The Soultakers (The Treemakers Trilogy Book 2) Page 5

  “Wow . . .” Emerson slides down the wall until he’s seated on the floor, legs crossed.

  Johnny leans next to him and takes off his hat. “Well, isn’t that spectacular.”

  “Why’d they build this place?” Mateo asks. “Why are all of these people here?”

  “Because there probably ain’t nothin’ left up top.” Pedro jabs his thumb toward the ceiling. “I bet the whole world’s dead as Bygonne.”

  “I’ve been too afraid of the answer to ask Smudge for a lot of details about Alzanei,” I say. “But I know the reason Zentao is here: because Lord Daumier and his Clergy are evil, and the people who live here escaped. The Clergy have done terrible, awful things to them.”

  “Cheyenne’s eyes,” Johnny mumbles.

  “Yes. And Mr. Tanner’s fingers. Suellen’s wrist. And so much more.”

  We share another moment of silent contemplation, until a question forms in my mind. “Ms. Ruby, why did the screens shut off?”

  “I don’t know.” She shivers. “Since Raffai fixed it three years ago, we’ve never lost power.”

  “Is it them?” Mateo asks. “The Subterrane?”

  “It could be, yes. Though our technology is well protected. The bunker’s built with titanzium, to keep ana outside signals from penetratin’ the walls.”

  Titanzium.

  “So that’s why,” I say.

  “Why what?” Mateo pivots to face me.

  “Why we built trees out of titanzium. So they couldn’t be operated remotely.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “There is . . . more to tell you all. But first, we need to find Jax. Ms. Ruby, will you be okay with the children?”

  “Sure, dear, but please”—she takes my hands in hers—“if ana-ting happens, if the alarm sounds, please hurry back here fast as ya can.”

  “We will, I promise.” I kiss her cheek. “We’ll be back soon.”

  I lean in through the doorway of the common area, where Smudge is talking to the children. They’re calm now, resting in the pillows. Baby Lou sits with Serna, Chloe, Pia, and Raven, who whisper to one another in a nearby corner.

  “Smudge, can you come here, please?”

  She rises from her chair and hurries over to me. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, but we have to find Jax. I need to tell him everything.”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  Well . . . almost everything.

  Zentao’s dimensions are obvious now, and even smaller than I imagined. The ceiling and walls are covered by an opaque material that ripples in the air. Horizon screens. The five of us stand at the doorway, each in our own state of shock or disbelief.

  “It was so real.” Mateo sways, then leans back against the building.

  “Are you all right?” I extend my hand and help him up, support his arm around my shoulders.

  “My knee’s a little weak, is all. Physical therapy on top of . . . this.”

  “Where’s your cane?”

  “In the common area.”

  “I’ll get it.” Smudge hurries down the hallway, and in seconds, she’s back with Mateo’s walking stick.

  “Thanks.” He takes it from her, and she shivers, secures her hood.

  “You cold?” Johnny rubs her arms to warm her up.

  “No. I’m . . . nervous. I think.”

  I scan the beach and spy two figures by the bunker, with another group of men who might be Raffai and his militia. “Smudge, is that them?”

  “Yes. We should get down there. It’s not . . . pretty.”

  “You can hear them?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  The other Zentao inhabitants have already exited their homes, shocked by the occurrence. Doctor Sullivan and her team of doctors and nurses mill about the hall of the medical wing, switching on flashlights and voicing their concerns. We stroll at a slow pace because of Mateo’s limping, and I’m antsy to move faster. I imagine the verbal waste spewing from their mouths to poor Raffai, who’s doing his best to keep us safe. When we’re halfway there, my human ears register the screaming rant that Smudge’s did from up the hill.

  “Jax!” I wave in an attempt to hush him from a distance.

  He tosses a hurried glance in our direction, then veers toward the beach with Vila. The militia men head inside the bunker.

  “Raffai, what happened?” Smudge asks when we get to him.

  “I’m not sure. Have you noticed any strange signals?”

  “None. Nor can I manipulate the energy flow. It seems something is blocking it . . . yet, nothing is there.”

  “Exactly. We can’t find the culprit. It may be a simple short circuit somewhere or—”

  “Sir?” A green-capped militia man—a boy, I see, now that we’re close—salutes Raffai from the bunker doorway. “We’re all clear. We’ll head down now.”

  Raffai salutes him in return. “Please let me know what you find.”

  The boy gestures with a nod, and the rest of the militia follows him from the bunker and up the hill to the Watchtower.

  Raffai swipes his handkerchief across his neck and forehead. “Anyway, it could be a much greater problem,” he tells us. “But we don’t have a clue. Not one. Just zap, no more power. Except for the emergency lights that operate from energy stores. Fingers crossed we get it back on before that resource is depleted.” He pats the shirt pocket that holds the blonde braid; a habit of his, I’ve noticed.

  “Was it your daughter’s?” I ask.

  “What?” He appears alarmed that I’d even brought her up.

  “The braid.”

  “Oh . . . yes. It was.”

  “What happened?”

  He turns away.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  After an awkward silence, Johnny motions to Pedro and Emerson. “Come on, let’s go talk to them.” And they follow him to the shore, where Jax and Vila stand before the “ocean.”

  Raffai wipes more wetness from his face with his handkerchief, and Smudge and I head off after the boys.

  “She hid her pregnancy,” Smudge says when we’re out of earshot. “She and her husband stayed in Raffai’s cellar in Alzanei for three and a half years. Then one day, Raven became ill. Her father went to a trusted friend to get her some medicine, and a Clergyman followed him back home. An hour later, five of them raided their quarters, and Raven watched from an air shaft while the Clergymen dismembered and decapitated her parents. Raffai returned that night and discovered her, traumatized. He escaped with her then. She was three years old.”

  “How awful! That poor girl. Is that . . . common in Alzanei? That sort of brutality?”

  “The raids are, yes. But the public executions . . . of that magnitude . . . only once in a while. When Lord Daumier believes it’s necessary to teach a lesson . . . that will not soon be forgotten.”

  When we make it down to the rest of the group, Vila’s death stare rips me open. “If you ever”—she approaches me, a finger aimed at my face—“put your hands on me again—”

  “Shut the hell up, V.” Emerson clenches his fists at his sides, standing taller, more intimidating. “What you did back there to that sweet lady was wrong—”

  “She lied to us!”

  “I don’t care! She’s been nothing but kind since we got here—fed us, cared for the kids, gave us safe passage—and you had no right to handle her like that. She’s an old woman, for cryin’ out loud!” He’s now an inch from her face, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. “What’s wrong with you? She’s the closest thing to a grandmum I ever had. She a sweet woman, and I won’t let that happen again. Got it?”

  “Yeah, Em.” Vila shrinks before him. “I’m . . . sorry.”

  She plays boss, but it’s obvious wh
o the real leader is.

  Emerson pulls back, then turns to face the rest of us. “Joy . . . please tell us everything. About Zentao, and about Alzanei.”

  “All right, but first, I need to tell you all some things about Bygonne.”

  Everyone takes a seat on the logs around the fire pit we gathered at before we went to save Pedro—before Aby died. I sit by Mateo, hands shaking, and prepare to spill more secrets. Jax stares at me from the same log he and Aby sat on when he told her I forgave her, and a sadness sweeps over me. It isn’t over yet. My daddy’s words, and Cheyenne’s voice haunt my mind: Your journey hasn’t ended yet . . . you have much farther to go.

  I clear my throat and summon the strength to begin. “The people we loved who have died haven’t left my thoughts. They probably won’t, ever. We can’t lose anyone else. We have to work together, even if we can’t stand each other and disagree.” I glance at Vila. “No matter what, we’re a family, and we have to be able to trust each other, lean on one another. That being said, the information I’m about to divulge won’t be easy to hear. Especially for you, Jax. So, if any of us is having a hard time handling things, someone needs to be there for them—to be an ear to listen, or a shoulder to cry on, whatever. I wish we could all relax in some pristine paradise fantasy, but that doesn’t exist. This darkness has revealed the truth . . . that the light we thought we’d found is a lie. And it’s not the only lie.”

  “What is it, Joy?” Jax chucks a rock far off into the water. “Quit with the foreplay and tell us.”

  “The trees we built for most of our childhoods . . . do not create oxygen.”

  No one moves. Faces go from confused, to shocked, to angry, and back to confused.

  “What do you mean they don’t create oxygen?” Jax says. “I spent the last few years of my life making goddamn photosynthesis solenoids. I should know—”

  “That is not what they were,” Smudge says. “They tricked you, they lied. Taught you one thing and said it was another.”

  “Well, then—what the hell were they?”

  “They are omitoids. They emit ozone and oxygen-depleting free radicals into the atmosphere.”

  Jax glares. “And that means what, exactly?”

  “They do the opposite of what we thought they did,” I say. “Instead of creating oxygen, they depleted it. Without knowing it, we were helping to . . . kill people. And further destroy our world.”

  After a few seconds of reading my face, Jax jumps from the log and takes off up the hill. To my surprise, Vila stays.

  “Let him go.” Mateo lays a soft hand on my knee. “He’s got a lot to process.”

  Pedro stands, pacing slowly before the dead fire pit. “So, the trees we made . . . they killed our parents?”

  “Yes. Smudge said once Arianna Superior took over after Micah Greenleigh died, she changed the technology. The trees produced oxygen before, but Arianna Superior wanted people to get sick younger and agree to be transferred sooner.”

  “What does that mean?” Vila asks.

  “Smudge, will you explain the transfers, and anything else for those who need to be filled in? My head’s spinning.”

  “Sure.” She picks up where I left off, explaining the mind maps implanted into rapidly grown OAIs before they’re “born” as teenagers. And while she tells them about the Clergy and Lord Daumier’s hunger for power and control, my gaze drifts up the hill to my left. It’s dark, but I think there’s a shadow moving toward the greenhouses.

  I give Smudge a wave to get her attention, and she pauses her explanation. “Yes, Joy?”

  “Answer any questions they have. I’ll be back soon. I need to go find Jax.”

  I stand, and Mateo brushes my hand. “Be safe.”

  “I will.”

  I leave the group and climb the path orange-lit by the emergency lights. Whispers from huts around me plus rustling on the ground makes for an eerie trek in the low-lit darkness. At the sight of a scurrying bloodbug disappearing into some underbrush, I shiver. “Jax, where are you? Jax!”

  “Joy, is that you?” Mr. Tanner’s voice greets me from up ahead at the greenhouses.

  “Yes, have you seen Jax?”

  “He’s right here. Come on over and have a seat with us.” A liqui-lantern lifts into the air, illuminating a hand with two missing fingers.

  When I get to them, Jax is sitting on the ground, legs crossed, holding Mr. Tanner’s pipe.

  “Thanks for sending him,” says Mr. Tanner. “If there’s ever anything I can do to help you children, let me know. I’m sure the change in diet is an adjustment, and the . . . well . . .” He drops his gaze to his hands. “The complete shock of the way you all discovered . . . the truth about Zentao.”

  Jax lights the pipe and draws in a long, deep breath. Then he hacks for about a minute straight, ending up on the floor in a daze. The pipe rolls from his palm into the dirt, and Mr. Tanner picks it up. “You may have had a bit too much, Jax.”

  Jax waves a flippant hand, then peers up at me.

  “What is that stuff?” I ask Mr. Tanner.

  “Oh, it’s just an herb to help with anxiety.”

  Jax rises from the ground, stumbling to mere inches in front of me. I grip his arms to steady him. “Are you . . . okay?”

  “If he goes easy on it, he’ll be fine,” says Mr. Tanner. “Maybe a little absentminded to start.”

  I inspect Jax for signs of instability.

  “I’m fine,” he says.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes catch mine and don’t let go. In them is my old best friend, the reason I got out of my lumpy bed every day—other than the children. And I realize how much I love him.

  “Can we . . . talk?”

  “Where?”

  “Up there.” I point. “By the wall.”

  “Okay.”

  I help him to his feet. “Thank you, Mr. Tanner. It was so kind of you to help.”

  “Anytime, Joy. You two be safe. And let’s hope they get that power back on soon. The plants and trees’ll die if they don’t.”

  “Yeah, let’s hope.”

  With Jax’s hand in mine, I guide him up the hill. It’s dark, but having him by my side makes it okay. Because this is how it’s supposed to be—me and Jax, embracing the truth in the dark like we did for so many years.

  When we arrive at the wall, I take his face in my hands. “Jax, you didn’t know, okay? You’re not a murderer. You didn’t know.”

  And he kisses me.

  Despite myself, I melt into him, and we drop to the ground behind a cluster of bushes. I run my hands along his familiar skin, the strong, soft body I’ve missed. His mouth is hot on my neck, my cheek, my lips . . . He grips the hem of my shirt and begs me with his eyes. I nod, and with a clean swipe, my bare skin meets the chilly air. But I’m not cold for long. His shirt joins mine on the dark ground beneath my head as he lies me back and blankets me with himself. He’s ravenous for me, a sensual, savage beast, devouring me in a rush of passion . . . and I know I should stop this storm from coming. But I don’t. I can’t, nor do I want to. Maybe I am in love with him . . . I should tell him the truth—that he’ll be a father soon. I should . . . but I don’t want to ruin this moment.

  I suppose it’s one way to take the dark with the light . . . and build on.

  Jax and I sit with our backs against the stone wall, hands clasped between us. The few minutes of silence is an uncertain eternity. Far below, on the beach, someone gets the campfire blazing, while tiny silhouettes of our friends gather around it, some standing, some still sitting on the logs. Mateo scans the hill, no doubt worried about me.

  What am I doing? What seems right one minute, is wrong the next. I swore I’d never let Jax in again . . . and here I have. Am I going to regret this? Already, there’s the guilt because of Mateo.

  “I kil
led thousands of people.” Jax slumps back against the wall. “Thousands.”

  “It’s not your fault. You thought you were helping. And anyway, you didn’t have a choice.”

  “Still, for five years in the Brain Room, every day, I told myself it’s okay, because I’m giving them air, life for another day.” He throws a tiny rock that bounces down the hill. “Another day in hell.”

  “You can’t beat yourself up over it. That won’t help.”

  Jax takes out a pipe and a satchel from his pocket. He fills the pipe’s bowl with a pinch of its contents, strikes a match to light it, and inhales. “Damn.” He coughs, blowing the smoke out in a stream above our heads. “Long as I got a nice supply of this stuff, I’ll be A-OK.”

  “You can’t run from your thoughts forever. Eventually, you’ll have to deal with whatever you’re running from.”

  “Not running from anything.”

  “Okay, Jax.” For another few minutes, we sit in silence until I can’t stand it any longer. I have to tell him. “Jax, I—”

  “I knew this place was off. It’s crazy how you ignore certain stuff when you want so badly to believe something.”

  So true.

  He draws from the pipe again, holds the smoke in his lungs. “Know what I mean?” And he exhales, and rambles about electricity, food source, location . . . and it’s all a murmur behind my screaming thoughts.

  I stand, interrupting his rant. “We should go back, I bet they’re wondering where we are.” I help him to his feet, and he stumbles into me, attempting to steal another kiss. But instead, I start downhill. Jax is a mess. So am I. Our dream world has been obliterated, and I’ve complicated things by letting my urges take over. I don’t need this right now.

  When we get to the beach, Mateo sits by Vila on a log. She ceases her venting when we approach, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “You two okay?” Emerson pokes a stick into the fire.

  “Fine,” I say.

  “I’m going to my room.” Vila steps toward us, stops at Jax’s side to tug at the neck of his shirt. “Your shirt’s on inside out, by the way. Apparently, you’re more than ‘fine.’” She holds his gaze for a second, a sadness flashing there before it disappears with her departure. We watch her leave, falling into a stiff silence intensified by the absence of the fake waves. Jax tries to hide his urge to follow her, a glance from her to me while she’s swallowed up by the darkness above. Mateo rests his elbows on his knees, stares at the ground, and Emerson tosses a rock into the still water with a plop.