The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) Page 25

  He whips toward me, fury in his face. “I was stupid, Joy. I screwed up. I couldn’t sleep last night because I kept thinking about how you . . . you never said it back.”

  “Said what back?”

  “I told you I loved you, in the dungeon. Did you never love me, Joy? Because I thought you did. . . .”

  I turn away. In my silence, the children’s stirring in their rooms is deafening. Golden birds sway above us on their chains, while high above the purple dome, a cloud snuffs out the sun, casting a gloomy shadow at the perfect time.

  “Say something,” he says.

  “I made a mistake, too.” And I look him dead in the eye. “Because you were my best friend, and it should’ve stayed that way.”

  “But, Joy, I—”

  “Jax, no. I wish things hadn’t turned out the way they did, but they did, and there’s no going back. I’m sure I’ll eventually forgive you and Aby—probably soon because you both mean a lot to me. But you and I weren’t meant to be more than friends. I see that now.”

  “Joy—”

  “I’d rather not talk about this anymore. It’s time to focus on what we have to accomplish today.”

  “It’s him, isn’t it? Your new ‘friend’?”

  “No, he has nothing to do with this.”

  “Oh come on, you’re not fooling anyone. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Tell me the truth. If you’re my friend, then be honest with me. Do you have feelings for him?”

  “I barely know him—”

  “Do you?”

  “Okay, yes. I do. Is that what you want to hear? I know it’s crazy, but I can’t help it. Kind of how you and Aby couldn’t help it, I guess.”

  Those last words cut him deep. With a wounded heart displayed on his face, he walks away.

  “Jax, wait.”

  He stops, but doesn’t turn. Mateo watches on from where I left him. The words forming now in my mouth taste sour. Still, I force them out as I reach his side.

  “I think you and Aby are better for each other anyway,” I say.

  He grinds his teeth behind his cheek, looks me in the eye. “I don’t want her.” Then, he storms away, slams the door to his room.

  A sniffle off to my right catches my attention. Teary blue eyes peek out from a nearby door opened a couple of inches. Then, that door slams, too.

  TWENTY-SIX

  I try to ignore the awkwardness as we line all of the children up on the balcony. But Aby stands at the far end of the line, with Jax a few people up from her, and Mateo on the near end. Not exactly the best way to begin the day, but we’ll have to work around it. Even my feelings for Mateo have been subdued in the light of our mission. I have to focus. Too many lives balance in my hands to let a small thing like this clog my mind and cloud my judgment.

  “What do you need me to do?” Smudge asks.

  “Can you wait here with Baby Lou and the youngers, while I help Emerson, Johnny, and Vila with the weapons?”

  “Sure.”

  I head to the weapons room, where the three of them disappeared to load up the spears and things. Mateo follows me in.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  Emerson finishes securing a bundle of spears with twine, while Vila practices throwing the silver kitchen knives. At least a hundred holes dot the wall across the room. Tallulah peeks at me through the semi-tied opening of the knapsack.

  “You’ve decided to join us?” I ask Vila. “You and Tallulah?”

  “Do I have a choice?” She makes a face like I’m ignorant and removes the knives from the wall. “And Tallulah goes where I go.”

  “We have eight spears,” says Emerson.

  “Three bolts.” Johnny taps his crossbow. “And three knives.”

  “And Smudge,” I say.

  “Oh, she’s classified as a weapon now?” Vila snarls. “What, is she a god or something?”

  “Of sorts,” I say smartly. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We have everything else packed, and the children are lined up.”

  “Listen,” Emerson says. “We ain’t cleared the twentieth floor—at all. Might be bloodbugs there, but they move slow. As long as you’re not sleeping, they aren’t much of a threat. As far as we know, there shouldn’t be anything else dangerous. But we’ll keep the knives and two spears handy, just in case.”

  “I’ll take a spear,” Mateo says.

  Emerson grabs one of two leaning against the wall, and tosses it to him.

  “I’ll have to carry Baby Lou,” I say, “but I’m sure Jax will be fine with the other spear, or a knife—”

  “Are you kidding?” Johnny says. “He’s got murder in his eyes. I think we’re better off keeping the weapons distributed right here.”

  “Yeah, true.”

  “We’ll go up the elevator in groups,” says Vila. “Mat and I will stay on twenty with the knives and a spear, while everyone else comes up.”

  “Sounds good,” I say.

  Emerson picks up the spear bundle and a giant brown duffel bag. Vila peeks into her knapsack’s tightened opening and makes a clicking noise. Tallulah’s nose pokes through, and Vila touches it with her own. Then, she tucks her three knives in a makeshift knife-belt, while Johnny slings his crossbow over one shoulder and his backpack over the other. We file out, and I find my bag by the railing, locate Baby Lou’s sling and tie it around me. Smudge tucks Baby Lou down inside it.

  “Hold her in place while I tighten the knot,” I say.

  Smudge does, and I loosen the knot enough to retie it tighter. Once Baby Lou’s secured, I affix my daddy’s magic bag and Baby Lou’s own bag to my shoulder, then do a quick headcount. Chloe and Pia have become joined at the hip. Chloe’s even shared her doll. Aby gazes melancholically into emptiness, as if she has nothing left to live for. Again, the urge swells inside to tell her I forgive her, though I don’t know why I don’t. Perhaps because it’s sharply contrasted by the urge to scream at her.

  “Everyone make sure you’ve made your beds and gathered all of your belongings,” I say.

  Cover your tracks.

  Always be prepared.

  “And have your breathers in ready-position on your heads,” I add.

  “That’s stupid!” a girl says. “Why do we have to make our beds?”

  “Yeah,” a boy adds. “We’re not even coming back here.”

  “Just do it, please. We don’t want it obvious that we were here. In case anyone comes . . . looking for us.”

  A few children scramble back into their rooms to hastily make their beds, and I do a quick check for belongings. “Okay,” I say. “We’re all clear and ready to move out.”

  Mateo and Vila, followed by me and Baby Lou, Smudge and Emerson, head the group toward the hotel elevator. Johnny must’ve noticed Aby’s sadness, too. He passes up Jax on his way to her, and whispers softly, giving Aby a nudge with his elbow. The hint of a smile fades in the blink of an eye. She stares past him, over the balcony railing, with dreamy, lackluster eyes, as if trying to imagine what a free fall down into the lobby jungle would be like.

  The elevator door opens before we get to it.

  “How in the hell?” Vila says. “Did you do that, Electro Girl?”

  She nods. “It was the . . . polite thing to do.”

  Vila shakes her head. “You’re a weirdo. I’m not sure if I like you yet.”

  “That’s okay,” says Smudge. “Em says you’ll come around.” And she shares a grin with Emerson.

  “That’s right,” he agrees. “Now, you and Mat go up with a few others. We’ll send another group as soon as the elevator returns.”

  Vila and Mateo and a few children, board the elevator, and the door closes between us. A couple of minutes later, it returns, and we load the next group. After that, Jax goes up with his group, and then it’s down to me, Smudge, Emerson, Aby, Chloe and Pia, and two younger boys—the same two the new kid told I was going to eat them all.

  “You boys okay?” I ask.
>
  They nod, though obviously frightened.

  “Hey, you boys are gonna be fine,” says Emerson. “I have a good feeling about it.”

  “How’s the air in the tunnels?” I ask Smudge.

  “The trolleys have filtration systems,” she says. “We should be fine. But good to have the oxygen masks . . . just in case.”

  The elevator returns, and we climb on. A minute later, we step off onto the twentieth floor and join the rest of our group. Ahead are raggedy gold doors with circular windows, and to their left hangs a chiseled sign: Trolley Platform, this way. Traveling to Greenleigh – four Blue Notes. Traveling to Northeast Subterrane – six Blue Notes. Please make sure you have acquired from the lobby adequate Blue Notes for your travels.

  Vila and Mateo push open the doors to a long, dark corridor that doesn’t stay dark for long. After a few seconds of staring down it, Smudge has it lit up like daylight, complete with green oxygen lights.

  “You sure come in handy,” says Emerson.

  “She does, doesn’t she?” Johnny gives Smudge a pat on the arm.

  We move down the long bright tunnel, the sound of our shoes shuffling on the concrete, until an arched exit appears ahead of us. Beyond it lies a wide-open darkness spotted with lights in a high ceiling. When we reach it, I’m shocked by the platform’s massive size. Three trolleys sit idle; two blue ones before the tunnel to the right, and a red one before the left tunnel. They’re smaller than the boat, but larger than I imagined.

  “We came in on one of the blue ones,” Mateo says. “That’s the tunnel that heads northeast. The other goes southwest.”

  “Since we know the one you four brought here works, we’ll take that one back,” I say.

  “Number seven.” Emerson points. “Right there.”

  “Lucky number seven,” I mutter.

  Emerson grips a fat black handle and yanks up. Dry metal screeches as he slides the door open. Smudge inspects the cables above, immersed in concentration. A moment later, they spark to life, and the trolley lights turn on. She grins, rubs her hands together.

  “I was worried there for a second,” she says. “Took longer than I expected.”

  “Woo!” Emerson jumps up. “You’re my new best friend, Smudge!”

  “Electro Girl saves the day again,” Vila mumbles.

  Everyone crowds into the snug trolley car and we fill the overhead compartments with as many bags as we can, piling the rest behind the trolley operator’s wall. We all fit perfectly, with only a couple of the youngest sitting in laps, and four boys on the floor in the middle.

  Emerson closes the door. “Okay, who’s sailing this ship?”

  “I think you should,” Mateo says. “You seemed pretty comfortable driving it here.”

  “You sure you don’t want to?” he asks.

  “No, you go ahead.”

  Emerson wipes sweat from his forehead with a bare arm. “I’ll be your captain, if no one objects.” He glances around at the silent faces, then hops into the driver’s seat, next to a T-shaped handle protruding up from a floor groove.

  “I’ll need to ride up front next to Emerson,” says Smudge, “to maintain a strong electrical flow. These cable connections are questionable.”

  “Could you take out Baby Lou and hand her to me first, though?” I ask.

  “Sure.” She lifts Baby from the sling, hands her to me, and I survey to see where I’ll fit. Interestingly, the only spare seat left is next to Mateo. He tries to hide his satisfaction as he inches closer to the boy on his other side to allow me more room.

  “Is that enough?” he asks. “I can sit on the floor—”

  “No, it’s fine.” And I squeeze between him and Chloe and Pia, who giggle. Suddenly, I realize the open seat next to Mateo wasn’t a coincidence. The girls whisper, and it makes me smile. “What are you two telling secrets about over there?” I ask.

  “Nothin’,” Chloe says, giggling again.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Emerson flips a few switches, and the panel in front of him brightens with multi-colored flashing lights. Smudge instructs him on how to operate it now that electricity will guide it, and he takes a breath. “Hold on, children!” With the thrust forward of a small, square handle, the trolley jerks into motion. Vila sits cross-legged on the floor behind the operator’s wall, beside the pile of belongings, Tallulah’s knapsack in her lap. The drawstring’s been loosened enough for Tallulah to stick her head out. Vila stares off into space.

  Baby Lou cries. She’s never been in anything like this before.

  “Shh, Baby, it’s okay.” I caress her, hold her snug against my chest, and when I catch Jax looking at me, he turns his head. Johnny sits awkwardly next to Aby, like he doesn’t know what to say to fix her. She’s broken beyond repair. She tightens the head scarf, tucks a strand of mutilated red hair back up into its hiding spot.

  Baby Lou’s crying slows to a whimper as we pick up speed. She’s mesmerized by the wall on the other side—dots of yellow and green lights have become thin, wavy lines. Ahead, tunnel lights turn on seconds before we reach them, with the distant portions still black. Smudge holds onto the railing above her to steady herself while she focuses forward.

  “How did you get to Gomorrah Grande in the dark?” I ask Mateo.

  “When the manual pump is used, it generates electricity for the headlamp on the front of the car. Horrible lighting, though it worked well enough. But this is great! We’ll get there in no time.”

  Most of the trip is silent, though dotted with quiet conversations here and there. Smudge hasn’t taken her eyes from the tunnel ahead in almost three hours. Occasionally, lights surge and flicker, and I hold my breath. It’s nerve-wracking to only see a hundred feet in front of us. A white sign on the wall rushes by us in a blur. I try to read it, but we’re moving too fast.

  “We’re almost to the platform for the Subterrane,” Mateo says.

  Smudge whispers something into Emerson’s ear, and the trolley begins to slow. We pass a large archway to our right that reads: Subterrane Station. Then, a couple hundred yards later, Smudge breaks her focus to turn around. “Everyone hold on.” Then, a section of the track drops down, and we’re swallowed by the ground, coming to an immediate stop. Out the windows, blackness surrounds us.

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  “Sensory deprivation lift,” Smudge says. “It protects the location of Zentao. You can’t tell, but we are actually moving relatively quickly.”

  “Well, it sure feels like we’re not going anywhere,” Vila says.

  “This part can take a few minutes,” Smudge explains, “or longer, depending on the guards operating the lift. An alarm sounds when the lift is loaded, and if no one’s standing by, it takes a few minutes for them to get to their posts. Zentao is heavily guarded, but they do not stand by the lift. There are . . . not many visitors.”

  “Sounds more like prison than freedom,” Jax mumbles.

  “Unfortunately, the protection is necessary. Invaders from Alzanei will stop at nothing to learn the location of Zentao. It’s hidden extremely well, but safety precautions are still taken.”

  Maybe twenty minutes later, a light from outside interrupts the complaining children and Vila’s rants, appearing through huge double doors swinging open. Strangely dressed young men aim guns at the trolley and circle slowly around us. Smudge waves at someone approaching behind them—a man with white hair and a beard to match, wearing a large brown hat and a vest. With kind eyes, he smiles warmly at Smudge, and orders his men to lower their guns.

  Smudge meets him at the door, which opens, and she immediately stares at the ground.

  “You decided to come back, I see,” he says. His voice is soothing, like the brush of a warm hand.

  “I did,” she says. “And I hope you don’t mind, but I brought refugees. All children. Escapees from the Tree Factory of Greenleigh.”

  He pokes his head in and offers every face in the trolley a grin only a man with a golden soul cou
ld give. “Well, I’ll be. . . . Just when we were thinking all was lost for the human race. . . .” He waves. “Hi, children.”

  A few say hello, but most are too terrified to move.

  “We’ve been through a lot,” I say. “Two of our brothers died, and . . . we’ve been forced to build trees for years. Our youngest worker is five, and Baby Lou here, she’s only a year-and-a-half old. We can work; clean, build. Jax is great with electric stuff. We can earn our place. I promise we won’t be a lot of trouble—”

  “Nonsense,” he says. “You’re children. You may as well be royalty around here. Now, come on, all of you. Let’s get you out of this filthy trolley and into the village. Ms. Ruby’s going to need someone to hold her up when she gets a look at you all. For months, she’s been praying for a miracle. And here you are.”

  Something far behind him makes me teary-eyed. Past the young men with the guns stands another door, ajar, and through it, blue. . . .

  “Sky?” I ask, pointing.

  He smiles. “Sure is.”

  “The . . . air is safe here?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I rise with Baby Lou, echoed by Mateo. “Let’s go, everyone.”

  They don’t need a second invitation. They scramble to grab their stuff, and soon, we file off of the trolley into the small, dim bunker. The little ones scream with delight as they fly toward the open door. Emerson and Vila, with Tallulah’s knapsack tied shut, along with Jax and Johnny, remain cautious, scoping out the area as we walk. Aby rushes ahead with the children, and Smudge, Mateo, and I hang back with the white-bearded man as his guards form a line behind us.

  “Don’t go too far!” I yell to the children.

  “It’s okay,” the man says. “I promise you, they’re safe.”

  They disappear through the doorway, and someone gives the door a push. It swings open wide. Outside lies a sandy beach beneath a crystal-blue sky, on the edge of a vast blue ocean, much like the one we went to through the portal.

  “How . . . ?” I whisper.