The Breeders (33 page)

I kiss his hand, the one that’s not a giant, bandaged mess. I tuck the ratty curtain he’s using as a blanket around him. Before I’m out the door, he’s breathing evenly.

In the barren churchyard, Ethan’s built a small fire. Rayburn sits Indian-style on the ground, digging into a can of food from the van. Mama and Ethan sit hip to hip. She’s got her arms around him and he leans into her embrace. It’s so good to see them sitting there together. Now it’s my turn.

“I told her everything,” Ethan says as I walk up to the fire.

“Lord, I hope not,” I say smiling. She smiles back. It’s so good to see my mother smile.

“He told me all the best parts,” she says, her voice lilting, musical. “He saved the gory details for later.” She pats the curtain she’s spread over the dust. “Come, darling. Fill in the rest.”

I fold myself into her.

Ethan pokes a stick into the blaze and then uses the burning end to trace red shapes in the darkness. “Mama knew Clay’s mother. You know, the lady at the hospital.”

I turn to Mama. “You knew Clay’s mother?”

Mama nods. She’s still weak, almost frail, but her mannerisms are all the same as I remember. The corner of her mouth lifts just before she speaks. “When I knew her, Nessa Vandewater wasn’t such a fancy pants. She was just another patient like me at the Breeder’s hospital. That was the year before you were born,” she says, touching my knee. Her eyes trail back to the fire.

“They brought Nessa in already pregnant and big as a house.” She rounds her arms out to mimic a giant belly. “I guess that was your friend Clay.” She looks up at me. I blush and turn my eyes to the glowing embers.

“Anyway, Nessa always told us she was some sort of genius. All us girls on her floor thought she was crazy. Some girls come in that way, baked in the head.” She looks down at Ethan who’s writing his name in the dust with his stick. “Then they came for her one day and we didn’t see her for a long time. We thought she’d been taken down to the experiments. Later we found out she was in charge of them. Turns out she was a genius after all.”

I study the fire, considering this. “So she experimented on the same girls she’d been friends with?”

Mama shakes her head. “Nessa never had friends. She didn’t care if she ruined girls’ lives, killed people. Never was right in the head.” My mother shivers. She lifts her eyes to mine. “I’m sure your friend Clay’s not like that.”

“He’s not,” I say. I think about him alone in that dark church and frown. “What about Clay’s brother, Cole? He was born four years after Clay.”

Mama shrugs. “That was after your Auntie broke us out of the hospital, sweetie. What happened to Nessa after that is anyone’s guess.”

I ponder this while the fire crackles and the bugs chirp shrilly around us.

“What’d we do now?” Ethan asks, chucking his stick into the fire. It crinkles and pops as the blaze eats it up.

We all look at him as if it hasn’t occurred to us to ask this question. Of course it’s occurred to us. Just none of us are sure of how to answer it. I open my mouth to speak, but then my eyes flick up to my mama.

She nods at me. “Don’t stop on my account. What should we do, Riley?”

I sigh deep. “I think we should go back for Auntie. With the Sheriff dead, Clay’s got claim as leader of that town. The Warden won’t give up easily, but we can’t leave Auntie behind.”

Mama nods. Her eyes shine as she pats my hand. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, darling.”

Above the stars are a handful of sparkles tossed across the night sky. The fire pops and crackles. The night insects sing their shrill melody. Beside me Ethan hums a little tune under his breath. Even Rayburn’s shuffling and sniffing blends in until, if I closed my eyes, the scents and sounds could transport me home. With my eyes still closed, I lean in and rest my head on my mama’s shoulder and inhale her earthen scent.

For a moment I almost say,
Let’s go home,
but I stop myself. Here in the dark, with my family and Clay not too far, I realize home isn’t a building or a place we’ll travel.

I’m already home.

* * *

Three Weeks Later

“Get a move on, slow poke!” I yell down the hallway. Yelling in a church is probably a sin, but I’m not sure anyone’s up there counting. If they are, I owe them big time.

Ethan comes loping around the corner, carrying one of the hospital supply bags over his shoulder. It looks like it weighs more than he does. I grab it for him and heft it up. “Is this the last of it?”

He nods, his hair far too long now, brushing the bridge of his nose. He tosses his head to move it out of his eyes. “All the other supplies are in the van.”

Ethan and I walk out to the church’s dusty front lawn. Rayburn loads the gasoline he purchased in the closest town over. He won’t stop belly-aching about the sores on his heels from the six-mile walk, but I think he’s pleased with himself. He should be. It’s no slouch bartering in town when you look like a pudgy seventeen-year-old with glasses and loafers.

I toss the heavy bag in the back of the van. Gentle footsteps tread up the gravel. I can tell it’s my mama without turning around. She walks up, folding a blanket in her arms. She wears a hospital gown, which she’s stitched to make it snug and a pair of scrub pants we found in the van. She looks solid, more like the mother I knew everyday. I note the slight swell of her tummy as she pads toward me. We haven’t talked about what Dr. Vandewater said about the mutated fetus she’s carrying. That’ll wait until the time comes. For now I try not to think how hard it’ll be for her to be pregnant on the run. It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. She’s tough. And, so it turns out, am I.

I walk up the path and lean in for a hug. I’ve been doing this all too often. I wake each morning in a panic that she’s gone. Only when I roll over and see her sleeping on the floor beside me does my heart slow its patter.

“Are we ready, darlings?” she says, as I release her. Ethan comes over and slips his hands around her waist. She rests her hand on his shoulder.

“All set, except Clay.” My eyes trace back to the open door. It takes him longer to do most things now, though he doesn’t complain.

My mother pats my cheek. “Go get him, my love.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I stride through the open archway and into the interior of the church. The wooden floors creak under my footsteps. My eyes trace past the little enclaves in the wall where decaying saints watch. I pass a giant wooden cross, tilted to one side. For a moment I wonder if these relics are why we’ve been so lucky, left alone here in the desert for so long. I touch the rough wooden cross. It’s about time we had some damn luck.

I stop at the entryway to the sanctuary and take a deep breath. Even though Clay and I have been boyfriend and girlfriend for the last three weeks, I still get butterflies every time I stand here.

I rap my knuckles twice on the ancient wood as I enter. I hear a shuffling in the shadows beyond, but can’t see him until he steps into the streamers of light from the busted window. Dimples form in the corners of his cheeks as he smiles. “Come in, madam.” He gives a mock bow. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. It’s the maid’s day off.”

I stride down the aisle and into his arms. The stubble on his cheek rubs deliciously against mine as he nuzzles my neck.

I run a hand over his cheek. “No shave?”

He leans in to my touch. “Can’t manage without slicing my own throat. Gonna need some help ’til I work out being a lefty.”

He holds up his bandaged hand to illustrate. It’s wrapped in gauze, but I know what’s underneath: a ragged bullet hole straight through his palm. He’s got all his fingers, but right now they’re useless. Rayburn says he might be able to get some function back, but it’ll be slow. The pain is nothing compared to the ache of knowing he’ll never draw from that hip again. He looks down at his hand, frowns and then uses it to pull me to him.

His breath is hot and sweet on my neck. “Do we got a sec for that sympathy lovin’ you promised me?” He runs his nose along my jaw. I shiver as fire surges through me.

Everyone else is at the van. Being alone with him sends tingles to all the right parts of my body. His arms slide around my waist and pull me to his chest. The heat from his body burns against mine. I look up into this eyes, steel blue with flecks of gray. He runs his hand through my hair, traces the pads of his fingers down neck, across my collarbone. I’m breathless. My head’s spinning.

“Everybody’s outside, right?” he asks, leaning in to kiss the hollow of my throat.

Blood is rushing to my head. “Mmm hmm.”

“Good,” he says, letting his lips trail up my neck to my chin. My heart’s thrumming like an electrical wire. His left hand grips the back of my head.

He pulls me closer. I smell the sweetness of his breath on my mouth. My heart pounds a crazy rhythm in my chest when our lips meet.

Kissing him is letting cool water slip over your body on a scorching day. Like the charge that crackles in the air after a lightening storm. Like the eating the last chocolate on earth, the sweetness melting on your tongue. I don’t have words for this feeling. I forget comparisons. I lean into his chest and wrap myself around him.

Outside the horn beeps. We pull apart, breathless. He kisses me on the forehead and then takes my hand. “Time to go.”

So much of me wants to stay here in this room with him and let the hours and days spin out around us. We’re heading back into dangerous country where every day something will threaten to pull us apart. I lace my fingers through his but don’t take a step forward. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face what awaits.

He tugs on my arm. “You ready?” His understanding eyes seem to realize what he’s asking.

I shake my head.

He nods and pulls me to him. I rest my head on his chest. His voice is low and reassuring. “Riley, I’m going to protect you.”

“I know,” I whisper into the fabric of his shirt.

“We’ll be okay,” he says, pulling back so he can look in my eyes. “We will.”

“How can you be so sure?” I glance out his little window to the dusty landscape. It looks extra harsh and uninviting now.

He takes my hand and pulls forward. “Because,” he says smiling, “we’ll be together.”

A ghost of a smile touches my lips. I follow Clay out the door. I don’t know what troubles lay in wait like hungry animals, ready to claw us to pieces. I don’t know if we’ll be safe from the forces that will threaten us. But I know we’ll be together. I grip his hand tighter as we step into the sunshine. Right now, being together is enough.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks go out to the people who made this dream a reality. I want to thank my first readers, Brian Braden, A.B. Riddle and Kimberly Shursen. You took a chance on a stranger joining your writer's group and somehow let me stay. You read chapter out of chapter with an unfailing honesty and constant support that made feel like my story was indeed worth telling. You are my writer's soulmates and I am better for having met you.

Thanks to my Author Salon team, Amy Grossklaus, Fran Kefalas, Jackie Krah and Ingrid Seymour. Girls, you were the support team I needed when making the choice to send my baby into the world. I've learned a lot from such talented writers, but it's your friendship and kindness that keep me going when the road seems impossible. Thanks go out to Michael Neff, who's tough love taught me a lot about a high concept idea and how to make sure I had one.

Many thanks go out to my writer's group partners, Nancy Brown and Greg Warner, who met mostly for my benefit. You shared stories, laughs and a few glasses of wine. You listened to me ramble on about writing many summer nights. Those are good times I will always remember. Several other friends read pages along the way, so thanks go out to Marlena Bravender, Trista Dymond, Greg Martin and Amanda Kimosh. Your friendship is without measure.

Thanks to my cover artist, Andrew Pavlik, who put up with my constantly changing mind. Thanks to Catherine Adams, editor extraordinaire. You helped me find Riley's path back home and the books is so much better because of your insight. If I only learn half of what you know about the English language, I'll be in good shape.

Finally, thank you is not a big enough phrase to tell my family how much I appreciate their love and support. Without my parents none of this would have been possible. They fiercely believed I could do anything and made a geeky, self-conscious kid believe it, too. Thank you for making me the (semi) well-adjusted member of society I am today. To my children, you are the light in my life. And lastly, to Ryan: It doesn't get any better than spending my life with you.

About the Author

Katie French first imagined herself an author when her poem caught the eye of her second grade teacher. In middle school she spent her free time locked in her room, writing her first young adult novel. Though her social life suffered, her love for literature thrived. She studied English at Eastern Michigan University, where she veered from writing and earned an education degree. She spent nine years teaching high school English. Currently she is a school counselor, doing a job that is both one of the hardest things she's ever done and the most rewarding. In her free time she writes, reads great books and takes care of her two beautiful and crazy children. She is a contributor and co-creator of Underground Book Reviews, a website dedicated to erasing the boundaries between traditional and non-traditional publishing. She lives in Michigan with her husband and two children. You can find her at
www.katiefrenchbooks.com
, at
www.undergroundbookreviews.com
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• Copyright
  
• Dedication
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-One
  
• Chapter Twenty-Two
  
• Chapter Twenty-Three
  
• Chapter Twenty-Four
  
• Chapter Twenty-Five
  
• Chapter Twenty-Six
  
• Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
• Chapter Twenty-Eight
  
• Acknowledgements
  
• About the Author