The Beyond
Book 4, The Breeder Files
Eliza Green
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
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25
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37
BOOKS BY ELIZA GREEN
BOOKS BY KATE GELLAR
Word from the Author
Connect with the Author
1
Anya
The acrid smell of gun metal settled in Anya’s nose.
‘Again.’
She cocked the revolver while one of the soldiers a couple of years younger than her swapped the bullet-riddled target out for a new sheet. He scurried back when she popped off a new shot without warning. Three more bullets slammed into her target.
It didn’t have a face. She didn’t need one. The face of any Copy would do.
A stern woman with black hair and pinched lips came to mind, one of the Copy supervisors from Arcis. The memory of Arcis had been cruelly stripped from her. The Collective, too worried about what she might do if she kept them, had erased the last three months of her life.
But she’d clawed the memories back, thanks to a machine the Inventor Jacob, her brother Jason and the rebel technician Thomas had designed. Now, everything about that time couldn’t be clearer. The tests. The lies. Not to mention the memory-wiping machine the cowardly Collective had used on her.
Sheila, Dom’s close friend and now hers as well, stood off to the side, her arms folded and a frown on her face. She’d been there all morning, looking annoyed and close to saying something. Anya knew what this bullet-wasting practice must look like to her. They were about to return to the city and needed all the ammo they could get, but Anya didn’t know how else to deal with her grief.
Sheila huffed loudly when Anya aimed at the target again. She ignored her and fired.
‘Does Dom know you’re using all the bullets?’ Sheila said.
Anya paused before her next hit. ‘Yeah.’
Shooting targets was distracting her from other things. Julius, who had been the rebels’ second in command, and two foot soldiers from the city had taken Alex and Jerome back to Praesidium. Jerome was a newborn and friend she’d met in Arcis. Alex, also a friend, was a Breeder. Anya had rescued him from the Collective’s twisted programme. She guessed the Collective wanted back all its “property”.
None of them had known about the traitors in their camp. That put them all at fault. But the giant boulders to the front of the camp made it impossible to follow them in the trucks. And Dom was refusing to leave until they had transport that could get them there fast and also protect them.
Sheila uncrossed her arms and, with a loud huff, stalked off towards the city hall. Probably to see Dom to tell him how unreasonable Anya was being.
Good luck winning that battle, Sheila.
Anya aimed the gun again.
Four, five, six.
She didn’t care if she hit the target. This session wasn’t about accuracy. A second revolver, lodged in her waistband, dug into her side.
She removed it and handed the empty one to the nervous boy soldier hovering close by. ‘Set a new target.’
‘Uh, are you sure?’ The boy sounded nervous. ‘Max said we shouldn’t waste the bullets.’
‘Max isn’t here.’
One of Praesidium’s giant guardian wolves had killed their leader out on the same battlefield where one of the Copies had killed Jason and Warren.
The boy wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve. ‘Sorry, I forgot.’
Her activity had attracted quite the crowd. Male and female soldiers watched her curiously. Before the memory wipe she’d been a nuisance around here, unsure of herself. The soldiers hadn’t wanted her around because, above all things, she’d doubted her ability to shoot. After, she had transformed into a killing machine. And that made her useful.
‘Reload.’
The boy did and handed the shaking gun back to Anya. She emptied all six chambers, hoping that her activity would dislodge the hard knot in her chest. After a long period of inactivity it felt good to shoot again. Her returned memories had reignited her love of competition. Competition put her back in control.
She wanted to be useful to the rebels’ cause. More than that, she wanted to avenge Jason’s death.
A lump rose in her throat.
June stepped up beside her, a revolver in her hand. Her gentle smile snapped Anya’s grief away.
‘Want company?’
Anya relaxed her tense shoulders. ‘Sure.’
The boy soldier stood well back, looking like he wanted to flee. Others stood around in an arc. The temporary shooting range rested against the gable of a disused house near the back perimeter fence. The spectators watched with a mix of curiosity and something else Anya couldn’t figure out. She spotted three of the female soldiers who’d been rude to her when she’d lost all except one of her memories: the one of Warren attacking her. She and Warren had fought publicly. Without knowing why, the three women had thought it appropriate to take Warren’s side.
But that scared and timid girl who had first entered the camp was dead. It sent a thrill through her now to see their looks of confusion while Anya did what she did best. Fight.
She flicked open the chamber and popped in six new bullets, then snapped it closed. June was one step ahead. She already had the gun at eye level, one hand steadying the other. She brought it down and looked at Anya.
‘Best out of five?’
Anya nodded. The person to hit the bull’s-eye after five shots would win. She pointed at the boy soldier, then at the targets.
The jittery boy ran up, pinned two targets against the gable and ran back. Both were plain, white sheet of papers with a series of circles drawn on in pencil.
June went first.
