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

  Aby glares, as if my notion were preposterous, that sleep would heal her broken heart. I glare back.

  “All right, then,” Ms. Ruby says. “It shouldn’t take too long at the medical center; an hour tops. We have a few nurses and a couple doctors on duty. Then, we’ll get ya all to your rooms to rest.” She turns and walks out. “Follow me!”

  We trail her down a short hallway, passing a sign that reads: Medical Wing. A couple minutes’ walk later, we arrive at the large, open doorway leading into the medical room. Rows and rows of thin cots and tables line the walls, neatly cluttered with various strange-looking medical supplies. Three women and a man dressed in crisp white clothing, and another man and a woman dressed in light blue, smile at us when we enter. They spread us out on the various cots and make their rounds, checking eyes, noses, ears, mouths, and listening to heartbeats. Baby Lou screams the entire time.

  The woman in light blue approaches me and Baby Lou, smiling warmly. “I’m Doctor Sullivan,” she says loudly, over Baby’s crying. We shake hands.

  “I’m Joy. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, as well. One of the little girls told me you were responsible for everyone . . . ?”

  “Uh, yes. I suppose I am. Baby Lou, shh, it’s okay,” I soothe, rocking her.

  “Well, then I need your permission to run blood tests on everyone. Most of you have never had vaccinations or medical care of any kind, I’m sure. And in order for us to know if we need to treat anything, a blood test is necessary.”

  I look to Smudge in the next cot over.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s a common medical procedure.”

  “Well . . . go ahead, then, I guess.”

  The doctor takes something from her pocket. “May I see your finger? It’ll be a tiny prick.” I give it to her, and she places the end of a small, square gadget against its tip. The gadget clicks and I flinch at the sharp stab. Then, she pinches to collect the secreted blood. After a few seconds, she snaps it closed with a smile, and wraps my finger with a sticky bandage. “Joy, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  She holds the square gadget by her mouth, pressing a small button. “Joy,” she repeats, and the device beeps. “This will hold everyone’s samples,” she says. “We’ll have the results by this evening, and we’ll let you know what we find. No news is good news. Will you hold the baby still?”

  I nod and hold Baby Lou tight as Doctor Sullivan pricks her tiny finger. Baby screams, then squirms, while she collects the fresh blood into the device.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says. “I know it’s uncomfortable.” She snaps the thing closed, wraps a bandage around Baby Lou’s finger. “What’s her name?”

  “Louanne.”

  “Louanne,” she repeats into the gadget. Then, she moves on to Smudge. Smudge displays her tattooed neck, and Doctor Sullivan nods, passes her up, moving on to Mateo instead.

  Another thing I’ll have to ask her about later.

  After everyone’s been checked and blood tested, Ms. Ruby returns to take us to a surprise. She brings two rolling carts piled high with towels and folded clothes, and leads us all back toward the children’s wing. She unlocks a brown door, and it opens to a ramp, leading down at a slight angle. “Follow me, children.” She flips on a light, pushing one cart ahead of her, and pulling one behind.

  “Let me get that,” Emerson says, taking over the one behind her.

  “Oh thank ya, dear, that’s sweet.”

  The corridor is short, and I’m grateful it doesn’t seem too far underground. I’ve had enough of underground for a lifetime—for twelve lifetimes.

  The ramp stops at two archways.

  “Boys to the left, girls to the right,” Ms. Ruby says. “In each area, there’s a community bath, and individual showers for those who prefer more privacy. These are for you boys.” She pushes one of the carts toward the left archway. “The other is for you girls.”

  Smudge takes the cart from Emerson and we start toward the archway on the right.

  “I’ll be there shortly, girls,” says Ms. Ruby. “Let me give the boys instructions first.” She leads the boys inside.

  When we step through the doorway and around the corner, I’m reminded of the pool at Gomorrah Grande. Not as extravagant, but larger, welcoming—definitely not creepy—with shallow moving water and a platform all the way around. On one end, a ramp leads down into the water, and along the back wall are narrow stalls with green curtains pulled to the side. For a couple of minutes, we stand in silent awe, until Ms. Ruby comes through the archway behind us. “All right, then. Let’s get the bubbles goin’ in the pool, and I’ll show ya how to operate the showers.

  “Bubbles?” I say.

  She winks and, leaning over to a small box on the wall, punches a few buttons. The pool’s water begins to swirl faster, forming bubbles on the water’s surface and along the edges of the walls. They grow and move inward, toward the center, as the girls giggle, squeal, and jump up and down.

  “Are we going in there, Momma Joy?” Chloe asks.

  “Is it deep?” I ask Ms. Ruby.

  “Four feet at this end.” She points in front of us. “Prob’ly best to keep the youngest ones by the ramp. The bubbles are made from soap, so they can just get in and play, and they’ll get clean.”

  Clothes fly through the air, and bare bodies skip to the ramp. The pool’s surface is now a thick layer of bubbles, which becomes a bubbly wave as they splash into them.

  “Those the showers?” Vila motions to the curtained stalls.

  “Yes, dear. Do ya need—?”

  “No, I’ll figure it out.” She rushes off, Tallulah’s head sticking out from her knapsack. Aby follows close behind.

  “I’m sorry they’re so rude,” I say.

  “Oh, nonsense,” Ms. Ruby says. “They’re fine. They been through a lot. Now listen, when ya get to the showers, the knob on the left is hot, and the one on the right is—”

  “Did you say hot?” I ask.

  “Oh, hell yeah!” Vila yells. “We’ve died and gone to flippin’ paradise!”

  “Guess so,” Smudge says, grinning.

  What a glorious day. . . . Aside from the warm baths my mother gave me when I was small enough to fit in the washtub—which I don’t remember, for being so young—I’ve never bathed in warm water.

  “You want me to take Baby Lou into the pool while you shower?” Smudge asks. “I’ll go in my clothes; they need washing anyway.”

  “You can . . . go in?”

  “Yes.” She nods. “I am . . . waterproof.”

  We share a giggle and I hand Baby over. While Smudge heads toward the ramp with her, I snatch a towel from the cart and dig through the stacks of soft, strange clothing until I find something that might fit—a long peach-and-tan dress with skinny straps at the top, and curls of longer fabric at the bottom.

  “A wonderful choice,” Ms. Ruby says. “I made that one myself, years ago.”

  “You sew?”

  “Someone has to fix tings up around here.” She winks.

  “My mother used to sew,” I tell her. “She taught me when I was young. Good thing, too, because I’ve been able to mend everyone’s clothes for the past few years.”

  “Aw, well . . . how fortunate they’ve been to have ya care for them, Joy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now, go enjoy your shower, you’ve earned it. I’ll be back soon, I need to move the baby crib from the nursery, to a room on the girls’ floor. Ya need to be in the same room with your Baby Lou, I assume.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome. I’ll see ya soon, dear.” Grinning, she heads back through the archway.

  A warm shower! My eagerness is barely containable. Once I’m sure Smudge and Baby Lou are all right in the pool with everyone else, I glide to the last stall on the left, three down from where Tallulah waits in her knapsack for Vila to finish. I hang the fresh dress on a hook, and step inside. With a smile, I turn th
e knobs, and warm water sprays my hands. I close the curtain and undress, tossing my mother’s sleep clothes to the tile floor, then melt beneath my glory. Ms. Ruby was right; I have earned this. My entire horrid existence has led me to this one moment, a warm baptismal spray washing everything into the drain below my feet. I’ve done it. We’ve done it. In this moment, I could die and be at peace.

  §

  Ms. Ruby situates us into our cozy rooms—olders in their own, single rooms on the right; youngers in shared, double rooms on the left. I relax with Baby Lou on my tiny, soft bed in my new dress. She has fresh, new clothes for the first time, and they almost fit her perfectly, with room to grow. She also has her own crib again, except this one has lacy ruffles lining the bottom, and it doesn’t creak and wobble when you touch it. I hand her Millie from her bag. She babbles to it, and I check out the view from my window. The tops of huts and trees that rise up the hill’s slope stop at the base of The Wall and a couple of miles down the beach in a thick, leafy jungle. If I lean to my left, I can see the ocean, and the sun starting to sink low. Brilliant rays of blue and orange, pinks and reds, enchant the sky.

  There’s a soft tapping behind me. Smudge peeks in, dressed in a black T-shirt and dark pants. She’s shed her hooded jacket, but her hat still protects her head.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah, of course. How’s your room?”

  “It’s great. Very . . . cozy.”

  “Cozy is exactly the word I was thinking.”

  She sits on the bed next to me. “Are we meeting with everyone later?”

  “Yes. Once we get the youngers to sleep, we’re meeting down at the beach.”

  “It’s very interesting,” she says, “the dynamics among you all. I could observe you for hours.”

  I chuckle. “Funny, I feel the same way about you. Do you not have blood or something?” I whisper. “The nurse skipped you earlier. . . .”

  “No, I do. But I require an alternate form of medical treatment, which also addresses the mechanical side of my make-up.”

  Shuffling sounds by the door. I look, but see no one. Then, I place a finger to my lips, and Smudge nods.

  “Baby Lou’s tired,” I say. “I’m going to get her to sleep, then I’ll meet you in your room. Can you let all of the youngers know it’s time for bed? Have Aby help, if you need to. But I’m sure they’ll be tired enough to go to sleep without much trouble.”

  “You’re probably right.” Smudge rises from the bed. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you.”

  She disappears out into the hallway, then comes back into view. “Would you like me to close the door?”

  “If you would.”

  Softly, she closes the door, leaving us in the stillness.

  I draw the lavender curtains closed and turn off the light. A tiny bulb protrudes from an outlet, illuminating just enough to see what I’m doing as I pull back the covers and lay Baby Lou down. She takes a sip from a fresh bottle of water—one Ms. Ruby brought from the kitchen—then stops to have a good yawn. I tuck Millie into her arms, and crawl in bed beside her. She yawns again, and I kiss her cheek.

  “I love you, my baby.”

  “Ma?” she says, batting at my lips. “Ma ma?”

  I nod, choking back a sob. “Yes, Baby Louanne. I’m your momma. And I love you. And we’re safe now.”

  “Ma ma ma ma,” she jabbers, then yawns again and closes her eyes. I pet her head and hum as silent tears fall. Only a few hours in this place, and already she’s one hundred percent better.

  And this is the first time she’s ever called me momma.

  Another tap on the door, and Ms. Ruby tiptoes in with a strange machine on wheels. She plugs it in and a green light flashes, a motor hums, then she slips quietly to the side of my bed and leans down. “Oxygen,” she whispers. “You and Baby will have the best night of sleep you’ve ever had.” She pats my arm, and I smile.

  “Thank you,” I whisper back.

  She leaves the room without a sound.

  Oxygen.

  Spilling into our room and our lungs as if it were nothing.

  I take a deep breath. . . .

  And smell the slightest hint of . . . citrus.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Baby Lou drifts off to sleep, but I lay there, frozen. The citrus smell fades, so it must have been my imagination. Still, something gnaws at me. Hard to place, but with that smell, a hidden fear beneath my intoxicated awe of Zentao bubbles to the surface of my mind. Its suffocating vice grips my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

  What is it?

  I dig through my scattered thoughts, looking for answers. I’ve been through a lot. This could be residual paranoia. I take in a few slow, deep breaths. Maybe it’s because I suspect it isn’t all over yet. In the morning, we’re leaving this perfect place, going back to Bygonne. I might never see my Baby Lou again. That could explain the feeling of something not quite right.

  When I’m sure she’s good and asleep, I lift Baby Lou from my bed and move her to the crib. Then, I tuck the blanket around her and Millie, and tiptoe to the oxygen machine, inspecting it for signs of being something other than what it’s supposed to be. Nothing. Of course, I’ve never seen an oxygen machine before, so how would I know different anyway?

  I settle with my paranoia, leave the room, and knock softly on Smudge’s door. She opens it a second later. “You ready?” she whispers.

  “Yeah, is everyone in bed?”

  “Yes. They were . . . exhausted. It didn’t take much convincing, like you said.”

  “I didn’t think it would. I need to let Serna know to listen for Baby Lou if she wakes up.”

  We go next door and knock. The murmurs on the other side stop, and the door creaks open. Vila peeks out. “Hey.”

  “We’re going down to the beach,” I say. “You coming?”

  “Yeah. I was just asking Serna here to watch Tallulah while we go. Tallulah likes her, and she seems reliable.”

  “She’s very reliable,” I say, then I call in, “Serna, would you listen for Baby Lou while we’re gone, too? She’s two doors down.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Thanks. We’ll be back in about an hour.”

  Together, we leave her doorway, and I head toward the end of the narrow hallway to Aby’s room, Smudge and Vila at a standstill behind me.

  “Where are you going?” Smudge asks.

  “To get Aby.”

  “Seriously?” Vila says. “That girl’s unstable.”

  “She isn’t the only one unstable around here,” I mumble.

  “Hey, I heard that.”

  We’re all unstable . . . in some way.

  But Aby’s door is already open, her bed neatly made, without her in it.

  “I wonder where she is,” I say once I return to Smudge and Vila.

  “Probably already down on the beach,” Smudge says. “Maybe it was her we heard in the hallway earlier.”

  On our way down to the first floor, we cross paths with Ms. Ruby, who’s reading something from a rectangular board in her hands. She almost bumps into us.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she says. “Ms. Joy, I’m glad you’re down here. May I speak to ya privately?”

  I glance at Smudge and Vila, confused, before following Ms. Ruby into the medical wing corridor. A few feet down the hallway, she stops and, turning to face me, takes my hand. “I received all of your medical information from Doctor Sullivan.”

  “Is everyone okay? How were Baby Lou’s tests?”

  “Everyone’s fine. Other than a couple of slight asthma cases and anemia, and various other vitamin deficiencies in almost the whole group, there’s nothing life threatening. With fresh oxygen, breathing treatments for the asthma, iron and other vitamin supplements, everyone should be fully healthy within a couple of weeks.”

  The news is good, but her eyes show something more.

  “So, then . . . what’s wrong?”

&n
bsp; “Well . . . nothin’s wrong . . . .”

  “Then tell me what else you’ve got.”

  “Joy . . . you’re pregnant.”

  A sudden ringing in my ears soon becomes a whole-body numbness. “What?” I whisper.

  “It’s early. About a week, maybe two. . . .”

  My heart pounds. “I need to go, my friends are waiting—”

  “Joy, perhaps you should tink about stayin’. Let your friends go.”

  “No. There’s no way. I have to go.” And I brush past her, returning to Smudge and Vila, shoving the information as far away from truth and reality as possible.

  “What’d she say?” Vila asks.

  I shrug. “Just that almost everyone needs vitamins, and a few have asthma. Other than that, everyone’s pretty healthy. It’s really a miracle.”

  “Hm. That’s good. Now let’s get outside. I’m claustrophobic in this place.”

  Vila disappears through the front lobby door, and I fidget, feeling Smudge’s gaze on me.

  “What is it?” Smudge asks.

  “Nothing.”

  For a few seconds, she reads my face, and I know she calls my bluff, but she won’t pry. “Okay, Joy.” She smiles. “Let’s get outside, then.”

  A flickering flame from far below on the beach catches our attention. A few faint figures sit around the fire, and another—Vila—heads toward it.

  “Is that them?” I ask.

  “Yes,” says Smudge.

  “You can see that far?”

  “I can see . . . farther. But, yes, I can. They’re all there.”

  We follow a winding trail down the slope, past sleepy, darkened huts and the bunker where we came in. There, Raffai leans against a post, talking to one of his young soldiers. He waves, and we wave back, and a minute later, we’re the last two to join our miniature army sitting around the fire. Aby and Jax sit, hip to hip, on a log facing the ocean, talking quietly. Maybe they’re righting things between themselves. My stomach spins.

  “Wow,” Mateo says, walking over to me. “You look . . . absolutely stunning.” He says it loudly, without any care for who could hear.

  Jax and Aby turn to stare.

  My face burns hot. “Thanks,” I manage to say.