The Breeders Series: The Complete Box Set

by Katie French

  She sighs. “Stubborn boy.” She turns and walks toward the door. “Breakfast is on the table.”

  When she’s gone and I’m alone, I clutch the wall and breathe deep. I’m light-headed, weak. Thoughts and emotions bounce ’round my head like drugged jackrabbits. If winnin’ me over means my mother trusts me enough to let me walk around without chains, I should play along. I hate her hands on me, her simperin’ smile, but if it means freedom, I’ll put on any damn show she’d like.

  I walk slowly to the open bedroom door, pausin’ to look at a mirror hung beside it. My face is skinny, my complexion pale, but I look okay. Near my left ear I see a little bald patch and touch it with a fingertip. Am I losin’ my hair? I run a hand over my head and find no others. Maybe it ripped out last night as I was thrashin’ on the ground. Or maybe it got singed by the taser. Either way, it’s the least of my worries. I head down the stairs.

  The wooden staircase creaks under my feet, and Mikey, from his position at the front door, looks up at me with a scowl. I smile at him, just lettin’ him know who’s got the real power here. My attention wanders to the framed photos on the wall down the staircase. There’s one of me and my pa leaned up against a red truck with our thumbs in our belts, hats pushed back on our foreheads. My pa looks young, still weather-beaten and sporting his c-shaped scar, but fresh-faced, maybe thirty. I’m nine or ten with my moppy hair and too-big boots that slipped and slid until pa found me a pair of smaller ones. God, I ain’t seen this photo since…when? Years, probably. Same story with the next photo. This is one of me and Cole sittin’ on the back stoop of the house. I got my arm slung over the little guy’s shoulders. He beams up at me like I’m a goddamned god. The picture brings a swell of tears to my eyes. Cole was a beautiful soul. Even in a faded photo, you can see the light in his eyes. An image of his limp body hits me before I can stop it. I pinch my eyes shut and try to banish the image. Cole. God, Cole.

  “Clay?” my mother calls from the kitchen. Bacon sizzles down the hall. Smells wonderful.

  I swallow down the tears and wipe at my eyes. Mikey watches from the bottom of the stairs, but I don’t look at him. Better to pretend he’s furniture. A spittoon or a ledge to scrape shit off your boots.

  In the sunlit kitchen, my mother looks nothing like Nessa Vandewater Breeder scientist. Hummin’ some tune, she sways over and pours orange juice into glasses on the counter. Two brown squares of toast wait in a toaster to the right of the stove. My eyes travel over to the round six-seat table that sits in a square of sunshine. Betsy and Ethan wait with their backs to the window and their eyes on Nessa. Neither speaks, though Betsy mumbles something to herself real low. I look at Ethan. With that haircut, he looks like Cole from the picture. For a moment the two boys blur in my head. But no, that’s Ethan. Cole’s dead.

  “Hungry?” my mother asks, whirlin’ around with the frying pan in one hand and a plate of toast in the other. “Soldiers may not be the nicest neighbors, but they know how to eat.”

  The smell of the bacon sends my stomach clenchin’ with want. Nessa sets the bacon on a blue plate with a towel to soak up the grease. The toast she sets next to a rectangle of butter and a glass jar of what looks like berry jam. I sit and take it all in.

  “They import the butter and bacon from Idaho.” Betsy chews on her lip like it’s a hunk of bacon. “Piggies. Pig farm. Oink, oink.” She squeals before gigglin’ wildly.

  “Betsy, no animal noises at the table,” Nessa warns.

  Betsy lowers her head. “Yes, mum.”

  “Enough with the mum,” Nessa says. “She watches one British drama and out comes the English accent. Took me two weeks to break her of calling everyone Nigel.”

  Betsy snorts a laugh and her plump cheeks jiggle.

  “Really,” Nessa says, drawin’ up a round knife to butter toast. She sets the buttered bread on the plate next to me and then picks up another slice. “So, Cole,” she says, exaggerating the name, “what would you like to do with your brother today?”

  I place my palms on the table. “Listen, I don’t wanna pretend—”

  Nessa cuts me off. “I was speaking to Cole. Wait your turn.” She touches a hand to her perfect hair and clears her throat. “Cole, what do you want to do today?”

  Ethan looks between Nessa and me with wide eyes. It takes him a long time to answer and when he does, his voice is barely a whisper. “I wanna drive around in the Jeep.”

  “A ride,” Nessa says as if mullin’ it over.

  Mike calls from the foyer. “It’s not really regulation, ma’am.”

  “If we wanted your opinion,” Nessa calls over her shoulder, “we would’ve asked.” She purses her lips. “A ride could be arranged if we had proper precautions in place.”

  I look over at Ethan and smile. I like where his head is at. If we get a tour, we can scout out weak points, exits, vehicles that seem underguarded. “A ride sounds nice.”

  But when I look at Ethan, I realize a ride with a boy who’s pretendin’ to be Cole could really jack with my head. A ride is the last thing I did with my baby brother. The image of his dyin’ face flashes before me again. I press my thumbs to my eyeballs.

  “Headache?” Nessa places her cool hand on my arm. This time I force myself not to flinch. Playin’ her game means playin’ how she wants.

  “My head feels fuzzy,” I say. “Did you knock me out?”

  She shakes her head. “The taser really did a number on your central nervous system.”

  I study her face for the lie that hides there, but can’t tell if she means it or not. I don’t know my central nervous system from my elbow, so I let this one slide. “I’m ready for the ride, though.”

  She butters more toast and hands it to Betsy. “In time. For now, eat. We don’t always get meals like this.”

  Plump Betsy, who’s gobblin’ up bacon and toast like it’s her job, makes me think they eat pretty well. I eat four pieces of bacon (wishin’ to God I had half a dozen more) and my toast. The orange juice is so pulpy you gotta chew it, but tastes good nonetheless. All in all, it’s the best meal I’ve eaten since being with pa. I watch Ethan chew, glad he’s here to share it. If only Riley could be.

  Since we’re all actin’ like a happy family, I decide to try Nessa again. “So, you never did say where Riley ended up.”

  Nessa bangs her fist onto the table so hard the plates clatter and Betsy jumps with a yip. “That girl,” Nessa says through her teeth. Then she straightens her face out. “She’s at a work camp for the time being.”

  “A work camp?” Ethan asks.

  Betsy stops chewing. “Someone has to make the bullets.”

  Nessa shoots her an evil glare.

  “Bullets?” I ask. “Where’s this work camp?”

  “Enough questions,” Nessa says, her smile so tight any minute it’ll crack.

  We eat in silence. When Betsy lifts her plate and begins licking it, Nessa stands up. “Betsy, clear the table and wash the dishes. The boys and I will be going for that ride.”

  “But I wanna go,” she whines.

  Nessa unties her apron and folds it. “Let me freshen up. Michael,” she calls into the foyer, “we leave in ten.”

  Nessa walks off, and suddenly it’s just Ethan and me at the table. Betsy’s at the sink, runnin’ water into the basin with enough noise for sound cover.

  I lean in and get Ethan’s attention. “It’s okay, buddy,” I whisper. “I know you ain’t Cole. And I know you gotta pretend cause of her.” I nod in Nessa’s direction.

  His eyes go wide. Slowly, he nods.

  I glance down the hallway and then back to Ethan. “She didn’t…do anything to ya, did she?”

  Ethan’s eyes drop to his lap. I reach for him.

  A door opens down the hallway and footsteps march our way. Time’s run out. I lean in and whisper in his ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us outta here.”

  He doesn’t move, just sits stock still as if my words have no meaning. Maybe Nessa’s gotten to him. May
be he doesn’t have confidence in my ability to take care of him anymore. I let him down. I let Riley down.

  Nessa strides into the room. “Ready?” she asks, her eyes narrowin’ like she knows something’s amiss but can’t put her red-nailed finger on it.

  I push up from the table.

  Four of us pile in the Jeep—Nessa and Ethan in front, me and my friend Mikey in back. He’s got his gun out, the black barrel aimed at my ribs as we pull out of the driveway. How hard would it be to grab that gun and turn it on him and Nessa when he’s not lookin’? But then, my head’s still rollin’ like a truck tire down a hillside.

  We pull out of the dead subdivision and back into the military compound. The military grunts are out on the dirt field, runnin’ drills, jumpin’ over logs, and swingin’ from monkey bars. None of that nonsense would be useful in a down-and-dirty gunfight, which, in my experience, is what you end up in most of the time. But then we pass a rifle range where men hoist giant rifles up to their shoulders, aim, and fire at targets. The rat-ta-tat-tat of their weapons and gun smoke stirs my senses. I’d love to get my hands on one of them fancy rifles with the sightin’ scope and the huge magazine. My pa got one once, but the bullets ran out in the first couple days and we never did get any new ones.

  To shoot from my right hip, now that’s what I really want. In my lap I flex my newly mended hand. I never thought I’d come out with both guns blazin’ again. Through all the hurt and pain of the last few days, that fact alone keeps me goin’.

  The military buildings aren’t much to look at as we drive around. Each is rectangular, brick, and unmarked. Some have crumblin’ concrete steps and others are repaired. Some have men walkin’ inside and some seem vacant and black. But as we take a right and cruise around to the back of the compound, something does catch my eye. About a hundred yards away on a large concrete slab, men clamber around a huge plane, a big gray-green beast with two propellers on the front of each wing and a giant dorsal fin tail that sticks up into the sky. The men scamperin’ around look like insects compared to it. If they can get that puppy up in the sky, well, there’s not a damn thing they can’t do.

  That thought scares me to pieces.

  “The Hercules,” Nessa says wistfully. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

  Mikey leans forward, the gun still aimed at my ribs. “Ma’am, as civilians, you don’t have clearance to be back here. If the lieutenant found out I let you view the Hercules restoration—”

  “Calm down, Private,” Nessa snaps. “Your lieutenant won’t find out and besides, I fixed his torn scrotum, so if he gives you any flack, ask him how his balls are doing.”

  Mikey clears his throat. “Can we just move along?”

  “Fine,” Nessa says, speeding up again. She angles away from the big plane, and I crane my neck to keep it in view. Who could they go after with a plane like that? It could carry troops, bombs. At the thought of bombs, my stomach clenches. One bomb would wipe out a whole town. I think of the Citadel and Mage’s smilin’ face. I think of my friends back in town.

  A dronin’ noise in the sky draws my attention up. We lift our heads toward the buzz glidin’ in from the south. At first I think a swarm of insects, but then the noise is too…singular, too mechanical. Another plane?

  We see the silver plane as it banks left and heads toward the compound. I’m so stunned to see something manmade in the air, I stare open-mouthed. Mikey has a different sort of reaction.

  “No.” He stands up through the Jeep’s roll bars. “No!” he yells as the plane banks right and heads for us.

  “What’s happening?” Ethan looks back at me. “Clay?”

  I stand up next to Mikey. The plane buzzes low. It’s headed right for us, but why would it… No, it’s not headed for us. It’s headed for the Hercules.

  The drone of the plane overhead is deafening. Mikey fires round after round at the plane’s silver underside. When his clip is empty, he yells at it, cursin’ in terms I didn’t know possible. He whips around and shakes Nessa’s shoulder.

  “Drive!” he yells at her. “We have to warn the general.”

  As Nessa grips the wheel to turn, a silver cylinder falls from the belly of the plane.

  I watch dumbstruck as the silver tube slides through the sky. The arch of the bomb, the way it glints in the sunlight, seems so graceful and elegant. But the men, just tiny figures from where we’re parked, scramble and run like ants under a descending shoe.

  There’s nothin’ they can do, I think. If they’re dead, what happens to us?

  The Jeep’s tires squeal as Nessa guns it. The smell of rubber burns my nose as Mikey and I are thrown back into our seats. Mikey’s gun clatters to the pavement. I watch it fall, my heart spurrin’ into action. This is my one shot to get away.

  I get no other thoughts. The bomb goes off and the world blooms into sound and fire. Heat and light.

  Chapter 10

  Riley

  I look up at Mister’s unforgiving face and back at the guard already pocketing whatever trinket Mister paid him off with. This is bad.

  When I open my mouth to scream, Mister clamps a giant hand over it. “This way, fresh meat,” he growls in my ear.

  He drags me behind the bunkhouse easily even though I’m struggling and digging in my heels. The compound is quiet. The only sounds are my thudding heart and Mister pulling me to the back wall. My eyes flick up the twelve-foot concrete wall, the bits of ragged glass winking in the moonlight. There’s no way I’d get over it even if I could get away from Mister. My eyes scan left and see more concrete wall. They scan right and see the open courtyard. Maybe if I could get out there—

  A blow to my stomach sends my breath rushing out. I drop to my knees, my hands instinctively wrapping around my torso. I suck air in harsh barks. The need to breathe is all consuming and I don’t see Mister’s kick until it’s mid-swing.

  His foot connects with my back, a kidney shot that sends pain like lightning up my spine. Gasping, I roll away. The pain follows. So does Mister.

  “You think you can do whatever you want ’cause you caught Doc’s eye? Do ya?” Mister leans down, towering over me with his swinging black braid. “Doc thinks he’s the bee’s knees and so do you. I’ll show you who’s Mister around here.” He pulls his fist back.

  I roll as he punches and his blow pounds into the dirt beside my head. Mister roars, clutching his injured fist. Even though I can’t draw a proper breath and my kidney feels like it’s pounded into hamburger, I scramble to my feet and run.

  Behind me, Mister rages.

  I tear past the bunkhouse and around the washroom. The moon is nearly full and high in the sky, so the compound is easy to navigate in the dark. The warehouse door handles are chained. Mister pounds the dust as he runs toward me. He’s slow, just like I thought, and I have no trouble staying ahead of him. Too bad there’s no place to run.

  The wide courtyard is bare. The only place left is Lord Merek’s private quarters, but I have no idea what’s in there. A six-foot wooden fence blocks it from view. I glance back. Mister’s doubled over, panting and talking to the guard he paid off. While he enlists help tracking me down, I slip around the wooden fence, where I’m out of sightline. Then I jump, grip the top, and slowly drag myself up.

  I’m up and over the fence before I can really contemplate what I’m doing. I fall into a heap on the other side, panting and hurting, and wishing to God I had some kind of weapon to bash Mister’s head in with. It’s not until I hear the rustle of soft fabric that I realize I’m not alone.

  A woman stands before me, eyes wide, hands over her mouth. She’s dressed in sheer pink fabric that hides little of her figure beneath. A gold band circles her pale throat with a smaller one winking from her left finger. Her blonde hair is twisted up into elaborate knots. She even wears a small crown nestled in her hair, though it’s iron and lacks royal jewels. I look at her and then around the courtyard. The spacious wooden enclosure has a dirt floor, just like the rest of the courtyard, but this on
e is decorated with ornate benches, colorful rugs, and tinkling wind chimes. A five-foot-tall metal peacock, blue-green with tin feathers, nods its head in one corner. Someone has painted a castle, complete with knights and dragons, on the far wall. Everywhere there are knickknacks and garden gnomes, pottery and fake plants like someone raided an abandoned home and garden store.

  The woman—girl—who’s staring at me with her round cheeks and babyish face, sits with an open book in her hands. She looks at me like I’ve fallen from the sky. I lie in the dirt, dumbstruck as she approaches.

  A voice calls from the other side of the wall. “All okay in there?” It’s the guard who was helping Mister.

  I freeze.

  For a moment, the girl says nothing. Then she places her index finger to her rouged lips.

  “Everything’s fine,” she says with a tiny lisp. “Why, Peter?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. If you hear or see anything…strange, will you let one of us know?”

  She smiles wickedly and calls back over the wall. “Is something the matter?”

  The guard clears his throat. “Just doing a routine night check.”

  “I thought I heard something coming from the slave’s quarters. Should I get Lord Merek?” She winks at me.

  “No, ma’am, no.” The guard is clearly distressed. “Sorry to bother you.” His footsteps trail away.

  When he’s gone, she leans down and offers me a slender hand. I look at it and then at her smooth, round face.

  “I’m Annabell,” she says, smiling. “What’s your name?”

  “Riley,” I say, standing up. Behind her, the building is dark, but it’s still dangerous for me to be here.

  She follows my gaze to the door behind her. “Everyone else is asleep. Well, everyone except Mina, and she’s about to deliver, so no one wants to talk to her. She’s in with the new midwife now, panting and carrying on,” she whispers. “I’m allowed to come out and read if I don’t leave the courtyard. Pity the light is so poor.” She squints up at the moon and then back at me.