The Breeders (18 page)

I slip down the creepy hallways, peeking in each room. The classrooms look just like ours with small differences. One has larger desks for older kids. Our cute posters are replaced with faded charts and graphs pressed in that same plastic covering. One room has no desks, just piles and piles of wet and rotting garbage. Another looks like it had once been a music room. A tilting, three-legged piano grimaces at me with its black and white teeth strewn on the floor. I pass a room with a fallen roof, exposing one corner to the sky. Each room is coated in undisturbed layers of dust or mildew. No one’s been in here in some time.

I should go in the classrooms and dig through the cupboards, but I’m a coward. Maybe with Ethan and Clie behind me I could brave pulling open those doors to see what’s behind. Animal nest, bugs, spiders, or worse. I think about the body Clay found. I can’t face something like that on my own.

I turn the corner and spot a cracked porcelain water fountain. It’s a long shot, but I hit the button. Nothing. I push open the door labeled
Ladies’ Room.
Inside there’s no windows, so it’s pitch black, and besides, if there’s no plumbing, there’s no water in there anyway. I let the door slip shut and turn down another dark, garbage-filled hall.

Near the front of the building, I find what used to be the greeting center. Though it takes me a while, I sound out the word
Office
on the sign. With big windows facing the front, there’s enough light to see in. Disheveled chairs, their fabric turning to dust, line the wall leading up to a receiving counter. A dust-encrusted crystal dish still perches delicately on the counter top, but whatever was in it has long since been carted off by mice. Another chair lies wheels up behind a paper-covered desk.

My eyes lock on a black rectangle sitting on a desk in the back. I walk in and touch my finger to the dusty screen. On the table next to it is another black rectangular gadget with rows of lettered keys. I tap a few with the pads of my fingers. Arn said these were called computers. Long ago people used them for communication. I trace my initials in the dust on the screen. Then something catches my eye.

A big blue jug attached to a white base sits in the very back of the office. Liquid was once stored in these. I thumb down the little spigot. In a dispenser, I find a stack of rotting paper cups that fall apart at my touch. Could there be more jugs? A slim door sits next to the water dispenser. The wood is warped so I have to yank on the handle for a while until the thing pops open. I cross my fingers and peer in.

No bodies, just rows of pencils, clips, paper, folders, more paper cups and on the floor … a big jug of water. Full.

I clap once and the sound startles a mouse. He shoots from a paper nest in the corner to a hole in the floor. I wrap my hands around the lip of the water jug. The boys will be so happy.

It takes me five minutes to carry the jug back to our classroom. I underestimated how heavy the jug was and how weak I am from travel. Still, I half drag, half carry the prize in and plunk it down on the floor in front of Clay. Clay raises the revolver, but then the recognition dawns on his face.

“Riley,” he says, “What the hell?”

“Water,” I say with a triumphant wave of my hand.

They both blink at me and rub their eyes. I was expecting more fanfare than blank stares.

“Well, I’m thirsty.” I start working on the cap. When I finally get it open and figure out how to pour it in one of our jugs without dumping the whole thing over, I take the first drink. Water’s never tasted so good. I sigh in relief.

“Nice job, ace,” Clay says, stretching and reaching for the jug. I hand it over and he drinks. “Tastes like plastic,” he says as he smiles. “Where’d you get it?”

“Down the hall. Sign said
Office.
”

Clay takes another drink, a few strings of water dripping down his stubbly chin. “Soon’s I can wake up, we’ll go exploring.”

“It’s kind of a mess out there,” I say, pouring water for Ethan. “Looks like nobody’s been in here in years.”

Clay looks at me, puzzled. “I’d heard of people trading here last year. I can’t figure what happened.”

“Did you see anything when … you know …” I frown and glance at Ethan. “When you saw that
thing
in the alley?” Ethan’s eyes are locked on me. I smile as if I’ve nothing to hide.

“She means the body. Do you know how he died?” Ethan asks matter-of-factly.

Clay and I stare at Ethan with our mouths open.

Ethan scowls. “You guys think I don’t notice anything. I’m eight, not four.” He’s trying to be so big, but when he sticks out his lower lip at the end of his sentence, all I can see is the baby I touted around the yard on my hip.

Clay nods. “Sorry, hoss. We’ll do better.”

I nod, but I’m lying. He’ll be my baby brother whether he’s eight or eighty.

Clay shakes his head as his eyes turn toward the open window. “There was nothing on the body to show what killed him. It was in bad shape, decay-wise. And the damn dog didn’t help. I didn’t see gunshots or stab wounds, so that’s something. But it doesn’t tell us much.”

“At least with no people, we can get what we need and get out,” I say. I don’t want to hang around here very long. Other than our little classroom, the rest of this town feels like a morgue.

“Fuel and water. Those are our main priorities.” Clay holds up two fingers. “Riley already got us water. If we can find fuel, we can jack one of the cars we saw and hit the road.”

He makes it sound so easy. I look out the busted classroom window toward the blue sky outside. I hope it is.

We dig through our bags for breakfast. Ethan pulls out a hunk of bread wrapped in paper. We split it and try to chew the hard crust as best we can. My stomach growls, but I quiet it with more water. It’ll do for a while.

We work through each room for supplies. This time, with the boys at my back, I lose my fear. I pull open cupboards, frighten mice and spiders out of their homes, dig through moldy wads of paper. Ethan pockets a sheet of gold stars, soggy but miraculously somewhat sticky. Clay finds a heavy-duty pair of scissors with decent blades, an empty aluminum water bottle and a ball of twine. I pick up many things, kid’s socks, a mug that says World’s Best Teacher, a little pink boot with daisies painted on it. My mind wanders to times when these things were in use. What did these people look like? Were they happy? What happened to them? I leave each item in its dust outline where they’ll decay like the rest of this place.

Classrooms pilfered, we find a set of double doors.

“Gymnasium,” Clay reads on the sign above the doors. “Come on.”

We push through the double doors and find a large echoing room with a wood floor and bleachers on either side. Two hoops with nets stand on each end of the floor. There’s a board with faded numbers on the far wall.

“Basketball,” Clay says, pointing to the hoops. “Teams of five dribble a ball back and forth. They try to scores as many points by shooting the ball into a hoop. The town south of mine had an outdoor court.”

Ethan and I walk around and examine everything, the tilting bleachers, the hoop with the fraying net. When this school was in use, the kids got to play games. Their life couldn’t have been so bad. Ethan finds a flat orange ball and tries to bounce it. The noise of the ball smacking the floor makes me jumpy. Eventually, I shoot him a look and he sets the ball down.

We push through another set of double doors and find a similar space with rows of tables and benches. Some are turned over. Some are covered in bits of ceiling that have fallen down. Big gray bins are stuffed with ancient food wrappers and paper napkins that flow out and trail across the floor. I walk over and peer in the bins. This trash has been here so long it doesn’t even smell. We find nothing but useless garbage, but I know we’re getting close.

A doorway at the back leads to a dark kitchen. There’s rusty old metal stoves and empty molding refrigerators. We find a few utensils scattered around the floor and in the drawers. In another drawer I find red and yellow packets, some kind of food dressing that still looks edible. I drop them into my pocket. Clay snags a decent looking frying pan and a serrated knife. Then Ethan calls my name.

I run toward the sound of his voice. He’s standing in a little pantry stacked with shelves. Most are empty. At the bottom though, I see some large metal cylinders the size of small drums. He hefts one up. The label has fallen off and decayed, but on the top in small writing I see a label. “Green beans,” I read slowly. I smile and pat him on the head. “Nice job, Superman.”

He hefts the can and smiles so wide I can see all his little, white teeth.

We take two trips to carry all of the cans back to our classroom where we stack them neatly. We’ve scored three cans of green beans, two cans of what’s called fruit cocktail, two cans of baked beans and a can of corn. It’s a good haul. I smile as I look at our stack.

“How do we get one open?” I ask.

“I saw a can opener in the kitchen drawer. I’ll go grab it,” Clay says.

“I’ll get it.” I have to pee from all the water I drank anyway. It’ll give me a good excuse to go alone.

I head out of the classroom and down the hall toward the bathroom. Just before the ladies’ room I notice our tracks, three sets of shoe prints in the dust on the floor. We’ve been all over this school and it shows. Then something draws my attention: the large boot prints running along the far wall, fresh in the layer of dust. They’re too big to be any of ours and they weren’t there a few hours ago.

We aren’t alone.

Chapter Fifteen

I run back to our classroom and slam the door. I stand against it, panting, wide-eyed. Clay and Ethan were sorting through a deck of cards they found in the kitchen. They stare up at me.

“What’s going on?” Clay asks, standing up.

Ethan stands, too, still holding a six of clubs in his hand.

“Footprints,” I pant. “Not ours. In the hall.”

Clay glances out the little window in our classroom door. “Maybe they’re old.”

I shake my head. “They’re fresh.”

Clay pulls out one of his revolvers. His eyes get that look they always do when that silver revolver is cupped in his palm. “I’ll check it out. You stay with Ethan.”

I don’t protest. Something about stalking through the quiet halls to meet some unknown predator doesn’t seem fun to me. As he’s opening the door, I put my hand on the door jam. “Be careful,” I say as I look into his blue eyes, the color of a summer sky.

He lets a little smile dance across his face. “Sounds like you’re getting used to having me around.”

And he ruined it. “Never mind,” I say, waving him out the door. “Go be as reckless as you want. We’re totally fine without you.”

“Liar,” he says, his smile growing. “You need me.”

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

He chuckles and then disappears out the door.

I sit with Ethan against the far wall with a revolver in my hand. The minutes tick by slowly. I listen, but hear little else but a few birdcalls from the window and my heart beat in my ears. Footsteps sound, heavy and coming this way. I rise, the gun leveled. It’s Clay. He bursts back in our room.

“Anything?” I ask.

He shakes his head, holsters his gun and picks up the jug of water. He lifts it to his lips. I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallows. Then he drops the jug, panting. “Ahh,” he sighs.

“What?” I say, impatient. “What did you find?”

He smiles wryly. “Thought you said you didn’t need me.” He takes another long pull from the jug. I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot. He can be so infuriating.

One more devious smile and then he sets the jug down. “No sign of anyone except the footprints. Must’ve heard us come in, checked us out and took off. His trail leads out a lower window. Just curious ‘bout visitors.”

“Why didn’t he want to talk?” I ask, the hairs on my arms still standing up.

Clay shrugs and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Probably as scared of us as we are of him.”

I shake my head. “I wanna get out of here.”

Clay pulls the can opener out of his pocket and hands it to Ethan. “We have to get gas and that’s going to mean digging through this hell hole. We do that after we eat. We’re safer in here than out there if there’s something to fuss about.”

I say nothing, but can’t shake the feeling of dread.

We open the canned corn and eat until our bellies are stuffed. Then we fill our packs with water jugs and a hose and bucket Clay found in the janitor’s closet. Clay scrambles over the window ledge and jumps down. I pass Ethan to him and then lower myself down.

The bright daylight lances my eyes. I cover them and squint into the distance. The scene outside is just as creepy. The street is deadly silent. The buildings sit as lifeless and desolate as ever. A few birds call and a squeaky hinge squeals from somewhere downtown. Penetrating tragedy is the only thing that would leave a town this empty. Yet, someone survived. Who is this stranger slinking around in the night? Then a gruesome thought grips me. Maybe he killed all these people. I scan the dark windows and alleys as we walk.

We head down the abandoned street to the big yellow sea shell billboard that Clay says marks a gas station. When we find it, the roof covering has collapsed and has mangled at least half of the pumps. Clay fiddles with a remaining pump, pushing buttons, looking into the metal nozzle, but even if the tanks still had gas, with no power, they won’t pump. I watch as he scans the busted concrete until his eyes light on a metal disk nestled in the pavement. He heads into the little shop attached to the gas station.

“What’re you doing?” I call.

He returns with a long metal rod, rusted, but still sturdy. Then he sets to digging out the cover. When he dislodges the cap, we all gather around the hole. It’s an underground tank. Clay picks up a pebble and drops it in the dark hole. It clanks against metal. This gas station is tapped out. Of course it is.

We wander into the little store behind the pumps. The store named
Tom and Jerry’s
is little help, either. It’s lined with toppled shelves and more trash. We spread out, looking for any usable items. Ethan pulls out a little packet of pills that must be medicine. Clay holds up an empty gas can triumphantly. I want to be excited, but empty cans will get us nowhere. My hands reach under toppled metal shelves and fallen light casings, until I find something plastic and crinkly. I pull out the wrapper sure it’s trash, but this one has weight. A candy bar—
Baby Ruth,
according to the label. Both boys stare at it like I’ve just found gold.