The Butchers

by Katie French

“Fine,” I say to Ethan. “Ethan and I will go and get Auntie and Clay. Then we’ll come right back. Then you’ll let all of us stay here,” I say to Corra.

  She shrugs. “Clay can sleep in the garage.”

  I don’t even respond to her taunts. Holding out my palm, I look her in the eyes. “Keys.”

  She pulls a set out of her pants pocket. Strange that she keeps them there, but I guess she must’ve needed them for something. “Just had it waxed for you,” she jokes.

  But I don’t laugh. Taking the keys and Ethan’s hand, I run like hell.

  If this is the best solar car they’ve got, things are going to shit fast around here.

  The car started fine and drives okay, but the interior smells like something died in it, and the windshield is cracked so bad I can barely see to drive. The joke about getting it waxed was hilarious considering it was so dust covered, sheets of it fell off when I opened the door. Maybe all her mechanics died in the attack those months back.

  Still, I don’t need it to be a beauty to rescue Clay. I need speed, and the car seems to be lacking on that front, too. With my foot on the gas, we’re still only getting about thirty-five miles per hour over the sand-covered roads that lead to Clay. Corra’s hand-drawn map is rough, and Ethan’s trying to interpret it, but at least twice now we’ve gotten lost, pulling up next to an abandoned warehouse district or sunken suburb and trying to read streets signs that have been knocked to the ground or stolen. Twice, Ethan’s had to get out and pick a sign off the ground before we can tell if we’re taking the right street. My panic begins to build until it’s an unbearable weight, crushing me. We’re not making great time and Clay and Auntie could already be dead.

  And it would be all my fault.

  I should’ve insisted Corra let them in. I don’t care if she held all the cards, I should’ve found a way. It was so stupid to split up. I can tell Ethan’s thinking the same thing, though he knows well enough not to say so. But Mo would’ve died. Everyone will understand in the end.

  Looking at Corra’s map, I skid around another corner, causing Ethan to slide into me. When the car rights itself, he slips back into his seat.

  “Are you buckled?” I ask.

  “Yes.” He sounds annoyed.

  “When we get there, if there’s fighting, I want you to—”

  “Stay out of sight. I know,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

  “Listen, I’m just trying to—”

  “Keep me safe. I know.”

  Taking another corner too fast, I say, “Look, I don’t need your sass right now.”

  “And I don’t need you to mother me. You have Mo for that, remember?”

  I absorb his words, letting my intense driving take my attention. I maneuver around a pothole on one side and a downed light pole on the other. There’s that bitterness again, rearing its ugly head.

  “You know I love you.” The words sound weak, weightless as I say them.

  He doesn’t respond, just turns his sour mug toward the window.

  I’m about to say something else when the fairgrounds come into view.

  To say this isn’t what I was expecting is an understatement. Once a jostling carnival with fun seekers everywhere, the fairgrounds are the stuff of nightmares. From the solar car, my eyes take in the rusting Ferris wheel, twisted metal tracks of the small coaster, the spray-painted graffiti on shacks and entranceways.

  “This is where we sent Clay?” Ethan asks.

  I don’t respond, just keep my eyes peeled as I pull up to the entrance. But the little bit of road that is left stops outside the twisted chain-link fencing, now pried open and bowing in like someone took pliers to them. There’s so much debris scattered around inside I don’t want to risk the solar car’s tires. If things get bad, I can drive all four of us out of here, though we’d lose the horses.

  Parking off to the side in a dusty section of what used to be a parking lot, I look over at Ethan.

  “Don’t even think about telling me to stay in the car,” Ethan says before I open my mouth.

  “No, not here.” I reach down and pick up my gun.

  Ethan watches me, his face worried. “Do you think they’re coming? The Butchers?”

  “Naw, we got here in time, bud. No worries.” Boy, I’ve gotten so good at lying to my little brother.

  Together, we cautiously exit the solar car and I lock it, putting the key in my pocket. I wish there was a better place to hide the car—if the Butchers do show up they’ll know right away we’re here—but the parking lot is just one big barren plane and the only hiding places are inside the carnival itself. We’ll just have to hurry.

  With Clay’s gun out, I set the pace, Ethan and I jogging in, running through the entrance and into the carnival, eyes on everything. Afraid to call out for Clay, I worry we won’t be able to find him fast enough, or that he’ll hear us and think we’re an ambush before seeing us. The worst thing in the world is if we take shots at each other before knowing. So, I stick to running out in the open, hoping he’s posted watch and praying there’s no one else lurking behind that graffitied shack to my right, or the horrible clown-faced funhouse to my left.

  Where would he set up? Not in a dark funhouse.

  Find the water. He’d be smart and set up near water.

  Ethan skitters close to me as we pass the funhouse, its freakish clown eyes watching us as we pass. “Did people really like going to something like this?” he whispers.

  “It was better when it was new,” I say back, but I’m not so sure. “Maybe back in the day when there wasn’t anything real to be scared of, people liked pretend scares.”

  He throws me a confused look. “That’s stupid.”

  I shrug. “Keep an eye out for Clay and Auntie. Where you think they’d be.”

  “Can we just call out?” he asks, eying the carrousel and a broken horse on its side on the ground.

  “You know that ain’t a good idea.” But the deeper in we get, the more nervous I become. I swear I can feel eyes on me, but whenever I sweep around, there’s no one there.

  But then I spot a red arrow painted on a slab of concrete. Is this Clay pointing us the way, or a trap?

  “Riley, look,” Ethan says, pointing to it.

  Taking his hand, I pull him close, my nerves jumping.

  The arrow points to a large slab of concrete next to a large utilitarian building at one back corner of the fair. In the center of the slab is a big water pump with our horses tethered to it.

  Ethan takes off running toward them.

  “Ethan!” I call. He shouldn’t run off.

  I’m opening my mouth to call out when a figure steps out from behind the horses. My heart nearly stops in my chest.

  Not Clay or Auntie. A man, bare chested and tattooed, with scars running up one arm. His head is bald, his eyes full of menace. The belt around his waist is full of knives.

  Ethan sees him too late, skidding to a stop and screaming before trying to turn back to me.

  I lift my gun, heart slamming into my chest. But it’s too late. He has Ethan pulled to him, a knife at his throat before I can get a bead on that bastard’s head.

  “Let him go.” I can barely hear the crunch of my boots as I walk forward over the pounding in my ears. Terror surges through my body as my eyes flick back and forth between Ethan and the man. “I got bullets!”

  The man smiles, angling the struggling Ethan to use him as a human shield. “What a coincidence,” the man says. “We got bullets too.”

  As he says this, another man steps out from behind a pile of carnival debris. Bald and scarred like the first man, this one is tall and clothed in dirty denim. And he holds a hunting rifle.

  Shit.

  My eyes flick back and forth between the two men. I need to be very careful.

  “We saw your horses,” says the man holding Ethan, “and we said to ourselves, the owners of these will be back shortly. We should wait. And look what waiting brung us.” He grins, showing off the many gaps in his te
eth. “Seth, if you would be so kind as to relieve the bender of his gun.”

  There’s one bright spot. He thinks I’m a bender, not a girl. Though if they get too close . . . Either way, I should try to negotiate and make this quick.

  I try being friendly. “Listen, we’re just a couple of folks trying to make our way like you. Let me and my brother walk out of here unharmed, and you can have the gun. I’ll add in a bonus you’ll really like, too, if you let me keep my gun.” I feel the key to the solar car heavy in my pocket. Corra will be pissed, but—

  “Listen to you,” the man holding Ethan says. “Like you can negotiate with us. You new here, bender?”

  “I don’t need to know you,” I say slowly. “I’ve seen your type. Cowards who can’t hack it on their own so they attack benders and little boys.”

  He starts a dry laugh. “You ever heard of the Butchers?” His laugh deepens as he watches my expression. “Looks like that’s a yes.” He begins to press the knife into Ethan’s flesh.

  “Stop!” I scream, lurching forward.

  Seth raises his gun, aiming at me, but I can’t care. I lurch toward Ethan. His eyes are as wide as saucers as the blade pricks the skin on his neck.

  “Not him! You can have me,” I’m screaming.

  A gunshot cracks through the scene, making everyone stop. My head whirls toward Seth. Did he shoot at me and miss? But then there’s a thud that has my head whirling back in the other direction. The man with the knife to Ethan’s throat drops over dead. Ethan stands there frozen, a look of shock on his face.

  Who?

  “Put the gun down,” say a voice behind me.

  When I look, Clay steps out of the brick building behind me. He aims at Seth, who’s aiming at me. The look on his face is one I know well, the battle-hardened stare of a seasoned gunslinger. Seth has no idea what he’s up against.

  Seth watches as Clay steps out, measuring his enemy with his eyes. “You killed my partner.”

  “Yep. And I’m ’bout to do the same to you if you don’t drop that gun. Riley,” he says to me, not taking his eyes off Seth as he walks slowly and steadily out toward us, “nice and slow, walk over and get Ethan out of here.”

  “Don’t move!” Seth shouts, still aiming his rifle at me. “I said no one moves.”

  Clay’s voice is level and calm as he replies. “Nobody’s listening to you right now, Seth. All we want to know is if you leave here with your head attached or not. That’s the question you should be asking yourself.”

  “Leave no one alive,” Seth is murmuring more to himself than to Clay. His eyes seem far away, he raises the rifle. “Leave no one alive.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Clay says, sensing something is up. He looks like he’s about to fire on Seth just as Seth prepares to fire on me.

  I clench my body, waiting for the bullet.

  Something zips through the air, striking Seth’s skull with a sound like a cleaver going through a melon. Seth staggers forward, an arrow quivering as it slices through his neck. Blood begins to gush around the wound, front and back, as he drops his gun and claws at the shaft now piercing his windpipe. Gurgling, he drops to his knees. The sounds he’s making are horrible.

  The crack of Clay’s gun makes me jump. Seth falls dead.

  I run to Ethan and scoop him into my arms. “Are you okay?”

  He nods into my chest. “Who shot the arrow?”

  Our eyes move from Seth’s dead body, draining out onto the dusty concrete, and follow the trail of the arrow back to its source. There’s the Ferris wheel, and following the warped cross beams of metal, I spot something halfway up—a figure dressed head to toe in clothing the color of sand, a bow in his hand.

  “Him,” Clay says quietly.

  “Him who?” I ask.

  Clay doesn’t answer. He raises a hand, waving. “Thank you!”

  The figure waves at Clay, but it looks more frantic than friendly. “Run,” the figure shouts. “The rest are coming!”

  Riley

  The archer’s words fall on us like a bomb. Those two weren’t the only Butchers Corra had been tracking. They were likely just the scouts.

  Pulling Ethan to me, I look around the compound. “Clay, where’s Auntie?”

  “In the bathroom,” he says, striding away from us and toward the Ferris wheel. “How many?” he yells up, but the archer is already climbing down with the agility of a monkey.

  “Lots!” he shouts, shimmying down the metal poles and then jumping the last few feet to the ground.

  “We have a solar car!” I yell, trying to get Clay’s attention. “We need to go.”

  “What about the horses?” Ethan asks.

  “No time. Hurry.” I grab his hand and start pulling him toward the entrance.

  Auntie runs out, clutching her cotton shift in her hands, her feet bare and hair wild. “I take one nap and wake up to shots and everyone yelling. What’s going on? Riley?” she says as she sees me. “And Ethan?”

  “No time. Come with us.” I nod toward where I parked the car.

  Clay, Ethan, Auntie, and I run as fast as we can toward the front entrance of the fair. I’ve lost sight of the archer, but I figure he’s gone to hide somewhere.

  But as we get to the front entrance, Clay skids to a stop. His blue eyes flick from the approaching trail of dust from many cars headed our way, and back to the belly of the fair. “It ain’t right leaving. He helped us.”

  “There’s no time.” Frantic, I pull him to the solar car as Ethan and Auntie slip in the back.

  But Clay doesn’t get in; instead, he turns and runs back into the fair. “If I’m not back in two minutes, leave without me.”

  “Clay!” I scream. “Goddamn it,” I say, taking out the key and starting the solar car before getting back out and drawing my gun. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving him here. I lean into the car and look at Auntie. “If I’m not back in two minutes, leave without me.”

  Then I tear after Clay to the sounds of Auntie’s screamed protests.

  Running into the maze of fallen rides, I call Clay’s name, but I don’t have to look long. I hear sounds of a scuffle to my right and find Clay locked in a wrestling match with the archer from the Ferris wheel.

  “I’m tryin’ to save your life!” Clay yells, pulling on the archer who has his hands on a metal railing attached to the creepy funhouse stairs.

  “Let me go.” Kicking with one leg, he tries to free himself from Clay’s grip.

  “Clay, we don’t have time. They’re coming!” I gesture toward the solar car.

  Clay grits his teeth and pulls hard. “You’re gonna die if you stay here. Listen to me, I’ve seen what they can do. No survivors.”

  “I can take care of myself,” he says through gritted teeth, straining hard to hold on.

  I glance back and see the approaching dust cloud is growing bigger. “We have to go!”

  Clay looks at me and gives a renewed tug on the archer’s body, but his grip is too strong. “Riley, get the family out of here. I’ll take care of this one.”

  “We aren’t separating again.” Panic surges through me. “We don’t have time for this!” Gripping my gun by the muzzle, I turn it over and bring the handle down hard on the back of the archer’s head. The crack is loud. His arms drop loose and Clay falls back with him on top.

  From the ground, Clay looks up at me stunned. “I hope to hell you didn’t kill him.”

  But I can’t respond because the archer’s sand-colored face mask has fallen away. Beautiful black curls frame a delicate face, deep brown skin, smooth cheeks, and round pink lips.

  A girl.

  “She’s a she,” I whisper.

  Clay looks down. “Ah hell. Jesus, help me get her in the car.”

  I take her feet as Clay hefts from underneath her arms. Together, we run awkwardly to the solar car as fast as we can.

  “What’s a girl doin’ out here?” Clay asks, shaking his head.

  I flick a glance at her face.
There’s no mistaking it. Her features are extremely feminine, and now that I know, it’s clear her body is, too. The face mask was her only protection. Without it, we might not have known she was a girl. I suspected bender, but then, that’s what everyone thinks about me.

  “If they see her, there’s no chance they’re letting us live,” I say as we near the fair’s gated entrance.

  Clay gives me a look but doesn’t say anything. His eyes are now on the trail of dust chugging our way like the approach of a deadly tornado. They’re close.

  “I don’t know if we’re gonna make it,” I say, breaking a sweat and panting. We’re running as fast as we can, but all that took too much time.

  When we get to the solar car, Auntie’s outside it yelling. “—leave us in the lurch like that, girl! I oughta cuff you.”

  “No time,” I say, cutting her off. “Open the door.”

  She yanks the door open, and Clay and I shove the girl’s body inside as fast as we can. Ethan’s eyes go big, but we don’t have time to explain. “Get in,” I tell Auntie. “I’ll drive. Looks like you’re gonna be shooting.”

  Clay jumps in, collecting my gun and his, looking through bullets and counting carefully as I start the car. What I wouldn’t give for a souped-up roadster right now instead of this sleek, practical vehicle.

  Squealing out as best I can, I head away from the cloud of dust. But when I look in the rearview, I see it’s already too late.

  “They can see us,” I say, my hope crumbling.

  Auntie and Ethan turn to look as Clay readies his guns.

  Behind us, blurred by dust, is a line of trucks at least five wide and lord knows how deep. All I can see are big tires, metal grills and lots of spikey decorations. They’ve made themselves look menacing and it’s working. I press my foot to the floor and will the solar car to go faster, but it does little good.

  “We’re not going to outrun them,” I shout, flicking a glance to Clay.

  His face is stone, and, with the guns in his hands, he’s formidable. “When they’re close enough, I’ll take care of them. Can’t stand to waste bullets.”

  “How many we got?” I ask, already knowing the answer is not enough.