’s shared, no matter how hard it is.”
He let a small smile creep on his face. He had the kindest eyes. “It’s not hard taking care of you.”
“It is,” Kindy said, running her hand down to lace her fingers between his. “And I want you to know I appreciate the help.” Pulling him closer to her, she closed her eyes, puckering her lips.
But he didn’t do what she expected. She opened her eyes, feeling surprised and slightly offended. “You don’t… want to?”
Nolan’s face held a mixture of emotions. “Don’t do that. Don’t kiss me to pay me back. I don’t need that from you. I’m not him.” He nodded toward Smith.
She furrowed her brow. “Is that what you think?”
He rubbed his hands and didn’t reply, but she could see his answer plain on his face.
“Nolan, I—”
“I know you don’t think about me that way, and it’s okay. I’m still going to help you get to White Sands. I wouldn’t leave you just because you don’t feel the way I d—”
Kindy was up, wrapping her hands around his neck and pressing her mouth to his before he could finish his sentence.
At first, she was just kissing him, but then she felt him soften and accept it, his body molding into hers as he wrapped his arms around her. He embraced her kiss and deepened it. It was both soft and hard, reserved and passionate. She loved every minute of it.
When Nolan pulled away, he was panting. He stepped back, looking questioningly into her face.
“Yes, you idiot,” she said, smiling. “I want to be with you.”
His grin was as big as she’d ever seen it when he pulled her in for another kiss. And this time, he held nothing back.
THE END
Need more Breeders?
The Night Road is a new Breeders Universe Series.
And now, please enjoy this sneak peek of The Night Road, a new Breeders Universe Novel set four generations after Riley and Clay.
Once, long ago, the world nearly died.
Or, rather, the human race nearly died, snuffed out by the very innovations they were using to bolster it. Poisons leached into the water and soil, then human’s bodies. Female babies weren’t born, only males or gender-neutral people called benders. Women grew scarce. Men grew desperate.
A group of doctors was formed to try to bring back the female population. The Breeders were ruthless medical experts, collecting women like trinkets to use in their evil experiments. Freedom died. Women languished in a tall, gilded cage while lawlessness reigned outside their walls.
Then, our founders took the evil doctors on and brought them to their knees. Riley and Clay, with others by their side, finished the Breeders and claimed Shiprock, our mountain fortress, for their home. They fought off marauders, thieves, and thugs to keep it safe. Reclaimed the land. Brought order and civility back.
Slowly, girls were born again. The Earth began to heal.
Four generations later, our town is thriving. Despite the desert heat and ruthless conditions, despite the lack of water and technology, we keep it safe with the laws of the gunslinger’s creed.
The good guys have guns. And we know how to use them.
Which is where I come in. My name is Meg, and I’m an apprentice gunslinger. I keep watch while the citizens sleep, protecting them from fools who try to enter our city.
Like this fool currently creeping up the sheer rock face of my home.
The intruder’s approach is easy to mark with my binoculars despite how dark the night is. There isn’t much movement on the walls, so any draws my attention. This man is climbing out in the open like he thinks we don’t pay attention.
The idiot couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel.
He must think everyone is inside, getting ready for bed. And most are. Behind me, candles and gas lamps flicker to life, warming the carved stone. Every apartment was hand-crafted long before we arrived, chiseled out of the rock. The mountain keeps us cool in the heat of the day and dry during the rainy season. Interior rooms protect us from intruders and severe storms. Like a huge ship in the desert ocean, she bears us through whatever trials come our way. Sitting in the north-west corner of what used to be called New Mexico, it’s one of the only cities for miles. It’s also one of the only places able to be spotted from a far-off distance, like a lighthouse in a sea of sand.
Which also makes it a homing beacon to every imbecile around.
Heartbeat starting to flutter, I clock tonight’s particular chump as I check my weapon. I have one gun, a boring silver revolver manufactured by our friends at Merrick Guns and Ammo. Our partnership with them is what allows us to defend what’s ours. Guns are scarce, bullets nearly impossible to obtain. We get ours at a discount, and the people at Merrick enjoy our livestock and free lodging at our secure facility for their shipments to other towns.
At my hip, my gun is ready and loaded with their stock. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.
Gunslinger Rule #5 – Don’t shoot unless you damn well have to.
When he starts to scale a particularly sheer piece of wall, I’ve got to hand it to the guy. He’s got guts. A fall will mean severe injury and death. The odd part is we allow legal entry with a vetting process. If someone has decided the illegal route is the way to go, that’s bad news for everyone.
Tucking my binoculars into my jacket pocket, I take off at a run.
My watching perch leads to a path of smooth stone, curving around the south side of the mountain. I take the path, skimming past apartments that throw out the scent of food and sounds of family gatherings. The apartments aren’t much, usually two rooms of stone with hand-hewn furniture. Cramped but clean. Chiseled out of rock, everything is the same hue of desert brown, but our architecture is what gives our home its charm. Some owners have chiseled sayings above their door. Others have painted archways or carved vines wrapping around open windows. Homey. It reminds me of all I am charged to protect.
Through the tunnels and down the stairs that flicker with torchlight, I sprint across to the other side of the city.
When I get to where I spotted my mark, I’m out of breath but invigorated. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything exciting happen on my watch. As I draw my pistol, adrenaline tingles to my fingers.
I drop to the flat rock platform, then crawl quietly to the edge and peer down.
The drop below me is steep. The ground awaits a hundred feet down, the rocks eager to claim anyone who gets too cocky. We’re born up here and used to the heights, but my climbing friend is not. He clings to the rock’s face as the wind buffets him. Even in the moonlight, I can see the terror on his face as he realizes his arms are too tired to go up and too weak to go down. He’s stuck.
Only gravity will help change his position now. And gravity is a bitch.
“How’s it hanging?” I call, grinning at my terrible joke. What can I say? Nightly watch is boring.
He isn’t amused, nearly falling off the ledge before spotting where my voice is coming from. “Help! I’m about to fall,” he yells, sounding desperate. His arms tremble with strain, fingers turning white.
I watch, making no immediate move to help. “I see you’re having trouble. It makes me wonder… what in the world were you thinking coming up that way, friend?”
“I… uh… I seek sanctuary.” His watery eyes plead with me.
“Oh, yeah, that.” I lean back on my elbow, examining my nails. “That only applies to people who do not try to break in first. Any crime committed automatically negates sanctuary. Breaking into my town is a crime, amigo.”
He grumbles, shifting as pebbles clatter down t
he wall. “Please. I’m going to fall.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before climbing up.”
He groans.
But I’m not heartless. I pull the rope off my belt. Using the anchor screw set, I start to drill the bit into the rock. It chews in slowly, spiraling deeper. No way am I just using my body weight and allowing some trespasser to pull me into the void.
“Hurry!” He shifts, arms shaking as more rocks cascade to the ground.
“Hey, I’m doing my best, but your mother should’ve taught you better manners than to rush someone who’s clearly trying to help.” I crank the handle of the screw. When it’s finally secure, I hook the carabiner through my rope and the anchor’s handle before giving it a tug.
“Ready?” I ask.
Terrified eyes stare up at me. Veins stand out on his neck as he holds on with his last ounce of strength. “Please.”
I toss the rope over. It pools on his shoulder before cascading over his back. One grimy hand grabs it and clings.
“Tie it around yourself,” I say, hoping he knows how to knot a rope. If not, heaven help him.
He lashes the rope around his waist with trembling fingers. When I give it a tug, he oomphs, but the knot holds.
I spend an hour of my evening hauling his marauding ass up the mountain. Sweating, straining, I stop and wipe my brow. This is not exactly what I pictured security detail to be like when I was a kid. My imagination convinced me I’d be a part of wild shootouts and car chases, but I don’t even get to leave the mountain. Instead, I track down lost cats or help elderly ladies kill the rats they find in their pantries. It’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it, I guess. The higher-ups decided that someone would be me.
Hand over hand, I inch the invader upward.
When he finally breaches the top and falls face-first on the ledge, we’re both sweaty and exhausted. He pants, not moving a muscle.
