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

  “They get the easy way out?”

  I stare into her dead eyes, and she stares back into mine as I invite her to kill me. In this moment, I’ve silently defeated her. Not caring—or bluffing that you don’t—makes the threat of losing your life a flimsy weapon.

  “I’ll mend the clothes again tonight,” I add. “Thank you, Madam Superior.”

  “Yes. You will. And you’ll do it hungry. Humphrey!” she calls. “Do not serve Miss Montgomery any slop today.”

  I almost thank her.

  Humphrey grumbles in response, and Arianna Superior turns swiftly, gliding up the catwalk steps. When she reaches the top, she’s joined by Mona Superior, who whispers something to her, then Arianna goes on toward the office.

  “Beasts!” Mona laughs. “It is now time to discuss a change in quota.”

  We collectively hold our breath. Even the smallest of us knows what that means.

  “You have been producing many fine trees as of late,” she continues. “We are very satisfied with each of your positions and feel you all know your jobs well. Which is why we have decided to increase production. You will be expected to produce one hundred trees per day now, as opposed to the prior seventy-five. The line will move quicker, so be prepared. And do not lose quality. We have signed a contract with Taborton. Their salvagers will supply us with extra materials, and in return, we will give them a third of our production.” She takes a deep breath in her oxygen mask, then continues. “If you perform adequately, you will be rewarded with one hour of evening free time in the cellar. And I pray I don’t need to remind any of you what happens if you do not perform adequately. . . .”

  At the words “free time,” the energy in the room changes. It’s been months since we went down there. The Superiors are definitely up to no good.

  “And if the rest of you expect another meal today,” Mona Superior adds, “get yourselves to your stations and begin work immediately. In five minutes, work will be double-time.”

  Jax helps me pick up the clothes, while everyone heads to their stations, excitement plain on their faces. No one cares that they’ll be working harder. They’ve been offered a small taste of freedom, and now they’re dancing in the clouds. How cleverly evil of the Superiors. This will increase production much more than threats, starvation, or beatings.

  Aby joins us with Baby Lou. “What do we do?” she asks.

  “We take these clothes back to our dorm,” I say, “drop them off, and get to work.”

  Jax and I head down the hallway with Aby at our heels. “But . . . but what about Baby? She needs medicine.”

  At the dorms, Jax slips something into the clothing pile. “Eat it fast,” he whispers.

  “Thanks,” I whisper back. He stays at the threshold while I take the clothes inside, dig out the lump of bread, and cram it into my mouth in two bites.

  “Joy?” Aby follows me in, frantic with worry.

  “She’ll have to go through the day without it,” I explain through my chewing. “Just the day, though. I have a plan.”

  She tries to read in my eyes what it is. “You’ll tell me later?”

  “Yes. Now, help me get her changed. I’ll keep her for the first half of the day, give her plenty of water and keep a bucket and a cloth nearby to cool her down when she needs it.”

  Aby nods and changes Baby Lou into a clean diaper, then wraps her shivering body in a blanket.

  “I need to go,” Jax says from the doorway. “Is your face okay? You might need antiseptic.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll brush some on before I go out.”

  “Okay. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Thank you, Jax. For . . . saving us.”

  “Of course.” And with a quick half-smile, he’s gone.

  Aby hurries the first-aid kit out from under her bed as the warning alarm sounds. A quick brush of rubbing alcohol later, I grab a stack of rags, a bottle and a bucket, and we both hurry to our stations.

  I barely have enough time to get Baby Lou into her playpen with a fresh bottle of water before the chopper begins to beep at me. Hopefully, she’ll let me leave her there for a while, because my body can’t take her weight much more with this lack of sleep. Maybe I’ll be lucky. I breathe in deep, and press the “ready” button.

  When all of the lights are lit, the line starts. One good thing, I suppose—the adrenaline will keep me awake today. The first slab of titanzium slides down, and I rush it to the gridlines and count, using the second hand of the window’s wall clock.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  The blade falls, slicing two perfect halves.

  Three seconds isn’t bad. I can handle it.

  An hour into production, and I was right about the adrenaline; I’m more alert, even if my stomach begs for nourishment. I’m used to that, though. The exhaustion will catch up eventually, but it’ll be replaced by adrenaline again tonight when I risk my life for my Baby.

  Twenty minutes later, shrieks erupt down the line. Samurai is engulfed in flames. I slam my hand on the emergency stop button, grab my bucket, and rush to him, dousing the fire with what little water is left. It’s hardly fazed. Frantic, I rip off Baby Lou’s blanket sling and attempt to wrap it around Samurai’s writhing body, but he’s swinging his arms, the flames ever-growing. Without thinking, I punch him in the face. He drops to the ground, and I cover him with the blanket. The fire dies immediately, leaving him burned and bloody, but alive.

  “Someone get Mona Superior!” I cry. “He needs medical attention!”

  Johnny sprints toward the catwalk stairs and punches the emergency alarm. Samurai moans, then it’s drowned out by the shrill siren. I feel faint. Too much blood. . . . In some spots, the skin is gone completely. Charred muscle and bone peek through, tinged with hints of red.

  “It’s okay, Sam,” I tell him. “We’ll get you all fixed up.” I cradle his head in my lap as Aby and Miguel approach.

  “What happened?” they ask.

  “I don’t know. I heard him screaming, and saw he was on fire.”

  “It was too fast,” says Miguel. “Too fast for him.”

  “I’m sorry I hit you, Sam,” I cry. Burnt hair and flesh stench hangs in the air, bringing with it memories of the day Molina died in this very spot. “I had to make you still to put the fire out.” Lips, nose, and ears are gone completely. He rocks his head from side to side, slowly, then, his chest falls for the last time. I sob harder as feet trample the catwalk and down the stairs. Soon, Jax is crouching beside me.

  “What happened?” he asks. “Is he dead?”

  I nod, clutching Samurai’s head to my chest.

  Another brother . . . dead.

  §

  With Sam’s death taking up the Superiors’ “precious time,” and an older boy learning how to use the sun torch, in order to reach our quota, they made us work two extra hours. Half of the little ones were crying on the way to dinner, weak with hunger and fatigue. But for me, the hunger was a fine distraction.

  The Superiors kept their promise, though. We have our free time in the filthy cellar playroom. But none of us feels much like celebrating. Chloe and some of the younger children chase each other around, half-heartedly, while others play with the few raggedy toys in the corner. We olders sit in pairs and groups, gathered here and there, chatting softly, talking about Samurai, and Toby.

  Aby and Miguel sit in a dark corner, their fingers exploring each other’s skin, while a few of the older girls pass Baby Lou around, slathering her with kisses and get well wishes. Though she manages the faintest smile, she’s fading fast, having refused even water for the past few hours. If the bad air and fever don’t get her, the dehydration will.

  Jax takes a seat next to me on the broken machine part that is now our playroom bench. He rests his elbows on his knees. “Man . . . I can’t believe it.”

  I nod and kick at the concrete through a layer of dust. A leaky pipe drips water down a nearby wall, next to a flickering oxyg
en light, leaving a trail of green slime. The squeaking echo of rats through the vents makes me shiver.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “This is no place for children to be,” I say loudly. Emmanuel Superior probably waits within earshot on the other side of the door, but I don’t care. Let him hear my blasphemy.

  I’m old enough now to know what keeps us going each day: the unsaid hope that someday we’ll be free. That we’ll be rescued, adopted by people from another town, or even bought by less demanding, less abusive owners, ones who’d let us be children in the hours outside of work. It’s a hope we keep private, too afraid to be told we’re being silly, that we’ll never get out of here. We’d be stripped of our fantasies, working for a breath we resent taking. Strip us of our hope, and strip us of our desire to live; steal away the delusion of future freedom, and drain what little willpower remains to spend another rotten day building trees.

  But Toby and Sam don’t even get the possibility of freedom now. They died with their dreams still silenced. Or—

  I laugh out loud, and Jax shoots me a curious glance.

  —maybe they were the lucky ones. Maybe that’s the true freedom.

  Death.

  Jax takes my hand, pulls it to his chest, probably thinking I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. He caresses my skin with his thumb and says nothing. But he doesn’t have to, the gesture is enough. A warmth grows in me, and I realize I have much to live for. Even now. Even here, in this hideous, foul, lifeless world. I have Jax, Aby, Baby Lou, and the rest of my brothers and sisters. I have love. And love itself, if nothing else, is enough to wake me up tomorrow. That, and the possibility that we may all soon be rid of this place for good.

  “Tonight,” I whisper into Jax’s ear, my lips brushing his earlobe. “We have a mission.”

  He shivers and moves into me, squeezing my hand. “Ooh,” he whispers back, lips hovering over mine. “Tell me more.” I remember their silken warmth when he kissed me . . . how he stood his ground between me and the thornwhip today . . . and I tremble with desire for the first time.

  “Thanks again,” I say, “for—”

  He interrupts me with a kiss.

  I wrap my arms around him, draw him closer, our heat igniting a fire between us.

  “Ew, gross!” a little voice yells from nearby, and I back away, embarrassed.

  I try to take my hand from Jax, but he grips it tighter and shakes his head. “I’m not letting go,” he says. “Let them stare.”

  After a tense moment, I relax and lay my head on his shoulder. “Tell Humphrey we’ll have him something real good if he’ll let us out tonight.”

  “I don’t know if he’ll go for it.”

  “Promise him. Tell him we’ll have it within an hour after we leave.”

  “Seriously? How are we gonna do that?”

  “Diaz probably has some liquor stashed in the office, right? And it just so happens . . . that’s where Baby Lou’s medicine is.”

  EIGHT

  Emmanuel Superior barges into the playroom in his lacy negligée and satin house robe, and escorts us back upstairs to our dorms to be locked up tight.

  “What, no goodnight kiss?” I mumble as our door slams. Pieces of the wall crumble to the floor.

  “What’s the plan?” Aby offers to take Baby Lou, and I gladly hand her over. My arm muscles are about to give out from holding her so much over the past two days.

  “Jax and I are going to break into the office.”

  She gasps, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Joy, no—”

  “We can’t risk mending these clothes again, to have something else happen and get no medicine. Plus, I don’t want her to go through the night without it.”

  “We’re not going to mend the clothes, then? Won’t she know?”

  “No, you and Serna, and whoever else knows how to sew, will get started on that, while Jax and I go.”

  In the washroom, I fill the empty brown medicine bottle with water and screw the lid on tight, then hurry back to Aby. “I’ll take the full bottle, and replace it with this. Then, tomorrow, when she gives it to me—if she gives it to me—she’ll never know.”

  Aby blows out a fast breath, tugs at her tattered black shirt. “It’s crazy. You know that, right?”

  “I know, but it’s time for crazy. We’re not playing their games anymore. From now on, they’ll be playing ours. They just may not realize it. Yet.”

  “Did you see what Arianna did to her son’s ankle, Joy?”

  “Yes. But we’re different; we make her trees. Without us, they wouldn’t have their precious canned air to breathe. And she wouldn’t have all of Bygonne at her mercy. That makes us more valuable than her son.”

  Aby kisses Baby Lou’s nose. “What a monster,” she says.

  “Yes she is.”

  There’s a knock on the door.

  “I have to go,” I say. “Start the girls on the sewing. It shouldn’t take very long with a group. At least we don’t have to wash them again.”

  She sighs. “Okay, Joy. Please be careful.”

  Jax waits for me on the other side of the door, vibrating with anticipation. Humphrey’s perched on the side of his cot, hands clasped together, worry on his face.

  “Ready?” Jax says.

  I nod, and close the door behind me.

  Humphrey shakes his head. “You kids must have a death wish.”

  “Quite the opposite,” I say.

  “Well, you better not get caught—” He hacks for about a minute straight, the veins around his face and neck bulging under bright red skin. “Not that it would matter much on my end,” he goes on when he’s finally caught his breath. “My days are numbered anyway.” He holds out the heavy key ring, balanced on one finger, and I take it from him.

  “Which one’s for the office?” I ask.

  He stares in disbelief. “Brave tonight, aren’t we?”

  “Which is it?”

  He shrugs, points. “The smallest of the lot, with the blue dot on it.”

  I search through until I find that one. “Thanks, Humphrey, for helping us save a little girl’s life.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t get caught.”

  We take off toward the stairs and ascend them swiftly. With no light on in the office, a bit of relief mixes with my fear and adrenaline. I grip the office key in one hand, the rest in the other to silence their jingling. My eyes dance from the office door to the corridor doors, where I expect them to fly open any second and spit out all four Superiors to our demise.

  But we reach the office door with no incident, and at one easy turn of the key, we’re in, closing it soundlessly behind us and rolling the flap over the window. Our hearts and breath are a symphony in the stillness, beating and breathing a dangerous song of freedom in a servant’s world. I’ve never felt more alive. The promise of possible death clashes against the realization of power over the Superiors. I refuse to follow their rules any longer.

  Jax removes two light sticks from his pocket, cracks them, and hands me one. I shake it, making the light glow brighter. “You find the liquor,” I whisper. “I’ll get the medicine.”

  He gives me a thumbs-up, and we split. He crosses the room to the cabinets in the far back corner which store who-knows-what, and I size up the towering shelf that harbors the medicine at its peak. Like a princess in a high castle on a mountaintop, I must now figure out how to scale it and retrieve. I thought I was delirious when Arianna Superior seemingly elongated her body to reach up there. Now, as I stare up at the shelf I know the medicine’s at . . . maybe I wasn’t so delirious. It’s an impossible height.

  I move a wobbly chair in front of the shelf and climb up onto it. Standing on tiptoe, my fingertips barely reach the other bottle. As soon as I have it in my hand, I replace it with the water-filled one and step back down, nearly falling off of the chair as it jerks off-balance.

  “Got it,” I say, inspecting the full bottle.

  “Me, too,” says Jax, and he holds up a large
bottle half-filled with auburn liquor behind a burgundy-and-gold label. “And it’s good stuff, too. Humphrey’s gonna be pleased with this, for sure.” He unscrews the lid, takes a whiff, and makes a face. Then, he wipes the rim with his shirt and gulps some down. He cringes, then hops, then takes another gulp and holds the bottle out to me.

  At first, I shake my head—

  “Come on, try it. It’s good,” he says.

  —then give in, take the bottle, down two huge gulps, and hand it back to him with a wince as I swallow. “Happy?” I say. “Can we go now?”

  “It’s good, right?”

  “I guess. I just really want to go.”

  “Hand me the light stick.”

  I give it to him, and make sure the bottle of medicine is safe in my pocket. He tucks both light sticks away, along with the bottle of liquor and, after I fold the flap back off of the window, we finally exit the office. I lock the door behind us.

  Mission accomplished.

  We hurry down the catwalk stairs, but as soon as we pass the chopper, Jax steals me away behind it. He removes the bottle from his pocket, unscrews the lid, and smiles. I smile back.

  “We did it,” he whispers, then gulps the liquor for a couple seconds before passing the bottle to me.

  I hesitate, but victory wins me over. Like my daddy after his own winning streak, with enough to trade for food and medicine for Mother, and some left over. . . . I take the bottle and gulp, and gulp, until I’m floating in a warm, giggly place. Swaying, I hand the bottle back to Jax.

  “We better save the rest for Humphrey,” I tell him.

  He screws the lid back on, then takes my hand and guides me through the main factory room, and down the steps we came up earlier in the evening.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, we sneak the rest of the way swiftly down the stairs until we reach the unlocked playroom and slip inside. As soon as we’re behind the closed door, we collide into each other, an aching wave of longing.

  “I want you, Joy Montgomery. I always have.” And he kisses me feverishly.

  I push back, though only enough to speak. “Then have me.”