The Breeders Part 26

Rayburn and I take turns driving and tending to the wounded. Clay is in the worst shape. He's lost so much blood. Rayburn stops the bleeding and administers antibiotics, but without blood to give, it's hard to tell if he'll make it. When I'm not driving and gripping the steering wheel so tight my fingerprints embed in the wheel, I'm sitting in the back of the van holding Clay's and Mama's hands. She has yet to wake up. Rayburn just shrugs, but from what Dr. Vandewater claimed, Mama's life is in as much jeopardy as Clay's now.

We run out of gas next to an abandoned church down a long driveway. I look up at the bleached adobe building as Rayburn pulls slowly behind the back wall with the last of our gas. Some of the colored gla.s.s windows have a few panes intact. The giant wood cross aims skyward from the roof like a conduit straight to G.o.d. I sigh. It's as good a place as any to see who lives and dies.

I hobble through the old church, scouting out a room for Mama. In the sanctuary, with rows of sagging wooden pews, I scare a flock of birds out of the nest they've built in the organ pipes. They fly up out of a hole in the roof. Two tattered banners drape from the walls on either side of the little stage in the center. One says Peace with a silk dove sown below it; the other says Hope with a large brown cross. I grab a few crusty pew cus.h.i.+ons and carry them down the hall.

I find the room a few doors down. This quiet little nook must've been the church's small library-stacks of yellow books lie in piles where they've spilled out of the tilted shelves. I push them out of the way. A book called The Fiddler loses its binding and cracks in my hands. The pages flutter out like tattered moth wings. The Heaven Answer Book must've had better glue because it stays intact. I turn the crackling book over in my hands. Maybe I'll try to read it if I have time. I could use some answers. Like why Betsy and not me? And what will happen to my mama if she dies? I set the books down and make a cozy nest for my mother. Then I walk back out to the van and help carry her in.

Rayburn and I settle her on the cus.h.i.+ons. They smell faintly of bird droppings but it's the best I can do. I lay her veined hands over her stomach. She looks lovely with the dim afternoon light filtering in through the cobwebbed windows. Her burned face is set as in a peaceful slumber. Suddenly I have a vision of her inside one of the plushy coffins from before things fell apart. I shake the image away.

"Mama," I whisper, pus.h.i.+ng a few strands off the burned part of her face. "Wake up," I say, running my thumb over her hand. "Ethan needs you." I choke back a sob. "I need you."

When she doesn't stir, I set her hand down and limp out to the van to help bring in Clay. I find Ethan and Rayburn hauling him out. In the sunlight, Clay's face looks like the pages of the books in there, pale, worn and fragile. There are large grayish circles under his eyes. The apples of his cheeks flare bright red in the white of his face. His eyes flutter open and he groans as they ease him into the small sanctuary. In one corner I've made a bed for him out of pew cus.h.i.+ons. As they settle him onto the cus.h.i.+ons, puffs of dust swirl through the triangles of light streaming in from the ceiling. Rayburn and Ethan go back to the van for supplies. I sit beside Clay and tuck the cus.h.i.+ons around him.

Clay's eyes flutter as he reaches for me with his good hand. His bandaged right hand lies lifelessly on his chest. I'm too afraid to look at what's underneath. Will he ever draw from the hip again?

He runs the back of his hand over the bruise where his father hit me. I lean down and touch my lips to his parched ones.

He gives a delightful moan. "Is that all I get?" His voice is gravely and weak. "No sugar after I shot our way out?"

I smile wanly. "You'll get plenty of sugar when you're better." I brush the sweaty clumps of hair out of his eyes. His lids flutter again. He swims out of sleep and his face tightens in pain.

I start to stand. "I'll get you some of Rayburn's magic pills," I say. "Thank G.o.d for those supplies Betsy got us."

And there it is, the wave of pain that punches me in the stomach every time I think about Betsy. I haven't slept since the hospital. When I do, I know I'll see her face as those guards closed in like piranhas on a chunk of meat. Her terrified eyes greet me from every darkened doorway. Her cries echo from every quiet corner.

I jump as Clay's hand closes over mine. I offer a weak smile.

"It wasn't your fault," he says. "Nothing you could do to save her."

"Nothing?" I ask. I picture Betsy's face. I've spent the hours since going over every detail. If I'd had Clay's feet instead. If I'd been a second quicker. If I'd jumped out of the truck instead of hesitating. There were lots of things I could've done.

"Stop torturing yourself." He reaches for me again, but this time I don't fall into his arms. I like torturing myself. Maybe someday I'll stop, but not today.

"Riley!" Ethan's shrill voice calls from down the hall. I snap my head around.

"Go," Clay says, his eyes wide with fear.

I bolt from the sanctuary into the little library where we've tucked my mother. I scramble to a stop, knocking over a pile of books, sending up a cloud of dust.

"What?" I ask, stepping over the books to get to Ethan. "What is it?"

He doesn't answer. Instead he moves aside.

Mama's eyes are open. "Riley?" she asks.

For weeks, I'd been racking my brain to remember the color of Mama's eyes. I remembered they were brown like mine, but what shade? Chocolate? Mocha? Coffee? Where there flecks in the center? How did they look when they fell on me? How did I feel at that moment when my mother saw me and liked what she saw?

I kneel down, my trembling hand reaching for hers. Her cracked lips draw up in a smile. "Baby," she whispers.

I look into my mother's deep brown eyes. Now I remember.

In the light of an electric torch, I lean over Clay's sweat-flecked face as Rayburn readies the scalpel over Clay's exposed thigh. I look into Clay's eyes.

"Are you ready?" I whisper. I offer a leather bible cover. Clay folds it in half and nods. His face tightens, sweat streaming down in rivulets. He places the cover in his mouth and bites down.

I take his hand. "Squeeze as hard as you need." If only I could take the pain for him.

He nods again, but his eyes trace up into the rafters of the church as he readies himself.

I watch his face as Rayburn takes the scalpel and presses it into the bullet hole in Clay's thigh.

Clay's grip tightens on my fingers. His teeth pierce the leather. Rayburn begins muttering as he digs.

"Hurry, Rayburn," I say, as Clay's back arches and a little moan escapes his lips.

"I'm, uh, trying," Rayburn says. He swipes his forearm across his sweaty brow and goes back to searching for the bullet. Clay's hand tightens around mine again. The smell of blood and antiseptic makes my stomach churn, but I clench my jaw and fight the sickness. Clay needs me. Finally, Rayburn sighs and holds up b.l.o.o.d.y tweezers. At the end is the red slug.

I let out a puff of air. "Over," I say, patting Clay's hand. He gives a slight nod, but his face is still twisted in pain. He's more pale than usual. A s.h.i.+ver runs through him, though it's still nearly eighty degrees inside the church. I press my lips to his sweaty forehead. "You did great."

He leans into me and tries to smile. "Nursemaid, too," he says. "Nothing you can't do, hmm?"

I smile and wipe sweat from his brow with the hem of my s.h.i.+rt. "Can't keep you from getting shot up. Can't do that, can I?"

Rayburn finishes bandaging the wound and packs up his med kit. "I'll, uh, go out to the fire." He looks at me, adjusting his bleary gla.s.ses. "I gave him some morphine. He, uh, he needs to rest."

Clay nods, his eyes drooping. "You go out to the fire," he slurs. "I'll be fine."

I kiss his hand, the one that's not a giant, bandaged mess. I tuck the ratty curtain he's using as a blanket around him. Before I'm out the door, he's breathing evenly.

In the barren churchyard, Ethan's built a small fire. Rayburn sits Indian-style on the ground, digging into a can of food from the van. Mama and Ethan sit hip to hip. She's got her arms around him and he leans into her embrace. It's so good to see them sitting there together. Now it's my turn.

"I told her everything," Ethan says as I walk up to the fire.

"Lord, I hope not," I say smiling. She smiles back. It's so good to see my mother smile.

"He told me all the best parts," she says, her voice lilting, musical. "He saved the gory details for later." She pats the curtain she's spread over the dust. "Come, darling. Fill in the rest."

I fold myself into her.

Ethan pokes a stick into the blaze and then uses the burning end to trace red shapes in the darkness. "Mama knew Clay's mother. You know, the lady at the hospital."

I turn to Mama. "You knew Clay's mother?"

Mama nods. She's still weak, almost frail, but her mannerisms are all the same as I remember. The corner of her mouth lifts just before she speaks. "When I knew her, Nessa Vandewater wasn't such a fancy pants. She was just another patient like me at the Breeder's hospital. That was the year before you were born," she says, touching my knee. Her eyes trail back to the fire.

"They brought Nessa in already pregnant and big as a house." She rounds her arms out to mimic a giant belly. "I guess that was your friend Clay." She looks up at me. I blush and turn my eyes to the glowing embers.

"Anyway, Nessa always told us she was some sort of genius. All us girls on her floor thought she was crazy. Some girls come in that way, baked in the head." She looks down at Ethan who's writing his name in the dust with his stick. "Then they came for her one day and we didn't see her for a long time. We thought she'd been taken down to the experiments. Later we found out she was in charge of them. Turns out she was a genius after all."

I study the fire, considering this. "So she experimented on the same girls she'd been friends with?"

Mama shakes her head. "Nessa never had friends. She didn't care if she ruined girls' lives, killed people. Never was right in the head." My mother s.h.i.+vers. She lifts her eyes to mine. "I'm sure your friend Clay's not like that."

"He's not," I say. I think about him alone in that dark church and frown. "What about Clay's brother, Cole? He was born four years after Clay."

Mama shrugs. "That was after your Auntie broke us out of the hospital, sweetie. What happened to Nessa after that is anyone's guess."

I ponder this while the fire crackles and the bugs chirp shrilly around us.

"What'd we do now?" Ethan asks, chucking his stick into the fire. It crinkles and pops as the blaze eats it up.

We all look at him as if it hasn't occurred to us to ask this question. Of course it's occurred to us. Just none of us are sure of how to answer it. I open my mouth to speak, but then my eyes flick up to my mama.

She nods at me. "Don't stop on my account. What should we do, Riley?"

I sigh deep. "I think we should go back for Auntie. With the Sheriff dead, Clay's got claim as leader of that town. The Warden won't give up easily, but we can't leave Auntie behind."

Mama nods. Her eyes s.h.i.+ne as she pats my hand. "I couldn't have said it better myself, darling."

Above the stars are a handful of sparkles tossed across the night sky. The fire pops and crackles. The night insects sing their shrill melody. Beside me Ethan hums a little tune under his breath. Even Rayburn's shuffling and sniffing blends in until, if I closed my eyes, the scents and sounds could transport me home. With my eyes still closed, I lean in and rest my head on my mama's shoulder and inhale her earthen scent.

For a moment I almost say, Let's go home, but I stop myself. Here in the dark, with my family and Clay not too far, I realize home isn't a building or a place we'll travel.

I'm already home.

Three Weeks Later "Get a move on, slow poke!" I yell down the hallway. Yelling in a church is probably a sin, but I'm not sure anyone's up there counting. If they are, I owe them big time.

Ethan comes loping around the corner, carrying one of the hospital supply bags over his shoulder. It looks like it weighs more than he does. I grab it for him and heft it up. "Is this the last of it?"

He nods, his hair far too long now, brus.h.i.+ng the bridge of his nose. He tosses his head to move it out of his eyes. "All the other supplies are in the van."

Ethan and I walk out to the church's dusty front lawn. Rayburn loads the gasoline he purchased in the closest town over. He won't stop belly-aching about the sores on his heels from the six-mile walk, but I think he's pleased with himself. He should be. It's no slouch bartering in town when you look like a pudgy seventeen-year-old with gla.s.ses and loafers.

I toss the heavy bag in the back of the van. Gentle footsteps tread up the gravel. I can tell it's my mama without turning around. She walks up, folding a blanket in her arms. She wears a hospital gown, which she's st.i.tched to make it snug and a pair of scrub pants we found in the van. She looks solid, more like the mother I knew everyday. I note the slight swell of her tummy as she pads toward me. We haven't talked about what Dr. Vandewater said about the mutated fetus she's carrying. That'll wait until the time comes. For now I try not to think how hard it'll be for her to be pregnant on the run. It doesn't matter, I tell myself. She's tough. And, so it turns out, am I.

I walk up the path and lean in for a hug. I've been doing this all too often. I wake each morning in a panic that she's gone. Only when I roll over and see her sleeping on the floor beside me does my heart slow its patter.

"Are we ready, darlings?" she says, as I release her. Ethan comes over and slips his hands around her waist. She rests her hand on his shoulder.

"All set, except Clay." My eyes trace back to the open door. It takes him longer to do most things now, though he doesn't complain.

My mother pats my cheek. "Go get him, my love."

She doesn't have to tell me twice.

I stride through the open archway and into the interior of the church. The wooden floors creak under my footsteps. My eyes trace past the little enclaves in the wall where decaying saints watch. I pa.s.s a giant wooden cross, tilted to one side. For a moment I wonder if these relics are why we've been so lucky, left alone here in the desert for so long. I touch the rough wooden cross. It's about time we had some d.a.m.n luck.

I stop at the entryway to the sanctuary and take a deep breath. Even though Clay and I have been boyfriend and girlfriend for the last three weeks, I still get b.u.t.terflies every time I stand here.

I rap my knuckles twice on the ancient wood as I enter. I hear a shuffling in the shadows beyond, but can't see him until he steps into the streamers of light from the busted window. Dimples form in the corners of his cheeks as he smiles. "Come in, madam." He gives a mock bow. "You'll have to excuse the mess. It's the maid's day off."

I stride down the aisle and into his arms. The stubble on his cheek rubs deliciously against mine as he nuzzles my neck.

I run a hand over his cheek. "No shave?"

He leans in to my touch. "Can't manage without slicing my own throat. Gonna need some help 'til I work out being a lefty."

He holds up his bandaged hand to ill.u.s.trate. It's wrapped in gauze, but I know what's underneath: a ragged bullet hole straight through his palm. He's got all his fingers, but right now they're useless. Rayburn says he might be able to get some function back, but it'll be slow. The pain is nothing compared to the ache of knowing he'll never draw from that hip again. He looks down at his hand, frowns and then uses it to pull me to him.

His breath is hot and sweet on my neck. "Do we got a sec for that sympathy lovin' you promised me?" He runs his nose along my jaw. I s.h.i.+ver as fire surges through me.

Everyone else is at the van. Being alone with him sends tingles to all the right parts of my body. His arms slide around my waist and pull me to his chest. The heat from his body burns against mine. I look up into this eyes, steel blue with flecks of gray. He runs his hand through my hair, traces the pads of his fingers down neck, across my collarbone. I'm breathless. My head's spinning.

"Everybody's outside, right?" he asks, leaning in to kiss the hollow of my throat.

Blood is rus.h.i.+ng to my head. "Mmm hmm."

"Good," he says, letting his lips trail up my neck to my chin. My heart's thrumming like an electrical wire. His left hand grips the back of my head.

He pulls me closer. I smell the sweetness of his breath on my mouth. My heart pounds a crazy rhythm in my chest when our lips meet.

Kissing him is letting cool water slip over your body on a scorching day. Like the charge that crackles in the air after a lightening storm. Like the eating the last chocolate on earth, the sweetness melting on your tongue. I don't have words for this feeling. I forget comparisons. I lean into his chest and wrap myself around him.

Outside the horn beeps. We pull apart, breathless. He kisses me on the forehead and then takes my hand. "Time to go."

So much of me wants to stay here in this room with him and let the hours and days spin out around us. We're heading back into dangerous country where every day something will threaten to pull us apart. I lace my fingers through his but don't take a step forward. I don't know if I'm strong enough to face what awaits.

He tugs on my arm. "You ready?" His understanding eyes seem to realize what he's asking.

I shake my head.

He nods and pulls me to him. I rest my head on his chest. His voice is low and rea.s.suring. "Riley, I'm going to protect you."

"I know," I whisper into the fabric of his s.h.i.+rt.

"We'll be okay," he says, pulling back so he can look in my eyes. "We will."

"How can you be so sure?" I glance out his little window to the dusty landscape. It looks extra harsh and uninviting now.

He takes my hand and pulls forward. "Because," he says smiling, "we'll be together."

A ghost of a smile touches my lips. I follow Clay out the door. I don't know what troubles lay in wait like hungry animals, ready to claw us to pieces. I don't know if we'll be safe from the forces that will threaten us. But I know we'll be together. I grip his hand tighter as we step into the suns.h.i.+ne. Right now, being together is enough.