The Breeders Series: The Complete Box Set

by Katie French

“Where are we?” she said.

  “Need to rest. Catch some shut-eye, then we’ll move on.” He laid his head back, his hat pushing forward over his eyes. She noticed his right hand strayed to where the gun rested in his side holster. He had no intention of letting her get the drop on him.

  She leaned back, feigning tiredness. The fact of the matter was she wasn’t tired at all anymore. Her heart hammered in her chest. She should’ve fought harder to stay or go back for Nolan. How far had they gone? How could she ever get back?

  “What about food?”

  He turned to look at her from underneath the brim of his hat. “You brung any?”

  “You saw me when you picked me up. I didn’t have anything with me.”

  He tilted the hat back over his eyes. “You see me with any food, either?”

  She grumbled. “Can’t you track some, Mr. Expert Tracker?”

  This time, he didn’t even look up from his hat. “When I damn well feel like it.”

  This was the end of their conversation. She’d been around enough angry orderlies and surly doctors to know when to stop poking the bear.

  Instead of sleeping, she stared out the truck window, wondering what she should do. She could run, but where would she go? She could go for the gun, but what would she do once she had it?

  Was her mother still in Plan B? She’d never know. Her friends, the nannies, they, were all just… gone. And the child she had half-feared and half-anticipated was dead.

  So she waited like she did in the Breeders’ hospital, like she did with Nolan. There were no good decisions anymore, just events that happened.

  She had started to doze a little when she felt the first twinge in her belly. Trying to ignore it, she scrunched her eyes shut. But there it was again, a tightening like a fist squeezing at her lower abdomen and back.

  She tried to ignore the pains as they came and went minutes apart, but they grew stronger until she had to bite her lips and clench her fists to stop from crying out. Sweat broke out across her forehead and down her back. She shifted, trying to alleviate the pain that now radiated from her stomach.

  When it became more than she could handle, she gripped the dash and looked over at Smith. He wouldn’t give a shit if she bled out right on his truck seat. But then again, maybe he would. Maybe he was planning on selling her. Or using her. Either way, a dead girl wouldn’t be worth a dime.

  “Smith,” she called between clenched teeth.

  He lurched, drawing the gun out with such speed she thought for sure he’d blow her head off before his eyes even opened.

  “What the hell?” he said when he found her looking at him.

  “I think… I think I’m going into labor.”

  He stared at her as if wondering if she were playing a joke on him. His eyes marked her soaked brow and sweat-drenched hospital gown, and he lowered the gun to his lap. Pushing the hat off his forehead, he scratched his damp hair. “Thought you said the kid was dead?”

  “It is,” she said, gripping her tightening belly and riding the wave of contractions with gritted teeth. When it was over, she spoke. “I think my body is pushing it out.”

  He stared at her for a long time. “If you think I know one good Goddamn about delivering a baby, you got another thing coming.”

  She dipped her head as a new wave of contractions came, like knives slicing into the soft flesh of her stomach. No wonder her friend Mary screamed for hours before they came and got her for the delivery.

  “I need help,” she said, arching her back. “I need you to do something.”

  He dug in the pocket of his jacket and handed her the whiskey flask. After, he grabbed the top of the Stetson and shoved it over his eyes.

  Kindy wanted to strike him, but she was in too much pain. She didn’t believe in God, but if she had, she’d be sure this was her punishment for leaving Nolan.

  She would have to do this on her own.

  Nolan

  Nolan struggled against the bonds on his wrists as his new captors thundered their way down the dark road.

  They’d found and taken his gun easily, then shoved him in the car and tied his wrists and ankles with old electrical cord. The good news was the knots weren’t that tight. The bad news was he might not live long enough to get them loose.

  “What we do with ‘im?” the first man said.

  José, the driver, shrugged.

  “Eat ‘im?” the first man asked.

  José shook his head.

  Thank God for that, Nolan thought. “I have a truck. One that’s a hell of a lot better than this one. I can show you where.”

  The first man whirled around in his seat and glared at him. “You making fun of Greta?”

  “Who’s Greta?” Nolan asked, trying not to gag on the smell of his breath.

  The man reached out his open window and tapped on the roof. “This is Greta. Rather, she is Greta. And she don’t take kindly to people fussin’ about her.”

  “I’m not… fussing. I just think Greta won’t take you very far. If you stop the car, I can show you where—”

  The first man drew his dirty handgun and cocked it. “There you go again, insulting Greta.”

  “Sorry,” Nolan said, staring at the gun muzzle.

  The handgun withdrew. The first man turned around and went back to ignoring Nolan. Instead, he began to sing at the top of his lungs as they trundled down the highway.

  “Oh, my love she be, over the sea. My Greta, there she waits for me.”

  All things considered, the thug had a great singing voice. How ridiculous, Nolan thought. Of all the ways to die.

  He focused on looking out for Kindy, but there was no sign of anyone on the road.

  Just as the first man got to the chorus of My Greta, Greta’s own grumbling grew louder. Smoke began to pour from the creases around the rusted hood.

  “José, look,” the first man said, gripping his friend’s arm. “Probably the radiator again. You got water?”

  Pulling onto the shoulder, José shook his head. He meandered around potholes and boulders to coast Greta to a stop.

  The first man whirled around and pointed a finger in Nolan’s face. “Don’t you say a word. Not one word, you hear. Greta will be just fine.”

  Nolan held up his bound hands in an innocent gesture, watching as José and the first man got out and lifted the hood.

  As soon as they were distracted, Nolan continued to pick at the knots furiously.

  The cords they had bound him with were thick and pliable, but the first man had tied about a hundred knots. Nolan used his fingers to unloop knot after knot, tugging and loosening, looking up often to make sure the men were engrossed in Greta’s engine trouble. When the first man came toward the back, cussing up a storm, Nolan froze, keeping his face blank and his hands in his lap. The first man barely glanced at him before returning to peer into the engine compartment.

  Nolan got back to work.

  He had half the knots untied before he heard the click of a gun safety being removed. When he looked up, José was aiming Nolan’s own gun in his face.

  Nolan stopped untying knots and held up his hands in surrender.

  The first man appeared beside José, shaking his head and wiping greasy hands on his dirty shirt. “Well, this day just goes from shit to shittier. Greta is dead, God rest her soul. I guess we walk. Out of the car, pretty boy.”

  Nolan did as he was told, trying to hide the damage to the bonds around his wrists. When he scooted out of the car, he showed the first man his bound ankles. “I’ll need these cut if I’m to walk.”

  The man glowered at him. “Cut the bonds, José, but watch ‘im. He looks like a runner. You a runner, boy?”

  Nolan shook his head. “No, sir.”

  The first man pulled out his gun and aimed it Nolan’s back. “Yea, well, don’t get any ideas.”

  Kindy

  She sat in the truck bed with the tailgate down for at least an hour, riding wave after wave of contractions, gripping the metal
and trying not to scream. Just when she thought she had reached the threshold of what her body could stand, the pain would double until she was groaning, grinding her teeth, and curling in on herself like that would do anything.

  Breathe, a nanny would say. Breathe and pray.

  She breathed, but hell if she was going to pray.

  The whiskey was gone. She had no water. And Smith was snoring inside the truck. The sun was at its peak, and she could feel her face and arms sizzling. Like bacon on a skillet, she thought. Flip me over; I’m done on this side. Her throat felt like cracked hardpan. Shade. She needed shade. There was no way in hell she was going to go inside the truck with Smith, and she couldn’t stay out here in the sun.

  She might die from the contractions, but at least she’d do it feeling a bit cooler.

  The walk to the only shade, a grove of mesquite trees about ten feet high, was perilous. She stumbled forward, hands on her belly, stopping often to ride out the contractions.

  “God!” she cried out. “This sucks. Why don’t you just kill me?”

  Talking to yourself was stage-one sun poisoning, she thought. Hopefully, stage two was believing she was at a spa, getting a rubdown by a handsome lizard or something.

  As she reached the grove of trees, she felt a strange popping sensation. Warm wetness spilled down her legs.

  She’d been around enough pregnant women to know what that was. Amniotic fluid.

  Jesus Christman, if she had to be drenched in something, why couldn’t it be cool?

  But it meant she was making progress. What would she do with a dead baby when it arrived? She couldn’t even bury it.

  She turned her thoughts away from that as another wave of pain gripped her. Going down to her knees in the dirt, she doubled over as shockwaves of pain hit her over and over. She had no idea how long she knelt, grunting and crying before the urge to push began to grow. Afraid, she held off.

  She wanted her mother.

  “Mama,” she cried, holding onto the rough tree bark. Uncomfortable, she pulled her giant, useless body up and squatted, holding the tree for support.

  Her legs shook, but she held on, screaming.

  She pushed through the pain.

  When she felt it slide out and settle on the dirt, she sobbed. It was finished.

  She held onto the tree, panting and not wanting to look down. No matter how much it had pained her, she’d never wished for her baby to be dead.

  When she heard the mewling cry, Kindy froze before slowly looking down.

  Nolan

  Their pace was slow. Nolan was forced to lead the procession, the first man and José coming in behind. Nolan kept trying to loosen the knots on his bound hands without either man noticing, but it was much more dangerous with them this close. Once, José walked up and looked Nolan over. He’d wrapped his fingers around the loose wire just in time.

  They walked along the highway, the heat of the day creeping over them. Nolan’s throat felt like old parchment, the drinks from the river long gone. When had he last ate? In the truck a day and a half ago? His head was beginning to swim with the heat and lack of food. If he fell, would they leave him or put a bullet in his back to save them the trouble? What else could they possibly want with him? He wanted to ask, but was afraid of the answer.

  As they walked, the first man whistled and then sang in deep baritone. Nolan didn’t recognize much, but there was one he did, a tune his dad would hum. “Take me out to the ball game. Take me out to the crowd,” the first man bellowed, swinging his arms like he was hitting a baseball to the fences.

  Just as he was getting to the last chorus, the song died in the man’s throat. He jumped down behind some brush, pulling Nolan with him.

  “Well, lookie here.”

  Off to the side of a deserted gas station, a truck was parked. If they’d been driving by, they would have missed it, but since his group was on foot, it was visible. Nolan peered past the glare, seeing the figure inside, behind the steering wheel.

  “Sleepin’ beauty,” the first man murmured. “What treasure you be hidin’?”

  “Sleeping beauty didn’t have treasure,” Nolan mumbled.

  José looked at him, working a toothpick around in his mouth. Finally, he spoke to the first man in Spanish. Nolan couldn’t understand it.

  Who could be in the truck? More marauders like these two? A Breeder spy coming after Kindy? Nolan’s stomach knotted even further. Instead of speculating, he worked on unknotting the wire around his wrists. Almost there.

  He stopped when a figure shuffled up the slope halfway between the truck and where they were hiding. This person looked injured, blood all over the bottom of… her hospital gown.

  “Kindy,” he whispered, pure panic circling his throat.

  “What did you say, boy?” the first man asked.

  Nolan pointed frantically in the opposite direction from where Kindy had appeared. “Look over there. I see—”

  The first man struck him hard across the mouth.

  Nolan’s head snapped sideways, making him see stars. It took him a second to focus his eyes back on Kindy as she hobbled to the truck.

  “It just keeps gettin’ better and better,” the first man said, whistling through his teeth. “A gurl. An honest-to-gosh gur-el.”

  Nolan tried frantically to turn this around. “That’s not a girl. That’s a man dressed that way. I know him. He’s—”

  “I said shut up,” the first man said, drawing his gun. “I knows a gurl when I sees one, and that is a bonafide gurl. Is that what you was doing out here, boy? Hmm. Giving her the old one-two?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, but you listen to me, if you lay a hand on her, I will have to kill you. I don’t care if it’s a sin. I’ll do it.”

  José started a deep chuckle down in his throat, and the first man followed, laughing in Nolan’s face. “A boy like you kill me and José? Boy, that’s the best joke I heard in a month of Sundays.”

  Nolan gritted his teeth and stared at the men. He was no longer afraid of them. And his hands were almost free.

  “Now, watch me use my sneaky-sneaky on our unsuspecting friends.” The first man stood from his crouch, but José grabbed his arm, shaking his head and nodding toward Nolan.

  “What you want me to do with him?” the first man asked.

  José spoke in Spanish. Nolan didn’t have to understand it to know it was bad.

  But the first man smiled. “Oh, hell yeah. Get ready, boy. You is about to do some supreme acting.” He grabbed Nolan’s arm and hauled him up, pressing the gun into his back. “Do it right, and I might even let you keep your balls.”

  Kindy

  Gripping the bundle to her chest, Kindy staggered to Smith’s truck. It was afternoon now, the heat of the day, and she might not make it back on legs as weak as wet paper.

  She was close to the road now. She remembered the ridge that trailed down through the mesquite trees and brambles. Staggering, holding the baby to her chest, she took step after agonizing step. She was covered in blood and fluid. Not only was it smelly, but it would attract predators. She had to hurry.

  But how would Smith react when she showed him?

  She could barely believe it. The sleeping baby pressed against her swollen breasts was alive.

  Though barely. She’d cut the cord with a sharp rock and lifted the child, hardly believing her eyes. It mewed a few times and thrashed its fists around, blinking dark gray eyes. Like Kindy wasn’t what it had expected.

  Kindy had stared down at the alien thing. The parasite that had lived off her body for eight months. Was she supposed to love it? It was going to die soon anyway out on the road. But she couldn’t leave it alone, so she clutched it to her sweaty chest, feeling the worst tornado of emotions. What had her own mother felt when she’d given birth? Mother had loved her fiercely, but had that happened at first or grown over time? Nothing about this purple, cone-headed monster made Kindy feel love. She just felt sorry for it.

&nbs
p; Picking her way around a bramble bush, she spotted the truck. Shelter, thank God. She couldn’t see Smith just yet, but he would be there. What would he do with a baby?

  “Kindy!” a far-off voice called.

  She stopped, turning.

  “Kindy,” it called again.

  Nolan?

  “Nolan! Where are you?” She turned in frantic circles.

  “This way,” he shouted.

  She ran toward the voice. In front of her, the dusty earth angled up, a jagged rock jutting out in an otherwise flat landscape. She couldn’t see him.

  “Here,” he called. His voice sounded strained.

  Still, she was so happy to hear it.

  Walking around the rock, she smiled, still holding the bundle. “You will not believe what happened to m—”

  A tattooed man and his partner stood, both holding guns. “Oh yes, lass,” the tattooed man said. “Tell us everything.”

  Nolan

  The sight of Kindy both terrified and invigorated him. If Nolan was going to act, he needed to do it now.

  “Kindy, run!” he yelled.

  Slipping both hands free of the electrical wire, he threw himself on the first man, grabbing for his gun. The man turned, but he was too slow. Nolan grappled for the gun, feeling steel and yanking the metal object toward him. The first man let out a yelp, using one hand to grab for the gun and the other to try to bat away Nolan. “José!” the man shouted, flailing his arms.

  Nolan ended up with the gun’s weight in his hands and slipped his palm over the worn stock. His finger found the trigger. He raised the gun toward the first man’s shocked expression.

  “Don’t move!” an accented voice shouted.

  Nolan turned, ready to fire, until he saw José with his gun pressed against Kindy’s temple.

  She was trapped to his body, his arm across her collarbone while his hand jammed the gun into her ear. José’s tattooed face glared at Nolan over Kindy’s shoulder.