The Breeders Series: The Complete Box Set

by Katie French

  I slip sideways and run to the door. The handle won’t turn. It’s locked. Betsy thuds toward me.

  “Stop!” I shake the handle. “Don’t, Betsy!” Big hands reach for me.

  I scamper sideways and up onto the bed. “Stop!”

  Betsy’s angry face gets even angrier. “Shut up!” Her hands claw my PJs as she climbs onto the bed. She’s gonna kill me. I pull away, terrified.

  The door flies open. In the dark doorway, Miss Nessa aims a gun. We freeze. When she sees we’re alone, me on the floor and Betsy on her hands and knees on the bed, she lowers the gun. “What in God’s name is going on?”

  Betsy stands up, running nervous hands over the belly of her nightgown. “Ethan…Cole had a…nightmare.”

  Miss Nessa’s eyes narrow. Her face turns to me. “Is that so, Cole?”

  I nod my head fast. I don’t want Miss Nessa to hurt Betsy. Or me.

  Nessa taps the gun against her thigh and looks at us. “So, you were what, Betsy, helping him?”

  Betsy folds her hands under her saggy belly and smiles sweetly. “Yes ma’am.”

  “Right,” Nessa says. “Get back to bed, both of you.”

  We do, folding up into the bed, but lying as far apart as possible. Sometimes I let Betsy hold me and pretend I’m one of her babies. It’s not that I like it. It’s that it makes her less crazy for a while. But not tonight. I’ll punch her face if she tries to cradle me.

  Nessa closes the door and we lie in silence. Betsy’s chewing her lips and muttering, “Never, never, never.” Outside, the Jeeps have stopped, but now there are voices, people talking down the street. I listen and stare up at the ceiling. Betsy moans quietly.

  “Can you really fix Clay?” I finally ask.

  For a long time, Betsy says nothing. Then, “No, I was lying.”

  But her voice is thin. I don’t believe her. She can, but she won’t.

  I sneak into Clay’s room just before dawn. Nessa forgot to relock the door when she came in to check on us last night. And Betsy’s snoring like a saw horse. I’m like a ninja, curled into the darkness of Clay’s room.

  It’s scary in here. Clay is scary. When he’s not crying, he’s talking about weird memories that don’t make sense. Like yesterday he told me, “We were ridin’ horses and a snake came up, but the snake was a man named Warden and it bit me.” Then he looked at me like I should remember. I’m not even the kid he thinks I am, so I just stand there all dumb-like until Miss Nessa comes in and sets a photo album in his hands.

  Clay’s breathing heavy, so I move toward his breath. I find his bed and stand by it, looking at his face in the dark. He looks like himself when he’s sleeping, but when he’s awake his face is afraid and lost and he looks like someone else. Part of me is glad Riley isn’t here to see this. She would be mad as hell at Miss Nessa. Probably want to kill her.

  I stare at Clay’s head, trying to get up the gumption to do what I came here for. The white bandage around his head is thick, but slowly I begin peeling it like the skin of an onion. It unravels in my hands.

  His head is shaved like Betsy’s, but where she has railroad tracks all up and down, he has one long scar, still red and yucky with thick black stitches across it. That’s where she messed with his brain. Where she put in the chip, if Betsy is telling the truth. And could she fix it? Could she really make Clay back to normal?

  I wrap up his head and put everything back the way it was. As I’m about to leave, Clay stirs. His eyes flutter open and he sees me.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he says, reaching for me. “Bad dream?” His voice is thick and slow like cold honey.

  I look at Clay and his face seems… normal. I nod, walking toward him.

  “S’okay, lil’ man.” He puts his arm around me.

  And I let myself be curled in, tucked beside his warm body. I’m a big boy and don’t need to be held, but I’ve really missed Clay and being beside him feels good. Even if he doesn’t know the real me.

  “Night, Ethan,” he whispers before falling asleep.

  I almost miss it in my groggy state, but then my brain lights up. He called me Ethan. His brain might not be broke all the way.

  I lie beside Clay, my brother even if we aren’t for really real. I gotta make Betsy fix Clay and I gotta do it fast.

  Chapter 20

  Riley

  I gaze absentmindedly at the moon beaming through the medical building’s window as we wait for Doc. Next to me, Nada has the empty-eyed stare of someone who’s nearly died and then lived, but still isn’t sure how she’ll cope. Shock, that’s what Auntie would call it. I’m sure my face is just as empty. Just as shocked. They tried to kill us, but they failed.

  But so many are dead. We never did learn what happened to the two other teams, but I saw a truck with a tarp-covered bed heading out to the sand dunes. I tick off the names in my head: Crete, Michal, Joe, and Harriett. Dead. The weight of that thought is heavy, like a pool of lead in my stomach. I didn’t know them, but they’re just like me. Except somehow I had more luck. Somehow I’m not dead. Yet.

  Doc bursts through the door at a full clip and runs over to us. His arms circle Nada in a desperate hug. She winces as he puts pressure on her wounds and bee stings, but returns the embrace.

  “I thought you were dead. I really, really thought, ‘This is it. I’m never going to see her again.’” He runs a shaking hand through his hair. “How did you do it?”

  Nada looks up at him. “Do what?”

  “Survive?”

  Nada points at me.

  I shake my head. “It was as much Nada as it was m—”

  Doc falls on me, hugging me fiercely, and then all at once his mouth presses on mine.

  He kisses me. His full lips are soft and warm. He tastes like mint and salt. Salty tears, I realize, because he’s been crying. For Nada. For me?

  I lean back and he breaks off the kiss. He stands up, awkwardly running a hand through his hair, his cheeks the crimson stain of embarrassment. My face burns hot, too.

  Beside me, Nada chuckles.

  A guard walks in the door. Doc whirls toward the man. “Yes?” His voice trembles, but he tries again. “Yes?”

  “Lord Merek says to give them the best medical treatment you can. They should be in tip-top form for tonight.”

  Tonight? Another challenge. I’ve barely taken a breath since the last one.

  Doc nods. “This way, please,” he says, ushering us back to his exam room. When he sees the way we limp, he frowns.

  In the exam room with the door shut, Doc surveys Nada’s cuts, bruises, and stings over, growing more and more concerned as he spots them.

  “What did they have you do?” He looks up at Nada.

  Nada lifts her eyes to the ceiling and shakes her head.

  Doc turns to me.

  “It was a race through booby-trapped warehouses. Oh, and they shot at us when they could find us, so you know, loads of fun.”

  “Are you serious?” he says, his mouth falling open.

  “No, I’m thinking of picking up a career in fiction writing,” I say sarcastically.

  Doc steps back and clutches the table with his medical supplies. “Merek’s gotten so bad.” He whispers, then looks up at me. “He approved of the game?”

  I narrow my eyes. “He took shots at us. He loved it.”

  I watch Doc’s expression morph from disbelief to anger. “He never used to kill for sport.”

  “Well, now he does. And do you hear yourself? Why should he be allowed to kill at all?” Anger pulses at my throat. How can Doc not see Merek for the monster that he is?

  “This is terrible,” Doc says to no one. He glances down at Nada and then goes to her, kneeling before her. “You have to get out of the tournament. I’ll…I’ll pull some strings.”

  Nada’s face is cold as she looks at Doc. “What for? So I can die in a gun powder explosion? Get beheaded for stealing bread? I will not live here anymore!” She shoves Doc’s pleading hands away and crosses her arm
s. “Save your favors for yourself.”

  “Nada,” he reaches for her arm and she pulls away. Doc’s eyes turn to me.

  “There are ten benders for every one guard.” I look Doc hard in the face. “We should rise up. We should fight.”

  Doc’s eyes flick nervously to the hall. He leans in and whispers, “They have all the guns. We’d be massacred.”

  “Crete, Joe, Harriett, Michal.” I tick each name off on my fingers. “Massacred.”

  Doc steps back, shaking his head. He grips the table again, his eyes roving around the room. “There has to be something we can do.”

  I look at my hands, not meeting Doc’s gaze. I just told him what we can do, but it is clear he won’t even consider it.

  Doc tends our wounds. The cream he puts on the burns is so soothing I sigh out loud. Cuts and scrapes are easily bandaged. Nada’s limp, though, won’t be so easily healed. Her ankle is sprained, and Doc wraps it the best he can. It’ll impair her in the last challenge no doubt, but I don’t like to think about that. I don’t like to think about tonight at all. Nada and I will probably have to face each other. There’s no way I could kill her, but if it comes down to it, will I fight her? Will I try to win?

  When Nada is all patched up, she limps into the waiting room. I get up to follow her, but Doc shuts the door and turns to face me. His eyes are pleading.

  “Riley, I want to thank you for what you did for Nada. That kiss was—”

  “A thank-you. I get it,” I say, my own cheeks going hot. “I’m spoken for anyway.”

  Think about Clay brings a flood of sadness over me. How long has it been since we were together? A week? Two? I can’t remember.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to ask…”

  “You want me to try to help her,” I say.

  He nods, pushing a hand through his chestnut hair again. “Please.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but I can’t let her win if it comes down to the two of us. I have family, too. You know there’s nothing more important than family.”

  Doc nods. “Nothing.”

  “I’m sorry she won’t listen to reason.”

  Doc smiles sadly. “You won’t either.” He lifts his eyes to mine and they search my face. “Be careful out there, Riley. Take care of yourself, too.”

  They let us sleep that night and most of the morning. When lunch time rolls around, Nada and I are ushered out of the medic building and across the dusty courtyard. The benders, lined up at the mess hall to get their grub, raise their eyebrows as we pass. They’re surprised to see us alive and still in the game. I can’t help but let a small smile cross my face as they stare in wonder.

  That’s right, I did this. I survived. So did Nada.

  My smirk falls flat, though, as I see where we’re being taken. The guards march us through Lord Merek’s private gate and into his courtyard. As my eyes fall onto the lawn ornaments, the metal benches, I think of Annabell. First of her head rolling in the dust, but then, when that awful image is shaken away, of her pleading eyes the night we met here. I couldn’t have helped her, could I?

  That thought slides away when we enter the Lord’s home. I’ve been here once before, but in the dark with Doc. In the daylight, I can see all the special touches Lord Merek has applied to make this once regular building into a castle. Paintings and rich tapestries, frayed and fading but clearly once valuable, line the walls. At one end on a wood table, the top half of a suit of armor stares at us as we pass. It’s creepy, the fact that he’s missing his lower half, but I don’t have time to contemplate as we walk past an open hallway and see a medieval torture rack collecting dust. Nada shifts closer to me as we pass the wall of battle-axes, swords, and heavy-looking spiked balls bolted to one wall. It’s like a torture museum, with Merek as the insane collector.

  We are marched into a large room with high ceilings and tall windows. The only view behind them is the concrete wall surrounding the compound, but for some reason, the brightness of the room eases my mind a little. In the center of the space is a large wooden table, flanked on either side by two smaller tables. Plates, cups, and silverware are set at intervals in front of long benches. In the center of each table, arrangements of cut wildflowers and sprigs of cactus are arranged at pleasing angles. All very fancy. All for us?

  “Sit,” the guard says, pointing to two spots right of center at the big table.

  Nada and I do as we’re told, hands in laps. I’m afraid to touch anything for fear of knocking over crystal glasses or messing up the center piece. Nada flicks me a look and I shrug.

  More guards appear with Mister and his partner in tow. When Mister sits down, the glasses tremble. He huffs, flaring huge nostrils. My hate for him is, at once, fierce and overwhelming. Make him uncomfortable. Then stick him in that torture device while you’re at it.

  Mister’s partner from the games sits on the far left, though I haven’t learned his name. He’s huge with angry black eyes and hands like dinner plates.

  Two lines of Merek’s entourage, or rather his court, file in. His wives sit at one table with their staff. Auntie walks in with a baby in her arms. When her eyes fall on me, her face lights up, but then drops again as she realizes I’ll be forced into another challenge. I offer her a smile, which seems to wipe some of the worry off her face, but not much.

  The announcer scurries in a side door, wearing his ornate jacket and feathered hat. He clears his throat and begins. “Ladies, gentlemen and benders, please rise for Lord Merek.”

  We stand and turn our eyes to the door. Lord Merek strolls in, nodding to his wives (I count seven) and his men, before coming to sit at our table.

  My heart pounds. I drop my eyes to my plate as he stops and sits right across from me.

  Oh my God.

  “Please sit,” Lord Merek says in his high-pitched voice.

  I sit, trying not to look up, not to do anything that might draw attention. Beside me, Nada is stiff as a petrified cactus. I place my hands on either side of my empty plate and focus on breathing. If I do something to offend him, I’ll be disqualified. Worse, I’ll probably be beheaded.

  Breathe, I think. Calm.

  “So,” Lord Merek says, “our four remaining champions.”

  My eyes flick up and meet Lord Merek’s. I draw them down instantly.

  “Yes sir,” I mumble.

  “I don’t know you,” he says. “Look at me.”

  I lift my eyes. He’s staring, scrutinizing my face. I hold still and try to remember my breathing. Up close like this, I can see the crow’s feet around his eyes and wrinkles lining his bare forehead. The clumps of powder mixed with sweat at the collar of his jacket. I wonder if he’ll see through my disguise and know I’m a girl. I wonder if he would even care at this point. He’s entertained either way.

  “Where are you from?” He peers at me.

  I shift uncomfortably. “North.”

  “Hmm,” he says, “and you’re tiny like this one.” He looks over at Nada. “Our little lion.” Merek smiles. “It was good that we put you back in the games, little one. The guards have started calling you the Chihuahua.”

  “They can call me the victor,” Nada says, staring at Merek unflinchingly, “when I win.”

  Merek laughs, slapping the table. “Yes, yes. You’re so spunky.” He reaches out and pinches Nada’s swollen cheek. I can see on her face that she’s thinking of biting his hand.

  “Now, Mister here,” he says, sweeping a gloved hand toward the hulking form at my left. “We knew you’d be a champion. What do you think of your competition?”

  Mister snorts. “What competition?”

  Merek chuckles again. “Very good. Very good. Four excellent candidates. You’ll see that my men have concocted something very spectacular for this evening’s engagement. I’m excited. Are you excited?”

  I stare up at his face, lit up like a child who’s found a present in his lap. Does he really think we should be excited at the prospect of being murdered? He watches for an answer, but I ha
ve none to give. I cannot understand this man.

  “I’m excited to win and be rid of this place,” Nada says, pushing up to stand.

  Merek frowns. He sets down his wine goblet and looks at Nada. “Sit down, you filthy bender.”

  “You call me filthy?” Nada asks through her teeth. “I know what you do to your wives.”

  Merek’s face contorts with a slow-burning anger as he stands. “What did you just say?”

  Nada turns and bolts from the room.

  Merek, looking furious, points a finger toward the hallway where Nada just disappeared. “Get her.”

  The guards jump to it. I’m watching, terrified for Nada, when someone grabs my wrist. I flinch and look up.

  Merek stares at the ankh brand, the cross with the oval head burned into the underside of my wrist. I want to yank my arm away, but it’s too late. He’s seen it.

  “What’s this? The Breeders’ mark?” His eyes search my face.

  My blood runs cold. A lie tumbles out before I can think. “I worked as a janitor at the hospital. They branded all of us.”

  Merek’s eyes move from the brand up to my face. I can tell from his furrowed brow he’s not sure if he believes me. “I see,” he says slowly.

  He lets go of my hand and I pull my sleeve down. Beneath the fabric the skin there seems to burn. I’ve been so careless. Dammit.

  Lord Merek, still watching me, calls one of his guards over. I’m done for. I gnaw my lip. Should I run like Nada?

  Sounds of a commotion erupt from the hallway, grunts and a cry. I swivel toward the dark hall where a guard is running in. “Lord Merek, could you come out here, sir?” he puffs.

  Merek leaves his seat, seeming to forget about me. The remaining three victors are handed a chicken drumstick and a bread roll and escorted out of the dining hall. As we walk back to the barracks, I keep looking for Nada.

  I never see her.

  I watch the sun slink across the sky from my bunk, a great weight settling on me. I think of my dead comrades, my dead family. I think of Clay, Ethan, and Auntie. Mostly I think of Nada and those cries I heard echoing from the hallway. We have to compete tonight doing God knows what. Will they let her enter? Is she even alive?