The Butchers
Page 22
I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. “And the others?”
“There are . . . some casualties. But let’s not talk about that now.” He tries to lift me up, but I can’t stand. My legs are useless.
“Doc, I don’t think . . . I can. Not after . . .” I start to look behind me, but just the thought of her dead and lifeless . . .
Doc grips my arms. “You can. You are the strongest person I know. Riley, listen, you can go on from this. You have before. You’re too tough to be broken.”
When I shake my head, he grips me harder.
“You have to. We all need you.”
I look up at his face. He really means what he says. They need me. They need me. Weak, I let him help me pick me up.
I hear his words. I try to believe.
Riley
One Year Later
Healing from a death is like navigating shifting sands.
Sometimes the winds blow and the rocks are covered in a soft crystalline blanket. Smooth and seamless. Easy.
Sometimes the winds blow the other way, and the rusted shards of the past become exposed, sharp enough to cut if you get too close. And you have no choice but to slog through, cut nearly to pieces.
Today the past is sharp as knives. Today I can barely make myself get out of bed.
But I do.
It takes time, but Clay is patient with me, making tea in the kitchen and humming lightly. Treading carefully, because he knows.
One year.
One year without Mo.
A year ago today I killed her. A year ago today I burned her broken body so no one could take and use it.
I shuffle out of the room I share with Clay, a very spacious stone room with a window that looks out onto the colony, a kitchen, a living area, a balcony. Auntie and Ethan live next door. Doc is one door down from there with Teresa, his new girlfriend. Desdemona lives on another peak, but I see her every day. Betsy and her husband live on another peak, and I see her as little as possible.
Clay watches me drag myself into the room. He’s being careful, I can tell. Setting the chipped mug of tea down beside the cast-iron kettle, his eyes trace my movements.
“How are you feelin’ today?” he asks.
I sip the hot tea. It burns the top of my mouth and tongue. “Fine.”
“Fine,” he repeats. “And the ceremony?”
“I’m going to go,” I say into my mug.
He nods, looking relieved. “Good, because I didn’t know what I was gonna tell Doc. He kept askin’ me and askin’ me. I said, ‘You know, Riley.’ Not that you don’t have good reason.” He puts a hand on my back. “You do.”
“I’m going to go.” I stand up and walk back into our room and start to dress. Jeans, T-shirt, jacket, gun.
When I look up, Clay’s in the doorway looking at me. “Ready?”
I follow him out, the knot in my stomach twisting until it’s hard to breathe. When we get out to the main walkway, he slips his arm around me. “You know, it’s okay not to be okay.”
“You’re a poet,” I say, leaning into his embrace.
“That I am,” he jokes. “But seriously, you don’t gotta always be strong. You’re human. It’s okay to have bad days. Especially today.”
I roll his words over in my mind. What am I if not strong? Clay and I are the city patrol. We fight the bad guys. We keep the peace. No one wants to see their law enforcement cry. No one wants them to be weak. And if being tough keeps me alive, and, more importantly, keeps those that I love alive, tough wins every time.
“I’m fine,” I say, pulling away and straightening my jacket. “Let’s get this over with.”
We walk down the slope to the main gathering area, a place at Shiprock’s lowest level and big enough to hold all of us. At last count, there were forty-seven people living in the shadow of the great rock. Forty-seven people I need to keep safe. Forty-seven and counting.
Some of the doctors chose to stay on here, which was a relief to some and a burden to others. Imagine how the nannies feel waking up and going down to market only to see the doctors that used to torment them. But their medical knowledge has been important in saving many lives. So the nannies and Breeders’ girls swallow their hurts, and the doctors make up for past wrongs by helping whenever they can. As Doc would say, it’s a tentative peace, but if it’s peace, I’ll take it.
They are all gathered in the square when we arrive. Dozens of faces look at Clay and I as we enter the stone basin where Barrage once kept his prisoners. This is the same area where I threw open the doors and released everyone. Now it is festive, with brightly colored flags ripped from found fabric fluttering in the breeze. A tarp has been erected to shade everyone from the sun. A hand-painted banner reads, “Welcome, baby Elizabeth!” in sloping scrawl. Someone has fashioned baby bonnets and booties out of string, and they hang above a table of handmade gifts. I see a wooden crib, a set of stitched-together blankets, a found baby doll with most of its arms and legs.
Ashki gives me a nod from his chair. He was wounded badly during our escape that fateful day, but with the doctor’s help he survived. I am glad to know the last living Navajo did not die on my account. Broken Arrow did not fair as well, nor Sissy. They were killed when Barrage sent his men to collect Mo. The guilt I felt for their deaths still hang around me when I pause long enough to think about it, so I try not to think about it. Nor, how glad I was that Auntie, Ethan and Betsy were out checking traps at that time. They would have died because I told Barrage where to find them.
I replay those moments of torture and confession at my weakest points. If only I could go back, but I can’t.
But the faces around us are smiling. I find the happy couple at the back center—Betsy and Farouk, one of the guards that surrendered after Barrage and his men were killed. She looks reborn, her short blond hair styled in spikey waves, the baby she so desperately wanted wrapped in a blanket in her arms.
Auntie sidles through the crowd with Ethan in tow. She greets me with a nod. “Didn’t think you’d make it, and no one would blame ya.”
“We don’t need to talk about it,” I say, giving her a forced smile. I look down at Ethan in his deputy outfit. He was so proud when Auntie sewed him a jacket and pants to match mine and Clay’s. “How’s the deputy?”
Pushing up a hat very similar to Clay’s, he gives me a look. “Why does it always sound like you are teasing when you say deputy?”
Clay claps a hand on his shoulder. He’s too tall, my Ethan. “She’s not, bud. She’s seen you shoot. Knows you’re a chip off the ol’ block.”
“Just remember, you’re ten,” I say. “You can’t be officially named to the guard until you’re fourteen.”
He frowns. “Doc said maybe in a year or two—”
I cut him off with a look.
Auntie changes the subject. “Look, here’s our illustrious leader now.”
We turn to see Doc walking in, his secretary and girlfriend, Teresa a former Breeders’ girl and rescuee, at his side. He looks every bit the part of major in his bright blue blazer, matching pants, and crisp white shirt. How he keeps his clothes so clean in this climate will be one of life’s great mysteries.
As he walks in, people quiet. He was elected leader soon after we took over the city. It was a clear choice. I was in no state, and Clay was taking care of me. And there were few others who wanted the job. But it fits Doc perfectly. And it makes me happy to see him happy.
He smiles at me before addressing the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I know you all want to get to the food and drink provided by our party committee and that my comments should be short, so I will make sure not to ramble on. But we wanted to take a moment to acknowledge the first homegrown birth of our new colony.”
He raises his hand and gestures to Betsy and Farouk, both smiling broadly. “To little Elizabeth. We wish her all the best. We don’t know why God has blessed our happy couple with a girl. We don’t know if it’s a fluke or a sign that things are starting to turn around
. What we do know is we are so happy she is here. May she be happy and healthy. And may she have many, many playmates to come.”
The people look to the group of half a dozen pregnant women sitting in the shade. Hope beams from their faces.
Doc says a few more words and then walks over to kiss the baby and pat the parents on the back and give his gift. The rest of the group starts talking among themselves, and then they begin to dive into the food. As the flow of people moves that way, I start to head in the opposite direction. I’m not hungry.
I hear Clay follow me out. It makes me grateful to know he’s right there.
As we’re leaving the party, Desi runs up the slope, bow in her hand. She a guard and a damn fine one. And she did find her mother among the women Barrage was keeping. Right now, she looks concerned. My pulse picks up. “Riley, Clay, we need you down below. Someone’s spotted dust on the horizon. It could be friendlies, or . . .”
“Or not,” I say, my blood picking up. My mood shifting from something dark to something charged. My hand finds my gun. I look at Clay. His eyes have already gone steely.
“We’re ready,” he says. “Show us what you saw.”
As we head down to face whatever is headed our way, I look at this man at my side, and I’m so grateful. Grateful we are doing this together. Grateful we’ve found our purpose. Grateful to be alive when so many are not.
I’m not a mother. I never will be.
But I’m something else. Something I was meant to be.
Epilogue
There’s a city on the hill.
It may be a small city, but the people inside it are big in spirit, big in heart.
They’ve lived through a lot—murderous sheriffs, crazy doctors, brutal gangs. They’ve seen death and new life. They know what’s at risk, so they’re careful. Very careful.
They are careful to love hard. To never take a moment for granted. If they love someone, they love with their whole heart. If they need something, they ask. If they fear something, then, together, they tackle it head on.
And in this community, a woman loves a man very much. And he loves her just as fiercely back. They’ve lost a lot, but not each other. Together, they protect that which is theirs. They know what is worth fighting for.
These two have seen that, though the world may be broken, the human spirit isn’t.
It rises like the phoenix.
It flies.
A Letter to my Readers
I can’t believe it’s over. Riley’s journey has come to an end. It’s taken me seven years of my life and many trials and tribulations. Just as I’ve watched my own children grow, so too have I watched Riley. She grew out of me but became something so much more than I imagined her to be all those years ago. She’s a person in her own right, and I’m proud of her choices. I’m not sure I could’ve done what she did. She’s the bravest part of me. And still braver.
And to you, dear reader. If you’ve made it this far, you love her as much as I do. And maybe you are as sad to see it end as I am. Well, I’ll tell you a little secret. It may never be over. Someday my fingers will itch, and the only way to scratch that itch may be to tell one of Riley’s stories. When that day comes, I’ll run back to my old friend and embrace the journey. There is, after all, nothing like a reunion of old friends.
I hope you’ve been taken on an exciting journey. I hope you find another book of mine that you will like just as well. Sometimes that happens, and sometimes not. But I appreciate you. I appreciate your tenacity, your attention. It isn’t easy to give time that could be used on one million glowing, beeping, dancing things. If you picked books, and these books in particular, you and I are kindred souls. I hope to meet you sometime in a bookstore or bar and buy you a drink. We are unique creatures, us book dwellers and dreamers. And we need to stick together.
Until next time,
Katie French
Monster Island: A Young Adult Mystery Thriller
What if you woke up on a deserted island to the sound of screaming? There's a note in your pocket, "Pay for your sins." The monsters you dreamed about are real. They're coming.
Meet Kat Voss.
She was kidnapped, along with teens like her, and dumped on a deserted island.
Then someone hung her twelve-year-old sister from a tree like bait.
The voice on the other end of the camera tells her she has one hour to find her sister. Or else.
The cages are empty.
The monsters are real.
And time is almost up.
Monster Island is a Young Adult mystery thriller where the pages practically turn themselves. Readers who like Maze Runner and Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children will devour this action-packed tale. Get your copy now.
About the Author
Katie French is an Amazon best-selling author in Young Adult dystopian romance. Her book, The Breeders, has had over 100,000 downloads and counting and was a semi-finalist in the 2014 Kindle Book Awards. It's currently free on Amazon. She also has a kids’ series starting with Portia Parrott and the Great Kitten Rescue for ages 5-9.
She works as a high school English teacher. In her free time she writes manically, reads great books, and takes care of her three beautiful and crazy children. She aspires to spend as much time in yoga pants as possible.
www.katiefrenchbooks.com
Katie@katiefrenchbooks.com
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More Books by Katie French
Suggest reading order
Book 1: The Breeders
Book 2: The Believers
Book 3: The Benders
Book 4: The Brothers
Book 5: The Barriers
Book 6: The Butchers
The Breeders Stories
Monster Island – A Young Adult Mystery Thriller