The Breeders (19 page)

“We’ll split it three ways,” I say, opening it.

It’s been smashed and melted and hardened several times, but when I put the chocolate in my mouth, the sugary flavor explodes over my tongue. It’s so sweet it puckers my lips. A grin spreads over Ethan’s mouth as he chews. Clay licks his fingers when his portion is gone.

“Find another one of those,” he says.

But I can’t. We dig through the piles for a while until our fingers are grimy and I’ve scraped the skin off two knuckles. The best I can do is a bag of chips that has been pulverized to crumbs. We take turns sliding the tiny salty crumbs into our mouths until the bag is gone. Then Clay nods to the door.

“Let’s go get some gas before it gets dark.”

We head back toward the front gate. We pass several abandoned buildings with nothing but rodents, debris and more trash. Then we come up to a dumpy brown building with a flaking sign. Clay reads: “
Urgent Care Medical Clinic.
Hang here. I want to see if there’s any drugs in there. We can trade ‘em in the next town over for what we need.”

I know how expensive medicine can be. Arn would trade months worth of pelts for a few pills or salve or even iodine. The three of us file in through the frosted glass doors.

Something’s very wrong. The putrid stench sends everyone’s hands over their mouths. Flies buzz in the hundreds and their carcasses line the front windowsill and the floor. Broken needles, dirty bandaging and a dried mess that looks like old vomit cover the floor. I stagger back toward the door. I don’t care what’s salvageable in here. My brain is telling me to run. Then I see dark mounds blocking the hallway.

Corpses. The pile of bodies is three feet high and stretches down the hallway. The stained sheets cover many, but to my left a clawed hand dangles over a soiled table. Lank, blond hair sprouts from under a sheet near the front. Another is slumped in a chair, his legs purple, his face a bloat mask of decay.

We gotta get out. I grab Ethan and pull him with me as I run out of the building.

As soon as I hit fresh air, I vomit on the sidewalk, my corn lunch splattering against the wall. I close my eyes, but I can’t see anything except rows of bodies. The flies swarming around them. The smell. I spit and swipe at my nose trying to get the smell out. I hear Ethan gagging beside me. Then Clay follows. He pulls at my wrist.

His face is green and slack. “Come on. Gotta get away.”

We jog and then run up the road. My stomach lurches again and I stop and throw up what’s left of my lunch. Then we find a three-foot high brick wall surrounding a parking lot and sit with our backs to it. I can’t stop my hands from shaking as I drink from the water bottle and pass it along. Visions of the bodies swim in my mind.

“What happened to them?” I ask.

Clay shakes his head and sips from the bottle. “Disease. All those needles, the sick beds. Probably some flu epidemic. God.”

Ethan looks up at him, the whites of his eyes large in his terror. “Are we going to die?”

Clay shakes his head and pulls Ethan closer to him. “No. We’re fine.” But when he glances at me over Ethan’s head, I can tell that answer is hollow.

I grip my water bottle between my shaking hands. “We can’t go back there. I don’t care what kind of meds we find. We can’t catch whatever killed those people.”

Clay rests his head on Ethan’s for a moment. “You get no protest from me.”

I clutch my arms, trying to hold myself together. Up the road, the desolate buildings stretch on endlessly. A broken streetlight sways in the wind. Dark, empty shops, their windows smashed, their contents spilling into the street, wait for us. Now more than ever I want to leave and there’s only one way I can. I stand up and grab the empty gas jug and hose.

“Let’s get that gas and get the hell out of dodge.”

The first car we find is empty. And the second. With the third I manage to get a mouth full of gasoline, but after I get the gas flowing into the hose, we get about a gallon before that tank runs dry. We walk several more streets and find one more car. This time Clay gets a mouth full of gasoline and another gallon and a half. The sun is sinking low and we only have enough gas to get us a few miles down the road.

“This sucks!” I scream, hurling the hose against the car and then kicking the tires. I want to dump the gas on something and set fire to it. A little of my common sense kicks in and I just kick a hunk of broken sidewalk into the road.

Clay puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Riley. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

I whirl around. “I don’t want to sleep here again! It’s a graveyard! If we get stuck here much longer, we’re going to die just like them!” I flap my arms in the direction of the medical clinic. I’m behaving so badly, but I can’t stop. I pick up a chunk of brick and hurl it through one of the only intact windows in town. The glass explodes with a satisfying smash. I watch the shards rain onto the ground.

Ethan’s grown stiff and pale beside me. I see his lip starting to tremble. I’ve scared him. What have I done?

Clay takes Ethan by the hand. “Well, if our neighbor didn’t know where we are, he sure does now. We’re going back.” He pauses and looks at me. “You done or you need to break something else?”

Exhausted and embarrassed, my shoulders slump. I’m done being mad. Now I feel like cowpie on a boot sole. I lower my head and follow behind, back to the school, trying hard not to cry.

When we get back to the classroom, I can barely pull Ethan into the room when Clay pushes him up. They settle down and start digging into the can of corn, but my stomach churns from the gasoline and the scene at the medical clinic. I curl into the little beanbag, grateful that I can escape for a little while. Sleep comes hard and fast.

When I wake, the room is dark. Ethan breathes evenly beside me. Clay leans against the window ledge, lit by a little square of moonlight. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses perches on his nose. I’ve never seen him wear those. To top it off, he’s holding a crinkled book up to the light. It the moonlight he looks entirely transformed from the rugged gunslinger of the day.

“You know how to read?” I ask, sitting up.

He startles and looks up. His hand strays to the glasses and yanks them off, a blush so red rising up his cheeks that I can see it in the dark. He tucks the frames in his breast pocket and slips the book behind his back.

“I was just … looking for something.” He rubs a hand over his neck and gives me a sheepish grin.

He’s embarrassed. God, how adorable. I point to the book. “What is it?”

He blushes again and shrugs.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I really want to learn to read. I’ve tried, but …” I shake my head.

Clay walks over and sits on the floor next to me. He slips the book in my hand.

“Ro … me … o and—What’s this?” I ask, pointing to the last word.

“Romeo and Juliet. It’s a love story. It’s a dang tough one, too. It’s written in this funky English. Been working on it for six months.”

I run my fingers over the worn paper binding. The picture on the front is a man and woman enfolded in an embrace. With Clay sitting this close to me, the image brings a blush up to my own cheeks.

“Why’d you get embarrassed?” I lift my eyes to his face. There are two red ovals on the bridge of his nose where the glasses were perched.

He shrugs. “My pa’s got no love for book learnin’. Used to tease the hell outta me if he found me reading. Don’t know why I like it so much. It’s just …” He pauses, thinking. “It takes me somewhere else for a while, you know?”

I hand him the book. “Anywhere but here,” I say quietly.

For a moment we sit in silence. I can feel his body next to me purring like an engine, thrumming, giving off heat. He leans over, picks up a can and slides it to me. “Ethan said you’d like fruit cocktail, so we opened that one.” Clay hands me a spoon. The fruit tastes deliciously sweet in my mouth. I roll the little chunks of peach or pear around on my tongue. For a while it helps take my mind off Clay’s even breathing, his increasingly familiar scent. I must smell like gasoline and body odor. What I wouldn’t give to smell like meadow flowers just once when he’s around.

“Must be hard for you,” he says quietly.

I turn to him, trying to read his expression in the dark. “What do you mean?”

He nods toward my little brother. “I know how much I care about the little bugger and he’s not even mine. Must be hard to worry about him every minute of every day. Bet it wears on you.” He turns and gives me that reassuring smile I’ve come to depend on.

God, how can he be so good when I’m so awful? My eyes fall over the soft curves of his cheeks, the hard line of his jaw, the dark lashes around his comforting eyes.

He smiles at Ethan’s sleeping form, the curled dark shadow in the corner. “Hell of a kid to go through what he did and still want to play cards with me.”

I swallow the lump that’s forming in my throat with a little of the fruit cocktail. My eyes watch Ethan’s chest rise and fall. His bottom lip twitches. “He’s about the only thing worth a damn in this world.” Tears prick at my eyes. Oh God, am I choking up? I swallow some water and force the tears back.

Clay leans against the wall beside me and stretches his legs out on the moldy carpet. His eyes trail up to the beam of moonlight trickling in from the window above. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re as brave as he is, as kindhearted.” He shifts and a beam of moonlight trickles over his face. Through all this grime, dirt and sweat, he’s one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. I turn my eyes to the carpet. A tear escapes and slips down the bridge of my nose.

I don’t know if it’s the frustration from earlier or the exhaustion from the travel or Clay’s nice comment or all of them combined, but I can’t stop the tears that begin sliding down my face. They trace my cheeks and drip off my chin. I pretend to itch my nose and to wipe some away. They just keep coming.

Clay looks over at me. “Hey, are you crying? Don’t do that.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a weathered cloth. “Here.”

I shake my head. More tears fall and now sobs threaten to shake out of my chest. I can’t control myself. I put my head in my hands and hunch over, letting the tears fall between my legs and onto the floor.

I feel his arms around me. Tentative at first, then stronger, circling me in an embrace. His body is so warm next to mine. And my heart is pounding. I can smell remnants of his aftershave. I don’t even think. I lean into him. Smell his musky scent. Feel his chest against my shoulder. Then I’m tilting my head, leaning toward him. My cheek brushes against the stubble of his chin. The sweet smell of his mouth intoxicates me. I lift my mouth up to meet his.

He drops the embrace and pulls away. “I don’t …” he stutters. “I didn’t mean …”

Oh heavenly Lord, what have I done?

I jump up, the fruit cocktail clattering from my lap. I run to the door, yank it open and vault into the hallway. I race blindly down the corridor. How could I?

I skid to a stop at the front office. I scramble in and curl myself into a little ball under the desk. In the dark, maybe he won’t be able to find me.

I’m the biggest idiot on the planet. I just tried to kiss Clay. Clay—who’s supposed to think I’m a bender. It’s not unheard of for two guys to do that sort of thing, but judging by his reaction he was definitely not into that. Not into me. How will I ever face him again? I tuck my knees under my chin and bury my face in them. Stupid. I’m so incredibly stupid. I’ll just hide here for the rest of my life. Sure, there’s dusty bunnies the size of, well, bunnies under here and I think I just spotted a fresh rat’s nest, but anything’s better than facing Clay. I don’t think I can do it. Ever.

I replay that moment in my head, but all I come up with is the desperate overwhelming feeling of longing. Longing for Clay. For his body next to mine. To feel his arms around me. I’ve ruined it. Now any time he looks at me he’ll think I’m trying to make a pass at him. I destroyed the comfortable friendship we had when I leaned in, mouth puckered.

I hear someone walking down the hall. Heavy footsteps. Not Ethan’s.

“Riley?” Clay calls. “Come back.”

I clutch my knees to my chest. I can’t face him now.

“Riley, come on. It’s not safe out here.”

He’s right. I have no weapon and we know for sure that someone was prowling around this morning, but I don’t care. My embarrassment is bigger than my fear.

“Riley, look, I’m sorry. Can you just come back so we can talk?”

His voice is close. He must be outside the office door. Then I hear him wander away, calling my name. I uncurl and peak over the desk. He’s scanning the classrooms for me. He’ll be at my door soon. Then I have the task of deciding to sleep with the dust bunnies or slink in there and pretend nothing happened. He wanders down the hall and calls my name one more time.

That’s when I see the dark shadow emerge from the boy’s bathroom.

Silent, statuesque. I wouldn’t have spotted him except for the twinkle of moonlight on a metal object in his hands. A man. He’s watching Clay from the darkness of the bathroom. My heart hammers dangerously in my ears.

He steps out of the bathroom and into the hallway. I see his rifle when he raises it and aims at Clay’s back.

“No!” I scream.

I jump over the desk and run toward the man. The shot explodes through the hallway. The bullet misses Clay by inches and blows a huge hole in the wall near his head. Drywall rains down everywhere. Clay dives to the floor.

But my eyes aren’t on Clay anymore. They’re on the stranger as he swings his rifle toward me.

Just before I zag left, I take my opponent in. Skinny, sickly, his hair hangs in limp strands down his back. He’s wearing a dark trench coat and holey boots. When he turns his eyes on me, their strangely vacant, the whites gone yellow, the skin below purple. He slides the bolt on the gun and aims the rifle. I throw myself to the ground.

The gun explodes and a window shatters behind me. Glass and debris pelt my head and arms. My ears ring, blotting out most of the sound. I sit up and shake my head. Then I realize he’s reloading. I’m not prepared to dodge it. The silver barrel centers on my chest. I can see the sheen of sweat on the man’s upper lip as he pulls the gun to his shoulder. This is the last thing I’ll see before I die.