by Katie French
I don’t know why I confess it, but it feels right to say it out loud.
Gabe just looks at me sorrowfully. “I’m sorry.”
I nod. “Me too.”
Bell pulls herself out of the truck and looks us both over. “Best take care of him while it’s still daylight. Then we can mourn his passing.”
“I’ll do it,” Gabe says. His voice is as thin as the fabric on my knees, but he keeps his head up.
We gather around the truck bed and the shape in black. Gabe climbs in and draws down the plastic.
Tommy’s face is ashen. I stare, feeling a sob stick in my throat. I could gag on it, choke to death, and that would be a mercy. Gabe’s fingertips trace over the cheeks that will never again lift in joy or anger. He traces eyelids that will never flutter open. When he finds Tommy’s cap crumpled beneath him, he draws it out and stares at it. I watch his shoulders shake as he sobs.
My sobs come, too, a torrent of them. Bell walks over and puts her arm around my shoulder. Another comfort for another sorrow. If only I knew this would be our last.
Chapter 22
Janine
I find Gabe up on the roof.
A few moments after we cremated Tommy’s body in the parking lot, Gabe limped off alone. I let him have his time, but the sun is setting and I worry about him. Bell volunteers to go looking, but I insist. I find the hatch to the roof flung open and his narrow shadow sitting at the roof’s ledge. The sky is smeared orange, but there’s no beauty in it. Not today.
He hears me and looks back. Swiping tears from his face, he sniffs. His brother’s bloodstained newsy cap is fitted over his hair.
“You need somethin’?” he asks.
I nod. “I need to see if you’re alright.”
He shakes his head. “I just can’t believe he did it.”
I sit beside him. “Believe that he did what?”
Gabe stares out into the sky where the pavement shimmers with the last heat of the day. “I can’t believe he sacrificed himself for me.”
I shake my head, tears welling up again. “What are you talking about? It was my fault.” I slap my hand over my chest. I want to keep slapping, but instead, I plunge my fists into my lap. “Houghtson—that man with the gun—Tommy jumped on him to save m—”
He grabs my arm and stares into my face, a shock I don’t understand registering on his. “What did you just say?”
“Tommy tried to protect me—”
His mouth falls open.
And all of a sudden, he’s kissing me. His mouth presses hard against mine with an urgency that wasn’t there when he kissed me in the van. His lips are hungry. His hands grip my hair. He kisses me more like…
I pull back and stare into his eyes.
“Tommy?” I breathe.
He nods.
Then he kisses me again.
“How?” I ask as I finally pull away. My lips are flushed from his kisses.
Tommy runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “When Prentice came for me, he brought me in to see Gabe. I guess Gabe talked Prentice into giving him a few moments alone with me. He and Prentice were…”
“Lovers?” I offer.
Tommy nods. “I never understood it. I mean, the liking guys thing, okay. But Prentice? He was a monster. But I guess there’s no reasoning with your heart.” He flicks a glance at me, smiles, and keeps going. “Gabe said he was so sorry for keeping us here all this time. He could see now how bad Prentice was. He apologized for all this being his fault. Then he told me he’d been faking his seizures.”
“What?” I say, pulling back.
Tommy nods sadly. “He said he’d been faking them since he was a little kid. At first, it was to get Dah off our backs and then, with Dah gone, it was to keep me off his back. I was mad and hurt, but I was going to die soon and he was my brother. I forgave him.” Tommy sucks in a stuttering breath.
“When he went to hug me, I felt a prick on my neck. He had a needle. Then everything got real fuzzy. Must’ve woke up, heard what we were about to do, and talked Harpy into getting him something to knock me out. Then, I guess he switched our clothes.” He holds up the newsy cap and sighs.
“I can’t believe I didn’t realize. It all happened so fast.”
“I think he planned to lose and then reveal himself to Prentice, thinking Prentice wouldn’t send him to the hallway. But then everything went so crazy.” He drops his head and shakes it. “And now he’s dead.” His face is twisted up with so much pain that it hurts just to look at him.
I take his hand. “He loved you.”
Tommy looks at my hand and then back at the sunset. “I know. And I was always so mean to him.”
What a burden to carry. What a weight slung around his neck.
I put my arm around his shoulder and draw him to me. He looks up.
“Why would you love me?” he asks, looking in my face. “When you said it in the truck, you thought I was dead, but now I’m right here. Gabe was the fun one, the easy one. I’m the hard one.”
I shake my head. “There was no easy or hard one. You both did what you thought was right. And the world takes the good, the bad, and the in-between.”
He takes my hand and kisses it.
My hand falls on my stomach. “I’m pregnant. Life with me will be one never-ending struggle. It’s going to be so hard. Hiding me. Hiding the baby.” I drop my head in my hands.
His arm slinks around me. “It’s amazing. A miracle. A baby.”
When I look up, his eyes are shining. “Are you sure?”
“There’s nothing in this world I want more.”
We hold each other as night falls, as the stars pierce the sky and wink down on the cracked pavement. The cracked world. No amount of puzzling will piece it back together. But there are tiny hopes tucked in deep drifts of sand. Together, Tommy and I will find them.
Chapter 23
Riley
I sniff and look out my window. A hawk flies in high circles, dipping and floating on the wind. Somewhere, a coyote cries. And inside, my heart is breaking again, fresh and raw like the first time. I pinch my eyes together and try to mend it.
“So why did we call him Arn if he was known by Tommy?” I ask.
Auntie takes a big slug of water. “We never knew if Prentice or Bashees was still looking for us. Tommy was the only one who had to deal with other people, so he took on another name. His brother’s middle name. And he spent the rest of his life caring for your mama, me, and you.”
“I had an uncle.”
Auntie sighs. “Aye. And he also died saving you.”
So many men have died so that I could live.
She crosses her hand over her heart. “That’s the story. I ain’t lying. Scout’s honor.”
“I’m goin’ for a walk.” I sit up and open the door. It’s the first time I’ve been up since the scorpion sting. My head spins a little, but I feel about eighty percent. Doc watches me stand up outside the Jeep.
“Can I come with you?” he asks.
“Can you keep quiet?” I say. I’m snapping at him, but I feel prickly. It’s better he knows that now and not a mile into the brush.
He nods, gets up, and climbs out of the Jeep.
We walk into the twilight. I want to travel as far away from that Jeep and the story as I can. My thoughts feel clouded, and if anything, that story fogged my memories of my parents, not sharpened them.
We hike through brush that tears at our legs and up onto a ridge. You can see us from the road up here, but it’s empty and dark. And besides, part of me wants someone to come barreling down the hill. Shootin’ something might calm this pounding in my chest.
“It was a good story,” Doc says, eyeing me.
I narrow my eyes. “Thought you said you can be quiet.”
“I can,” he replies. “Your mom became her own woman,” he says, picking up a rock and chucking it across the landscape. “Just like you.”
I say nothing and let the breeze tug through my sweaty hair.
“Sometimes I think we’ll never understand our parents. I mean, take my father, my adopted father. How did he ever start working for the Breeders in the first place? Didn’t he know they were bad when he signed up? Were there any children he handed over before he chose me?” Doc turns wet eyes to the horizon.
I take a deep breath. “That story was just so damn…confusing. In the end, their love wasn’t enough. They’re both in the ground, their bones turning into dirt.”
“So you think that’ll happen to you and Clay?” he says, finishing my thought.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You’ve only been apart a few weeks. When we find him, he’ll be fine and just as in love with you as the first day he saw you.”
A cloud passes over the sun and plunges us into shadow. I hug my arms and stare at the horizon. “I hope so,” I say as I turn and head back for the Jeep. “I hope so.”
THE END
Epilogue
Ethan
Clay’s gone.
I sit up, heart slamming in my chest. Clay’s body was the warm lump beside me, but now the space is musty cushions and a thrown-back plastic sheet.
“Clay?” I call. The dusty room echoes. In the dark, the old auto parts store is scary. Shapes that were shelves and racks in the daylight now look like monsters. I flick my eyes to the doorway. “Clay?”
Down the hall, someone’s talking. I sit still and try to pick out voices. The high-pitched, whiney one is Betsy. The deeper one is Clay.
At least, I hope so.
Slowly, I crawl out of the mound of cushions.
He was beside me when I went to sleep. He called me Cole, but that was okay. He was happy, thinking I was his little brother. He was remembering good times and not crying like sometimes happens. He sounds like he’s crying now.
I inch toward the door. The voices could be strangers. Strangers who wanna eat me. I got no weapon. Goddamned Betsy won’t let me carry the gun. She says I’m too little.
I say a crazy person is not the boss of me.
The voices grow louder when I step out of the storage room and into the store. Big, open windows let in moonlight. Rows of rusty shelves cut the room into rectangles. I step over piles of trash and metal hangers, trying to be sneaky. The voices keep murmuring. I’m pretty sure it’s Betsy and Clay, but my heart won’t stop thudding. I creep to the edge of a shelf, hunch down, and listen.
“Hush little baby, don’t you cry,” Betsy’s voice sings, low and sweet. “Mama’s gonna bake you a mockingbird.”
Bake you a mockingbird? That ain’t how my mama sang it. Then again, Betsy’s always getting stuff all cuckoo.
I lean forward and peek out.
Betsy holds Clay’s head in her lap and she’s stroking his hair. Clay’s eyes are closed. She keeps singing and stroking, singing and stroking. And it’s kinda nice.
“Who are you?” Clay murmurs. His eyes are still closed. With his brain all tangled, sometimes he jabbers in his sleep. Sometimes he acts like he’s sleepwalking, and we don’t know what to do with him. One time we chased him a mile and a half in bare feet before we could wake him up and coax him back to the ruin we was sleeping in.
That was scary.
“I’m your girlfriend,” Betsy murmurs. She leans down and kisses him.
I freeze. Betsy—cuckoo, broken-brained, bed-wetting Betsy—kisses my sister’s boyfriend. I watch as she pushes her slobbery tongue in his mouth.
I wanna clobber Betsy over the head with a shelf.
But when I start to step out, a noise from outside stops everything. Footsteps scrape on the concrete.
Someone’s coming.
I got no weapon. Clay had the only gun, and who knows where that is. Betsy pulls a six-inch kitchen knife from her pocket and points it at the doorway.
Yellow eyes appear in the open doorframe. An animal. The fur is mangy, the ears pointed. A coyote? One knife might not be enough to ward it off. My hand closes over the bite scar on my arm.
A mangy dog pokes his head in the doorway and sniffs.
“Git!” Betsy yells, waving the knife. “Git outta here!”
The dog tucks his tail and scampers away. And I’m relieved.
Until I see Betsy aiming the knife at me.
I hold my hands up. “Betsy, it’s me, Ethan.”
She doesn’t drop the knife. Her eyes are cold.
“Git,” she says quietly. Her other hand closes tightly around Clay’s shirt. He shifts in his sleep.
“Betsy.” I hold my hands out and take a step forward. “I’m Ethan.”
She narrows her eyes.
“We came here together. I’m Riley’s brother.”
Finally, she lowers the knife. “I know.”
But the I know don’t sound friendly at all.
She tucks the knife back in her pocket and watches me, one hand twirling through Clay’s hair. I look at her and Clay. I hate being a kid.
I do the only thing I can do. I drag my pillows from the storage room and lie down on the other side of Clay.
In the dark, I pretend to sleep, keeping one eye on Betsy. Her right hand is clutched around the knife and the left has Clay’s shirt pinched tight between her fingers.
Betsy may be broken, but she’s dangerous.
I start praying in my head. Dear God, Wake up Clay. Make him normal. Make him remember. And send Riley. Send her quick.
Part Five
The Barriers
Prologue
Beetle drove up the cracked road as fast as the depleted solar car would go. Subject Seven was gaining on him.
He’d seen flashes of Seven in the rearview, racing along the roadside behind him, ducking in and out of debris, cactus, and brush. He’d stunned it, that much he knew for sure. Zapped it good from six feet away with his Taser, a killer shot by anyone’s standards, but it had recovered so quickly. It was then Beetle realized he never should have come alone, or this late in the day. Now, with no sun to charge the solar car and no juice in the batteries, he was a few minutes away from having to run.
And that would be a problem.
He’d tracked the damn thing all afternoon. The crumbled city was a veritable labyrinth of places for it to hide. Every collapsed building hid dark basements and closets. Each alleyway had piles of bricks and trash, perfect hiding spots for a being as disgusting and ruthless as the one he was tracking. Then he’d found the lair. Both terrified and excited, Beetle had waded through nests of shredded fabrics, dirty sweaters, blue jeans, and kids’ blankets, all culled from the abandoned storefronts and dragged into the basement of one of the collapsed buildings on Main Street. But Subject Seven wasn’t in the nest. Satellite technology wasn’t what it used to be. That could explain the error in Dr. Washington’s calculations, but as he climbed through chunks of the abandoned town the thing called home, he had a feeling Seven was setting him up.
The damn thing knew he was coming and had laid a false trail. One he followed until it nearly took his head off.
It was smarter than they thought. And more brutal.
They’d jumped him in an alley, Subjects Seven and Eight working in tandem. He hadn’t even considered Eight could be a threat. He’d nearly had his head separated from his body before he was able to get the Taser in his hands and zap them both. Once they were on their backs, he’d given Seven a swift kick, not that he would tell anyone. Then he’d grabbed Eight and ran.
Now he glanced in the backseat at the mound beneath the blanket. Eight—unconscious and safe. If he brought Subject Eight back, he’d receive a hero’s welcome. Dr. Washington could continue her experiments and “set the world straight again.” And if he failed? He didn’t know who he was more afraid of—the other doctors or Subject Seven.
His foot pressed the acceleration pedal to the floor, but the car continued to creep along, lurching like a drunk toward home. Only minutes left until the juice ran out. Until he was stranded.
“Come on, you bastard,” he said through gritted teeth. He pressed his foot dow
n until it hurt, but the car continued to slow.
“Oh God,” he breathed, his fingers trembling as he glanced into the rearview. Where was Seven?
The solar car meant safety, a solid steel-alloy frame with giant all-terrain tires. What would he do when it finally died? How in the hell did he think he’d get away on foot carrying the nearly seventy-pound cargo? He couldn’t leave Eight behind. Dr. Washington would banish him to the desert.
The Taser should’ve laid Subject Seven out longer. Beetle thought a zap that powerful might’ve killed the thing. That one error might mean the end of his life.
The car slammed to a stop. Beetle’s chest rammed into the steering wheel, shooting pain up his sternum. Eight rolled off the seat and banged into him from behind. He hoped it was okay. He pressed the accelerator once more, but nothing happened. His wheels were stuck, and the car’s battery was almost dead.
“Sonofabitch!” he screamed, pounding the steering wheel until it hurt. Why wasn’t he paying attention to the road? Goddamn it, he was not going to die. He was not!
Glancing out the windows and seeing nothing but buttes and scraggly cactus, Beetle swung open the door and stepped out. The concrete in front of him had fallen away, tumbling into a broken pile on the bottom of a three-foot crevice that cut jaggedly across the road. It had probably been created by those earthquakes they’d felt a few months ago. His front wheel had gotten lodged in the crack. If he had seen it, he probably could’ve dodged it, but he was preoccupied with looking in the rearview. He leaned down and considered his predicament. The tire dangled into the open space, and the car was resting on its frame. If the batteries weren’t on their last legs, he could gun it in reverse and probably get free, but the car had given up the ghost.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” he yelled, and then regretted it, swinging around to look for Seven. So far, nothing. Dear Christman Jesus, he had to hurry.