The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) Read online

  “Help me get some pans and utensils to pass out,” I say, and I explain to him what Smudge told me.

  Johnny shrugs again. “Okay, sounds like a plan.”

  So we clear the cabinets, the most deadly utensil being a sharp, three-pronged fork, which I hand to an older boy.

  “Seriously?” he says.

  “Seriously.” I squeeze his shoulder and whisper, “Let’s just hope you don’t have to use it.”

  Johnny, Smudge, and I take a step back to view our pathetic little army. I want to laugh, but I’m afraid it would become tears. All of the children I’ve grown to love and have become protector of . . . defending themselves with ordinary kitchen items. Chloe grips her wire whisk as if her life depends on it. She isn’t so far from the truth.

  “Everyone listen up,” I announce, “we have to go find Jax and Aby so we can get out of here. Lock the door behind us, and do not open it unless you hear three knocks.” I motion to the boy with the crossbow and he comes forward. “Guard the door,” I tell him. “And if we’re not back—”

  “We’ll be back,” Smudge says.

  Chloe cries, then Baby Lou starts to cry, too. My anger at Jax and Aby flares into silent rage. If anything happens to these children while I’m gone . . . I don’t know what I’ll do. I give Baby Lou a hug and Chloe a kiss. “Be a strong girl,” I say. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Chloe nods her blonde head and sniffles.

  “Take good care of my Baby,” I tell Serna.

  She nods, too, cradling a frying pan beneath her other arm.

  “Come on,” says Johnny, “we need to hurry. They could be in trouble.”

  “Oh, they’re in trouble all right,” I mumble. “Big trouble.”

  §

  As soon as we cross the threshold, the door closes swiftly behind us, and we hear two deadbolt clicks.

  “I’m thinking we should’ve grabbed one of those pans,” Johnny says.

  And I’m thinking I agree with him. Surveying our surroundings—leafy vines that have swallowed the walls, twisty jungle trees that have pushed right up through the tile floor—I feel so small and vulnerable.

  “It’s fine,” Smudge says, removing her hood from her head. “It’s your friends out here we should worry about.” She moves ahead, waves a hand behind her. “Stay close. When I came out looking for them earlier, I thought they may have gone upstairs to search for a ground-level exit. I took the elevator up, but didn’t see or hear them anywhere. So we should start our search down here.”

  “There’s another elevator?” I ask.

  She nods. “For inside the hotel. It begins on the next level up.”

  “Should we call for them?” Johnny asks.

  “No.” Smudge shakes her head, voice low, almost a whisper. “It’s best to be quiet, especially when others are around. We don’t want to alert them to our whereabouts more than we already have.”

  “You really think others are here?” I ask.

  “Yes. I know there are.”

  “Well, that’s comforting,” says Johnny. “Let’s hope they’re nice.”

  “That is not extremely likely.” Smudge scratches her neck near the black string of letters and numbers printed there.

  “What does that mean?” I ask, pointing at the tattoo.

  She starts at the question. “Oh . . . that. . . .”

  We head in the opposite direction of our entrance, passing rustling leaves and shuffling sounds that may be critters scurrying around, trying to find the best angle to attack from. A dark doorway set in the far corner comes into view, and Smudge heads toward it. To our left and out from under a massive mushroom sticks the bent legs of a fallen golden bird. High above, and caught in thick, dangling vines, the chain which once held it.

  “So, are you going to tell us, or not?” Johnny asks. “Because I’m a little curious myself.”

  “Curiosity. . . .” Smudge’s eyes shift around the room. “That’s one of the more dangerous ones. . . .”

  “You know, you’re something else,” says Johnny. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re cute—real cute—but sometimes, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

  “My name,” she says.

  We stare, confused, as we reach the shadowy doorway.

  She stops and faces us slowly, points at the tattoo. “This is my real name.”

  “I thought Smudge was your name,” I say.

  “No, that’s kind of a . . . nickname.”

  “So”—I lean in to get a better look—“7ZS3-22Y is your real name?”

  She nods.

  “Man,” says Johnny, “things must be real diff—”

  Smudge holds up a hand, puts a finger to her lips, and motions for us to get between her and the wall. We scurry behind while she stands as still as stone, eyeing the thick leaves a few feet ahead. Something swishes them, and they wave slightly.

  Smudge raises her left hand, arm outstretched, palm facing the hidden intruder.

  I hold my breath.

  The leaves wave again, then something leaps through—furry and brown, with yellow eyes and a long striped tail, sharp fangs in a frothing mouth. An invisible force knocks it back into the leaves, and it howls as it smacks the wall behind the thick vines.

  After a few intense seconds, Smudge tugs her sleeve down over her hand.

  “How did you do that?” I ask.

  “Yes,” rises an unfamiliar voice from within the vines. “How did you do that?”

  The leaves move again, and this time, the shape of a person—a leafy person—moves forward. I make out brown eyes set in dark-brown skin, almost entirely hidden by leaves. A long, silver kitchen knife in his hand reflects the light. Then, a second figure steps forward, holding the creature that tried to attack us, a second silver knife in its own hand.

  “Well, we found the kitchen knives,” Johnny says.

  “What the hell did you do to Tallulah?” a girl’s voice demands. I make out pale skin, slits of angry black eyes, jet-black hair.

  “It will not die,” Smudge says calmly. “It’s only temporarily stunned. It will be fine in about an hour.”

  “She. Tallulah’s a she. And in an hour, I think I’ll let her gnaw on your face.” The girl, covered from head to toe in leaves, comes closer. She stops in front of Smudge, towering over her by at least three or four inches.

  “Then I may have to do more than stun her next time,” says Smudge, without a hint of intimidation.

  “Look,” I say, “we don’t want any trouble. We’re trying to find our friends so we can leave, then we’ll be out of your way.”

  “Where did you all come from?” the boy asks, his deep voice sweet and soothing, like a well of sleeping angels.

  “I’m Joy, and that’s Johnny. We’re treemakers from Greenleigh. And that’s Smudge. She’s . . .”

  “From the far east,” Smudge says.

  “Far east?” The girl laughs. “Yeah, right. More like, what planet are you from?”

  “Treemakers, huh?” the boy says, ignoring the girl’s accusations. “What are you doing down here in the jungle?”

  “We escaped,” I say. “There was an . . . accident. An explosion. We barely made it out alive with the children.”

  “Children?” the boy says. “Was that the screaming we heard coming from the kitchen?”

  Johnny gives me a look of warning, but the boy’s kindness makes me want to trust him. Not so much the girl. Him, I trust, though.

  “Yes. Over thirty of us altogether. Two from our group disappeared. That’s who we’re searching for now. Our youngest is only a year-and-a-half old.”

  They glance at each other, then back to us, and the boy emerges from the leaves, holding out his hand. “Emerson.” I shake it, and he offers me a warm smile. “That’s Vila. There are two more of us. We’ll introduce them to you shortly.”

  “Where are you from?” Johnny asks.

  “Northeast Subterrane. We escaped from there just last week.”

  “Why?” I ask.


  “Long story.”

  “Where are the other two?” Johnny’s eyes dart around. “Hiding in leaf-suits like you two were?”

  “None of your damn business,” Vila spits.

  “Vila, calm down,” says Emerson. “These people aren’t the enemy.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she mumbles, petting her animal.

  I study Tallulah. “For the longest time we thought the only animals left were rats,” I tell them. “Obviously, that’s not the case. How did you get that one to be your pet?”

  “I found her when she was a baby, near the Subterrane.”

  “Hey,” Johnny interrupts, “can we all get to know each other after we find Jax and Aby?”

  “Your friends went in there.” Emerson points to the dark doorway. “Well, we think, anyway. We heard crying earlier and came down to check it out. After a while, we heard screaming from the kitchen and figured there were a few more of you.”

  “What’s in there?” I ask.

  “The pool, and a few more rooms. Some sort of entertaining rooms, probably. They’re kind of strange.”

  “Come on,” Smudge says, “We have to find them—now.” She moves on through the darkness, while Johnny and I follow her.

  “We’ll wait for you out here,” Emerson says, “and keep watch.”

  The moment we step into the dark, everything lights up, and Smudge nods when I glance her way. Inside, the walls are mirrored, dotted with splotches of grime over a layer of dust, yet our reflections still ripple in them. The red-and-gold light fixtures with soft-yellow old-fashioned bulbs in them—the two that actually work—are so detailed and perfect, someone obviously put a lot of time into making them.

  When we leave the hallway, the light changes from red and yellow, to blue and deep purple in a room with shimmering walls. At first I’m confused, until I realize the light’s reflected from an enormous pool that fills most of the room, with tiny mirrors dotting the entire edge in a swirling wave. Greenery adorns certain sections, while two lights in the water illuminate flowing things beneath the surface.

  “Wow,” says Johnny.

  “Wow is right,” I say.

  Together, we spin slowly, taking it all in, until Johnny points to the wall beside the door where words had been beautifully painted in purple and blue, now chipping, and edged in thin lines of gold.

  “What does that say?” he asks.

  I clear my throat. “Whosoever immerses themselves in these waters shall have eternal life.”

  Johnny laughs. “All this stuff about living forever, and they’re all dead. Idiots.”

  “This way.” Smudge leads us around the corner to another doorway already lit up, and into a sparkling dusty-gold hallway with ten, fancy red-numbered doors.

  “Shall we?” I say.

  Johnny nods and opens the first door to darkness. The light blinks on to shine over a neatly made bed with an ornamental covering. We move on to the next room, and the next, and the next. The first nine are all identical, and all empty. We stand before door number ten, and my chest heaves while a sickness sits in my gut like rotten slop. Johnny goes for the door.

  “No,” I say. “Let me.” I twist the knob, and Smudge turns on the light.

  And there they are, startling awake in each other’s arms.

  TWENTY

  I pivot around, fight back rage, and Smudge turns off the light.

  “Um . . . you guys might want to get up,” Johnny says to Jax and Aby.

  Cursing and heavy breathing cuts through the darkness as they scramble to put themselves back together again. “What are you doing here?” Jax mutters.

  Something snaps inside me. I spin back around. “What are we doing here?” I yell. “While you two were ‘comforting’ each other, a boy died! And we’ve left the children alone with kitchen utensils to protect themselves so we could hunt you down! So what are you doing here?” Light from the hallway shines onto their guilty faces.

  “Could we . . . turn the light on?” Aby says softly. “I can’t find my other boot.”

  I flip on the light switch, shining truth down onto the messy bed. Tears fill my eyes, and I push my way past Johnny and Smudge, back through the pool room, to the fancy corridor. When I emerge through the entrance doorway, Emerson and Vila are still waiting in the same spot—Emerson, concerned; Vila, amused.

  “Trouble in Lovetown?” Vila snickers, crossing her arms, and I want to rip her to shreds. Instead, my tears betray my strength, and stream down my face.

  “Ah, honey. . . .” Emerson plucks handfuls of leaves from his camouflaged suit, then pulls me to his chest and squeezes tight, like he’s known me all of his life. “Love is heartache, sister. Ain’t nothin’ easy about it.”

  “Thank you.” I wipe my eyes, push away from him to gather my shattered heart from the floor. “I’ll be fine.”

  Footsteps approach from down the hallway, and I take a deep breath, see Vila’s pet twitch in my peripheral.

  “Is that thing safe around children?” I ask.

  “Yeah, once she gets to know you,” Emerson says. “I’m sorry she jumped out at you. She was just protecting—” His eyes focus behind me as Johnny, Smudge, Jax, and Aby come through the doorway.

  Jax grips his spear. “Who are they?”

  “That’s Emerson.” Johnny points. “That’s Vila, and Ta . . . Ta—”

  “Tallulah,” Vila finishes. “And she’s hungry. Come on Em, we need to get back.”

  “Did I hear you say someone died?” Emerson asks me.

  “A twelve-year-old boy.” I glance at Jax. “Some giant cockroach sucked his brains out through his skull.”

  “Bloodbugs,” Emerson mumbles. “Yep. Hate those damned things. You have to clear the vines out of the room before you go to sleep, because they get up in there and hide—”

  “Why are you talking to them like they’re welcome here?” Vila demands. “This is our place.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Emerson holds a stiff finger in the air. “They found it, just like we did. They’re welcome to stay as long as they damn well please.”

  “Whatever.” She retreats with a sigh. “I’ll be upstairs.”

  “You stay upstairs?” I ask.

  “Yeah, second floor. Well, technically it’s forty-four, but . . . second floor’s easier to say.” He winks. “Anyway, there’s less greenery and things for critters to hide in up there. You’re welcome to bring the children up. It’s safer. We’ve cleared the greenery out of a few rooms for ourselves, but we can clear a few more. Doesn’t take long at all. Plenty of room for your group.”

  “Thanks,” I say, “but we won’t be here for long.”

  “Where’re you headed?”

  I look over at Smudge for permission to tell.

  “I’m taking them down the river,” she explains, “to meet a friend of mine from the Other Side. From there, we may head under The Wall with him.”

  “The Other Side?” he says. And when I think he’ll ask if his group can come along, he adds, “Why on Earth would you want to go there?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” I ask.

  “From what I’ve heard, things aren’t much different there.”

  “Things are very different there,” says Smudge.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask Emerson.

  “Well, we’ve heard some stories . . . hard to say what’s rumors though.” He shrugs. “I don’t know, I suppose it might be worth it to check it out.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “Em, you comin’?” Vila calls down from the second floor.

  He waves a hand in the air. “Yeah, V, gimme a minute.” He plucks a remaining leaf from a buttonhole in his shirt, then looks back at me. “Never mind. You never know at the Subterrane. Sometimes things get passed around to scare people so they don’t revolt. At least, that’s what we think, anyway. I probably shouldn’t put so much weight on them. If your friend says it’s the place to go, then I’d trust her.”

 
I scrutinize him for a moment, struggling to quell my curiosity. “Okay, well . . . we’re going to get back to the children,” I say. “Mind if we come up soon?”

  “Not at all.”

  “But what about . . . her?”

  “Vila?” He scoffs. “Oh, she’s a little rough around the edges, sure, but . . . kinda like Tallulah, once you get to know her, she’s a sweetheart.”

  “A sweetheart,” Johnny says with a smirk. “Right.”

  “We’ll be up there soon,” I say. “Once we get everyone together.”

  Emerson nods and, gripping his knife, jogs up the stairs. I start back toward the kitchen, deciding it best to pretend Aby and Jax don’t exist. At least until I can wrap my mind around things.

  “Joy?” A soft hand grips my arm, a voice now razor-sharp, when once it was a healing balm.

  I yank my arm away, fighting against tears.

  “Please, Joy,” she begs. “I’m so sorry. It’s just . . . Miguel—”

  I spin around—a world of pain on a tiny, fractured axis—and glare at her. “So you thought you’d have your way with Jax to make things all better? Well, nice going. Because now, not only have we all lost Miguel, but you and I—we’ve also lost a sister.” I turn my back on her, adding over my shoulder, “Oh, but that’s okay. Because now you have yourself a nice replacement for me and Miguel.”

  “Joy, stop it,” says Jax. “It wasn’t her fault. We were just talking and . . . one thing led to another.”

  “It takes two, you know,” I tell them. “It was both of you. Hers, as well as your fault, Jax. And you’ve done a great job of splitting us down the middle. What a fine example for the children to follow. Hey, with any luck, all of them will grow up to be just like you two, tearing apart the hearts of everyone they meet, like paper. Because—who cares, right? We’re all gonna die young, so why not go out with a bang?” My last words sting as I stare into Jax’s eyes, a goodbye. Because I’ll never let him in again.

  “Oh, and Aby”—I dig into my pocket—“you might want this back.” I extract her father’s knife and place it in her hand, knowing it’s the best, and worst, possible revenge. At that moment, there’s not a spec of guilt anywhere in sight. Aby holds the knife in a shaky, outstretched hand, afraid at first to bring it in close. Then, she cracks and begins to weep, hugging it to her chest. And I hope it hurts. Right now, at least, I do.