by Katie French
“Could be.” I look back to see Auntie holding Ethan. “It’s gonna be okay.”
His anxious eyes flick between me and Clay. In his fist, he clutches a butcher knife. I hate seeing it there.
But the rumble of an engine turns my gaze back to the road. A vehicle approaching.
We wait.
Clay and I aim over the cart at the slice of road ahead of us.
But when the sleek solar car comes into view, it isn’t what I was expecting. It’s one of Corra’s cars. But is Corra inside? Did she torture Doc into telling her where we are?
The car pulls to a stop parallel to us, and the door slides open. I hear Clay thumb off his safety. My breath hitching in my chest, I aim at the driver stepping out of the car.
Doc runs toward us, waving his hands. “Don’t shoot. It’s me.”
“We got eyes,” Clay says, taking a deep breath. “You scared the shit outta us.”
Doc jogs to where we are, his eyes round as saucers. “Riley, there’s no time. You have to come quick. Corra’s there. She said she’ll save Mo.”
Riley
The words hit my brain like a splash of cold water. Corra. Save Mo.
I jump up, fighting off a wave of dizziness from the heat and lack of water. “What should we do? Where’s Mo?”
But Doc’s already scooping her up and putting her in the battered, but still functional, solar car. Doc waves to me frantically. I start to run, but then stop. “What about the others?”
Doc looks up like he’s forgotten they’re there. “Ethan can fit, and you.”
“Hold on a minute,” Clay says, coming around the cart and standing up to his full height. “You all are just going to run in there without a plan?”
“The plan is save Mo,” Doc says. “And we’re running out of time.”
Clay’s brow furrows, and his eyes fall on me.
“I’ll take a gun. You say it’s safe, Doc?”
“Safer than being out here. Corra says she’ll fix her, but she doesn’t want him coming.” Doc nods toward Clay. “After you blew up her home and all.”
“Now hold on!” Clay steps forward aggressively. “I had no choice. I was taking care of us and Ethan.”
“Are you sure? Do you even remember what deal you made with those savages?” Doc mocks.
“Stop!” I yell, throwing my hands out. “Mo has no time.” I turn to Clay, taking his hand. “Please let me do this. Let me save her.”
His frown deepens, but he rubs a thumb over my hand. “If this is what you want. I’d feel better if I was there.”
“You know I can protect myself, and if the only way for Corra to help is for you to wait it out a bit, then that’s what we’ll do.” I look back at Doc. “What about water?”
“Corra says there’s a pump a few miles from here. Head west. You’ll see a windmill.”
“Yeah, I know the place,” Clay says reluctantly. “It’s cleared out?”
Doc nods. “Corra also sent these.” He reaches in a pocket and pulls out a set of walkie-talkies. Giving one to Clay and one to me, he continues. “They have solar batteries so make sure you’re charging them during the day. I’ve set them on the same channel.”
Clay accepts his, thumbing the button. “Come back. Over.”
I hear his voice in the speaker. It makes me feel just the slightest bit better.
“What about you?” I ask, turning to Auntie.
She bats a hand through the air. “Haven’t died yet. Not likely to do so in the small time you’ll be gone. Clay will look after my old bones.” Walking over to me, she puts a hand on my cheek. “Save your baby.”
I touch her wrinkled hand, feeling its warmth for a short moment, and then grab Ethan and pull him to the car. “I love you!” I call over my shoulder.
When we’re in the car with the doors closed, it all feels real. I stare out at Clay and Auntie watching us drive away and get the strangest feeling.
Like this is all one terrible mistake.
I look over at Doc. He’s saved my life countless times. I trust him. I do, but . . . I hate how rushed this plan is. I hate how it separates us. Especially me from Clay.
“You talked to Corra and came up with this plan?” I ask Doc as he drives down the dusty road, passing cactus and plants on either side.
“This is Corra’s plan. I have no say in it. She holds all the cards.” He grips the wheel carefully, his eyes checking gauges. This car’s seen some wear and tear.
“And Corra hates Clay?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“I could never hate Clay.”
He shakes his head. “I mean if you were her. If he blew up your house, killed your men.”
“Clay didn’t kill her men. He did what he was forced to do to save Ethan. He didn’t know who was inside the building. He didn’t know what they were trying to do.” I’m starting to get mad.
“That’s convenient ignorance,” Doc mumbles.
“Now hold on.” But I don’t get to finish my thought because we follow a curve of rock, and the entrance to the underground bunker comes into view. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it, but it looks the same—a once great military facility set in the side of a mountain, now scarred from battle and destruction. From this low vantage point it’s hard to tell of the damage inside, but you can tell much of the mountain that was above it is gone, crumbled to pieces down below. The solid metal doors have been blasted open and peppered with bullet holes. There are even old bloodstains on the broken concrete where Doc parks the solar car. How Corra is alive inside and has enough materials to save Mo is beyond me.
I turn to Ethan, who’s been quiet all this time. “Stick to me like glue.”
He nods, looking nervous. “I don’t like this place. I wish Clay was here.”
“It’s safe,” I say, looking at Doc, who’s already in the backseat picking up Mo’s limp body.
Doubt floods my mind, but it’s too late. We’re already here.
I take Ethan’s hand in one of mine and hold my gun in the other.
When we head to the entrance, Corra is there with one of her men. Armed.
“Riley,” she says with a crooked smile. Her hair is longer and her frame thinner. “Long time no see.”
“Corra,” I say, my heart pumping. “Thank you for agreeing to save Mo.”
“Mo?” she asks. “Oh, right. You’ve named it. Cute.” But her tone doesn’t suggest she thinks it’s cute. “And you nearly killed it? Is that right?”
Anger is pumping into my veins at her tone, her accusations. “Mo is sick. She needs help. Will you help her?”
“Of course,” she says, dryly. “After all, I made her.”
There it is, her claim to Mo. I can see this isn’t going to go well at all. But I have to remember that saving Mo is my number one priority. Making sure she leaves with me will come later. I squeeze Ethan’s hand and try to appear normal and emotionless.
“Can you fix her?” I ask.
Corra smiles that wry smile again. “Of course. Come on in.”
They stride through the dark entryway with the low ceilings and into the open dome that looks up into the sky. Corra and her men have cleared away most of the debris and lined the large chunks around the circular hub. Several of the hallways are blocked off, but they take one on the right that seems clear. I vaguely remember this area and am not surprised when Corra takes us into her lab, the same one I stole Mo from months ago.
“Put her on the table,” Corra says to Doc.
He does, laying her gently on the metal slab. I hate seeing her like that, naked and disheveled, almost like she’s already dead. When Ethan winces, I realize I’ve been nearly crushing his hand in my grip. Letting go, I mash my own hands together and watch nervously.
“You let her go into insulin shock. You should’ve brought her sooner.” Corra gives me a hard look.
“And let you experiment on her? Never.”
“Look around, Riley,” she says, preparing the needle and dr
awing fluid from a small bottle into it. “Do I look like I could do any experimenting? We’re barely functioning. What your boyfriend and his allies did was bad enough, but now we’ve been dealing with attacks from a group of bandits calling themselves the Butchers. They are a real treat, I tell you.”
“The Butchers?” Doc asks.
Corra takes the meaty part of Mo’s thigh and plunges the syringe in before answering. “Their name implies their personality. They kill for sport. And their numbers are growing. The only thing keeping us alive is this bunker, and the weapons we still have.” She sets the syringe down. “Now we wait and see how she does.”
“We wait?” I say, worrying about Mo, but now another worry is mounting in my head. “Are the Butchers still around? Auntie and Clay are still out there.”
Corra looks over, her palms on the metal operating table. “We haven’t been attacked in a while, but they could be out there. There’s no telling where those barbarians are.”
I shoot a look at Doc. “Give me the walkie-talkie. I need to contact Clay now.”
Doc reaches in and hands over the high-tech walkie-talkie, but holds onto it as I try to draw it to my mouth. “What are you going to say? He can’t hide in here.”
I glare at Doc until he holds up a hand defensively. “It’s not me. It’s Corra’s rule.”
“I can’t just leave him out there alone.”
Doc turns to Corra, who’s watching this exchange with a nearly blank expression on her face. “Where can he go that will be safe from these bandits?”
Corra shrugs. “We can’t track their whereabouts anymore. Most of our satellite links have failed. I do have video of their last known whereabouts.”
“Let me see,” I say, still gripping the walkie-talkie.
“You’re not going to like it.” Corra puts a hand on her hip.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Corra tips her head toward the door, and then walks out, leaving Mo on the metal slab. I knew she didn’t feel for Mo like I do, but her actions make it starkly clear. She has no love for my girl. Scooping her limp body into my arms, I hold her close, taking solace in the steady beat of her heart as I exit, Doc and Ethan following.
A set of long, dank hallways leads me to the command center I remember from my days here. It used to be a high-tech room with a sleek black table, high-backed office chairs, and display screens that play right from the table’s surface. Now nothing comes to life when we enter, only the same dim emergency lighting as everywhere else. A few panels on the walls are ripped open exposing wires, and there’s the lingering smell of burned electrical equipment. Corra goes over to one of the panels and fiddles with some wires before a screen flickers to life.
We see a grainy video shot from above. On a dusty road, a group of bicyclists ride together. I count half a dozen before two giant trucks pull up, circling them. It’s too high to see their faces, but I can only imagine the terror the people on the bicycles must feel as the souped-up trucks surround them, ringing them in a cloud of dust.
Ethan, watching beside me, presses close. I wish I could put my hand on him to comfort my brother, but my hands are full of Mo.
“This is just a small section of their force,” Corra says quietly. “When they came at us, they had six trucks and dozens of men. Good thing we still had the semi-automatics working. But I think they know our bullet supply can’t last forever.” Corra’s voice is tinged with fear she is trying to hide.
On the screen, the trucks stop circling and figures jump out, hauling the people off their bikes. Luckily, it’s too high to tell what they’re doing, but it doesn’t look good. Someone is being dragged across the dirt kicking while another falls and does not get up.
“They’re killing them,” Doc says into his fist. “Why?”
“As far as we can tell,” Corra says, looking away, “they are establishing themselves as the dominant force in the region. Join them or die. Fight them and you’ll definitely die. If you have something they want, and they want everything, you die. They take women and children hostage. The men we find dead. And they seem to like the killing.”
“Like the killing,” I repeat in a whisper. “Where is this?” I ask, pointing to the still-unfolding horror on the screen.
“This is forty miles northwest of here, near the New Mexico-Arizona border.”
“Forty miles. That’s good.” Doc looks hopeful.
Corra quickly crushes it down. “They have vehicles and are getting fuel from somewhere. They can go far fast.”
“Clay’s in danger out there.” I lift the walkie-talkie to my lips.
Corra grips my hand. “If you call that traitor in here, you can forget about treatments for Mo.”
My stare is unforgiving, but she has me up against a wall. “Where can he go that’s safe?”
“With water?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.
“How are he and my aunt supposed to live without water?” I shoot back.
“None of this is my problem,” Corra says, shutting off the video and starting for the door.
Doc jumps up to block her way. “Look, you understand her wanting to protect her family. You’ve done it with the people here. Those Butchers are not a group to mess around with.”
Corra stops walking, but her expression is still hard.
“Is there somewhere safe? Somewhere with water? Can you think of anything at all?” Doc drops his voice, but I can still hear him. “It’s better than having Clay knocking on your front door.”
Whose side is he on?
She pauses. “There is a working well pump on an old fairgrounds. One time we had one of our guys out there. He got lost and had to spend the night. Was able to barricade himself inside a public restroom—all brick, still stable, off the beaten path so most wouldn’t know it’s there. Even if the Butchers passed by, they wouldn’t stop to check it out. There’s nothing there.”
Doc turns and shoots me a look.
What can I do? “How does he get there?” Corra gives me directions. Setting Mo in the chair beside me, I raise the walkie to my mouth.
Am I once again choosing Mo over everyone else?
She’s warm and quiet beside me. Breathing steadily. Getting better.
I click the walkie on and speak into it. “Clay?”
There’s a long pause where my heartbeat speeds up. Then, “Riley?”
His voice brings me back. “Clay, it’s me. Are you okay?”
“Hot as hell,” he says. “But yeah. Fine. We made it to the windmill. Watered the horses.”
“Good. Listen, Clay, fill up what you can and then you’ve got to get out of there. It isn’t safe.” My eyes flick to Corra. She’s watching with that permanent scowl on her face. “We have a place for you to go.”
There’s a crackle of static and then he says, “Go? We just got here. The horses are tired.”
“One more move and then you can stay there until we’re done here. The windmill draws too much attention, and that group, the ones that killed those people at the gas station, they’ve been hanging around. They’re brutal.”
He must hear the desperation in my voice because this time he doesn’t argue. “’Kay. I’ll get us moving. Where do we go?”
I give Clay the directions to the fairgrounds, and he seems to know where to go. “Keep safe,” I add, wishing I could bring him here, feeling angry and resentful at Corra across the room.
“Don’t worry ’bout me and Auntie. Just take care of that little ’un.”
“I love you,” I say quietly, but either he couldn’t hear me or the line has gone dead because there’s no response.
In the quiet of the room, everyone seems to be waiting for the other to break the silence. Corra is the first to move. “I’m starving. You can eat, or not. I don’t give a damn.”
She turns, marching out the open door.
Doc, Ethan, and I look at one another.
“I think that went well,” Doc says carefully.
I shoot him a l
ook.
“I’m hungry,” Ethan says.
I put an arm around his shoulder.
“Food. We all need food. And I remember the way.”
Doc hefts Mo for me, and this time I let him, using my free arm to keep Ethan close by. It will be good to have some time with him while Mo rests. Taking the path toward the cafeteria, I feel okay for the longest time in forever. This is going to work out. I can feel it.
But as I’m about to enter the open cafeteria door, a shape flies out at me, arms flailing. All I can see is blond hair and a very sharp knife.
“Riley,” the blur screams, “I’m going to kill you!”
I brace myself for attack.
“You down and dirty, back-stabbing, stupid wench!” Meaty hands smack on my head, shoulders, and arms.
“Stop!” Ethan yells. “Betsy, knock it off!”
Betsy?
When I’m able to look past the blows, I see the blond curly wig, now ratty and dirty. The chubby cheeks withered to skin and bone. The flab she had from living off the Breeders’ teat is long gone, and it’s clear from her appearance that life here with Corra has not been all that good.
“Knock it off,” I say, grabbing her wrists. She’s so weak, it’s easy to stop the attack. The fight drains out of her.
Panting and puffing, her eyes search past us into the hall. “Where’s Clay?”
“Oh, leave off it,” I say, dropping her wrists. “He’s not in love with you.”
“He’s not in love with you either!” she shouts, her shoulders slumping. “What are you doing back here anyway? You got what you wanted. You left me. Again.”
The words hit me in the chest. Betsy was once my roommate at the Breeders’ hospital. A long time ago, she helped me escape them and paid for it by having her brain poked and prodded by Nessa Vandewater. She’s not right in the head, and it’s my fault. Which is why I don’t clock her a good one for trying to steal Clay from me.
“I thought you wanted to stay here. You said you would take care of . . .” My words die out as I’m saying them. She stayed to take care of Mo. Whom I stole. Another thing I took from her.