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

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “My father. Best thief the world has ever known, I’m sure of it. He had ways of discovering things.”

  “Your father was a thief?”

  “Well, yes and no. He was primarily a salt miner, but also a thief. He’d tie pouches of salt to his legs to trade in small quantities in exchange for information from people who wanted more than their meager rations.”

  I giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” Mateo asks.

  “Oh, it’s just . . . my daddy was a gambling magician; the best liar the world has ever known—”

  “Wait—was he Zephyr the Magnificent?”

  “Yes!” I blink. “How in the world did you know that?”

  “Come on . . . not many gambling magicians around Bygonne lately.”

  “True . . . but how? Did you hear about him?”

  “I saw him perform once.”

  “Really?”

  He nods. “I was about ten or so, and my father had saved up Notes for two whole years so I could see him. . . .” We lock gazes, and the desire for his hands in mine grows. But young eyes, and angry ones, watch in my peripheral and make the physical connection impossible, though this non-physical one is almost as intense. “Your father was an awesome man,” he continues. “Freeing himself from those chains, when he should’ve long been drowned—”

  “Oh my God,” I laugh again. “You know what? I think I was at the same show. Only time I ever saw him perform in front of a crowd. I’d stolen a man’s coat and snuck in—”

  “That was my father’s coat!” he blurts.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, when we left, it was gone. Did you put it back?”

  “No, I ditched it later in a storage closet when I got near our quarters.”

  “Was it brown, with a hood?”

  “Yes! Oh my God, are you serious?”

  “Yes!”

  Everyone’s staring now as our voices rise in excitement.

  “That’s unbelievable,” I say, as tears well in contrast to my smile. “I’m so sorry I stole your father’s coat.”

  “Don’t be. Why are you crying?”

  “Well, I . . . I miss him so much, and I’ve only been able to share his memory with one other person.” I glance over at Jax. “But now I’ve just realized something. . . .”

  “What’s that?”

  “Real magic exists after all.”

  Mateo takes my hand, and I let him. No longer can I withstand the inevitable: fate or God, or the ghosts of our fathers, have brought Mateo and me together—at the perfect time. No denying it, the awe of how it’s all happened, and now this undeniable connection between us, like stars that have orbited together for years, finally colliding to make a bigger star.

  “Magic is real,” Mateo says. “Ever since I saw Zephyr the Magnificent perform that night, I knew it was. Never a doubt in my mind about it, either.”

  Tears roll down my cheeks as I openly sob, hiccuping against swirling emotions, everyone watching as my revelation comes. Baby Lou’s face grows serious, concerned, as she watches me. I kiss her cheek. “Momma Joy’s okay, sweetheart,” I say. More than okay.

  Smudge was right about the magic. It was there all along. But I failed to see it, because . . . I was a part of it.

  I was the smoke, the mirror, the muse. . . .

  I see that now.

  At once, I throw my arms around Mateo’s neck and, squeezing tightly, kiss his cheek, then whisper into his ear, “Thank you, so, so much.”

  He kisses my own cheek. “I knew it when I saw you,” he says, voice low so no one else can hear. “Something in your eyes. . . .”

  “What?” I say. “What did you know?”

  “That I’d fall in love with you.”

  The urge to kiss him is so strong, too strong to withstand, almost.

  He gazes at my lips, then winks playfully. “There’s plenty of time for that later.”

  My skin grows hot with embarrassment; he suspects my thoughts, and I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone so badly. And not just kiss—mesh into him, disappear inside his skin to become one. I’ve never felt that way about Jax; his was more of a comfort thing. This is a force of nature, a connection only death could break.

  Thankfully, Emerson squats down near us, because I can’t put these feelings into words.

  “You tell her yet?” he asks Mateo.

  “Uh, no. Not yet.”

  “You gonna?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dah.” Baby Lou reaches for Emerson.

  “Well, hello there, little lady.” He picks her up, sets her in his lap, and she babbles to him.

  Mateo adjusts his outstretched leg. “Okay, so, my sister was chosen as a sacrifice by Queen Nataniah. At three ‘choosing ceremonies’ a year, she supposedly speaks to ‘the gods,’ who tell her which children will be sacrificed. But unlike the Ultimate Sacrifice Smudge told us about, this particular sacrifice isn’t as pretty, or as complicated. The ‘chosen ones’ are kept in a separate room and fed extremely well until their twenty-fifth birthday. Once they come of age, the ‘bloodletting’ ceremony is held, when they’re slowly drained of their blood, then they’re cut open.”

  “That’s horrible,” I say. “Why would they do that?”

  “That’s not even the half of it,” he says. “After they’re cut open, the townspeople feast on the organs, and the fat and flesh is ground up, fortified with nutrients, put into cans . . . and shipped to Greenleigh. To the Tree Factory.”

  His words take a moment to register. “Hold on, are you saying—?”

  “Yes. Slop is one hundred percent human fat and flesh.”

  I fight to hold down my mashed potatoes. All those years, shoveling that filth into my mouth. My stomach churns. The curly black hair I found was not Humphrey’s. Then, other pieces click together, a nightmare jigsaw puzzle.

  “Those are the cannibals!” I say. “The Superiors weren’t lying!”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “They sent our brother there! Did you meet him? Pedro, missing his left hand . . . ?”

  “Uh, no . . . doesn’t mean he wasn’t there, though. Pia!” he calls toward the group of giggling girls down near Aby, then adds to me, “If they bring them on a rover at night, everyone’s asleep, and sometimes the Queen sends them straight to the fattening chamber.”

  Pia jogs over, pigtails bouncing. For an instant, the nightmare multiplies tenfold. Could we have eaten our own brother, unknowingly? Then, I remember the age limit, and I’m relieved. He wasn’t quite twenty-five yet.

  “Yes, Bubba?” Pia asks.

  “Before we left, do you remember a boy named Pedro? He was missing one of his hands.”

  She bites her lip, trying to remember. “Oh yeah,” she cries. “Pedro! He was nice to me, and he was so sad ’cause he missed his baby brother.”

  “That’s him!” I say. “We have to go back, Mateo. We have to save our brother.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “No, we can’t go back there,” says Emerson. “We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “We have to go back,” I insist. “His brother, Miguel, died down there in that jungle. We have to. For Miguel.”

  “You don’t understand,” Mateo says. “Not only is going back there risky, but the river only goes one way; the opposite direction. And the trolley doesn’t work very well with four people on it, much less thirty-something—”

  “Trolley?” I say.

  “Yeah, a trolley tunnel exits from the twentieth floor. It used to operate with electricity, we think. An antenna sticks up from the top, and wires run along the tunnel. But there’s also a pump jack, as a power failure back up.”

  “What’s all the excitement?” Johnny asks, as he and Smudge join us.

  “Remember what the Superiors used to tell us about the eastern cannibals?” I say. “Well, it’s true.” And I proceed to explain what Mateo told me, though I stop short of revealing the Tree Factory slo
p’s ingredients. Probably not the best time to tell him. Or anyone. Ever.

  “Eat Pedro? Hell no,” says Johnny. “Where is this place? We have to get him—”

  “Listen,” Emerson says, “it took us two days to get here by trolley, but we kept stopping to rest, with only three of us pumping. Probably wouldn’t take as long with more muscle, but . . . what about the children? We can’t take them there. They’ll get us all caught. Killed, eaten, held captive, tortured. Like I said, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “We’ll take them to Raffai,” Smudge says. “To safety first, before we attempt a rescue.”

  “I agree,” I say. “But . . . how are we going to do this?”

  “Who’s Raffai?” Emerson asks.

  “A friend of hers, on the Other Side,” I say.

  “The Other Side? You know how to get over The Wall?”

  “Under it, actually,” she replies. “And yes, I have that knowledge. The passageway is right next to where you all came from, near the Northeast Subterrane.”

  “And you’ve been through there?” Mateo asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Smudge, I’m curious,” I say, “why did you lead us to the jungle if we could’ve taken the trolley?”

  “I didn’t know for sure if you’d all fit in the trolley. The boat can hold more. And Arianna Superior sometimes goes to the Subterrane using the trolley tunnels. I felt it would be safer using the boat, as long as I led the . . . monsters . . . away.” A sadness sweeps her face of its youth. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

  “Smudge, don’t.” I pat her knee. “Guilt and regret won’t do you any good. You did what you thought would save us, and I appreciate that. We all do.” Jax glares over at us, Aby by his side. “Well, most of us, anyway. But tell me something . . .”

  She nods her assent.

  “How were you planning to lead them away?”

  Smudge sighs. “I suppose I should tell you the truth about them, now that you know my truth.”

  “Wait.” Emerson holds up a hand. “What truth? Fill me in?”

  “Smudge is part machine, part human,” Mateo whispers. “I’ll tell you the rest later.”

  After a serious inspection of Mateo’s face, then Smudge, who nods, Emerson whistles softly. “Well, I’ll be damned. . . .”

  “The monsters, as you call them, are also part machine,” Smudge explains. “Many years ago scientists from this side managed to get the genetic coding for OAIs, and instead of humans, they created weapons, bred them and programmed them to destroy. Only, the organic intelligence they generated had done something they did not anticipate—it grew beyond the confines they’d created and took control of the Nirvonic System, which they renamed the ‘Wild Adaptation and Reprogramming,’ or ‘WAR’ System, and the creatures learned how to take advantage of it. They learned how to fool the host into thinking it had control, until the host was within reach and vulnerable, then they would attack. And because these creatures were part machine, they could also think with near-human capabilities. They could plan, calculate, and some believed they could even mimic reason. They have three downfalls, though: large size, so they cannot hide or move as stealthily as they’d like to; they have to recharge every day, for at least twelve hours—”

  “How do they do that?” I ask.

  “Migrate to the highest point in the jungle where the heat from the sun is most intense, and they hibernate. The heat-energy helps them regenerate quickly, though they still could without it. It would just take longer.”

  Johnny eyes his three crossbow bolts. “How many of those things are out there?”

  “No one knows for certain,” she says, “but it’s believed their numbers, though not particularly large, are enough to do serious damage. Especially if they ever make it to the surface.”

  “Give us a rough estimate,” he says.

  “Approximately one hundred. And similar to OAIs, they are nearly indestructible. Terminal brain damage has to occur for them to become inoperative.”

  “You said they had three downfalls,” Mateo says. “What’s the third thing?”

  “Oh, yes.” Smudge wiggles her two thumbs in the air, smiling. “They do not have opposable thumbs.”

  “So, how again were you planning to lead them away?” I ask.

  “They do not have breeding capabilities, but since they were created using animal DNA—Black Bear, Panther, and primate, to be exact—they do have instincts. I waited for three days, and when I heard the explosion, I simply manipulated their brain stimuli to activate their hormones. I figured if I guided them as far away and as high up as possible from the river, it would give you plenty of time to get into the boat. Once you all were on the river, they would not be a threat; they are . . . scared of the creatures that live there. The WAR System keeps them from getting hurt.”

  Silently, we let everything sink in, though I’m sure I’m not the only one who didn’t understand half of it.

  “But it didn’t work. . . .” I sigh.

  “Not entirely, no. The Reaper that killed your brother . . . his hunger was more convincing than his hormonal pull. Four were easily led away, but he turned, unexpectedly. After stunning the other four, I got there as soon as I could.”

  “Is that what they’re called on the Other Side? Reapers?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “How fitting,” I say bitterly.

  “So, two ways to get to the Other Side?” says Emerson. “Through the trolley tunnels, or up from the jungle?”

  “Yes. At first, there was only the one secret entrance in the trolley tunnel, but a few years ago, a second one was added in the jungle.”

  “Thank goodness for the one in the tunnel,” Johnny says.

  “Yes, it is very fortunate.”

  “How do you know about Arianna Superior?” I ask.

  “There is . . . more to her than what’s apparent.”

  “I knew it.” I snap my fingers. “Is she part machine, too?”

  “Yes, but not OAI. She wishes to become one, and has been altered gradually over the years. Lord Daumier uses her desperateness to be Head Saint of Alzanei to his advantage, filling her with lies of how she can become ‘pure,’ if only she keeps at it long enough. She doesn’t realize he does this . . . to get more transfers. He is a very good liar. And she wants it badly enough to believe him.” Smudge drops her gaze to her hands, then continues, in a more somber tone.

  “Arianna Superior alone is responsible for thousands of suicides; she manipulated, lied to, threatened, and beat the naysayers into submission until . . . no one was left. Except for the children. Because there is a great chance of faulty transfer, or even fatality, with donors under thirty years of age, she waits until they come of age, and have gained the neuro-strength and knowledge needed for a faultless transfer, then they, too, are sacrificed.”

  “What a monster,” I mutter.

  “Yes,” Smudge says. “She is an evil, evil human.”

  “Alzanei. That’s where you said you were from, right?”

  “Yes. The last eastern city . . . an island of sorts.”

  “Question,” Mateo says. “Can those things, those Reapers, get into the tunnels?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I’ve never seen them in the tunnels, and I’ve been throughout all of them. If we do come across one, or even a group, though, I can stun them, just not kill them.”

  “Why not?” Johnny asks.

  “A stipulation of my awakening. Raffai programmed me to be a creature of peace who supports all life; I cannot intentionally kill. The Earth is dead enough already.”

  “Yeah, and we’ll all be dead if we come too close to those monsters,” Johnny says. “Or Reapers, or whatever they’re called. I think there’s a flaw in your friend’s reasoning, there.”

  “I did not say I entirely agree with his . . . reasoning. My human mind can see many rules are made to be . . . broken . . . or at the very least, bent. But in this one area, my programming overrides my free wil
l. Everything else, though . . . I am free.”

  “Well, then”—Johnny readjusts Old Jonesy’s hat and taps his crossbow—“you do the stunning and we’ll do the killing. Fair? That won’t go against your programming, will it?”

  “No. If you decide you must kill, I cannot stop you.”

  “One question, though.” Johnny leans forward. “How do we kill them?”

  “You must pierce the frontal cortex, through the eye,” says Smudge. “That is the . . . quickest way.”

  “Okay. . . . But will you be upset?”

  “No. Not if you are defending those you . . . love.” She glances at him, then back to her lap. “Love. What a powerful force. Perhaps, the most powerful force that exists. I’m still calculating this . . .” She takes us all in, gaze lingering longest on Johnny. “. . . new information.”

  “I think you’re right,” I say.

  “Okay.” Emerson rubs his hands together. “While you gals are gettin’ all philosophical, my wheels are spinning on a plan.”

  “We need to get Vila over here,” Mateo says.

  Johnny stands, dusts off his pants. “Jax needs to know, too.” He stretches out his legs, twists his spine, wincing as it cracks in a few spots.

  “Are you in pain?” Smudge asks.

  “Yeah, I injured my back lifting titanzium last year. It gives me a lot of trouble.”

  Standing, Smudge rolls her right sleeve up over her wrist. “Close your eyes. This will be somewhat . . . shocking.”

  “Okay . . . ?” Hesitantly, he does.

  Smudge goes behind him, where only Emerson, Mateo, and I see her bring the reddish glow of her fingertips to the base of his spine. She touches him, and he flinches.

  “Whoa, what the—?”

  “Shh. . . .” She moves up his spine a few inches, touches him again, fingers glowing brighter still as they make contact with his cotton shirt.

  Johnny tenses, then relaxes.

  Smudge steps back. “How do you feel?” she asks.

  For a moment, he twists—left, then right—and his face lights up with amazement. “It doesn’t hurt . . . at all!” He whips around to face her. “I could kiss you.”