The Breeders (29 page)

He raises the stick to strike me. Then we hear it.

Sssshhh-thck-thck-thck.

Hatch stumbles back, searching. I see her, the brown blur slithering across the dry grass. Hatch takes a step back and his foot lands on the rattler’s tail. The rattlesnake turns and springs. Her jaw unhinges. I see the flash of white fangs. Her brown, arrowed head latches onto Hatch’s exposed ankle.

“Yeeeaawww!” Hatch kicks his foot, trying to detach the snake. Her body thrashes like a long brown streamer on a windy day. She won’t let go. Hatch tumbles over the chair and lands hard on his back, his legs dangling in the air. He’s still screaming.

I watch with my hands over my mouth.

The snake slithers away, shaking a warning song as she slices an S through the dry grass. My eyes flick to Hatch. He’s moaning and yelping. Was it enough to stop him?

He rolls back and forth on his back in the dust, clutching his ankle in both hands. He tugs his foot toward his mouth in an attempt to suck the poison out, his lips curling in an anguished sneer. When he can’t get his foot to his mouth, he rolls over and pulls himself up on the tumbled armchair. A string of frothy saliva runs down the corner of his mouth. His body’s covered in a scrim of dust. His blood-shot eyes fall on me.

“
You.
” He points a shaking finger. He limps toward me, his face twisted in rage.

If he catches me, he will kill me.

I turn and sprint toward the house. His heavy footsteps thud after me. With my heart flying into my throat, I tear through the yard as fast as my legs will go. I catch my foot on a prickly shrub and take a hard fall. My elbow slams into the dust and pain spikes my mouth as I bite my tongue. I look over my shoulder. Hatch is right behind me. White froth decorates the corners of his mouth as he reaches out with a clawed hand. I scramble up and sprint across the yard. I gotta make it to the house.

I tumble through the sliding glass door, my shoulder rocking into the frame. I thud down the hall. Where to go? Kitchen! I stumble in and yank out drawers. My bound hands scramble over rusty tongs, place mats, crumpled paper napkins. Where’s a goddamn knife?

Hatch clomps up the back steps. He blows and snorts like a colt run into the ground. “You!” His face pinches with pain and rage. His arms are out, fingers hooked. He’ll tear me to pieces. I don’t wanna die at the hands of Hatch.

I sprint out of the kitchen, down the hall. I pull open the first door. A linen closet. Damn! My heart slams against my chest. I yank open the next door. The garage. I stumble down two concrete steps. The air’s thick here, the floor strewn with garbage. I slosh through it at a run. My foot
thunks
into something solid and pain shoots up my leg. I crash hard into a pile of oily rags. I think I’ve broken my toe. I push up and hear him behind me.

Hatch stands at the garage stairs, gurgling, frothing. He looks like one of the brain-eating zombies from Auntie’s horror stories. He’ll crack me open and scoop out my insides, but not before using me up first. Go! I think. I claw my way up.

He growls and tumbles down the steps.

I sprint through the open garage door and into the dark toward the fire. When I reach Ethan, he’s standing stock-still.

“Riley, is he—”

“Give me your feet!” I shout, stooping to dig at the twine around my brother’s ankles. As I’m prying off the twine, I keep shooting glances back toward the garage. I keep expecting to see Hatch running toward us, his knife raised, but nothing. I pry off Ethan’s bonds and I pull him toward the street. We skirt around the house. When we hit the pavement, I can see into the garage where I left Hatch. The dark, moaning shadow on the garage floor lets me know he won’t be coming after us. The venom is working its magic. It’s the only time I’ll thank a rattler.

“Come on,” I say, jogging next to Ethan down the moonlit street. “The hospital’s this way.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The hospital looms in the distance, all nine stories of concrete and glass glowing like an electric beacon. From here you can’t tell the horrors going on inside. When we can see each individual window, my palms glisten with sweat. We’ve jogged on and off for two hours. My shirt is soaked, I have blisters on both heels and I want a drink of water so bad I’d kill for it. Ethan stops in the shadow of a leaning streetlamp, puts his palms to his thighs and sucks in rattling breaths. When he looks up, his eyes follow mine to the building illuminated before us.

“There it is,” he whispers.

I nod and pull him into one of the vacant buildings that dot the block. We step over the pile of bricks that block the entryway. Something skitters into the darkness as we walk in, but judging by the sound, it’s too small to be a threat. This place must’ve been a restaurant based on the faded sandwich posters curling off the wall. Booths with faded yellow seats line one wall. The cracked remains of a soda fountain stands next to the cash register. Ethan walks over and pushes the lever but nothing happens.
Subway,
the sign reads in big yellow letters. I thought subways were transportation.

My eyes flick through the dark shadows, examining every doorway. My skin crawls and my heart can’t stop pumping way too fast. Part of me expects Hatch to come barreling out, hands hooked to tear me apart. We left him behind hours ago, but the look on his face as he tore through the house haunts me.

We lean against a debris-littered counter and stare at the glittering hospital.

“What’s the plan?” Ethan asks.

I gotta get him out of here. He’s sucking in far too much plaster dust and mold. He rests a hand on the counter and leaves a palm print in the dust.

“The plan is I get in somehow and you stay here.”

“No way.” He shakes his head back in forth. “I’m going.”

“Ethan, it’s not safe. I can’t take you in there.”

“I can’t stay out here,” he whines as he looks around the dark, cobwebbed space.

I think of what Clay said at the fire. Before I can stop it, an image on Ethan swims up before me. His face is slack and white. Blood splatters his chest. I shake it away. “You stay here.”

“If you don’t take me,” he says, his fists tightening, his face screwing up into that look of defiance he rarely uses, “then I’ll … I’ll go knock on the front door. They’ll let me in.” He juts out his chin.

“Ethan!” I scowl. “You’re being impossible.” I slump in a booth, streaking the dust on the tabletop. He frowns at me from across the room. The stubborn set of his mouth matches mine. And I don’t wanna leave him out here alone and unarmed. He could get in as much trouble here as inside with me.

“Fine,” I say, staring out at the glowing hospital. “But you do absolutely everything I say, when I say it.” I point my finger at him. “No questions.”

He nods, his fists loosening.

“And if I say run, you run and don’t stop. Not for me. Not for anyone. You got me?”

He nods.

I sigh, and a puff of dusts swirls off the counter and dances in the moonlight. I rub my fingers over the bridge of my nose. My legs ache from the long walk here. My shoulders are in knots. We have no food or water, no weapons of any kind. I rub my hand over my face. What the hell am I gonna do?

“How we gonna get in?” The garbage crinkles under his feet as Ethan takes a few steps toward the door and peers up.

I shake my head and rub my hand over my stiff neck. There’s a tender stab of pain at my hairline where Clay dug out my tracker. Then it hits me.

I reach into my pocket. There, at the bottom, is the little metal disk the size of a button. Carefully I draw out the microchip and hold it up to the light. But will it work?

Ethan peers at the little disk. “What is it?”

“A locator,” I say, tilting it ever so slightly in the light. “Betsy said the energy from my body activated it.” I peer into the dark cave that used to be a sandwich shop. “We need to find a knife, something sharp. Then I’m going to need your help.”

* * *

I press a strip torn from my shirt to the back of my neck and wince at the pain. Ethan re-implanted the transmitter. He said it started glowing a few minutes after we pressed it in the fold of my skin. Now he crouches beside me next to some smelly dumpsters at the back of the hospital. Black garbage bags peak over the lips of the metal bins. Some of the bags are torn open and garbage litters the ground. I push away a soiled cloth with my boot. Garbage pickers have been here. If we get spotted, it’ll be a good cover story—that we’re scavenging. I keep telling myself this as I sit with my back pressed to the stinky metal bin, my knees to my chest, my fists clenched at my sides. At least one part of my plan makes sense.

Yeah, but the rest of it’s a mess,
that nasty voice in my head says.
Even if the receiver still works, which is unlikely, and Betsy sees it, which will never happen, will she even care enough to creep downstairs and let you in? Then you’ll have to skirt the guards, find Mama, get her unhooked and get the hell out, all with Ethan at your side.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Nothing is more impossible.

In five hours it’ll be morning. And if the Sheriff’s right, it’ll be my mama’s last day alive. I take a deep breath and silence the voice in my head. There’s no time for plans, only action.

Ethan picks up a crumpled paper wrapper and starts folding it into little squares. His voice is so quiet I barely hear him. “Ri, do you think Mama will be happy to see me?”

His hair hangs over his eyes, so I can’t read his expression, but I watch the way his fingers tremble as they fold the paper into neat squares. I put my arm around his slim shoulders and pull him to me. “Course,” I whisper. “She’ll grab you up and squeeze your guts out. Only …” I haven’t told him. How can I explain this to a little boy? “There’s something I gotta tell you.”

He looks up at me, his face tightening. His eyes are round saucers in the moonlight. “She’s hurt, ain’t she?”

I pick up a ceramic shard lying next to my boot and rub my thumb along the smooth surface. “Not exactly.”

“What then?”

I take a deep breath. “They’ve knocked her unconscious.” I meet his gaze now and plow through the rest. “She’ll look like she’s sleeping, but she’s not. She may be hard to wake up.”

Ethan stares into my eyes for a few tense seconds. I wonder if he’ll cry, but his eyes are dry, his face solemn. I keep forgetting all he’s been through.

“Okay,” he says turning toward the hospital. “Let’s go get her.”

An old soul, my little brother.

“There’s no way I can keep you outside,” I say, more of a statement than a question.

He shakes his head.

“Fine,” I say, sighing. “I wish for once I could keep you outta trouble.”

“You need me,” he says, puffing up his narrow chest. I tussle his hair. He’s not even nine. God, what a life for a kid.

A hinge creaks behind us. Our heads snap toward the sound. Across the dirty lot, a door opens. The rectangle of dim light widens as we watch. Ethan’s hand claws for mine. I grab it and drag him closer. Someone’s coming.

“Come on, you silly heads,” the shadow whispers. “Get your tushies in here.”

Betsy. Oh, thank God. I stand, pulling Ethan up. We jog toward the round shadow. I send Ethan up the five metal steps and I follow. When the door shuts, Betsy throws her arms around me.

“Agatha,” she says, her cheek pressed to my ear. “I’m so glad to see you.”

I hug her once, pull back and take her in. Her belly has deflated, leaving a saggy middle that pouches beneath her gown. Her hair blond curls are down, bounding onto her shoulders. I grip her hand. “You came. I had no idea if you’d see my signal.”

She smiles and nods. “I did. Weirdest thing, I’d put that tracker away when you left, but today I found it on my nightstand. And turned on, too. But here you are. And who is this?” She asks turning to Ethan. “What a
cutie,
” she says, pinching his cheek.

I blink, processing. “Wait a minute, someone set the tracker on your nightstand?” The hairs on my arms rise.

Betsy nods. “Anyway, you’re here. What’re you doing back? Couldn’t take it out there, right? Awful, I heard.” She turns to Ethan and sticks her bottom lip out in a mock pouty face. “Awful,
wight
?”

“Betsy,” I say, grabbing her arm, “we got no time. We need to get my mom and get the hell out.”

“That’s, uh, that’s going to be exceedingly difficult,” says a voice behind us.

Stepping through the shadows, a masculine form emerges in dark slacks and too-large lab coat. His smudgy glasses reflect a ray of light.

“Rayburn,” I say, grabbing onto Ethan. “What’re you doing here?”

“Well, how’d you think I got down here, silly?” Betsy says, putting her hands on her hips.

Rayburn and Betsy. They’re both here, willing to stick their necks out for me. Yet something about this whole thing seems off. If I had time, I could puzzle it out. I don’t. I turn to Rayburn. “I don’t care how tough it is. What we gotta do to get her out?”

Rayburn shrugs and peers at me behind the film of his glasses. “I can get you into the plan B room. Unplugging your mother—well, uh, that’s another story.”

I reach out and put my hand on his arm. He stiffens at the touch. “You’ll figure it out. I know you can do it.”

He clears his throat and blinks at me.

“Come on,” I say. “We don’t have time.”

We slip through the shadowed storage room that smells of old garbage, past the shelves of cleaning supplies, the yellow mop buckets, the industrial sink. Then we gather in front of the door that leads into the hospital.

I give Rayburn a little nudge to make sure he’s listening. “We go quiet and fast to plan B. Rayburn, can you take us on a route to avoid the guards? If we see someone, we’ll have to try to hide, which could be—”

“I can get you past the guards,” Rayburn says with more conviction than I’ve ever heard him.

“Okay,” I say. I look around at the faces before me in the dim light: Betsy’s round, expectant one; Ethan’s slim, worried one; Rayburn’s jowly nervous one. “Everyone ready?” They nod. “Okay,” I say again. “Let’s go.”