The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) Page 15

  “Do you have anything to cut the cloth with?”

  “No.” He hands me the water, then holds up a gray shirt. “Will this work?”

  “Yeah, that’s probably thick enough.” I notice Miguel standing right outside the door. “Hey, Miguel?” I call over. “Hand me Aby’s knife.”

  He tosses me the closed knife, which I use to cut Baby Lou a diaper, then I get her cleaned up and swaddled in the fresh cloth. Her dress is filthy. She’s been wearing the same one for a few days.

  “Okay, now find me the smallest shirt you can,” I tell Johnny. “She needs a new dress.”

  Again he digs around for a few seconds, and Jax returns with his group.

  “How about this?” And Johnny holds up the ugliest shirt I’ve ever laid eyes on, a strange man’s face on the front and words printed beneath it.

  “Let me see.”

  He tosses me the shirt, which would fit me big, and I read aloud the words below the man’s face: “Only you can create a better future.” I flip it over to more words on the back. “Make your eternal sacrifice for Lord Daumier—before it’s too late! What does that mean?” I mumble.

  “No clue,” says Jax. “What a strange place this world was once, huh?”

  “Yeah, definitely strange.” I replace Baby Lou’s dress with the huge shirt. It swallows her, but it’ll keep her warm and comfortable, and her skin protected.

  Aby and the girls return, giggling and gossiping. This is the most time any of them have ever spent with the boys, outside of working with them in the Tree Factory. Their heads are so in the clouds, they probably don’t even realize where we are, while they’re busy eyeing each other with flirty glances. It makes me happy, because even though we’re underground, we’re freer than we’ve ever been.

  I tie Baby Lou onto Serna’s back so I can spear something—or someone—easily, if necessary. She cries at first, but once I give her Millie and her bottle, she rubs her eyes and yawns. Our walking should put her right to sleep.

  “Everyone get with your buddy,” I say. “Chloe, next to me. Jax and I know the way, so we’ll lead. Johnny—you and Miguel take the rear with the other crossbow and protect us from the back. A few poles are left for any older boys who want to carry them for added protection, if necessary.”

  After everyone is situated in pairs with various weaponry, Jax and I start out of the storage room, Chloe between us. “Where are we going, Momma Joy?” She holds the light stick high, a noticeable fear in her eyes.

  “To find a friend. We have to walk for a bit.”

  “You have a friend down here?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Smudge.”

  “Smudge? What kinda name is that? I never heard a name like that before.”

  “I’m not sure. We haven’t had much time to talk to her.”

  She stares off into the distance, her little mind contemplating big things. We pass through the busted warehouse doors behind Jax, who’s moved a few feet ahead and whips his crossbow, left, right, left, right, searching for a target.

  “Momma Joy?” Chloe finally says.

  “Yes, Chloe?”

  “How come she’s your friend if you haven’t talked to her much?”

  “Chloe, honey, we’re going to have to save this conversation for another time, okay? Right now, I need to pay attention to where we’re going and what’s around us.”

  She lifts her light stick back up. “Okay.”

  “Good girl. You’re a fantastic light-shiner,” I whisper, and she grins up at me.

  We follow Jax down the familiar corridors, yellow and green lights shining around every turn. Every oxygauge we pass ticks noisily, as if they hadn’t moved in years, but they tell the truth: miracles are occurring here, tonight. Illusion or not, Smudge somehow makes electricity happen . . . and air, and food, and weapons . . . and she’s nowhere around to take the credit.

  We forge on through the connecting tunnel between Bunkers A and B, and when we turn down the corridor that holds Old Jonesy’s stairwell, I jog a few quick steps forward and catch Jax’s arm. “We can’t take them over Old Jonesy,” I whisper. “They’ll freak out.”

  He stops, and the procession stops behind us. “What do you propose we do, then?”

  “Whatcha talkin’ about, Momma Joy?” Chloe asks.

  I stare Jax down. He already knows what needs to be done.

  “Ugh.” He sighs. “Okay.” Then, he whistles down the corridor behind us. “Miguel, Johnny, come here.”

  “Someone has to stay out here with a crossbow,” I add.

  Johnny and Miguel make it to us. “What’s up?” Johnny asks.

  “You stay out here and guard everyone, Johnny. I have to take care of something in that stairwell with Joy and Miguel. We’ll be right back.”

  “What is it?” Johnny asks.

  “It’s nothing, man,” Jax replies.

  “Come on! You guys have been coming down here forever, and I never got to go one time. Let me go.”

  “How do you use that thing?” Miguel points to the crossbow. “Show me, and I’ll guard so you can.”

  After Johnny gives Miguel a quick lesson and I leave Chloe with Aby, I hand my spear to an older boy, then Jax, Johnny, and I head to the stairwell. Behind the closed door, I’m still surprised by the glow of green and yellow lights along the ceiling and walls, revealing Old Jonesy’s every rotted detail.

  Johnny jumps back.

  “This is Jonesy,” Jax says, chuckling. “Also known as ‘Old Jonesy.’”

  “It’s a . . . it’s a . . .”

  “Corpse,” I finish. “And we need to move him so he doesn’t terrify the children.”

  “Where do we move him to?” Jax asks.

  “All the way down the six flights,” I say, “and put him in a corridor opposite the direction we’ll be going.”

  “Man, check out that hat.” Johnny crouches down next to Old Jonesy and snatches the hat from his skull. Dust flies as he gives it a few good swats. He removes his bandanna, stuffs it into his back pocket, and plops the hat onto his own head. “What do you think? Does it suit me?”

  “Well, Miguel has his boots,” I say, “so why not?”

  “Who’s going down backwards?” Jax says.

  “I will. Johnny, help Jax. That part will probably be heavier.” I stoop down to lift Old Jonesy by the ankles, careful not to touch the crispy, blackened flesh of his feet, and they take him under the arms. “One, two, three. . . .” We lift him up, and I’m surprised to find him so heavy, considering there’s so much of him missing.

  Five flights of stairs later, sweat trails down my spine, glistens on Jax’s and Johnny’s foreheads as we struggle with the weight. At the bottom of the fifth staircase, we let his body drop and catch our breath.

  “Dang,” says Johnny. “That’s one heavy dude. Imagine what he was like when he was alive? Must’ve been a monster.”

  Jax laughs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Yeah, man. Did you check out Miguel’s new boots? That Old Jonesy had some big feet. . . .”

  “And you know what that means,” Johnny says, chuckling.

  “You boys are incredible,” I say, shaking my head. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?” Taking a deep breath, I bend down again, gripping Old Jonesy’s pant legs. “Come on, we need to hurry.”

  Still amused, Jax and Johnny stoop down and lift him up. “Where to?” Jax says.

  I nod behind them, toward the corridor lit up with only green oxygen lights. The one behind me—the one we’ll head down with the children shortly—is lit with both those and the yellow bulbs-in-fixtures to illuminate our path. We’re definitely being led to the portal. No doubt in my mind now.

  We drop Old Jonesy around the corner of the next green-lit corridor, relieved to be rid of him, then jog back to the stairwell. We start up, out of breath, but keep a steady pace. Nervous excitement and adrenaline, as well as an obviously lighted path, are our motivation to pu
sh past the fatigue.

  “How come there’s light and clean air all the way down here, too?” Johnny asks, halfway up the six flights. “How’s that possible?”

  “Smudge,” I say.

  “Yeah, but how—?”

  “We don’t know yet, but we’re going to find out. Apparently, she’s leading us to where she wants us to go.”

  “Such a mystery,” he says. “Can’t wait to meet her.” And he winks, adjusting Old Jonesy’s hat backwards on his head.

  When we make it back, everyone’s exactly where we left them, though most are sitting now.

  “Okay, everybody up,” I announce. “It’s time to move again. We’re halfway there.”

  They hop to their feet, excitement pushing them through their tiredness as well, I’m sure.

  “Hey, where’d you get the new hat?” a boy asks Johnny.

  “Found it,” he replies, “just lying there on the ground.”

  “Liar!” says another boy.

  “All right,” I say, “listen up. Olders, help your younger buddies get safely down these next six flights of stairs. Hold their hand, if you need to. Or guide them. There’s light, but it’s not real bright.”

  Chloe slides her little shaky hand up into mine. I squeeze it tight, and smile down at her. After a headcount and quick check on Baby Lou, Jax and I move the line into the stairwell, past Miguel’s old boots, and down. The echo of feet, pitter-pattering their way to paradise, brings tears to my eyes. My heart swells with joy for the first time since before my daddy died. He’d be so proud of me, I know he would be.

  With everyone safely down the stairs, we wind through the corridors Jax and I have explored countless times. Everyone’s quiet, waiting for the moment when they find out what’s next. We turn the corner to the corridor that leads to our elevator, the tiny yellow light above it already on. Oddly, this still surprises me.

  Jax stops to check the nearby oxygauge, shaking his head in astonishment. “I can’t even believe it.”

  “Wait,” I say. “What about the elevator? We can’t all fit at once.”

  “We’ll have to go in groups.”

  “I hate that idea.”

  “We have no other options, do we?”

  We’re halfway to the elevator now, yet something nags at me, though I can’t place it. Then, it hits me. “Jax,” I say, grabbing his arm, “the smell . . . I don’t smell it, do you?”

  “What?”

  “Citrus.”

  “Oh,”—he sniffs the air—“no, I don’t.”

  “What does that mean, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the one with all the assumptions.”

  “Yeah, but you’re usually the one with the speculations.”

  “Well, I got nothing. Let’s get down there and see what we find.”

  We reach the elevator and wait for it to ding, and for the door to open, but it doesn’t. I push the button, which finally opens the door. No citrus.

  “Johnny,” Jax calls to the end of the line. “Come here.”

  Johnny trots over. “What’s up?”

  “We need to go down in groups. I’ll take the first group of ten with a crossbow. Joy comes down with the next group, then Miguel, then you. Got it?”

  Johnny nods. “Where we going? Which floor?”

  “Twenty-three,” I say. “But it should take you there automatically. It did for us, the last two times.”

  He nods and starts back to the end of the line. “We’ll meet you down there.”

  “You bring the next group down right behind me, okay?” Jax says to me.

  Adrenaline rushes through me. It’s hard to feel my fingertips. “I don’t like us being separated,” I say.

  “Me, neither. But we’ll be back together soon. Just a few minutes.”

  “Who are you taking?”

  “The first five pairs here.” And he points to them, including Aby and her buddy. She’s no happier about being separated from Miguel, than I am from Jax. She kisses Miguel and hugs him tightly, then steps reluctantly onto the elevator, clasping her little girl’s hand. Once everyone’s on, Jax blows me a kiss, then the door slides closed between us.

  SIXTEEN

  After what may be an eternity, the empty elevator returns. The door dings open, and I hold it for Chloe and the next four pairs, including Serna with a sleeping Baby Lou on her back.

  “All of this clean air and traveling put her right to sleep, I see.” I smile at Serna as I enter the elevator, and she grins. “We’ll see you guys on sub-level twenty-three,” I say to the boys.

  Johnny gives me a thumbs-up, and Miguel waves as I let the door close. Only after do I notice one of Jax’s crossbow bolts stuck into the floor, beneath the buttons.

  “Enter destination,” the elevator voice says.

  I yank the bolt up and push the button for sub-level twenty-three. Why would he do that? He wouldn’t shoot a bolt into the elevator floor for no reason. I inspect it. Yes, it’s definitely one of his.

  “Why was that there?” an older girl asks.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Yeah,” a boy chuckles in disgust, trying to mask his fear. “She’s not sure of much—or so she says.” And he elbows the boy next to him who looks one hundred percent terrified already. “You know what I think?” he goes on. “That she’s just gonna take us east and feed us to the cannibals—oh!—or maybe she’ll just gobble us up herself; her and her boyfriend. . . .”

  This new boy—a lousy blabbermouth—was shipped in last week from Taborton. Twelve years old, with brown, fuzzy eyebrows that connect in the middle and a total of four rotten teeth in his whole fat mouth. He loves to brag about his “vaccinations” that protect him from our diseases.

  Slowly, I walk over to him, peer down into his eyes . . . and smirk. “Yes,” I tease. “And we’d start with you, except I wouldn’t want to choke and die.”

  He shows me his middle finger.

  Chloe squeezes my hand, points to the numbers. “Are we almost there?”

  The twenty-two button lights up, then goes dark.

  “Next floor,” I say.

  As the twenty-three button lights up, I move closer to the door. But instead of it staying lit and the elevator slowing to a stop, it, too, goes dark and the number twenty-four lights up. We keep descending.

  “Hey!” I bang a fist on the door, waking Baby Lou on Serna’s back. “What’s going on?”

  Twenty-four goes dark while twenty-five lights up and stays lit . . . except we don’t stop. We continue to descend. My ears pop, and Baby Lou screams, probably from the pressure in her ears, too.

  “Momma Joy!” Chloe tugs at her ears in a panic.

  “Pinch your nose and blow,” I say.

  She does, and I pinch Baby Lou’s nose, though she fights me. Her screaming should clear her own pressure. Deeper and deeper we plummet into the earth, and panic swallows me. I grip the bolt tightly, my sweat making it slick in my palm. Then, it hits me.

  “Jax shot this into the floor, so we’d know this would happen,” I say to myself. “It was pointing . . . down.”

  After what might have been another fifteen to twenty floors later, the elevator finally slows. “Please enjoy your travel,” says the voice, as the door opens to Jax and Aby, beaming from ear to ear with wide-eyed excitement.

  Jax rushes in, throws his arms around me. “You are not going to believe this.” He takes the crossbow bolt from my hand, then motions to two older boys, who nod and get on the elevator as we file out.

  “I’m sending them up to tell the others what’s going on. I wanted to make sure it was safe down here before I let them go.” He holds up the bolt. “So, you figured this out?”

  “Yeah, finally, when the elevator kept going after sub-level twenty-five. What’s down here?”

  “Something unbelievable.” Aby tries to smile, but it’s overcome by a tremble of fear.

  We move into the new corridor with the others, except this one isn’t like those abov
e us. The combination of smells is both alluring and alarming, because I don’t know what to call them. To my left stands a stone wall with steel support beams; same, across from the elevator. Only one way to go. Slowly, my gaze drifts right, toward a strange whooshing noise. The corridor stretches out before us in an arched tunnel, with small, scurrying creatures inside that cast long shadows from the orange, square overhead lights. On the far side at its end, a green glow illuminates the unknown.

  “What’s down there?” I ask.

  The elevator door closes with a ding, taking the two boys back up to the others.

  Jax grabs my hand and tugs me down the tunnel, Aby following close behind. But Chloe, gripping my other hand tightly, plants her feet. “I’m scared, Momma Joy.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jax says. “I’ve got this.” He holds up his crossbow, loading the bolt back into place. “And I won’t let anything happen to any of you.” He continues to guide us down the tunnel, the whooshing noise getting louder, the scents stronger.

  I take a deep breath. “What is that smell?”

  A few more feet and a crisscross-barred covering over the exit becomes visible. My heart races, pumping the liquid metal of adrenaline through me; I taste it in my mouth, and my fingertips grow numb. Another few steps, and the source of the whooshing sound is explained.

  “That smell,” Jax says, “is life.”

  We stand inches from the tunnel grate, and on the other side, leafy green plants crawl along a sloped ground, down into a rushing black river a hundred or more feet across. On the opposite side, a thick forest travels upward, disappearing into utter darkness. Above the river, and seeming to float in midair, a line of tiny green lights follows the river in both directions.

  “Guess we know where our water comes from now,” I say. “My daddy always said there were tunnels, deep underground. . . .”

  “Look over there,” says Jax, leaning into the grate and pointing to our right.

  Trembling, I lean in with him to see what he’s talking about. “Is that . . . a boat?”

  “Yep,” he says. “And big enough for all of us, too. At least it appears so from over here.”

  The boat rests on a platform above the water, and it’s almost half the width of the river, with a fat bottom and an enclosed space on top with wraparound windows.