Part 21 (2/2)

”Okay,” I say slowly. So it's not safe to talk. He leads me down the warped hallway, stepping past a hole where the floor has sunken in. Just before we come into full view of the others, Clay's hand seeks out mine. The soft pads of his fingers trace the skin of my palm. My heart pounds, but as quick as it came, the touch is gone. He strides toward the fire pit, calling to Ethan. I cup my tingling hand to my chest and step into the suns.h.i.+ne.

Ethan's perched on a log, his cheeks stuffed like a squirrel's, a half-eaten chicken leg clutched in his hand. Hatch sits on the dry gra.s.s with a hunk of chicken in his hands. Grease runs from the corners of his mouth, down his thick neck. He wipes an oily hand on the bib of his dirt-streaked overalls. As I sit next to Ethan, Hatch's eyes track me.

Clay crouches over the skillet and plucks off hunks of crispy chicken meat-a little burnt, but smelling delicious. He makes a plate with the chicken, a fat brown roll and a jug of milk. When I take a drink, the milk is warm and fresh. I stare up at him in wonder.

He smiles. ”Pa got it in town. We like to eat good even on the road.”

I look around for the Sheriff, but he's missing from our circle. I nod toward the ruts in the driveway where the van was parked. ”Where'd he go?”

Clay looks at me and then slips a glance at Hatch. Hatch keeps his eyes on the chicken skin he's peeling and eating in big greasy bites.

”He's getting supplies for the ride home,” Clay says.

”Oh,” I say, feeling stung. ”Are we going home?” My voice wavers like I can't seem to figure out what it should sound like.

He takes a bite of his bread roll, chews carefully. ”Soon's you feel up to it.”

My eyes slip to Hatch. ”I feel fine.”

My mama, on the other hand, does not feel fine. She doesn't get to eat chicken. She'll take the rest of her meals, however many she has left, through a tube in her arm. I picture her sunken face and a cold s.h.i.+ver pa.s.ses over me.

Clay's brow furrows. ”You cold?” He stands. ”I'll get you a jacket.”

I reach up, grab his sleeve and pull him back down. I throw on a smile. ”Sit down. Just someone walking over my grave.”

Hatch belches, stands and lumbers off, undoing his overalls. I watch his hair speckled back recede in the distance. This is my chance. Once he's gone, I lean toward Clay. ”What about my mama? We can't just leave her there. Who knows how long she'll hold out?”

Clay locks eyes on the chicken in his hands. ”Riley, I know you're worried, but we can't just rush into the Breeder's hospital guns blazing. There ain't nothing we can do till we get home. After that, we'll ...” He finally looks up at me. ”We'll come up with a plan.”

I pull back sharply. ”What're you saying? Leave her there? We can't leave her there. That,” I say, pointing somewhere in the distance, ”is my mother!”

”Riley, listen.” He turns to me. ”I know you love your ma, but it can't work. I just don't see-”

”Of course you don't see,” I say, standing up. Fire burns through my brain. There's no stopping what comes out, no matter how ugly it is. ”You're the one who let his pa sell his own mother to the Breeders. Did you help pack her bags?”

Anger rushes into his face. ”That's not fair,” he says, his voice controlled only barely. ”I was just a little kid. I don't even remember her.”

”What's not fair,” I say, my voice trembling, ”is my mama turned into a living corpse left to rot in a bas.e.m.e.nt.” I clench my fists. ”That is NOT fair.”

Clay shoulders tighten as he glowers into the fire. ”You're ready to fight the Breeders?” He turns to me, eyes blazing. ”The most heavily armed, well-guarded place in the whole G.o.dd.a.m.n world!?” He stands and points a finger in my face. ”You're recklessness will get you killed! And him, too!” He points at Ethan.

I stand. ”Don't bring him into it.” I shoot a glance to Ethan. He's staring at us wide-eyed, a chicken leg dangling forgotten in his hand.

”Yes, I'll bring him into it!” Clay shouts. ”You want to know how my brother died? Probably not, because you don't give a d.a.m.n, but I'm gonna tell ya anyway. Cole was ten. Him and me, we was like you and Ethan. We went everywhere together. One day I was driving us home and I spotted a s.h.i.+ny sports car parked on the side of the road. I pulled over and thought we'd have a look-see. I shoulda known better, but I was stupid and fourteen. When we walked up to the car, they was waiting for us. Two men jumped us. Took everything we had. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d cut me here,” he pulls down his s.h.i.+rt revealing a jagged three-inch scar above his heart. ”Cole-” He grimaces. ”He bled out in my arms.” He looks down at his empty hands.

He lifts his head, anger replacing the pain. ”That's what's going to happen to him,” he points wildly to Ethan, ”if you rush into that hospital.”

I shake my head. ”I'm not asking to go on some joy ride in a sports car. I'm asking you to save my mama's life.”

”Doesn't matter,” he says, stepping away. He looks up at Ethan. ”When he dies in your arms, it won't matter why you went.”

”Clay-” I reach for his arm.

He pulls away and stalks off into the distance. There's a pain in my chest, like an iron fist squeezing my heart into pieces. When I fit it back together, my heart will be a sharp jagged thing, ready to slash at anyone who gets near me.

Ethan's at my arm, tugging. ”Riley, go after him.”

I shake my head wildly. ”No. And you're not, either.”

Ethan cringes at the tone of my voice. ”What d'you mean?”

”We leave him behind.”

”Why?” he whines.

I stare into Ethan's wet eyes. ”Because he's still on the wrong side.”

The tears start to well in Ethan's eyes, but I grip his forearm. ”No crying. Not for him.”

Ethan s.n.a.t.c.hes his arm away and runs off without a word.

I stand alone, batting at the hot tears that p.r.i.c.k at the corners of my eyes. Alone is better. The only person that can cut you when you're alone is yourself.

It's late afternoon when I finally peak out of my room. The house is quiet. I haven't seen or heard anyone since the incident at the fire. I've been hunkered down, too, licking my wounds, but I gotta pee something fierce. I slip through the dank hallway, out the door and out into the fresh air. The birds twitter in the eaves of the houses around us. The brittle weeds crunch beneath my feet as I walk into the back yard of the abandoned neighboring house.

I slide behind a faded plastic play climber and take care of business. The plastic's hot on my bare skin, but being out of that dust-clogged room lets me breathe again. When I'm finis.h.i.+ng up, I hear something moving in the shadows of the house behind me. An image of the deranged stranger who shot me flashes through my head. I step back until I'm pressed against a chain-link fence, my pulse in my throat. Metal digs into my back as I eye the dark entryway. Who's in there? Forget it. I don't wanna know. I grip the rusted fence, ready to boost myself up, I see the s.h.i.+ne off an egg-shaped head in the house. Hatch, following me again.

Hatch appears at the doorway and clomps down the rotting back steps into the yard. His bare feet, blackened at the soles, make slapping sounds on the ancient wooden boards. His mouth hangs open as his eyes run up my body again.

”What do you want?” One hand searches my pocket. No weapons. My eyes flit around the yard for something to brain him with and come up with nothing.

He scratches a bug bite on his bald nugget of a head and hunches up his shoulders.

”Clay said you weren't supposed to be around me.” I lean into the fence, the metal diamonds pressing into my back. I can be over it and gone in seconds.

Hatch takes another step toward me. The stairs moan under his weight. ”Clay's not the boss. Boss don't care where I go, he said.” His eyes linger at the swell of my chest beneath my t-s.h.i.+rt.

It might be reckless, but recklessness is all I have left to save my mother's life. I take a step toward the giant blocking my path. ”Hatch, were you following me?”

He blinks at me for a moment as if the gears in his head turn real slow. He's missing at least a half-dozen teeth. He points to my hair. ”You smell like flowers.”

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