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

  “Johnny, Smudge.” I whirl around, my invisible magic cloak sweeps the pain into nothingness. “Let’s get the children ready to meet our new friends.”

  §

  I knock three times on the kitchen door, and the boy with the crossbow answers. “Thank goodness,” he says. “Where were they?”

  “They were . . . exploring. They’re fine.”

  Best not to bring the troubles of love-gone-wrong into their lives. They’re already faced with defending themselves from monsters and mammoth, brain-eating cockroaches with kitchen utensils. They don’t need anything else to worry about. But the split’s obvious—Johnny, Smudge, and I walk in first, with Aby and Jax trailing guiltily behind us. The older children can see it like a spark in the dark, I’m sure.

  I find Serna, and kiss Baby Lou’s cheek. Then, I kneel down to Chloe and take her hands. “Thank you for being brave.”

  She nods, still clutching her wire whisk.

  I move in front of the group, while Jax stands off to the side, leaning against the wall to stare at the boy whose death he’s partially responsible for. Jax, the one I might have loved just hours ago, seems so much smaller and weaker. Fallen. Aby, too. Maybe they’re meant for each other, because I won’t be that. I refuse to fall. I’m flying from this place, like my daddy always said I would, and I’m taking my brothers and sisters with me.

  “We met some people,” I announce.

  “Out there?” someone asks.

  “Yes. Two people. Our age. And there’re two more. They’ve cleared a few rooms on the second floor, and they’ve invited us up.”

  Even before I get the last word out, everyone’s picking up their bags and blankets and moving toward the door.

  “Wait.” I hold up my hands. “So we’re all clear: as soon as the sun comes up tomorrow, we’re leaving here with Smudge. We’ll be meeting her friend, Raffai, and hopefully get to the Other Side.”

  The room erupts in a mix of cheers and murmurs of disdain.

  “I know,” I say, “but we don’t have a choice. The only way to get anywhere completely safe is to go back out there.” The words sink in for a moment before I continue. “We’ll be sleeping upstairs tonight as guests, so everyone, please, be polite and gracious in their letting us stay with them.”

  Once we’ve gotten everything packed up, the pots and pans and most of the utensils put away, we line up at the door. Chloe won’t let go of her weapon, though, and possibly never will again.

  “Can I keep it, Momma Joy?” she asks.

  “Of course you can.”

  I take Baby Lou from Serna, change her, then wrap her up in a blanket and hold Chloe’s hand. Jax stands off to the side, while Aby drifts down the end of the line, alone.

  “Johnny,” I instruct, “you guard the front half.”

  He takes his spot by the door.

  “And you”—I glance at Jax—“guard the back half with the spear.”

  He gives me a slight nod, eyes still swimming in guilt.

  “Okay,” I say to Johnny. “Open the door.”

  He reaches for the handle . . . right as someone knocks on the other side. “Hey, it’s me, Emerson. Thought you guys might need an escort.”

  Johnny opens the door to a freshly-dressed Emerson—tall and handsome, with chiseled features, like he was carved from wet wood. He smiles when he sees me, and it’s contagious, actually drawing up a sliver of my own.

  “That’s very kind of you,” I say.

  “Wow.” He surveys everyone, bright eyes bouncing from face to face and offering more of that smiling warmth. “Big group.” He tickles Baby Lou’s chin, and she giggles. First time I’ve heard her giggle in days. “What a cutie,” he says.

  “Bah.” Baby Lou reaches for him, wiggling her fingers.

  “I think she wants you, which is strange,” I say, “because she . . . well, she doesn’t know you.”

  “Ah well, come here, sweetie.” He holds out his hands and she goes straight to him, without hesitation, babbling and tugging at his black-collared shirt. “Yeah, Pia calls me Papa,” he says, chuckling.

  “Pia?”

  “You’ll meet her in a minute.” He glances down at Chloe. “She’s about your age, little missy. She’ll be excited to have a friend. She’s never had one her age before.”

  Chloe’s eyes light up. “Can we meet her now?”

  “Yep, she’s upstairs on two.”

  Chloe jumps up and down, and waves her whisk around, then stops. “Are the bugs up there?”

  “Not like down here.”

  “Everyone ready?” I ask, and everyone answers “yes” in unison.

  “All right, Emerson. Lead the way.”

  “You want the baby, or the knife?”

  “She seems happy with you, so. . . .” I shrug.

  Emerson slides the long silver knife out of his back pocket and hands it to me with a nod. “It’s all yours.”

  With Emerson holding Baby Lou, me with the knife and Chloe—whisk and doll in one hand, gripping my fingers tightly in her other—and Johnny with the crossbow at the front of the line, we all move swiftly to the stairs. The carpet, once a delicious, deep red-rose, is now a decrepit brownish-red where mold has feasted and microorganisms have festered for who knows how long. Stony bones of the steps peek out in spots, like flesh burned away.

  But time has been the only flame here; time, and light streaming in from the dome overhead, which now shines brightly with a glowing ball high above, and water that found a way through the path of destruction. What has been destroyed here, has also been brought to life. Same as the Treemakers of Greenleigh.

  Everything dies, yet, nothing’s ever really dead.

  I play with the possibility that Miguel’s spirit went to some Paradise in the Cosmos, as my daddy used to say. And he’ll meet Toby and Samurai there. They’ll swim amongst the galaxies, wade in the glow from an eternal sun, tossing star dust down upon the Earth for us to always remember them. I don’t know. But one thing I do know is: when we get to the Other Side—the real paradise here on Earth—I’m taking him, too—all of them—alive in my mind.

  Halfway up the stairs, Vila comes into view, also free of leaves, with short black hair that shines like a dark, raging abyss. “They’re here,” she calls over her shoulder. Tallulah peeks her furry head up from the knapsack on Vila’s back, then tucks herself inside again.

  A tiny bouncing blonde girl with lopsided pigtails and a smile that could breathe vibrant life into a dead world, points and claps her hands. “Bubba, look! Lots of ’em!”

  Behind them approaches a boy with a walking stick, limping slightly, and beneath a brown hat a tad too big for his head, is hair as white as clouds in pictures from the old world. His eyes are the sky, or the unbridled ocean, warm and wild, inhabited with too much to ever discover in their depths. The moment I see him, I fall into them, helplessly. When he grins—the hint of a dimple on his left cheek, lopsided like the little girl’s pigtails—I stumble on the last step up.

  He laughs, then covers his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.” He holds out his hand in greeting. “I’m Mateo.” His grip is firm, and my whole body warms.

  “And this is my sister, Pia.”

  “Nice to meet you, Pia.” I try to hide the tremble in my voice. “This is Chloe. She’s excited to have a new friend to play with.”

  “Come on!” says Pia. “I’ll show you my room!”

  Chloe looks up at me, wanting to go, but not sure if she should. I nod, let go of her hand, and she trots off after Pia, dropping her whisk behind her. I slide it down into her bag.

  “Can we go, too, Momma Joy?” asks another little girl.

  “If it’s okay with them.”

  “Oh, of course,” says Mateo. He waves us up to the balcony encircling the wide open space with the massive pillar in the center. “Room two-twelve is Pia’s room. It should be open.”

  A group of girls skips off down the balcony and disappears, one by one, into a room a
few doors down.

  “So . . . Joy?” Mateo says.

  “Huh?”

  “Your name. It’s Joy?”

  “Oh yeah, sorry. I’m Joy.”

  “All right,” Emerson announces, “anyone who wants the grand tour of Gomorrah Grande, level two, follow me.”

  I’m still astonished that Baby Lou is completely at ease with him. Most of the children follow, including a straggling Jax and brooding Aby. But I can’t move. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to. Something about Mateo is so comforting . . . as if he’s a long lost part of me that’s finally found its way home.

  “I’m Johnny.” Johnny shakes Mateo’s hand firmly. “And that’s Smudge.”

  “The sorceress,” Mateo says, chuckling. “Yes, my friends said you’re a special one.”

  “She is,” I say. “In fact, she was just about to tell us all about that.”

  “I was?” she says nervously.

  “Yeah”—Johnny winks with a smile—“I think I remember her saying that, too.”

  I swear I see Smudge blush. She turns her head.

  “Well,” says Mateo, “we’re in luck. I have the perfect spot for the revealing of secrets.”

  “You do?” I ask.

  He nods. “Yep. I call it, the sky hammock.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  After making sure all of the youngest girls are safe and occupied with Aby nearby, I tell her we’ll be back soon.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  “To show them around a bit,” says Mateo. He gives me a wink where she can’t see, then leads us down the balcony to a long hallway.

  Aby watches us, curiously, same as Jax when we come to what looks like a weapons room where he and a few other boys are talking to Vila. Lying neatly on the bed are rows of knives and sharpened wood spears. Vila chatters away, but Jax seems more interested in what I’m doing with Mateo.

  “Hang on a second.” Mateo slips through the doorway and takes two spears. “Sorry to interrupt, V. We’ll be back soon. Going up to twelve.”

  “Why?” she asks. Tallulah peeks out from her bag and hisses at us, then tucks herself out of sight.

  “I want to show them the hammock,” he tells her, and walks back out, holding three spears. “Here,” he says, “not that we’ll need them, but it’s best to be prepared. And they might be a little more effective than that thing.” He points to Johnny’s crossbow.

  Johnny takes the spear, inspects the craftsmanship. He touches a finger to the sharp tip. “Nice. Yeah, I’m a decent shot, but I like this, too. The more, the better.”

  Mateo’s fingers brush mine as I take the offered spear. His touch unearths my vulnerable core; a warm, sacred place where truth and magic lie. And I don’t even believe in magic.

  But I do believe that one touch could light up this building for years.

  Or maybe . . . I’m delusional from the traumatic experiences over the past few days. Maybe these feelings are weakness, disguised as the lie of love at first sight. After all, I found my best friend and boyfriend with my other best friend and sister, mere hours after someone we all loved dearly had been viciously slaughtered.

  I’m completely unstable.

  “I didn’t get you a spear,” Mateo says to Smudge. “Em and V say you don’t need a weapon.”

  “True,” she agrees.

  Farther down the hall, Emerson, still holding Baby Lou, exits through a doorway, followed by a line of children. “The life room,” he says to us, pointing behind. “Where we keep the different specimens we find. Unbelievable how much is here, really. We’re always discovering new things.” We enter the room, and over the children’s heads hang rows of different types of insects, including the carcass of a giant “bloodbug,” which rests between a long, black spiky thing and another insect with brightly-colored wings, possibly a butterfly.

  “We have ten extra rooms good for sleeping,” Emerson says to me. “How do you want them separated?”

  “Boys’ and girls’ rooms, with at least one older in each. I’ll have Baby Lou, Chloe, and one more younger girl in with me. The younger boys can be in Jax’s room.” As long as he doesn’t go “exploring” again.

  “Adventurers!” says Emerson. “Make yourselves comfortable in our rooms, or out here on the balcony while we get a few more rooms cleared. We’ll be serving lunch shortly.”

  “And no one leaves this area!” I announce.

  “You can be in here, Joy, if that’s okay.” He points to the door we’re standing next to—room two-sixteen. “It’ll be cleared by the time you all return.”

  “Perfect. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem at all. It’s nice to have more around. Gets too quiet here sometimes.”

  The children scatter, and I peek inside my room. Leafy vines cover half of one wall, and the ancient, smelly bed covers are made of the most exquisite cloth that’ll ever have touched any of our skin. Unfortunately, they’re identical to the ones shed to the floor during Jax and Aby’s “explorations.” Something that won’t be easily forgotten—or forgiven.

  “They’re pretty nice rooms, aren’t they?” Mateo asks me.

  “Yes, they are. Beautiful,” I say.

  “Yes . . . beautiful.” His eyes swim in mine, past the point of assumption he’s still talking about the rooms. My face grows hot, and I dip my chin. Mateo chuckles warmly, and it soothes my writhing insides, like he’d curled up in my soul to take a nap for a while. I struggle to breathe steadily.

  “So. . . .” Emerson grins at his friend. “Where you off to?”

  “The sky hammock. Will you be okay while we’re gone?”

  “Oh, yeah. Me and my new little friend here will be just fine. We’re about to go check out Pia’s room, see what we can find to play with. Then, we’ll get lunch started.”

  “Okay, we shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Yell if you need me.” And he takes off down the balcony, Baby Lou happily perched on his hip.

  With his walking stick in one hand and a spear in the other, Mateo continues the opposite way down the balcony corridor with us at his heels. “Em’s dad worked on generators his whole life.” He laughs. “How lucky is that? Only took him a few hours of tinkering around with the thing to get it going again. Don’t ask me how it all works; I wouldn’t be able to tell you much. Runs with water and electricity both, but that’s about all I know.”

  We get to a smaller interior elevator and Mateo reaches for the button.

  “Wait,” says Johnny, who gives Smudge a grin.

  But she starts, like she got caught stealing cookies. “What?”

  “Come on, do the thing,” he says. “Please?”

  “Do what thing?” Mateo asks.

  She breathes in deep and focuses on the elevator. A second later, the button lights up and the door opens by itself.

  “Wow!” Mateo says. “That’s great! How in the world did you do that?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you . . . magic?” She laughs nervously.

  “No such thing as real magic,” I say. “So, no. You’re not getting off that easy.”

  Mateo steps onto the elevator, and we follow. The door closes, and he presses the button for sub-level twelve.

  “What is ‘real,’ anyway?” Smudge asks. “Does that mean it needs to be explainable, that you have to know exactly how and why it works, what connects A to B? Can nothing unexplainable in this universe be . . . magic? It’s all semantics, you know. . . .”

  “There she goes again.” And Johnny pats her on the hat.

  Smudge whips out, grabs his hand. “Don’t touch my head—ever.”

  “Whoa . . . sorry. I didn’t mean to, uh . . . offend you.”

  She relaxes, releases her grip with a sigh. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I . . . have a thing about my head.”

  “Is that part of the secret?” I ask, while the elevator creaks and shimmies as it ascends. Before long, we’ve reac
hed our stop.

  “I suppose, yes,” she replies.

  The door opens, and we exit the elevator. It’s warmer up here, closer to the dome, but fewer vines and things, likely because of less water.

  “Leave the spears in the elevator,” Mateo says, dropping his with his walking stick before limping out ahead.

  We leave ours near his and follow him out. On the balcony, Mateo climbs up onto the railing.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  He winks and, spreading his arms wide, falls backwards.

  “Oh my God!” I yell.

  “What the hell?” says Johnny.

  We rush over, and when we get to the railing, we see him suspended in mid-air, hands behind his head and grinning up at us. I squint, making out a semi-transparent netting that stretches around the area’s circumference from railing to center pillar.

  “Come on!” he calls up to us. “It’s super sturdy.” And he rolls to the far side, giving us room to free fall from what might as well be a million feet high.

  “Hell, yeah!” Johnny hops onto the railing, then jumps off like it’s two feet in the air. “Woo!” he yells, landing on his side. The net expands, then retracts. “He’s right! Sturdy! Come on, you two!”

  I read something unsettling in Smudge’s eyes.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what to call this one,” she says quietly. “It’s . . . very confusing. I mean, all of the other ones are so easy—guilt, sadness, anger, all forms of fear . . . happiness, joy, excitement, bliss . . . those, I understand. But this one . . . it’s a mix of everything, all in one. There’s fear, excitement, nervousness, curiosity . . . happiness. . . .” She stares longingly at Johnny.

  “Oh!” I laugh. “I think I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.” And I gesture to Mateo.

  “Interesting. . . .” she says. “So what do you call it?”

  “Well, I’m not one hundred percent sure, but . . . I think you call it . . . love.”