Part 9 (1/2)

I shake my head. ”Not yet, but I need you to tell me where I'm going. Where's my mama?”

Clay stares, red-eyed over the moonlit road. He shakes his head. ”There's no use. You'll never get in.”

I veer around a stretch of blacktop that's completely fallen away and then meet his eyes. ”I'll get in.”

Clay snorts. ”Sure. Let's just break into the Breeder's facility, shall we? Brilliant. Even my pa wouldn't mess with those sons-a-b.i.t.c.hes.”

I grip the steering wheel with white knuckles. ”It's your pa's fault in the first place. If he hadn't sold my mama to the Breeders, we wouldn't be in this mess.”

He doesn't meet my eyes when he answers. ”I ain't sayin' it's right, but she was of fertile age. They pay good money.” He looks off into the star-filled horizon. ”'Sides, if you don't, they come burn the town down.”

I s.h.i.+ver in the darkness, thinking about the Breeders again. I picture men's bodies with grotesque animal features-slitted snake eyes, forked tongues, arms that extend to scorpion pinchers. I shake the image out of my head. Those are just old wives tales. They gotta be.

”Have you ever seen a Breeder?”

He shakes his head. ”Don't want to.”

I drive around a charred car frame and fight off images of my mama being tortured. ”We're going to the hospital,” I say, my jaw tight.

Clay pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. ”Are you gonna be this difficult the whole time?”

”Yes.”

”Fine. I'll take you to the hospital, you'll see it's locked up tighter than a bull's a.s.s during mating season and then we can go. It's 300 miles west in what's left of Albuquerque. We'll stop at my friend Bennett's, fuel and water up. Get a decent night's sleep before heading out.”

I straddle a crinkled car m.u.f.fler between my tires. ”We stay one night and then on to the hospital.”

He shakes his head. ”We need time to come up with a plan.”

”One night,” I say. Suddenly, my eyelids droop and my vision's doubling. The Jeep jostles as I pull to the shoulder. ”You can drive. I'm tired.”

We slip out of our doors and walk around the Jeep. As I'm almost to the pa.s.senger side, I spot the eye s.h.i.+ne in the distance. Three pairs of copper coin eyes glow in the moonlight. A black and white tail twitches up at our scent. It's a mother skunk leading two kits on a hunt. One of the kits, curious and alert, sniffs toward me. The mother yaps once and the kit trots back in line.

As their bushy tails recede into the darkness, I ache for my mother. I used to think her rules were the source of all my problems. Now I have all the freedom I want and feel completely lost.

”You coming?” Clay removes his hat and runs his hands through his wavy brown hair.

I hop in the pa.s.senger seat, close my eyes and hope Clay will take us where we need to go.

When the Jeep lurches to a stop, dawn is spreading out in reds and oranges on the horizon. Next to me, Clay rubs his red-rimmed eyes.

”We're here.” He pops out of the Jeep and walks toward the house in front of us.

At first glance the red farmhouse reminds me of home. The simple one-story ranch sits alone on a few acres of dirt. There's a windmill in back for water and an outhouse in the side yard. When I look closer, the differences are clear. The yard could double as a junk heap. On either side of the walkway, rusted car parts, worn out shoes, a crooked bike tire and loads of other junk, discarded and forgotten. A beat-up barn cat with one eye slinks out behind a stalk of scrub gra.s.s and darts under the rotting porch. The stink of human waste wafts from the outhouse.

Clay hops up on the porch and knocks on the door.

”Where are we?” Ethan leans forward and brushes the hair out of his sleepy eyes.

”Bennett's. Stick close to me. If I say run, bolt to the Jeep.”

Ethan furrows his brow. We watch as Clay peeks in the broken sidelights beside the front door.

I pull the bandanna up over my mouth and nose to disguise my face. I have to pee, but I'll hold it as long as I can. Catching me peeing would uncover my secret for sure. The smelly outhouse might be my only bet. The dozens of flies buzzing around the back promise an interesting experience.

The front door bangs open. A naked man stands in the doorway. His emaciated frame reminds me of a skeleton wrapped in beef jerky. He points a double-barrel shotgun at Clay's chest. The c.o.c.king of the barrel echoes around the front yard.

”Who's goes?” the naked man growls. His look is wild, almost rabid.

Clay holds up his hands and takes a step back. ”I-I'm looking for Bennett.”

”Who in Sam Hill are you?” The wrinkly old man keeps both barrels pointed at Clay.

My hand reaches toward the driver seat, but Clay took his revolvers with him. d.a.m.n. I reach around the seat for some sort of weapon.

A figure steps behind the old man and puts a hand on his shoulder. ”It's okay, Pop. Clay's a friend.”

The old man spits a wad of phlegm on the porch, but lowers the shotgun. The young man steps around his father and pats Clay's shoulder.

The young man, who must be Bennett, is bare-chested and I'm worried nudity is a rule here. Luckily, his lower half is clad in a pair of jeans more holey than Mama's colander.

”What you doing here?” Bennett smiles and whacks Clay a couples more times on the back. ”Wasn't expecting you.”

Bennett is a little older than Clay, probably in his early twenties. He has most of his teeth and a thin, wiry physique. He's got long, dirty-blond hair that trails down to his bare shoulders and a crooked nose that looks like it's been broken a few times. I notice a heavy limp when he shuffles around the porch. Nearly everyone falls prey to some injury or illness by the time they reach their third decade. Bennett seems friendly enough though, clapping Clay on the back, but something about this whole scene makes my skin crawl.

Clay tucks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. ”We're just pa.s.sing through. On my way to Albuquerque. Thought I'd stop by and say howdy.”

Bennett hitches up his jeans that have slipped down his hips. ”Albuquerque, eh? Big daddy got you taking stock to the Breeders?” Bennett leans around Clay and scans the Jeep. I stiffen as we lock eyes.

”Naw. Just some friends who need a lift into the city.” Clay waves us out. I stiffen. After seeing this place, I want to stay in the Jeep the whole visit.

”Well, bring 'em in,” Bennett says, waving us into the house.

Clay gestures again and, when we don't move, glares at us while Bennett's back is turned. I guess staying in the Jeep isn't an option. Ethan and I slink toward the house. When I step on the porch and Bennett sees me, his smile falls.

”What's with the mask, extrano?” he asks me, his eyes narrowing.

Any good feelings evaporate. I shrug.

He turns to Clay. ”You bringing fugitives into my home?” His tone slips from friendly to dangerous.

Clay offers up a smile and turns to me. ”Cut the act, Riley. Smell's not that bad.” He nods toward the outhouse. ”What you got in that outhouse, Ben, a maggot farm?”

Bennett doesn't answer. He keeps his cold eyes locked on me.