The Breeders Read Online Free PDF Page A

bulging belly in apology. Then I lay my cheek against her warmth. Arn will just have to come home. Any other possibility is unthinkable.
    * * *
    On the third day after Arn fails to show, my mama cries upstairs. The sound cracks me wide open. I stare at the ceiling and let hot tears trace my cheeks. My family is falling apart. Chores have come to a halt. Ethan straggles around the house and bursts into tears. Auntie Bell rocks on the front porch for hours. Nobody’s eaten much in three days. I milk the cow, feed and water the livestock and then crawl back into bed. I stare at the cracks in the plaster ceiling and think about how to keep my family alive.
    I drag myself out of bed, dig my feet into my boots and head to the barn. Bounty moos a greeting as I walk in, but I don’t stop to rub my hand along her flank. I pass several empty stalls until I reach the big expanse Arn uses as his workshop. In the dim light, I examine his projects. The kitchen chair he was mending sits upturned, legs to the sky like a dead spider. A rough spear carved out of a tree branch rests against the wall. Oily car parts lie in pieces on the table. I notice a lumpy object covered with a cloth on the shelf above. Digging through Arn’s things seems wrong, but if he’s dead someone will have to.
    I uncover a small block of carved wood that Arn has whittled into a rough figure. I turn the wooden doll until I can make out the strong chin, the bulging muscles, the S carved with Arn’s careful fingers. Superman. Ethan’s unfinished birthday present.
    With tears in my eyes, I slip the wooden figurine back under the cloth. That decides it. If Arn’s alive, I’ll find him. There’s no Superman. There’s only me.
    I walk to the tarp-covered quad. I pull off the cover and nearly choke on the dust. Three days ago I was going to take a joy ride. Today there’s nothing joyful about the ride I’ll take.
    I sneak back to the house for supplies. My mama and Ethan are curled up in their rooms. Auntie rocks on the porch. She’ll see me go, but by then it’ll be too late. I grab my backpack from the hall closet and slip into the kitchen. I tuck in canned goods, crusts of bread and a big jug of water. From the closet I grab goggles, a bandanna and Arn’s thick leather jacket. I’ve already got my hunting knife. I snag the rifle and a box of bullets on my way out the door.
    My heart hammers hard by the time I get back to the barn. If I’d eaten much today, it’d be coming back up. I got plenty to worry about on the road: bandits, animals, running out of fuel and starving to death. Then if I make it to town I have to somehow find Arn without drawing attention to myself. Arn’s stories about the inhabitants have nervous sweat pooling on my palms. Town is a den of thieves, rapists and murders. A girl like me is worth a lifetime’s wages. This is not my brightest idea.
    Back in the barn, I check the bandages binding my breasts and then slip on Arn’s jacket.
    His scent buried deep in the collar starts a lump of sadness in my throat. I tie the dirty brown bandanna over my mouth and nose and slide goggles over my eyes. Arn’s battered helmet is a loose fit, but I strap it on anyway. I have no mirror to judge, but pretty sure I can pass for a boy. That is, unless they get too close.
    The fuel in the quad’s tank isn’t enough for a return trip. If I do come back, I’ll have to buy gas or steal it. Just one more problem on my list, but the alternative is giving up Arn for dead. I strap on my backpack and straddle the quad.
    Visible through the open barn door is the house. I linger over the windows that mark my bedroom, my mother’s room. My fingers tremble as I urge them towards the ignition. I touch the metal key, but can’t force myself to turn it. From her stall Bounty moos and blinks her big brown eyes. I get off the quad, jog over to Bounty and throw by arms around her thick, bristly neck.
    “Take care of them, Bounty,” I whisper into her