The Believers (The Breeders Series - Book 2) (14 page)

My boots find solid ground, or at least a patch of level land that seems to stretch as far as my little lamp will illuminate. The chemical smell is even stronger and the air feels moist, like a wet hand on my face. I shiver and raise my lantern. The crevasse stretches out into a tunnel that leads into more darkness. I take a deep breath, shoving my fear down deep. With one hand on the rough stone wall to anchor myself, I step in.

A brown streak dives at my face. I duck and let out a muffled shriek. The bat veers away, its black wings slicing through the air above me. I stand for a moment and try to keep my heart in my chest. The wall under my palm and my small circle of electric light are all that's keeping me from turning and bolting back up the incline.

Twenty feet in, the cavern forks into two paths. I peer down each with my little lantern. As far as I can tell they're identical, the tunnels about fifteen feet in diameter. I can't tell if this is a man-made or natural cavern. The rock here sparkles with minerals that reflect my lantern light. It would be beautiful if I weren’t so afraid.

I stand at the fork and listen. Silence. Then, to the right, I hear movement. It's a quiet sound, like an animal scuffling along. My arms tingle as I strain toward the shuffling noise. What's coming? Some sort of animal? A man? Fear pounds in my chest. Is it the Brotherhood or something else? I turn to run.

Voices echo from the path to my left. The men. I sprint toward the sound, away from whatever is lurking in the other tunnel.

When I'm close enough to make out individual voices, I flick off my light. I can't see my hand in front of my face. With my heart pounding and one hand on the wall, I walk toward the sound of their whooping.

From the cavern in front of me, there's a grunt and a yell. Someone shouts. Another laughs. It's all sounding very male and macho. I picture men beating their chests, flexing. Slowly my eyes pick up light. I see the faintest outline of a rock here, the sheen off the wall there. Ahead, the light trickles back from burning torches that flicker with orange firelight. I shuffle forward, breathless.

I peak around the corner and spot them. The space opens up to the size of a school gymnasium. The ground slopes down into a vast underground lake. The men are splashing in it, rubbing their bodies down. One man with a round, paunchy belly floats on his back, his glistening stomach cresting the water like a whale's hump. He, like everyone else, is buck naked. Three dozen oversized men in nothing but their birthday suits. Heat rises into my cheeks as I watch.

One man stands near me in the flickering light, flexing his bugling biceps. They look like veiny tumors as he raises and lowers his fist. Is this why they're so huge? The water? Will Clay…look like that?

Clay stands at the lake's edge, waded in up to his knees. I blush at the sight of his naked backside but can't help but admire how beautiful he is in the firelight: his sculpted calves, his strong back. The scar on his thigh from where Rayburn cauterized his wound has nearly healed. As he takes tentative steps into the water, someone runs up behind him. I almost cry out a warning but slap my hand on my mouth as the naked man slams his palms into Clay's back. Clay flies forward and hits the water with a giant splash. When he pushes up, soaked and sputtering, the man doubles over with laughter. The others pick it up, braying like a bunch of idiots. Clay stares, water dripping from his hair into his eyes. When the man walks over to him and helps him up, a slow smile spreads on Clay’s face.

I press my back to the cold cavern wall, chilled inside. He's one of them. Something severs inside me, like a line has snapped and whatever it held is now drifting into space. I wrap my arms around my body and fight off a tremor. My cowardice put this awful pit in my gut and I deserve it. I watch the men for a while, feeling sick. They hoot and holler and splash, drinking large mouthfuls of lake water. Clay drinks too. I can't take it anymore. I turn away.

Suddenly male voices are closer…and moving my way. I snap up, eyes and ears alert, heart pounding. They're coming.

I scramble up, banging my knee. I grab the lantern, but it's too late to turn it on. The faint light from their torches will have to be enough. Twice I trip on rocks that send me sprawling. I taste blood in my mouth and feel a trickle down my leg. When their calls are farther away, I chance the lantern, trying to block the light with my body. Somehow I manage to scramble up all those steps. When I reach the top of the incline and stand on the main floor, I flick off my light and listen. The men's voices draw closer and now they sound different, more… animal. The growls and hoots behind me would make me think monster instead of man. My heart rabbits in my chest.

A howl echoes up from the depths behind me and my blood turns cold. I run to the cafeteria.

When I get to the end of the hallway that opens into the food court, I slip around the corner and peek back. Behind me, vast dark shadows spill out of the fissure like the dead clawing out of a grave. The men look…wrong. Their eyes are like hollow moons, round and violent. Almost… animal. Their postures are stooped, like predators on the prowl. Like they want only two things: to fight or feast.

And they're coming right for me.

I dive into the food court. My scraped knee smashes hard on the tile, sending a jolt of pain up my leg, but I keep going. Behind me muffled growls fill the silence like a pack of wolves. What did that water do to the men? What did it do to Clay? I'm both terrified and horribly worried. Is he one of the shadows in the pack?

On hands and knees I scramble to the first restaurant, clamber over the chipped stone counter top, and slide down to the other side. Back pressed against the serving counter, I clap my hands over my mouth to muffle my breathing. The light is so dim all I can see is the stack of green plastic serving trays and chipped mugs on the shelf in front of me. I hug my knees to my chest and try to stay calm. In my mind's eyes I see them stalking into the food court. I'm picturing werewolves, monsters. They're just men, so why are they acting like animals?

Footsteps tap on the concrete as they come closer. More growls. Gooseflesh prickles up my arms as I listen to them prowling around. I can't breathe. My flesh crawls as I picture them slinking over the counter to get me. I stare past the counter to the open space above my head and wait.

Long minutes pass. Minutes like centuries. My heartbeat won't slow. My fingernails dig wells into the flesh on my legs.

Finally, when all is quiet, I force my trembling legs upward.

I crouch and peek over the counter. Moonlight paints the food court in light and shadow. It's empty. I stand, my heart pattering. Somewhere deep in the mall I hear thumping. I know now is the time to dash from cover and run to my store, but the fear keeps me here. I press sweating palms to the cool stone counter and lift myself over. With my feet on solid ground, I turn to run.

A shadow bursts out of the darkness and barrels for me. Before I can stop it, a muffled scream escapes my throat. Someone tackles me. Arms pin mine as we scramble on the concrete. My head bangs against the wooden counter and pain flares up my spine. My attacker smells like lake water and chemicals. His clothes cling to his damp body. His wet hair drips on to my face. It's Clay. Yet his face doesn't light up when he sees me. His eyes hold that animal intensity. It's as if … as if he doesn't know me.

“What happened to you?” I ask, worry creeping into my voice. There's a flicker of something in his eyes. He growls low in his throat and flashes his teeth. He presses his weight on top of me and with his good hand he begins violently tugging at my pants.

“Clay, stop!” I slap his cheek as tears pool in my eyes. I push on his chest. He's huge, immovable. He tugs off my shirt. Only the binding on my breasts covers me.

I close my eyes and bury myself inside my guilt. “Clay, please stop.”

His body freezes above me. I open my eyes. His hand is still a vise on my bicep, but I see confusion in his eyes. He sits back. “
Whatshappening
?” It comes out as one slurred word. He sounds drugged.

I sit up and scramble back, clutching my knees to my chest. “What did they give you?” I ask, wiping away the tears.

Clay places his hands on his head. “I'm
sssorry
,” he slurs. He crawls away from me. “Go.”

“Clay.”

“Go!” He lifts fear-filled eyes to mine. “Before I do
sssomething
awful.”

I reach for him, but he pulls back, mumbling. I yank up my pants and tug my shirt back on. When I glance up, Clay is gone.

I wake in the morning with two scraped knees and bruises up and down my body. Yet it’s my heart that feels the most battered. What did these maniacs do to Clay? Is it too late to stop it? I refuse to believe he's corrupted. When Mage appears at my grate in the morning, I take her hand and pull her forward.

“Where are we going?” she asks, scrambling behind me.

I plow through the morning crowds. Women stare at my bloodstained knees. I'm sure my hair is a matted mess. I don't care. I have one mission.

“We're going to see your father.”

Signs of the Brotherhood's rampage last night litter the hallway: trashcans turned over, fingernail marks dug into the plaster, a glass window broken into shards. The people go about mending the mess like it's no big deal. This is why they lock themselves in at night. There really are monsters lurking in this community—their own husbands and fathers. What is in that water that causes them to act this way? Why in the world do they drink it?

We reach the Messiah's chamber. Andrew blocks the door, his arms crossed over his chest.

“We came to see the Messiah,” I blurt.

Andrew's buggy eyes look tired behind his goggles. “He's sleeping. No visitors.”

“I
need
to see him. Now.”

Andrew's thin hair swishes around his head as he shakes it. “Do you know how much I care about your demands, dust?” he asks, looking down his nose at me.

I glare at him.

“Thanks to you and your mother we're on tighter ration restrictions.” He folds his hands together and his knuckles pop. “Thanks to you, our people go hungry.”

“I've gone hungry my
whole life
,” I say through my teeth.

“You think you have us all figured out,” he says with a wry smile. “Spoiled little community. The Gods' blessed people.” He twiddles his fingers in the air, then he jabs one at me. “You have
no
idea what we have to sacrifice.”

“So, you sacrifice my boyfriend? Is that it? Make him one of your monsters.” I'm seething, hands clenching and unclenching. If I can't take my rage out on the Messiah, Andrew will do.

Andrew scoffs. “Your boyfriend? We've never had a more willing convert. Once he saw what we could do for him, he was first in line.” Andrew licks his rotten teeth and smiles. “Any idea where he slept last night?”

My jaw drops and he laughs. “Guess he needed more than what you were providing.” His eyes run up and down my body. “Can't blame him.”

I charge at him. “You're a liar!”

Mage grabs my arms. “Stop, Riley. They'll put you out.”

I point at Andrew's face. “Tell the Messiah Clay's out. He's done!”

Andrew laughs. “Why don't you ask Clay if he's done?”

Mage drags me away, but I head left, sprinting down the men's hallway before she can stop me. She calls my name, but I don't want to be told why I can't. I made this happen and I'm gonna stop it.

The walls here look like they did in the women's quarters: banged up, scratched. A fist-sized hole has been smashed into the plaster beside me. A brown clumpy liquid is splattered on the wall beside a former smoothie shop. It's a wonder these men don't tear this place apart and kill everyone in it. Why would they turn themselves into savage beasts if it meant destroying, pillaging, raping? I pull up to Clay's store. Heart pounding, I peer in. Two lumps lay on the floor under blankets. Is Clay one of them? I stoop under the half-open grate and tiptoe in, barely breathing.

In the first pile, a big bearded man sleeps. His eyes are shut and there's a cut on his cheek. The hand clutched at his chest is swollen—it looks broken. When I lean closer, he stirs. I pull back. He snorts and rolls over.

The next mound of blankets has a mop of shaggy brown hair poking out from the tattered sheet. Slowly, I draw it back.

Clay's face isn't scarred, but I can see he's ripped the bandage off his injured hand. I haven't seen the bullet hole in his palm since I helped wrap it after we escaped the Breeders. The raw pink skin puckers around the hole that cuts straight through his palm. Rayburn thinks that eventually he'll get some motion back in his fingers. The hole may even close up, leaving a divot. But it'll never fire a gun. What must it feel like to lose part of you forever?

I caress the tender skin around his palm and he stirs. “Clay,” I whisper, leaning down until my lips brush his ear. He still smells like lake water and chemicals, but his own scent lies beneath it. He moans and rolls over. I place a hand on his chest—it’s hot. “Clay.”

His eyes flutter open. They take a moment to dilate and find me. He winces as he comes to. He attempts a pained smile and reaches up to touch my face. Fear stirs in me. I can't keep the image of him shoving me to the ground out of my head. But,
my
Clay would never have done that to me.

“Oh God,” he whispers, pinching his eyes closed. “A mule kicked my head. Least that's what it feels like.”

I brush hair out of his eyes. “You had a rough night.”

He blinks. “Did I? Jesus, I don't remember. Not after goin' into that cave.” He puts a hand to his forehead and looks up at me. “Were you…there? What happened?”

I lift my eyes to the ceiling. Above the empty metal grid, black electrical cords dangle like venomous snakes. I stroke his hair. “You weren't yourself.”

“I feel like horse shit.” He tries to sit up, winces, and slumps back into his blanket, a puff of stale dust spewing up behind him. “God.”

Male voices in the hallway. I grip Clay's hand and lean close. “Listen, Clay, whatever they did to you last night, it made you do bad things.”