The Breeders Part 24

"Yes." Dr. Vandewater smiles faintly. "Quite well."

The Sheriff snorts again. He slouches against the wall, his belly folding over his belt buckle. He's bored with this whole exchange and cranky, like he's being forced to be here. Is she in charge? How much power has been handed to the Sheriff by this blue-eyed woman? No wonder he's staring at the back of her head like he could smack it.

I point to my mama asleep on the bed next to me. "What about her?" I say, touching her hand. Her skin feels like brittle paper. "What's going to happen to her?"

Dr. Vandewater turns her graceful neck and gazes at my mother placidly. "Nothing's been decided. This batch of plan B pregnancies aren't going well. We've had to change plans." Her tone tightens and her hands claw around each other for a moment. Then she takes a deep breath and continues. "With the right treatments, she can be saved. Not the fetus, unfortunately. We weren't able to stop the mutations."

"What?" I snap my eyes to her.

Her head snaps back, eyes wide as if she's revealed too much. "Nothing." She smoothes a hand over her hair and forces a smile. "What happens to your mother is going to be up to you and Clay."

"To me and Clay?"

She touches an index finger to the metallic disk inside her ear. "Location of Clay?" she asks and then waits for a moment and nods. "He'll be here in twenty seconds." She gives a little smile. "Perfect timing."

Ethan drops my hand and takes a step forward, fists clenched at his sides. "What're you gonna do to Clay?"

She leans down and smiles at him. "Clay will be fine, little Ethan. Don't you worry about that." When she smiles her teeth are straight and white as bleached tombstones.

The doors behind us swish open. Clay charges into the room. He squints against the blinding lights, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes. He stumbles over to me. "Riley, Ethan, what-" His eyes fall on his father and the woman in the suit. "Pa? What ..." Shock creeps over his face. "What ... the h.e.l.l is going on?"

Dr. Vandewater claps her hands, her face unfolding into a giddy smile. "Oh, Clay, look at you." She rushes over to him. "When I saw you on the monitor screens, I said to myself, Look how much he's grown. Not a boy now, are you?" She pauses a few feet from him, admiring him. "A man." She looks to the Sheriff for confirmation. He frowns back, but she just keeps smiling like a rabid coyote. "Oh, I'm so glad you've come."

Clay mouth drops open, his eyes wide. "You ... You're-"

"Yes," she says, clasping his hand. "I'm your mother."

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Now I understand. Clay has his mother's eyes.

Clay stares into her face, slowly shaking his head. "But, I-I thought you were dead or gone or ... Right?" He lifts his eyes to his father.

The Sheriff shakes his head. "It's your ma, alright."

She nods, inserting herself in Clay's line of vision. "Sweetheart, darling, I wish you could understand why I've been gone for so long." Her tone speeds up. Her eyes are too wide. Her hands flutter like panicked birds. "It was impossible to have you here while I focused on my work. What would I do with a child running around the labs? You would've just gotten into trouble. But now, it can all be different." She reaches a hand out to touch his cheek and he steps back.

"You left when me I was a baby. Pa said he was forced to bring you here to breed." He points to his father who shrugs, drops his head and twiddles his fingers on his revolvers.

She clasps her hands together. "We couldn't tell you the truth, darling. It was better you thought I was out of your reach. I'll admit I did get a little obsessed. We were so close to perfecting the procedure." She looks up at Clay. "That doesn't matter. What matters is when I saw you on the monitors when you came to get Riley."

Eyes turn to me, then back to the doctor.

"I knew I had to see you. I asked your father to bring you earlier today, but he was unable." She shoots him a glance.

The Sheriff eyes Clay. "Gave me the slip, didn't ya, boy? Beat me back home to see her." He nods to me, disgusted. "Yer ma and I figured you'd come after the filly. Guess we was right." He smirks, but Dr. Vandewater shoots him another glare.

"Clay, darling, listen. I've given so much of my life to this job. Now it's my turn. I need to connect with you again."

Clay blinks and shakes his head slightly. "I-I don't understand. You want to come back now?"

She takes a step forward, her hand outstretched. "I gave up a life with you and with your father so I could help them here at the hospital. It was the right thing to do, but I've given them eighteen years of my life and now it's my turn. I'm stepping down from the experimental program. I have time now. Time for you." She cups Clay's cheek. This time he doesn't pull away. "It's not too late for us."

A tense silence hangs, the only sound the delicate beeping of my mama's heart monitor. If my heart had a monitor, it'd be beeping out of control. I watch Clay in his dirty jeans and cotton t-shirt torn at the shoulder. His boots are grimy, his chin dark with stubble. He came after me today, risked angering his pa. Now he stands between his mother and I and doesn't look at either of us. His blue eyes, his mother's eyes, are locked to the polished tile floor. His hands twitch at his sides, but other than that, there are no signs of a war raging inside him. I want to close the gap between us, throw my arms around his neck and lean my head to his chest. Instead I stand stock-still and await his judgment.

He looks up at his mother. "What'll happen to them?" He points at Ethan and me.

"That's the best part," she says, smiling too wide. "They can stay here at the hospital. Your father has already agreed to move the two of you to town so we can all be together. You can visit Riley as often as you like. She'll be safe here, free from disease, war, enslavement. She'll have the best food and medicine. And you two can still be together. It's perfect."

She makes it sound too good to be true. But as I look into her eyes, I don't see a future free from pain and torment. I see imprisonment, plain and simple. Yet, it's not my decision to make.

"What about her ma? And Ethan?" he says, shooting him a glance. "What'll happen to them?"

"We'll use every technology available to save Janine Meemick's life. Out there, she might survive, but ..." She looks at my mother. "It won't be pretty. Ethan can stay with you and your father and visit his family on weekends. When he's old enough, we can get him a job. There are perks to knowing someone in the upper offices." She smiles slyly, raising her perfectly rounded eyebrows.

Clay frowns. "And what if I say no?"

Dr. Vandewater stiffens. "Why would you?"

He locks his jaw and stares at her. "What if I say no?"

Dr. Nessa Vandewater lifts a slightly trembling hand to smooth her hair. "Well, things could go rather badly." She enunciates each word as she shoots eye daggers at me. She softens as she turns back at Clay. "I don't want it to come to that, Clay. Please."

Clay turns and walks toward me, reaching for my hand. I slip my fingers into his. I love the feel of his calloused palm in mine. But his eyes are so anguished. Will I be able to forgive him if he chooses his mother? I chose mine. I feel like I'm swallowing a throat full of cotton as I think about what I've set into motion.

"Riley," he says, leaning in until I can smell his aftershave, "could you be happy here? Your family would be here."

Dr. Vandewater leans over his shoulder. "We could even bring your Auntie in. She'd make an excellent nanny."

He ignores her and stares into my eyes. Emotions zap through me like lightening. I don't want to be a prisoner here, but what's the alternative? Death? Being put back in plan B? And if it will keep Mama and Ethan safe and give Clay what he wants? I can give up my freedom for them. A tear wells in my eye, blurring Clay's features for a moment. Can't I?

I try a smile. "If they were safe and you were happy, I'd be happy."

He steps closer. My eyes trace over the hollow at his throat, the stubble on his chin. "You'd do that for them?" He cups his hand around my cheek. "For me?"

A tear traces down my nose as I rest my cheek in his palm. "All I really wanted," I say looking deep into his eyes, "was to be with the people I love."

He pulls me to his chest and wraps his arms around me. I throw my arms around his shoulders and press into the warmth of his chest. His heart thuds against mine. I have wanted this so long. Now it's so bittersweet.

His arms drop from around me as he twirls around.

His guns are silver blurs. Before anyone can move Clay points both revolvers at his parents. Clay's blue eyes narrow. All emotion is gone. Only the gunslinger remains. "We all walk or none do. Your deal may sound sweet as candy, lady, but I've made deals with your kind before. They turn sour real quick."

His mother steps toward him. "Clay, I-"

He gives her a hard look. "You may a birthed me, but you weren't never a mother to me. No sense in starting now."

Dr. Vandewater starts a shrill protest, but the Sheriff's chuckle cuts in. His belly shakes as he strides around the doctor and stands in front of Clay.

"You was never a one to make a good choice, was ya, boy? Shoulda taken your ma's deal. My deal won't be so sweet." His nasty grin widens to reveal missing teeth. "Not sweet at all."

Clay doesn't waiver. "One more step and you'll be leakin'. I ain't afraid of you no more, pa."

The Sheriff grins and clomps forward. "You don't really think I'd leave bullets in them shooters, do ya?"

Confusion darkens Clay's face. He looks at his guns. "You're bluffing."

The Sheriff laughs, his belly jiggling. "I'll jist give you a minute to check."

"Marlin, stop it," Dr. Vandewater says shrilly.

"Shut up, woman," the Sheriff snaps, pointing a finger at her. "I did what you said and look where it got us. Now we do this my way. He's grown too big fer his britches and I'm 'bout to shrink him down." The Sheriff takes another big step forward.

Clay holsters his guns and steps in front of me. He juts his chin, his fists tightening at his sides. "I don't need guns to take you on, old man."

The Sheriff cackles again. He brings his fists up to his chin. "Try me, boy."

At first, they circle around, fists up, eyes cold. I grab Ethan and Betsy and take a step back.

Dr. Vandewater claws the Sheriff's arm as he steps past her. "Boys, that is enough!"

The Sheriff shrugs her off, never taking his eyes from Clay.

"Throw the first punch, Pa." Clay waves him forward with four fingers of his raised hand. "Or you afraid to get knocked a.s.s-over-tea-kettle by your boy."

The Sheriff snorts and takes a practice jab at Clay. "'Fraid of a little p.i.s.ser like you? You think you're an awful big bug, huh. Well, let's see."

The Sheriff steps forward and throws a solid right cross. His meaty arm snaps out as the blow grazes off the side of Clay's head. Clay bobs back, shuffles around and jabs twice into the Sheriff's ribs. There's a dull crunch. The Sheriff hunches, moaning. He stumbles back, rubs his ribs. Then he straightens and chuckles darkly.

"Big bug, alright. Who taught you to box, boy?"

Clay narrows his eyes, his fists hovering in front of his chin. "You did."

"That's right." The Sheriff charges, arms spread wide, and tackles Clay around the waist. Clay folds as his wind is knocked away. Their boots sc.r.a.pe on the floor as they struggle and stagger around, a raging monster with four legs. The Sheriff locks his hands around Clay's chest and squeezes. Clay gasps for air, clawing at the Sheriff's arms, trying to wrench free. There's a pow pow as the Sheriff lands two punches into Clay's kidneys. Clay's head drops forward like a broken doll's.

"Stop!" I step forward. Ethan tugs me back and shakes his head. I stand stiffly, my hands clenched at my sides.

Clay's up and scrambling. Slowly he wiggles out of the Sheriff's straining fingers and then he pushes his father off. Both men stagger back. They puff and spit. Is it over?

The Sheriff digs into his pocket for something, his eyes dark. Clay face drops in alarm as if he knows what the Sheriff will pull out. He runs, winds up and smashes his fist into the Sheriff's jaw.

There's a snap as teeth shatter. A crack as the Sheriff's head jerks back. A trail of blood arches from his mouth and the splatters on the floor. The Sheriff's legs unhinge. He goes down on the tile like a sack of bones.

I stare at the Sheriff slumped on the ground. Clay pants hard, his fists now at his sides. His knuckles are bleeding, his jaw swelling. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth and takes big breaths.

Slowly the Sheriff props himself up on his elbows and shakes his head drunkenly.

Clay stands over him, panting. "You done, old man?"

There's a long pause. Slowly the Sheriff pushes himself onto his feet and licks blood from the corner of his mouth. As his grimace turns into a sneer, his hand digs for his pocket. This time Clay's too slow to stop him. He draws out a slim black pipe like a narrow flashlight. What's he doing?

"No," he says, popping his spine into place. "Not done."

The Sheriff snaps his wrist. Smaller sections slide out of the handle until the Sheriff's holding a two-foot baton, shiny and lethal.

Dr. Vandewater screams, "Marlin, stop!"

He draws it back and smashes it into Clay's knee.

The crack is sickening, like snapping a dry tree branch. Clay screams and tumbles onto the tile, reaching for his smashed kneecap.

"No!" That's it. I'm not watching anymore. I run forward.

The Sheriff raises the baton.

I spring on the Sheriff and claw for the baton. He shrugs me off. I stumble back and he turns. His smile's gone, replaced by one of the angriest sneers I've ever seen. I grab again for the baton, my fingers slipping over the smooth surface. The Sheriff swings his free hand. There's a blur in my periphery and then his fist cracks into my cheekbone.

There's an awful pop deep in my head. Stars explode across my vision. Then I'm falling. Falling. Falling.

Next thing I know I'm face down on the tile. Heat spreads across my cheek. I can't focus my eyes. Someone's crying. The Sheriff's face bobs before me. My eyes lock on the puckered C-shaped scar that keeps dancing in front of my eyes.

"No meddlesome piece of trash tells me what to do."

The pain throbs through my cheek, but I glare into the Sheriff's eyes. "Looks like a woman's been telling you what to do all along."

The Sheriff raises the baton. He'll crack my skull with it. I try to cover my head with my hands.

Nothing. No blow. Just some grunting, like someone's struggling. I look up.

Clay's and the Sheriff struggle over the baton. Clay's fingers grip the end. The Sheriff yanks on the handle. Clay spins and suddenly he's at his father's side. He draws a revolver from his father's holster. There's familiar click of the safety as Clay thumbs it down.

"Knock it off or I'll shoot." Clay digs his father's revolver into his back.

The nasty smile creeps slowly over the Sheriff's face. He turns around, his hands up. "You won't shoot yer pa." He reaches for the revolver.

When the gun explodes, I don't know who's more surprised, me or the Sheriff staring at the b.l.o.o.d.y hole in his chest.