The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) (11 page)

“Berries,” I say. “Yeah, I heard you could eat certain kinds of them, but—”

And before I finish, he’s crammed them into his mouth. “But what?”
he mumbles.

“Certain kinds could
kill you.”

For a split second, Miguel pauses in his chewing, and then shrugs. “Oh, well. They’re good. Probably the best thing ever. So kill me. At least I’ll die with my mouth full of something delicious
for once.”

“Let me try,”
Aby says.

Miguel drops a few into her mouth, and she closes her eyes, mentally drifting away as she chews. Jax strips a branch of a dozen berries, presses one between his finger and thumb, and it bursts, staining his skin purple. He tosses half into his mouth, and gives me the other half. “Yum,”
he says.

I examine one carefully before biting it in two, but the second the juices touch my tongue, I’m downing the rest and joining my friends in stripping the little tree of every last berry. After gorging ourselves, we return to our spot
to rest.

Soon, a white fluttering thing—a butterfly, I think—dances along on the breeze to land on my arm. I freeze. Aby taps Miguel, and the three of them watch as the delicate wings rise and fall. It crawls along my arm, tiny legs tickling my hairs, making me giggle. When it finally flies away, I notice the sky colors have changed—the sun rests on the horizon like a great reddish-orange ball, floating on the water’s surface, sending richly colored rays of delicious light across
its utopia.

“Sunset,” Jax says. “We fell asleep last time and
missed it.”

We watch the sun sink behind the glittering wet horizon, leaving a cream-colored moon in its place to light the implausible Earth. The waves’ mesmerizing dance lulls us as the air cools, and I feel myself getting sleepy. But I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to miss any of this. The water’s rushing hush breathing against the shore is, by far, the most glorious sound. Slowly, night noises replace the daytime sights, and darkness calls to be explored, its mystery yet untold. Chilling, yet
wildly invigorating.

“Hopefully no creatures with fangs lurk in the dark,”
Jax says.

I give him playful punch. “
Quit that.”

“Well you never know, right?”

“But
. . . .
” Aby pauses, contemplating, then continues. “What would happen if we didn’t
get back?”

“I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt,” I reply. “Poor Baby Lou wouldn’t have a chance.” Suddenly, I’m in a hurry to get back to her. Which is very interesting. Here I am, with the free, marvelous, living world at my fingertips, and I want to get back to the Tree Factory of death and rot and toxic air. To my poor,
sick Baby.

I guess that’s why they call me
Momma Joy.

After a while of lying there listening to the waves crash against the shore, lightning strikes
the horizon.

“Whoa,”
says Jax.

“Yeah,” I say, “that’
s strange.”

“Was that lightning?”
Aby asks.

I nod. “There was a storm the last time we came, too.”

Lightning strikes again, closer, followed by thunder that vibrates the earth around us. Then, droplets of water splatter on
my skin.

“That’s our signal to get back to the hut,”
Jax says.

We make it back, out of breath, with raindrops beating down around us. But the moment Jax closes the door in the strangely-lit hut, it goes dark, and I’m spinning through space, alone. I open my eyes in citrus-and-rot darkness, concrete against my back. The pounding in my head and my intense thirst and nausea make me cringe. “Jax? Aby?” I try to raise myself up. I’m weak, woozy.

“Right here,” Jax says from
my left.

On my other side, fingers find my arm. “Joy?” Aby says. “
What happened?”

“We’
re back.”

“That was intense,” Miguel says from Aby’s
far side.

Next to me on the floor, a faint glow rises up from the light stick that was in my hand before
we left.

“Our light sticks are almost dead,”
I say.

“Yeah, that’s not good,” says Jax. “Means we’ve been down here for a while. We have to hurry
back up.”

Then, I remember. “Jax, the shell!
Check your—”

“Nope, empty. It’s
not there.”

Aby curls into a tight ball. “I
feel horrible.”

“Me, too.”

“Was it
the berries?”

“No. We felt sick the last time we came back, and we didn’t eat
any berries.”

Jax wobbles to the door and presses the dark button beside it, but it doesn’t open. He bangs it with his fists. “Come on! We have to go, man, let
us out!”

“If I let you out,” a girl’s voice rises up in the darkness from the back of the room, “you have to promise never to
come back.”

“Who’s there?” I say. “
Show yourself.”

Jax gathers the spear up from the ground and grips it tightly, walking toward the voice in
the dark.

“Stop,” she says. “Don’t come
any closer.”

Jax does, beside me, Aby and Miguel close
behind us.

“Why not?” I ask. “What is this place? Is it the Other Side? And who
are you?”

“I’m no one. You
. . .
you have to leave. Now.”

“We’re not leaving until you show yourself to us.” I take Jax’s light stick with my own and
forge ahead.

“Please,”
she says.

Another two steps, and a figure comes into view—a girl about my age, with short brown hair tucked under a boy’s hat and a string of black letters and numbers imprinted on the side of
her neck.

“I’m Joy. Are you the one who painted the stuff in
the corridor?”

She peers at me with sad dark eyes, and tosses a pebble onto the ground. Then, she nods. “Now you must go. And you must
never return.”

“Okay, will you tell us why?” I ask. “Please. We have over thirty children, forced to be slaves. We’re half-starved, and in need of medical attention. Please, you have to help us. We need to bring them
back here.”

“No.” She stands up, brushes dust from her pants. “You cannot bring
them here.”

“You led us down here, twice,” says Jax, “and now you want us to leave and never come back? That doesn’t make any
damn sense.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to go.” She straightens, probably to seem more intimidating, but doing a lousy job
of it.

“Okay,” Jax says. “Then how do we get out? The door’s closed, and there’s no power. And how is there electricity down here anyway? Could you tell
us that?”

The girl stares at the door across the room. “No more questions,” she says. The button next to the door lights up green, as well as the red lights along the outer edge of the ceiling that indicate harmful oxygen levels. She holds her hand up slightly, the air in the room moves in a gust, and the lights turn green. “Now go. When you get to the elevator, it’ll be ready to take
you back.”

“How’d you do that?”
Miguel asks.

“Go!”

“Okay, we’re going,” I say. “Come on, guys.” I usher them to the door, trying to be subtle with my amazement. After we collect our discarded breathers by the doorway, I turn to the girl, who scratches her nose with paint-stained fingers. For a couple of seconds, I hold her gaze, reading her eyes. Confused. Lonely. Conflicted. Strong, yet fragile. Things I’m not sure how I know. Things my daddy knew about people, too. There’s also a strange sense of connection to her that’s difficult
to pinpoint.

“Could you at least tell us your name?”
I ask.

At first, she doesn’t answer, kicks her boot toe at the ground and leans against the wall. Then, she glances at me and fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “Smudge,”
she says.

“Smudge? That’s
your name?”

She nods.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Smudge. Maybe we’ll see you
again sometime?”

“No,” she says. “You won’t.”

None of us say a word until we get back into the elevator and strap on our breathers
. . .
then we all speak
at once.

“How’d she do that thing with the door?” Miguel says. “She just looked at it, and the light
lit up.”

“Magic?” I shrug. “I bet she’s the reason there’s electricity and oxygen
down here—”

“That’s not even possible,”
says Jax.

“And the portal to
paradise is?”

We fall silent while the elevator rattles and screeches toward sub-
level six.

“You know,” I continue, “I think there are things going on here that are beyond our comprehension. There’s a reasonable explanation for
it all.”

“I thought it was magic?”
Jax says.

“I was joking. There’s no such thing as real magic, only man-made illusions. Smoke
and mirrors.”

“Well, she had me fooled,” Miguel says, leaning against
the wall.

Aby rests her head on his shoulder. “Me, too.”

“All of the best tricks do,”
I say.

The elevator comes to a stop, and the
door opens.

“Do what?”
Jax asks.

“
Fool you.”

Once we’ve hurried down the long corridor and back up the six flights of stairs, my stomach twists into knots. We have no idea what time it is, and as we pass the warehouse, a rumbling boom makes us
all jump.

“Thunder?”
I whisper.

Jax nods, holding the dim light stick out in front of us. The Tree Factory door is ahead, through one
more corridor.

“Maybe that means it’s the same storm as where we just were
. . .
?”
Aby offers.

I lay my hand on Jax’s arm. “I don’t know, but
. . .
what if it’
s daytime?”

He pats my fingers. “Then we’re in
big trouble.”

“Well, that’s comforting,”
Aby says.

Silently, we tiptoe toward the Tree Factory door. Sweat drips around my face where the plastic of the breather meets my skin, and as Jax reaches out for the handle, Aby takes my hand and squeezes it, tight. I
squeeze back.

Jax opens the door. Darkness from inside the factory gives me instant relief. If it had been daytime, they’d have the lights on. I lean the spear back against the wall in the corner, and the four of us exit the bunker door. Jax re-locks it. Then, we move out from behind the shelf, which he and Miguel lift to place back against
the door.

“Looks like we’re safe,”
I whisper.

A cackling in the dark raises chill bumps all over my body. We huddle together as bright lights flicker on over
our heads.

All four Superiors stand
before us.

“Well, well
. . . .
” says
Arianna Superior.

Her son steps forward, gripping
his thornwhip.

“Diaz
. . . .
” Arianna motions for him to fall back. “Save it. You’ll have your fun soon enough.” She flicks a finger at Mona and Emmanuel, who step toward us, holding chains with shackles attached. “Speaking of fun,” she continues, “I hope you enjoyed your adventure. It’s a wonder you’re back here at all. You are braver—or stupider—than I gave you
credit for.”

While Emmanuel shackles Jax, Mona Superior locks shackles around my wrists, ankles, and neck, and then moves on to Aby, who’s openly sobbing. Diaz lunges, punching her mightily in the side of the head, and she drops to the floor in a
still heap.

“Aby!”
I scream.

Miguel fights to help her, but Emmanuel restrains him inches from her. He locks the metal cuffs around Miguel’s neck, ankles, and wrists, runs a purple fingernail along his jawline, then grabs him between
the legs.

“What the hell, man!” Miguel tries to jerk away, and Emmanuel’s face, painted with gratified power-lust, makes my insides burn. I lock eyes with Miguel, sending him a silent message:
Wait. It’s
almost time.

He struggles to calm himself; his heaving chest slows, and Emmanuel Superior removes his hand. I watch Aby’s chest to make sure she’
s breathing.

“Oh, she isn’t dead,” says Arianna Superior, “but she may be soon. As well as the rest of you.” She flicks her finger again, and Diaz digs down into Jax’s pocket, takes out the key ring, and tosses it to
his mother.

Mona and Emmanuel tear the breathers from our faces, then drag us behind them by our chains. Diaz rips off Aby’s breather, grabs a handful of her hair, and begins to haul her, chains jingling against the floor, following us. A visible shiver ravages my body, because I know where they’re taking us. By the door to the stairwell, they leave their oxygen tanks and fasten on their own fancy breathers. Then, it’s down a flight of stairs, past the cellar playroom, down three more, and through a doorway to the dungeon. Last time Jax and I were here was a year ago, when we rewired the Tree Factory’s electrical, which took a specialist from Taborton three days to fix—three days in which no trees could be built. The first and only real break the treemakers ever got. Well worth the few days
down here.

I have a feeling this time won’t be
as easy.

Aby’s never been down here; she won’t handle it well. Jax will be fine, but Miguel’s three days after Pedro was sent away, changed him. He now has night terrors nearly every night, Jax says. I make quick eye-contact with them beneath a dull, flickering yellow bulb, and watch where Diaz puts Aby, before Mona Superior pushes the green button beside my own cell door. It screeches open, disappearing inside the wall. The light on the wall’s oxygauge changes from green to red, back to green, then to red again as I enter the foul, rot-smelling darkness. Same cell as last time.
How nice.

My head immediately begins to spin from the bad air. Mona Superior attaches my chains to the wall and locks them with a giant key, then laughs as she heads toward the exit. “I’ll be back,” she sings. “We wouldn’t want you to be too lonely down here.” With a bang, the heavy iron door rattles closed behind her, leaving the long orange shadow of the barred window stretched out on the floor in front of it. Enough light to barely make out the thin lines of dirt beneath
my fingernails.

After the other three doors echo shut, and the stairwell door slams, I perk up my ears in the pitch-black stillness. My head pounds, and my stomach begs for food. I’m parched already
. . . .
Not good.

“Jax?”

“I’m here.” His muffled voice calls faintly through the thin stone wall between us. Like the wall between the two dorm rooms—unstable, with ancient, crumbling grout. Last time, one cell stood between us, so we couldn’t communicate. There’s one plus,
at least.

“What do we do?”
I ask.

“I don’
t know.”

“Can you talk
to Miguel?”

“Maybe if I yell. He’s on the other side
of me—”

“No, don’t yell. We have to think of a plan to get out of here without drawing
their attention.”

“And
then what?”

“We kill them, and we go
find Smudge.”

“That’s
your plan?”

“I know, I know
. . .
let me think. It’s all I’ve got for now. Do
you have—?”

The stairwell door slams, and I freeze. Footsteps approach, then a cell door screeches open—either Aby’s or Miguel’s.

Aby screams, and tears fill my eyes. I fight to free myself. “Leave her alone!” I cry. “Please, don’t hurt her!” Foolish to beg, because I know that’s what
they want.

“No, please!” she wails from four cells down. “No! Please, no, don’t! Please, noooooo!”

A moment later, her cell door closes again, followed by the stairwell
door slamming.

“My hair!” she cries. “My hair!” Then, she screams, and screams, until her spirit’s shattered. I feel the break, a catastrophic loss, the death of something pure
and irreplaceable.

“We have to get out of here,” I say to Jax. “Can you get out of
your shackles?”

“Not unless I bite through my own hand,” he replies. “Which I am not doing, by
the way.”

I spit on my wrist to lubricate the metal, but with its rough finish, it’s not slick enough. It’s too tight anyway, almost cutting off my circulation. Curious, I stick my pinkie into the keyhole. “These things are ancient,” I tell Jax. “I bet it wouldn’t take much to pick
the lock.”

“You got anything to pick the
lock with?”

“Um
. . .
no.”

An hour or so passes before Jax speaks again, and I’m grateful for it. The faraway sobs of Aby are becoming
too much.

“When they come into your cell,” he says, “be ready. You know what they’re going
to do.”

“I know. I’ll
be ready.”

“They jump, you jump. Until they’re flat under your feet. Think of it as a dance, baby. You can
do it.”

“Okay,”
I whisper.

“Joy? You
hear me?”

“Yeah, okay,” I say, louder. “
Got it.”

The Superiors know from last time how terrified I am of jumpers. I made the mistake of verbalizing it with panicked screams and pleas for help. I learned a lesson then: no matter how scared you are, don’t let your
enemy know.

Though maybe that was a good thing. Because now I know what they’ll do to get that reaction from me that seemed to please them so much. They’ll wait until I’m exhausted, delirious, and too weak to fight, then they’ll set a couple of jumpers loose. Or maybe they won’t wait that long. Maybe they’ll make sure the jumpers have been good and starved for a few days first, that way, they’ll go straight from the cage to my throat. They might do that just to insure what happened last time doesn’t happen again. I must’ve surprised them when they came back and found two jumper carcasses and a crazed girl with a blood-smeared face. Won’t be any different this time. Except now, I know what to expect, so I’ll be
more prepared.

I don’t know how much time has passed when the slamming echo of the stairwell door jerks me awake from a wretchedly uncomfortable sleeping position. A cell door rattles open, closer than
last time.

Miguel’
s cell.

I hold my breath and say a prayer in my mind—or maybe it’s more of a curse—that whoever’s about to do evil unto him, dies the most
horrible death.

Miguel yells, then his voice is silenced, leaving only the sound of jingling chains and an exaggerated moan, followed by Emmanuel Superior’
s laughing.

I close my eyes and cringe. If what my imagination tells me is actually happening, then he’s more of a psychotic sicko than I thought. Of course, I should’ve guessed all along he’d go as far as violating boys for his own
gruesome satisfaction.

God, I hope I’m wrong, though.

Miguel’s door closes, and seconds later, the stairwell door slams
shut again.

“Jax, did what I think just happened
. . .
happen?”

“Didn’t sound good—at all. I think I hear
him crying—”

Then, Miguel begins to scream, thrashing around in his chains as he howls and curses
. . .
it’s enough to rip my heart out. Aby’s crying, too, saying something to him, probably trying to console him. But after that, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could never be
consoled again.

“Oh my God, Jax, what if you’
re next—?”

“If he tries to stick that thing anywhere near me, I’ll rip
it off.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.
I promise.”

§

Ravenous hunger and thirst tell me another day has passed. Reeking of urine and bloody from the strain of trying to slide my wrist from the shackles, I’m a fine feast for a family of
jumpers now.

“Jax?”

“I’
m here.”

Every couple of hours, I call over to make sure he’s
still alive.

“You heard Aby or Miguel at all?”
I ask.

“No.
You okay?”

“Um
. . .
is that a
trick question?”

“Joy?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you
marry me?”

“What?”

“I mean, I know I don’t have a ring or anything, but—”

Laughter crackles out from a stale place inside me, and transforms into tears. “Let’s get out of here first, and talk about marriage later, okay?”

“So, you don’t want to
marry me?”

“I didn’t say that, I—”

The stairwell door slams and keys jingle down the corridor, closer, closer
. . .
and stop at Jax’s door. A lump rises in my throat and more tears make my vision swim as his door clicks and
screeches open.

“What do you want, you psycho?” says Jax. “
What the—?”

“Do you like it?” Emmanuel Superior’s voice reverberates through the air like a noxious gas. “I made
it myself.”

“You’re sick, man. You should get help, you’ve got serious issues. That whole women’s clothes fetish
. . .
? Not attractive. People are saying things
. . . .
”

Emmanuel Superior laughs. “You know, I’ve always liked your spirit. So feisty
. . . .
”

Jax’s chains rattle. “Touch me again,” he growls, “and I promise you’ll
regret it.”

“Leave him alone!”
I scream.

“Ooh, we have an audience,” says Emmanuel. “How nice. Let’s put on a good show,
shall we?”