The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) (8 page)

“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 oxygen 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.”

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.”

§

Stumbling up the stairs, pausing every other one to steal another kiss, Jax and I finally make it back to the dorms. Humphrey’s in the same position we left him—sitting up, hands still clasped in front of him, except now he’
s snoring.

“You aren’t fooling anyone,” says Jax, and he drops the third-full bottle of liquor onto the cot, startling
Humphrey awake.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbles and snatches up the bottle. He unscrews the cap and has it emptied in seconds, with hardly a cringe, then hands the drained evidence back to Jax. “Get rid
of this.”

A flash of purple light flickers from the chopper window. Jax heads toward it, returning the empty bottle to his back pocket. I follow, still swaying from the liquor and the evening’s events. When we get to the window, lightning rips through the sky—an electric web of destruction, promising to split the clouds open any second to spew toxic filth onto Greenleigh and the rest of Central Bygonne. It rains here more than anywhere else, and depending on the severity of the storm, the stability of the Tree Factory’s power
is questionable.

“Nice,” Jax says. “That’s what we need,
more excitement.”

“Trees have to fill with water somehow,” I mumble. “Come on, I need to get Baby Lou
her medicine.”

Jax takes my hand, and we travel back down the hallway. “Okay, but then we’re going
out again.”

“
We are?”

“Yup.”

“Where?”

“You know where. Miguel wants to
bring Aby.”

“You
told him?”

We approach a reclined, temporarily
silenced Humphrey.

“We’re going in for a couple minutes,” Jax says to him, “but we’re coming right
back out.”

Humphrey shrugs. “Don’t
get caught.”

“I wish you’d quit
saying that.”

Another shrug. “It’d be game over if
you did.”

“Thanks for that constant reminder.” I shove Jax into the shadows on the other side of his door. “You told Miguel?”
I repeat.

“Well, you told Aby. Of course I told Miguel. He’s my
best friend.”

“I thought I was your best friend.” And I make a dramatic pouty lip, one he’ll only witness when there’s liquor
in me.

He tugs me closer, takes the opportunity to nibble on the lip softly. “You’re more than that.” He slaps my backside. “Now come on. The night’s young. Get Aby. Wear that sexy black dress.” Then he winks and disappears inside the boys’ dorm as I float to ours and pour through the door
like water.

“Joy!” Aby guides a needle into a piece of fabric, tugs the string through the other side. “What took you so long? I’ve been worried sick. Did you get
the medicine?”

Besides Aby, only Serna and another girl are still sewing. The pile of ripped garments has shrunk to only a few remaining, and the stack of neatly lain, freshly re-mended clothing is tall by
its side.

“Yeah, I got the medicine. And we were
. . .
sidetracked.” I can’t hide my grin. “Awesome job on the clothes! I can’t believe you’re
almost finished.”

Aby’s eyes widen with knowing, and her mouth gapes. She covers it, then quickly removes her hand. “You didn’t!” She stands and sniffs at my breath. “Is that
. . .
liquor I smell? Joy! Tell me all about it. I want details. But not too many, that
would be—”

“There’s not much left, right?”
I interrupt.

“Huh?” She blinks. “Oh, no. Just three things. These girls are sewing maniacs over here.” And she winks at them. Their eyes are heavy and glazed from the extra hours of monotonous work after twelve hours of hard labor. “The others kept dozing off mid-stitch and poking themselves, so I sent them
to bed.”

“Nice work, girls. How’
s Baby?”

“Still hot and dry. She drank water, but
not much.”

I go to her crib with the medicine bottle and pick her up. She stirs, but doesn’t wake. “Hey sweetheart, I have your medicine.” Her cheek’s hot against my lips. I unscrew the bottle, drip two drops into her mouth, then blow into her nostrils to make sure
she swallows.

“She needs a doctor,”
Aby says.

“
I know.”

But we both know that’s silly-speak. The cost of taking her to a doctor in Taborton—the nearest living, breathing city, ten miles west of here—is twice as much as buying three new orphans. And leaving the Tree Factory with Baby Lou
. . .
someone would have to go along to care for her. The Superiors sure won’t. That would mean showing someone the way to the trolley tunnels
. . .
the way
out
. Totally out of
the question.

“Can you two finish up these last three things?” I ask
the girls.

They nod.

“Why?”
Aby asks.

“We’re going out again,”
I whisper.

“What? Where?”

“You’re coming, too.”

Her eyes light up, and she claps
her hands.

I give the bottle to Serna, who tosses me a
concerned glance.

“If we’re not back
. . .
when you wake up, make sure Baby Lou gets two drops every four hours. And don’t let the Superiors find this bottle, whatever you do. Hide it at all costs,
got it?”

“I won’t let anything happen to it,” says Serna. “But you’ll be back, right?”

“Yes.” I kiss Baby Lou’s cheek and lay her down in her crib, covering half of her body with a blanket so she doesn’t catch a chill. “But
. . .
just
in case.”

I retrieve my box of belongings from under my bed and dig through it; a deck of cards, scant clothing, a few tattered books of fairy tales, and Millie, the animal my mother made me, until I find the slinky black dress I hid underneath it all. I take it and Millie out to inspect them both. Many things my mother made with her hands, but this I remember most. She removed half of her own bed pillow’s stuffing and cut a pattern out of an old skirt, coughing the entire time. It wouldn’t be much longer until she was gone from my
life forever.