The Soultakers (The Treemakers Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  “Yes, through the factory, below the Watchtower. But I’m sure there are AOAIs there now working on that, and . . . if they or I cannot affect the power flow, it’s doubtful Jax will be able to reconnect it.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to try, though, would it?”

  “I guess not.” She secures her hood, tying its strings in a bow beneath her chin. “All right, we’ll go there first, but we have to stay together and hurry. We have a few hours of oxygen stores, at best.”

  “Be right back.” I climb the stairs to the third floor, first door on the left, and swing it open to reveal him and Vila on his bed, lips fused. I avert my eyes to the cracked, green bedroom wall, a toiling of hurt and rage burning inside me. “Jax, you need to come to the factory with us.”

  “Why? And how about knocking next time?”

  “Whatever. You should check out the control panels. You might be able to get the power running again.”

  “What, so we can live in a fantasy world? No thanks. I prefer the truth.” And he puts the pipe end to his lips, takes in a giant puff, and exhales a huge cloud of smoke.

  “Right. Is that why you enjoy smoking that stuff? To embrace the truth?”

  “I’m sure they’ve got it under control, Princess.” Vila strokes Tallulah by her side. “Leave us alone.”

  Fuming, I swallow hard. Now isn’t the time for weakness, or for letting trivial things and jealousy sway my strength. “Listen, we have a few hours of air left, then we’re all dead. The children are all dead, Baby Lou, Tallulah, me . . . you two. Dead. And you’re both willing to lie here in La La Land and let it happen without trying to do something about it?”

  After a short standoff, Jax sighs and stuffs the pipe back into his pocket. “I doubt I can do anything.” He stands and stretches, the noticeable fog in his mind throwing off his balance. “But I’ll try.”

  Vila rolls off of Jax’s bed, straightens her clothes, and stands tall by his side. “I’m going, too.”

  Of course you are.

  We leave Johnny and Pedro to guard the Center, while Smudge, Mateo, Jax, Vila, and I head out. Without emergency lights overhead and only three lanterns lighting our way, we have a limited line of sight—the area directly surrounding us. Our paradise is now a coffin.

  “How’s our oxygen level?” I ask Smudge.

  “We have about ten hours before the levels become harmful.” She lights her fingers, holding a hand above her head to further illuminate our surroundings on the path toward the Watchtower. Candles flicker through hut windows, the silhouettes of curious people and AOAIs peeking out.

  “Where’re you taking us, Sparky?” Vila asks from Jax’s shadow.

  “To the factory. The entrance is on the lobby floor of the Watchtower.”

  “What’s the point of having a watchtower if nobody’s watching?” Emerson points his crossbow toward the tall, empty building.

  I survey the tower’s colossal size, its massive, dark windows, and wonder the same thing.

  “More were coming,” Smudge says.

  “More what?” I ask.

  “Refugees from Alzanei, both human and AOAIs. But once Raffai and his men rescued those you’ve seen here, Alzanei heightened security measures. They apprehended the last group of Revols who snuck in . . . and guillotined them.”

  “Nice people.” Jax yanks the Watchtower door open. A gust of stale, warm air pours out with the faint smell of citrus. So weird. I know it isn’t there, but somehow my brain keeps turning the memory into an actual smell. The human mind is a curious thing.

  “No, they are definitely not nice people.” Smudge tugs at the drawstring beneath her chin. “After that, Lord Daumier posted a notice in the Towne Centre, stating that for every one of his OAIs who turned up missing, two children and two Impures would be slaughtered. Ours was the final group to be taken—and awakened—by the Revols.”

  Vila ties her short hair back with a string. “Well, that’s lucky.”

  “It wasn’t luck,” I say. “It happened that way for a reason.”

  Smudge stares into the dark, concentrating on its stillness. Then she shakes her head and draws up her hood. “So strange—I’ve never had this problem before.”

  “What is it?” asks Emerson.

  “When I send a signal to manipulate the electrical current, something . . . blocks it. Similar to an . . . electromagnetic pulse. But it’s not that. At least none I’m aware of, that I can read.”

  “How do you know?” I spin my spear around in my hand, a trick that took me months of bunker exploration to perfect.

  “Because, there’s . . . no signal. No . . . energy. Anywhere.” She holds up fingers glowing bright orange-white, which illuminate the Watchtower’s first-floor lobby better than all of our liqui-lanterns combined.

  Mateo chuckles, lifting his lantern. “Why did we bring these, again?”

  “Always best to be prepared for anything.” And Smudge winks at me.

  My daddy’s words. “That’s right,” I say.

  Smudge leads us through the deserted lobby where a layer of dust covers the counters, fixtures, and furniture. Not until we get to the matte silver door that reads “Factory” is the dust cleared from its shiny handle. Once Smudge opens the door to a narrow staircase heading down into pitch-black darkness, my stomach turns and my vision lurches.

  “Hello? Anyone down there?” Smudge’s voice echoes, then sinks into a silence that returns no answer. “Raffai may not be here; he may have taken all able bodies to the Subterrane. He thinks they’re responsible for this.”

  “Do you think they are?” I strain to listen for a sound from the stillness below.

  “I . . . don’t know. They could be. But . . . it could also be Alzanei. They could have discovered our location.”

  Jax tucks his hair behind his ears. “I should scope the power grid anyway, see if I can make sense out of something. Doubtful, but maybe.” He starts down the stairs, lantern hoisted high, with Vila in his wake.

  “All right.” Emerson blows out a quick breath. “Come on, then.” He grips his lantern and begins down after them.

  “Mateo, why don’t you wait up here?” I say. “This’ll be hell on your knee.”

  He moves in close. “Only if you’ll be staying with me.”

  “Mateo . . .”

  Smudge waits for us to decide what we’re doing. “I can’t be in two places at once. And no one should be . . . alone right now.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Mateo says. “Let’s go.”

  “I may be able to alleviate some of the pain and temporarily increase your range of motion.” Smudge rubs her hands together. “Hold still.” Her fingers glow red, and she kneels down, touches Mateo’s knee in three spots.

  His leg twitches, and he flinches.

  “Try to bend it,” she says.

  Mateo stretches it out, wide-eyed. “Wow, thanks. That feels so mu—”

  “Hey!” Emerson calls out from deep inside the factory below us. “Where is everyone?”

  “Come on.” I clutch my spear in one hand, lug the lantern in the other, and we hurry down. Whatever warmth and promise this factory may have held during its waking hours is now gone, having left behind a stuffy, creepy, unsettling stillness that makes my whole body tense.

  “Em?” Smudge calls into the darkness. “Jax? Vila? Where are you?”

  From the opposite end of the large, machine-filled room, a green glow heads toward us, flying at blood-chilling speed. “Are they with you?” Emerson yells.

  “They aren’t with you?” My heart thumps inside my chest.

  “No!” He reaches us, panting, wiping sweat from his forehead. “They weren’t too far ahead, then I swore I heard footsteps behind me, so I stopped and looked back, thinking it was you three. Then, I seen a flash of light in the room where Jax and Vila went. I rushed over, but when
I got there, it was dark again and they was gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean, gone?” I push past him. “Jax!”

  “No, over there.” He points to the right, into more blackness.

  Adrenaline pumps through me, making my palms sweat around the lantern handle. I head that way with Emerson, Mateo, and Smudge close behind. “If this is a joke, it’s a very cruel one!” I creep toward the back corner of a large room, where workers once cut wood and crafted it into various things. Scattered nails and stacks of planks sit among an assortment of tools, silver metal glowing green in the liqui-light. “Please, we don’t have time for games.”

  A narrow doorway appears in the corner, wide enough for one body to fit through. Emerson points to it. “That’s where I seen the light come from. They went in there.”

  I lean in to inspect the closet-sized room. No other doorway. Smudge takes my arm. “Don’t go in there.”

  “Why? We’ve gotta find them—”

  “And we will, but not through there.”

  “To where, though? Where are they?”

  “On their way to Alzanei.”

  “What? How?”

  “This is a secret transport harbor.” She points up. “The ceiling slides open and there’s a vessel that transports small groups of passengers to Alzanei. There are many of these, all over Bygonne. I had no idea this was here. That means . . . there’s been a traitor living among us; this is how they would travel back and forth between Zentao and Alzanei without being seen.”

  Mateo crosses his arms. “But what would they want with Jax and Vila? Transfers, or—?”

  “Maybe it was an accident,” Emerson says. “Can it be activated accidentally?”

  “No,” says Smudge. “This was no accident.”

  “Whoever it was knew Jax would come try to fix the power,” I say. “Smudge, do you suspect who it could’ve been?”

  She adjusts her hood, staring at the floor. “Could be anyone. I did not yet know Zentao’s residents on a personal level.”

  “You still haven’t explained why they’d want Jax and Vila,” Mateo says.

  “Well, I’m not sure about Vila, but Jax holds invaluable knowledge. Whoever it was . . . knew Jax and Joy would come down here to try to restore power. I’m afraid he’s in grave danger.”

  A vice grips my heart. “We have to get to him, Smudge . . .” And I break down and cry.

  “I know.” She wraps her arms around me. “We will. Let’s go find Raffai.”

  We hurry up the stairs and out of the Watchtower, and I struggle to put my emotions back in safe keeping. But fear and rage battle for my breaking point. Jax is gone. The father of my unborn child, my best friend . . . I may never see him again, may never get the chance to right things between us. And now that he’s gone, I’m lighter, fragile, missing a vital piece of my soul.

  You don’t realize how big somebody is in your life, until you measure the space of their absence.

  I thought that after Toby died. But this is bigger, more. What have I done? I can’t help thinking this is somehow my fault. If I had been with him instead of Vila . . .

  “Try not to worry.” Smudge brushes my arm. “I know it’s hard, but there’s a good chance we’ll get him back.”

  “A good chance?” And the tears slip down my cheeks again. “That’s not good enough.”

  She stares at her hands. “I’m sorry. That’s . . . all I can give.”

  Once we’re within view of the bunker, our lanterns illuminate a nightmare: the beach is gone. The water’s risen over the shore, has swallowed the sand city, and now crawls up the side of the hill toward the building.

  “Oh my God . . .” My voice is barely audible. “Smudge, what’s happening? Why is the water level rising?”

  “I was afraid this might happen.” She yanks on the handle and the door opens. “Raffai?”

  No answer. A brief search reveals all of the guns missing. She jogs to the far corner and lifts an enormous, circular hatch in the floor, the sound of rushing water inside it. “His ship is gone. They went to fight.”

  “You were afraid what might happen?” I ask.

  She pivots to face me in the doorway. “Zentao is flooding.”

  “Well that’s jus’ great,” Emerson says.

  “How?” I ask.

  “Whoever sabotaged the electricity also shut off the outtake pumps.” Smudge points to the right wall. “The water is pumped in from the river . . . but it cannot be filtered out again if those pumps are inoperable.”

  We stand for a moment, surveying the impossible tragedy. Shock, disbelief, and terror turn me to stone.

  “Breathe.” Mateo rubs my back, and I exhale, light-headed.

  “Three to four hours.” Smudge tugs at her hood’s drawstrings, anger washing the youth from her face. “They’ve increased the intake amount to quadruple what it usually is.”

  “Three to four hours until what?” I ask.

  “Until Zentao is completely underwater.”

  “Are you . . . serious?”

  “Yes. We have to prepare to evacuate.”

  “Damn.” Emerson kicks the bunker wall. “That’s definitely bad. Does this mean we gotta go back to Bygonne?”

  “Not in my lifetime,” I say. “What about Alzanei? Is there anywhere safe? And how would we get there?”

  “There is a way there, but it requires traveling a short distance through the jungle. There are safe houses in Alzanei, but they are frequently discovered. Nothing is safe for long. The OAIs make sure of that. I could not guarantee your safety.”

  “So, we’re right back to where we were at Gomorrah!” I slam the end of my spear on the ground. “We’re not safe anywhere!”

  “There is one place.” Smudge pushes up her sleeves. “Remember the refuge I told you about, where Seraphim is?”

  “How do we get there? Can we go there now?”

  “Is that in Alzanei, too?” Emerson asks.

  “No,” she says, “but it’s close—a refuge for AOAIs. They . . . don’t allow many humans. At least, not much in the past, but I can . . . persuade them. It helps that you’re young. We should be able to stay there and devise a plan to rescue Jax and Vila.”

  “Should be able to?” I arc an eyebrow at her.

  “The chances are . . . very good.”

  “So they know you there?”

  “Yes. Two others were in the fishing boat when Raffai’s men capsized it: 7ZS6-00T, a female; and 7ZS2-81J, a male. Cekducellus-born. We were . . . triplets.”

  “Wait, so . . .” Emerson scratches his head. “You got a brother and sister?”

  “I suppose I do, yes. Although we never regarded each other in that way. There was never any . . . emotion . . . attached. We never . . . bonded with one another. Besides, our donors weren’t related, so only our bodies share blood. We are not connected in mind.”

  “I don’t believe that,” I say. “You aren’t only Sadie, you’re . . . you, too. Same as they are. Once you’re around each other, it’ll be different.”

  “Why didn’t you go there with them?” Mateo asks. “Once you were awakened.”

  “I was . . . angry. I was not yet ready to make peace with it . . . to make . . . friends.”

  “Hate to interrupt”—Emerson points into the rising water—“but what the hell’s that?”

  Something enormous slaps the surface, showering us with droplets of water, then submerges itself again.

  “Teuridons,” Smudge says. “Coming in from the river. Someone removed the protective covering from the inflow reservoir.”

  I shake away my chills and turn into the bunker. “Did they leave anything? We should take whatever’s left.”

  “I’m sure they didn’t take everything. There are only eleven members in Raffai’s militia, though he may have taken factory worker
s and AOAIs with him, too. The AOAIs, as you know, do not need weapons.”

  “That’s hardly a militia.” Mateo cringes, shifts his weight to his other leg.

  “Yes,” says Smudge. “Their chances of success . . . are not good.”

  “Well,” Emerson says, “let’s hope for the best.”

  We search along racks and through cabinets, closets—all of which are empty—until I get to the double doors beyond which sits the trolley we arrived in. I tremble with dread. I don’t want to go back through those doors. But there may be no other choice.

  “Got ’em.” Emerson stands before an open metal locker. “These look familiar.” He removes two crossbows, hands one each to Mateo and me, then takes two more down and gives them to Smudge. “Four left. Let’s take ’em all.” And he tosses each of us another one, which we sling over our shoulders.

  Dark water laps at the bunker door, slithers up to lick the cracked floor tiles.

  “Is there another way out?” I ask Smudge.

  “The ventilation system. Through there, we can bypass the jungle altogether. The ventilation shafts lead to the old trolley tunnels right outside of Alzanei. They will take time to traverse, because they wind around to fit the terrain.”

  “How did those vents not give away Zentao’s location?” Emerson asks.

  “They are well hidden.” Smudge readjusts her crossbows strapped to both shoulders. “We need to wake everyone, and get them to higher ground.”

  We exit the bunker and slosh through a few inches of dark water. In the shadows of the surface, lit by our liqui-lanterns, four enormous fins circle. Emerson inserts his thumb and forefinger into his mouth, and whistles so loud my ears ring. “Everyone wake up!” He whistles again. “Out of your homes—now!”

  “Let’s go to each one and make sure everyone’s up,” I say. “Mateo and I will take the huts on the right, you two get the left.”

  Smudge salutes me. “Sounds good.”

  “Meet us at the Center!” Emerson calls behind him.

  “Okay!”

  With Mateo limping beside me, we hurry from hut to hut, warning the people of Zentao about the flooding. One by one, they’re awakened from sleep . . . to this nightmare. With meager possessions in hand, they hurry out and head uphill. A frantic Professor Al clutches numerous papers and books, tossing them into a huge brown bag.