The Believers (The Breeders Series - Book 2) (20 page)

“Do ya know how plum crazy you sound? The Messiah's not gonna kill his people,” Clay says, shaking his head. “I talked to him this mornin'. He was busy organizin' the workload to batten down for the storm. Why would he care if he was gonna end 'em all?”

I open my mouth, but no response comes out.

“Maybe he just wants to kill the bad guys?” Ethan offers.

“Maybe, little man.” Clay crouches down and smiles at Ethan. “We don't got to worry none. I got us covered.”

I scoff. Clay flashes me a look. “You got something to say?” he asks, anger finally creeping into his voice.

Is that what I wanted all along? To stir him up just to prove I still could? I shrug, looking over at Mama. Now it’s her turn to stare at the carpet.

“Say it.” He steps forward until his chest is a foot from mine. “Go on. Say it.”

I grit my teeth. “Just because you party with them doesn't mean that they won't smoke you the
first time
you fall outta line.” I meet his eyes and, for once, am not melted by them. “They're
bad
people, Clay. They only care about themselves.”

“Bad people who saved yer ma?” He shoots a finger at her.

“For a pric—”

“Bad people who fed you, clothed you, kept you safe.” He hits his palm with his fist with each item on the list. “Who let you do whatever the hell you please.” His tone slings more venom than I've heard in a while. This isn't what I wanted.

“They locked us up like
animals
.” My own hands curl into fists.

“That was for their safety and ours. But you ain't locked up now, are ya?” His blue eyes have lost their fire. Now they're cold, a temperature much more terrifying. Is that disgust on his face? Does he hate me now? My anger folds like a chair, leaving me teetering on the edge of tears. This isn’t supposed to be happening. My gaze falls on the sore at his lip. I drop my head. How can I blame him for seeing their side when I’m the one who let them open his eyes?

“I gotta go,” he says, turning.

Ethan pulls out of Mama’s arms. “Wait, Clay!” He throws himself onto Clay, skinny arms cinching around Clay’s waist. For a moment Clay's stiff, but then his hands fall on Ethan’s head.

“It’s okay, little man,” he says, his eyes turning to me. “This isn't the end.”

Sand. Sand covers everything: coating the floor, the tables, thickening the air that we suck into our lungs. We tie scraps of cloth over our mouths and noses. Still, we nearly drown in sand. People disappear into their rooms. Dunes have begun to pile up near the doors and all over the food court, drifting against tables and up around the restaurant kiosks until the whole place looks like a ghost town swallowed by the Mohave. Even though it’s only noon, darkness has descended throughout the mall, plunging us all into a murky twilight. The power keeps flickering off and on, everything choked by sand.

After the meeting we all agreed to leave the morning after communion. We won’t be able to leave tonight with the sandstorm raging outside anyway. We’ll have to wait until it dies down.

With no one around to make a fuss, I bring Ethan and Rayburn into my room. We sit on the stained mattress and eat rough grain cakes that stick between our teeth. Between the gritty air and the dry cakes, my mouth feels like an old boot buried in the desert. I chew the last of my cake, swallow, and cough.

“God, those things could be used as artillery. If we run out of bullets, we'll just chuck these,” I say, cleaning my teeth with my tongue.

Ethan doesn't laugh at my weak joke. A dusting of sand covers his skin and hair making him look like a kid made out of mud. He’s been hacking more than I’d like. This dust storm has to die down or he’ll hack up his lungs.

Rayburn swallows a lump of grain cake and makes a face. “At least we aren’t, uh, out in the, uh, storm.”

“Knock it off,” I say, the anger from our meeting rising up in me. “I don’t want to fight about this right now.”

“Riley, you have to see reason,” he says, pressing both palms into the mattress.

I fold my arms over my stiff, dirt-caked t-shirt. “Haven’t heard anything reasonable this whole damn time.”

Rayburn opens his mouth to sass back, but a figure appears in the doorway. Mage’s curly head dips below the partially lowered grate and comes into the room. The sand's gotten to her too, reddening her normally sparkling eyes and dusting her golden curls into a dirty blond. She comes over and sits on the mattress, facing us. Beside me, Ethan sits up straighter.

“I wanna come with you,” she says, looking each of us in the face.

A long pause. I know what she's asking, but I want to hear her say it. “To where?” I ask slowly.

She cocks her head sideways like I’m an idiot. “Out there.” She points wildly behind her. “You know,” she leans in and drops her voice to a whisper. “On the
road
.”

I furrow my brow. “How do you know we’re planning to leave?”

She shrugs, her jumper slipping down her shoulder. “I overhead my papa talking to Andrew about you wanting to go after the communion ceremony.” She leans forward, her eyes wide. “I want to come too.”

Beside me, Ethan nods.

Rayburn shakes his head, dust trickling from his hair. “You can’t mean that. The road is awful. You have a great, uh, great life here.” He spreads his hands to indicate the mall. “Why would you ever leave?”

“Because,” she says, with wide, serious eyes, “my papa's been crying in this room. I hid and overhead him praying. He says the plagues are here, the Gods are going to kill everybody and there's nothing he can do to stop it.” She looks up at me, her eyes bloodshot and wet. “I don't want to die.”

“When, Mage?” I grab her arm. “When does he think the plagues are coming?”

She turns her tear-filled eyes to mine. “They're already here.”

I run through the abandoned hallways, my boots spraying sand in front of me. I have to find Clay. The dust-filled air burns my lungs. I hack a couple times and keep going. I know I can make Clay see reason. Then we can get away from these lunatics and I can get Clay back. My Clay. The Clay who wouldn’t hurt me.

I skid around a corner and peer down the sand-clogged hallway. The shops are deathly quiet; many are covered with cloth or tarps that hang heavily over the openings. People huddle together in the near-darkness. In a former clothing store, two women sit on a pile of rags, moaning. The elder—a woman I’ve seen before in the food line—lifts red eyes to me, silent tears streaming down her dust-caked cheeks. Do they think the plagues have arrived?

We gotta get out of here.

I run down the men’s wing and it’s just as eerie and quiet. As I walk down the hallway, a dark shadow steps in front of me. Andrew.

His goggled eyes are dust caked and there's finger marks on the lenses from where he's swiped them clean a couple of times. His rainbow clothes and gold jewelry are muted by sand. He grins, flashing me his rotten teeth like pebbles in his gums. I turn to run away, but two more of the Messiah's Brotherhood step out from the shadows. I'm surrounded.

“What's this?” I ask, wheeling around. The men fence me in, arms extended.

Andrew smirks behind his patchy beard, making the scar that cuts through it look like a second smile. “The Messiah wants you put up until communion.”

“Put up?” I take a step back, my eyes searching for an exit. The men close in on me. My heart begins to thud.

He nods, coming toward me. His giant eyes crinkle up as he steps closer. “He wants you locked away for a few hours where you can't get into trouble.”

“Did he say that? That's so thoughtful, but I'm fine. Now if you boys will just leave me be…” I smile. Then I rush at him, screaming.

He reaches out with giant arms, but he's slow. I duck under and scramble on my hands and knees on the worn carpet. Behind me, Andrew swears. The other two men clomp forward.

“Move!” he yells at them.

They pound toward me. I'm up and on my feet in an instant, bolting for the common area. If I can get to the food court, maybe I can hide.

A hand grabs for my shirt, but I duck sideways and pull free. I can smell them, hear their thunderous footfalls on the carpet. Down the hall a kid about twelve turns the corner and his eyes go wide. He slips into an open storefront as I tear past him.

Soon I can't hear them. I chance a look over my shoulder.

Andrew holds a pistol in his hand and is aiming it at me. My insides twist. A gun? I thought they didn't carry guns.

“Stop or I'll shoot you!” He locks his elbows and closes one giant goggled eye.

Does he have bullets? I skid to a stop and turn. Slowly I raise my hands in surrender. When he walks over and puts his meaty mitt on my wrist, I wish I'd just kept running.

“So,” I ask as nonchalantly as I can, “Where you gonna put me up? Not many hotels round these parts.”

“Shut up.” He shoves the gun between my shoulder blades roughly.

I turn and head where he pushes me. Hating Andrew won't change how this goes down, but I do it anyway.

He walks me through the sand-choked food court. I pull my T-shirt over my mouth as the dunes drift across the floor. In the darkness, it's like being inside one of those snow globes. Someone's shaken us and we're swirling about, disoriented. And the sand's still lashing against the planks they've fixed to the ceiling. Suddenly the idea of being stuck here forever weighs heavy on me. What if the winds never stop? All the sand storms I've ever experienced only lasted a few hours, but that doesn't mean this one will. I squint through the gritty air and suddenly feel like I'm suffocating.

“Move.” Andrew shoves me again. The other two guards have peeled off, no longer in sight. I wonder if he'll do something to me once we're alone. My heart thumping, I steel myself for a fight.

He shoves me past the food court and into the dark recesses of the mall where I know the hole to be. My heart pounds faster.

“Look,” I say, swiveling. “Whatever it is you think you're doing, you can forget it. Clay's in tight with the Messiah and so's Mage. You can't do anything to me without getting in serious trouble.” I plant my hands on my hips and try to look fierce.

Andrew barks a cold laugh. “I don't want to
do
anything to you.” He shoves me into the dark and clicks on a small electric lantern. The beam does little to break up the deep, thick shadow.

He points to the hole. “Down the steps.”

I shake my head. “No.”

He cocks the gun, a smile on his face. “I was hoping you'd resist. Which foot's your favorite?” He aims down.

“Don't!” I say, shuffling back and heading toward the hole. My heart is banging into my breastplate and I'm sucking lungfuls of dust-clogged air. Coughing, I descend into darkness as thick and terrifying as a grave.

We wind down the rocky decline, into the heart of the crevasse. It's cooler and less sandy here, but it doesn't soothe my panic. Why is he taking me into the hole?

We stop at the base and I turn to him. “You've scared me, okay? Now take me up and lock me in wherever the Messiah told you to.”

Andrew sniffs, shining the lantern around the cavern. “He just said to lock you up.” He pulls the lantern close to his face so I can see his awful sneer. “Never said where.”

I stare into the penetrating darkness around me and feel light-headed. Andrew reaches around the wall until he finds what he is looking for: wrist manacles attached to a chain that's anchored to the concrete. He jingles them, smiling.

“You can't be serious.” I back up until I hit the far wall. He grabs my wrist and drags me forward. I fight him, but it's no good. He’s stronger. He wrestles one wrist into the metal manacles and clicks the padlock shut. I hit him with my free hand, but he laughs and wrenches the other wrist into the manacle. The second padlock closes with a sickening click.

My wrists strain against the cold metal, my panic swirling like the dust outside. I'm going to suffocate. I'm going to die.

“Please.” I'm begging, silent tears streaming down my cheeks. A terror I can't even name is choking me, tightening my throat. “Don't leave me down here.”

He laughs like a rabid hyena. “Hope the creatures that live down here already had their supper.” He holds the lantern up to his face. The red sore on his mouth seems to pulse like a sick, bloody heart. “For your sake.”

Then he turns, still laughing and takes the light up the incline with him.

My chest is heaving.
Stay calm, stay calm,
I think over and over.
It's only the dark. There's nothing down here. He’s just trying to scare me.
I stare into the wall of darkness, willing my eyes to see. The crevasse smells like mildew and old bleach. Above, the howling wind sounds a thousand miles away. If I focus I can hear the drip, drip, drip of water.

I shuffle back and lean against the wall, letting the broken concrete cool my flushed skin. The manacles on my wrists cut into my flesh, but it'll only be a few hours. He'll have to come get me before the ceremony, right? Someone would miss me. But then, they'd never look down here. Not in a million years. I settle in to wait, trying not to see the awful images in my head. Instead I think about Auntie and her famous bread.

A low, agonizing moan rolls out of the dark recesses of the cave.

I snap my head toward the sound. The pitch blackness is terrifying.

For a moment everything is quiet. Maybe I imagined it all.

Footsteps sound down the tunnel—heavy and dragging on the floor like whoever is coming has a broken leg. Whatever it is, it's lurching toward me fast.

This can't be happening.

I tug at my chains, yank my arms back and forth until the pain radiates up my shoulders. Footsteps drag closer. Oh God, it's coming. It's coming for me!

Don't move! Don't move!
I think.
Pleases don't let it find me. Don't let it know I'm here!

Hot and rancid breath hits my face and a hand cinches on my arm. I scream.

I tug away from whatever has me, but with the chains, it does no good.

“Help!” I lurch and scream. Still it stands there, waiting, my heart pounding. The smell rolling off this thing is awful: rotten meat or rancid garbage. I pull away.