by Katie French
The Butchers
The Breeders Series: Book Six
Katie French
Text copyright © 2017 by Katie French. All rights reserved. www.katiefrenchbooks.com
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. For information, visit www.katiefrenchbooks.com.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
December, 2017 Edition
Cover design by Sanja Gombar
Edited by Lindsey Alexander
Created with Vellum
To my mother
Contents
Previously on The Barriers: Breeders Book 5
1. Riley
2. Clay
3. Riley
4. Clay
5. Doc
6. Riley
7. Riley
8. Clay
9. Riley
10. Riley
11. Riley
12. Riley
13. Doc
14. Clay
15. Doc
16. Riley
17. Clay
18. Riley
19. Riley
20. Clay
21. Riley
22. Riley
23. Clay
24. Riley
25. Riley
26. Riley
27. Riley
Epilogue
A Letter to my Readers
Monster Island: A Young Adult Mystery Thriller
About the Author
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More Books by Katie French
Previously on The Barriers: Breeders Book 5
(Spoiler alert if you haven’t read previous books in the series!)
The Barriers picks up where The Brothers left off—with Riley charging forward to save her brother, Ethan, and her boyfriend, Clay. However, when she gets to Kirtland Air Force Base, they aren’t there. She finds instead the remains of an epic battle, some scared boys posing as soldiers, and a very dangerous man jailed because of his association with the Free Colonies. Bran claims to know where Ethan and Clay are, but there’s one catch—he tries to murder Riley the first time they meet. Determined not to let his savagery stop her, she enlists his help, and the group travels south to where they hope they’ll find their loved ones.
Meanwhile, Clay, Ethan, and Betsy struggle to steer clear of bandits, thieves, and slavers. Their water is gone, along with Clay’s memory and Ethan’s patience for Betsy, who only makes things worse by trying to convince Clay they’re in love. With Clay’s mind muddy, it’s up to Ethan to keep them alive long enough for Riley to find them. But when Betsy locks Ethan up for being “bad,” Clay takes off. The desperate pair find him in the clutches of some very sinister men.
Still on the trail of her loved ones, Riley and her crew are attacked on the road and taken into custody by a bender name Corra and her crew. They turn out to be scientists gone rogue from Nessa Vandewater and the Breeders. They tell Riley of a creature they created to help boost the female population. Corra tells her if Riley can help get their science experiment back, they will allow her to use their limited satellite surveillance to find Clay and Ethan. Riley agrees to go after this creature despite the danger. Anything to save her boys.
At the same time, Ethan and Betsy come up with a plan to rescue Clay. They approach the group of men, Ethan telling them he wants to sell Betsy to them, but they aren’t interested. Instead, they try to initiate Ethan into the group by making him climb a tower to oil their windmill and only source of water. Ethan attempts this feat, but slips and nearly falls. Clay, still burdened by missing memories, hears Ethan’s cries and rushes to his rescue, all the while thinking that Ethan is his dead brother Cole. He saves the boy and attracts the attention of the group’s leader. They make a deal. Clay will take a bomb into an enemy building and destroy it. Then they’ll give the boys a truck and a way out of there.
A little distance away, Riley, Bran, and Doc track the creature in an abandoned strip mall. They discover not one creature but three, who overpower the group. Bran is taken and feared dead. Riley and Doc manage to find the smaller creature the scientists are looking for, but just as Riley is about to get the creature to trust her, its mother charges and attacks. Doc, not knowing it is the creature’s mother, shoots it. Riley comforts the little one and they take it back to the compound, only to find that Clay has blown it up.
Now everything’s a mess. The compound is crumbling. Clay and Ethan find themselves double- crossed by the very people who promised to help them. Riley tries to get back into the compound to save Auntie, but comes across Bran. He is a double agent and tries to take the creature from her. It all comes to a head as both sides get in a shoot-out and Bran is killed. Clay runs, sees Riley, and his memories return. Just as they embrace, one of the boys from the windmill stabs Riley as revenge for a botched job. Clay kills him and rushes Riley to the doctor.
Riley lives, but the baby she was carrying is dead. She can never have children. She is heartbroken, but sees Mo, the creature she rescued, and decides she has to be this poor girl’s mother. She steals Mo from Corra and the group takes off, knowing that someday Corra may come looking for them.
Riley
I’m not a mother. I never will be.
But today, I sit on the ground and teach Mo letters with a stick. We carve the shapes into the hard-packed sand. She’s useless at it, and, frankly, so am I. The only reading I know I learned from Clay during the quiet nights we lie together in our hovel while Mo whimpers quietly in her sleep. I know the letters okay, and their sounds. Enough to teach a half-human, half-animal baby to scratch shapes in the dirt.
She grabs the stick with her dirty fist and digs it into the hard-pack, spooling up mounds on either side of her scraggly line that could be an I or an L or really any other damn letter.
“Good,” I say, swatting a fly away from her. “Can I have the stick? I want to show you another one.” I hold out my hand.
With large dark eyes, she looks at my hand and the brittle piece of wood. Her first move is to pull it protectively to her bare chest and grunt at me, her beautiful and dirty face challenging.
“No,” I say calmly. “Give it to Mommy.”
“Mo mo,” she vocalizes, still clutching the stick.
I jut my chin and hold my hand out. She’s so damn cute it’s hard to be firm, those big brown eyes and tiny pink mouth. She has this way of pursing her lips that I know means, What are you thinking, woman? Her hair is tangled in brown dreadlocks down her back, and she spends most of her time naked, running around our compound chasing bugs and getting into trouble.
“Mo, give me the stick,” I say, reaching for it.
Finally, she agrees, thrusting her arm out palm down. She releases the stick with a sigh.
“That’s good,” I say, smoothing back her tangled hair. “This one is called a G.”
“Mo mo,” she mutters, watching me, but I can tell she isn’t interested in letters, and I’m a fool to think she’ll learn to read. She has one word, and she uses it for everything.
I realize I’ve stopped drawing when Mo begins creeping toward me, climbing into my lap to pick at my scalp. It’s an old habit, likely something she did with her real mother before she died, and I don’t have nits, but her little fingers are deft. I hug her small body. She probably only weighs thirty pounds, even when we’ve had our fill of meat from Clay’s hunting and tough veggies from Auntie’s garden.
Still, she’s my baby. The only one I’ll ever have than
ks to that idiot’s knife.
She stops picking and looks up at me. Her smile, all brown teeth and gums, turns something inside me, a key in a rusty lock, creaking and shifting, unlocking a cobwebbed door I thought would be bolted forever.
This warmth blooming in my chest, this feeling must be what motherhood feels like.
And if it isn’t, I’ll never know.
“Nap time,” I say, gazing up at the blazing sun just outside the shade of our crumbling building wall. She seems to be slowing down, the heat of the day getting to her, to all of us. Sure, we have shade, but it’s New Mexico.
I lift her sagging body and walk to our hovel. She’s limp in my arms, tired from the heat and her crazy scampering. I get to our hole and set her on the ground as I maneuver toward the ladder that angles down. It’s hard getting her limp form down the six-foot ladder, but I manage. She doesn’t stir. And after carrying her dead weight, the exhaustion hits me, too.
I lay her on the straw-filled mattress, smoothing out her tangled hair and adjusting her hands. She’s making small moaning sounds behind her lips. I press a kiss to them.
“Sleep tight, love.”
But as I move away, her body begins to twitch. At first I think she’s waking, fighting the nap she clearly needs, but the twitching turns into seizing, her whole body shaking against the mattress.
She’s having a seizure.
My heart rips open. “Oh God.”
I stare for awful heartbeats as she jerks and vibrates. Her eyes are open, her mouth, too. The whites of her eyes roll up until the warm brown pupils are gone.
She looks like a demon, a monster.
“Clay!” I shriek, grabbing her taut body. I smell the stink and feel the wetness of her bowels releasing. “Clay!”
Above, Clay’s face appears, a shadow ringed by sunshine. “What is it?” he asks, dropping down the ladder.
I hold the twitching child in my arms, my tears already wetting her face. “Mo. She’s . . . She . . .”
One look is all it takes, and he’s back up the ladder, hollering. “Doc! Hurry!”
As I wait for help, I cry and rock her. White irises peer up at me. Eyelids flutter nonstop. Her sweet, dirty face twitches and a low moan starts in the back of her throat.
Strange thoughts swirl in my head. How old is she? A few months? A year? When we met she was brand new but already the size of a large toddler. Mo was bred to age at an accelerated rate by scientists trying to solve the dwindling female population. If they could speed up human maturation, that meant more females. Only, they didn’t count on brains not maturing as fast as bodies. Physically, Mo looks like a scrawny five-year-old. Mentally, she’s a baby.
My baby.
Hot tears splash on her face and meander through the dirt. I can’t keep her clean. I can’t even keep her alive. We had insulin that we stole from Corra. But it’s running out. I’ve been rationing it. And now the seizures. I’m killing her.
A shadow passes over, and then Doc is climbing down. One hand holds his doctor’s bag.
“Doc, help!” I moan, offering her.
He helps me set her twitching body on the earth and presses his stethoscope to her chest.
“She was taking a nap. I heard her moving. When I looked . . . This.” My words are clipped. I’m crying too hard. I clutch trembling hands together and watch him examine her.
“We have to just let it pass,” he says, sinking back on his heels.
“But, Doc—”
“I know you want to fix this, but there’s nothing we can do but let it run its course. I’m sure it’ll be over soon.” He frowns and looks down at her little body. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t want his sorry. Biting back my protests, I watch her breathe. Each intake of air takes effort. She could die. She could die right here in the dirt.
Another shadow crosses the doorway above. “Puddin’, is everything okay?” Auntie asks.
Doc answers for me. “We’re waiting it out. Should be over any minute.”
Thundering feet announce another as Ethan tumbles down, almost landing on Doc. The hovel is small, and four bodies is pushing it. Doc shoves at Ethan. “No room. Go up. We’ll call you if we need you.”
My little brother peers down at Mo, worry on his young face. “She okay?”
Doc pushes Ethan toward the ladder. “Yes. Go. Wait up top with Auntie.”
His eyes flit around until they land on me. He gives me a look. We used to be inseparable, but now I’m so busy with Mo.
“Go, Ethan,” I repeat. “We’ll call you if we need you.”
Grumbling, he climbs the ladder slowly so we know he isn’t happy about it.
I can’t worry about him now. How long has this seizure gone on? It seems like hours.
But when I look down, her little body has stopped twitching. She lays breathing shallowly, her closed eyes making her look like she’s peacefully sleeping.
“It’s over,” I say, pulling Doc’s arm.
He listens to her chest again and takes her pulse. I watch as he opens up both eyes and looks at each. “Whew, okay. When she wakes up, we’ll be able to tell what toll that had on her body. For now, let her rest. I’ll help you clean up.” He nods to my soiled clothes from where I held her.
“I need to stay with her in case she wakes up.”
Doc takes my arm gently and squeezes. “You need to take care of yourself, too, Riley.”
I pull my arm away. “I’m fine. She’s the one who needs taking care of.”
From up above, a face appears again. “He’s right, Ri,” Clay says. “Auntie will sit with Mo. Let’s you and me walk down to the stream.”
I start to protest, but Auntie cuts me off. “Get your ass up here and quit being so damn stubborn.”
They’re all against me. I burn Doc with a hard stare. “A half an hour and then I’m back down here with her. Got it?”
Doc holds up his hands. “Talk to your boyfriend and your aunt. I’m just the doctor. What do I know?” He mutters the last part into his doctor’s bag.
Shakily, I stand, still eying Mo for signs of the seizure’s long-term effects. I climb the ladder and pull myself out into the open.
Our home for the last few months isn’t much. Whatever structure this building used to be, it’s now a pile of crumbled concrete, splintered metal, and twisted pipe. To the east, two-thirds of the walls still stand with no roof and no windows, but the wall gives shade, so that’s where we dug. It took us a few weeks to carve out our little holes and secure them with beams and planks so the dirt wouldn’t collapse on us. They’re small and dusty, but it makes us real hard to spot if anyone comes looking. And we have good reason to think someone might come looking—Nessa and her army, Corra and her scientists . . . Hell, anyone who’s not us should not be trusted. And that’s fine by me.
Clay, Mo, and me sleep in our bigger hovel, Auntie and Ethan in theirs, and Doc in his own. With them uncovered for daytime ventilation, it looks like giant gophers have set up residence inside this abandoned shell of a building. Ethan will even pop his head up out of the entry hole, look around, and pop down, making me giggle.
But the real reason we can stay is the river. Auntie says people used to call it the Rio Grande. Now it’s less grand and more a small trickle that keeps us alive, but alive is what we need.
Clay takes my hand and helps me up out of the hole. I climb out and squint into the midday sun beating down on everything. The air shimmers in waves as the crunchy earth and scrub plants bake in the sun.
“Don’t look at me ’til I’m clean. I must smell like a barnyard,” I say to Clay.
He smiles sweetly, reaching out to touch my cheek. “Whether you believe it or not, I have smelled shit before.”
“No kidding.”
“True story.” When I lean into his hand he rubs his thumb gently down my cheek. “Least it’s not on your face. That’s my favorite part.”
“Not my brain?”
“Of course your brain,” he says, ki
ssing me. “And your ass.”
I shove him, smiling despite myself.
We walk side by side through the remains of the buildings, an old school or municipal office, though it’s too picked over to tell. The only supplies we found when we arrived were some rusted staplers, disintegrating books, and a couple of dented file cabinets. Everything else found a new home long ago. Clay and I walk through one of the crumpled walls and across the path we’ve cleared to the river.
Here, the debris disappears and the land starts to reclaim its beauty. Strong scrub bushes and trees crop up through the sidewalks and run-to-riot flower beds. The land begins to stretch out, yawning in either direction with browns and yellows and greens. Birds call and insects buzz. Clay’s game hunting has never been better. And Auntie’s been able to coax a few edible plants to life beside the riverbed, though the rabbits keep stealing her profits.
I squint up at the blazing sun and blue stretch of sky. The heat doesn’t bother me much and the dry season will soon be over. Our life here is meager, but satisfying if you don’t think about Mo’s health.
When we get to the riverbed, I start to strip.
Clay gives a low whistle, watching me. “Do a little twirl.”
I bat a hand at him. “At least wait until I’ve got the shit off me.”
He shrugs. “It’s not fair to other women, you bein’ ten times more beautiful than they are, even with shit on ya.”
I smirk. “What other women?”