The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) (14 page)

“
Is that—?”

“Yeah, and there’s a trail of it
. . . .
”

I leave Johnny and Miguel in the storage room with the poles to guard the children, while Jax and I take the spear and follow the trail—past rows and rows of shelves that we believe used to hold food and water and other goods, past the ransacked dusty crates and all the way to the back, to a dead-end at
a wall.

“Okay
. . . .
” says Jax. “It took us to
a wall.”

I guide the light stick along the stone until something else catches my eye—something tiny, poking out from a vertical crack. I pluck it from
its spot.

“What is it?”
he asks.

“I think it’s a
. . .
paintbrush
. . . .
” I survey the area. Jutting up and down from the tiny hole are more cracks in the stone, which I trace with my finger. “This wall opens,” I say. “Someone put this here so we’
d know.”

“What if it’s
a trap?”

“It’s not
a trap.”

“How
do you—?”

“I
just know.”

“Okay
. . .
how do we open it, then?” He presses against the wall, and nothing happens. He pushes with his shoulder, and it doesn’
t budge.

I tuck the paintbrush back inside the hole, and give it a push. Something clicks, then one side of the wall pops forward, enough to grip. We tug on it, and the heavy section draws open to reveal a room about the size of the storage area across from the warehouse, except this one’s empty. Almost. In the middle sit three large brown crates. Two are together, the other a little farther from the
first two.

“Hello?” Jax calls into
the room.

“Smudge?” I say. “Are you here?” We stand in silence, waiting for a response that doesn’
t come.

“If she’s the one helping us,” Jax says, “why does she have to play the mystery game? Come
out already!”

“I told you, she’
s conflicted.”

“
About what?”

“I don’t know.” I step into the room, shining the light stick
above us.

“Hey, what does that say?” He points over to a sign pinned to one of the twin crates, and I remove the thick sheet, curious.

“These crates are made of wood,” Jax says. “Not old wood, either.”

“And this is paper.” I trace its painted lettering, trying to place its familiarity. “These two are
for us.”

“How do
you know?”

“It says, ‘For
the Treemakers.’”

“Oh. Well, let’s
open them.”

After some prying, the first crate’s nailed-on lid comes off. We lean over and stare in disbelief. My stomach grumbles
in response.

“Food!” Jax says. “A ton of it! And water!” He removes a glass bottle and unscrews the cap, not even testing it before gulping half of it down. He hands it to me. “Drink it. There’s like fifty of those in here,
at least.”

I gulp down some of the delicious water, then pick up a strange bundle of yellow things and pluck one free. I know I’ve seen these in a book before
. . . .

“Bananas!”
says Jax.

“That’s right. I couldn’t remember
. . . .
How
do you—?”

He snatches it from my hand, takes a bite, and makes a face. “You gotta get this outside part off first.” After messing with it for a minute, he peels back the outside to reveal a delicious, slender morsel. We both smile. He offers it up, and I take a giant bite, floating away to banana Heaven. Jax peels the rest and shoves the whole thing into
his mouth.

“Oh my God,” he says, muffled, “we gotta get these to
the children—”

“Hey,” says a voice behind us, making
me jump.

“Johnny, jeez
. . .
warn us next time,”
I say.

“What’s all this?” He leans over the box, and his eyes widen, confused. He rips a banana from its bundle. “What
are these?”

Jax swipes it from him and peels it like he’s done it a thousand times. He winks at me, then hands the peeled banana to Johnny. “
Eat it.”

Johnny takes a cautious bite, chewing slowly at first, but soon he’s swept away, too, and gobbles it down. “What are they?” he asks,
mouth full.

“Bananas,”
I reply.

“Well”—he wipes his mouth—“babanas are the best things ever. Where’d they
come from?”

I giggle at his mispronunciation. “Smudge,
I think.”

“Smudge? I don’t
get it.”

“It’s someone we met down here last time
we came.”

“You met a guy named Smudge? Down here?” He points at
the floor.

“A girl, actually.”

“A girl? Is
she cute?”

“She may be your type,” says Jax. “Likes to wander around in the dark and whatnot
. . . .
”

“And she knows where to get more babanas? I have to meet her. Where’s
she at?”

“Down here, somewhere,” I say. “Maybe.”

“You
lost me.”

“It’
s complicated.”

Johnny points to the other unopened crates. “What’s
in those?”

“We’re about to find out,” Jax says. “Help me with the lid to
this one.”

They go to work prying the lid from the second of the pair and toss it
behind them.

Jax digs around inside. “Supplies.”

I lean over to find more light sticks, a few boxes of matches, blankets, clothing, a few toys, and other
random stuff.

“It’s like she knew what was going to happen.” I pick up a doll with a hand-painted face, and think of Chloe. She’s never had a doll before. I tuck it away, and walk over to the other, separate crate. “Guys, come here. Help me with
this lid.”

They hurry over, and together, we pry the lid from the third crate, letting it clatter to the ground. The three of us
lean over.

“No way!” Johnny yells. He and Jax grab up two of the three items, which I have no idea what
to call.

“What are they?”
I ask.

“Crossbows,” Johnny says. “My dad had one of my grandpa’s.”

“They
shoot arrows?”

“They’re called bolts, actually. Same idea, though.”

“What about that?” I point to the last item pinned with another paper message, and when I remove it, a black screen lights up with red numbers on a strange,
silver box.

“How did that happen?”
Johnny asks.

“Are those numbers counting down?” Jax leans in for a better view. “Yeah, they are. I think that means one hour, fifty-nine minutes and forty-eight seconds. Forty-seven, forty-six, forty-five—”

“What happens when it gets
to zero?”

“We have to take it upstairs,” I say, “to the Superior’s bunker. I think I know what happens when it gets
to zero.”

“What?”
Jax asks.

I show them the paper in my hand with the red, familiar, painted lettering I can’t
quite place.

“What does it say?”
they ask.

“It says: ‘For the Superiors—Boom.’”

We push the two crates of food and supplies back to the storage room and introduce the children to bananas. Most of them have only had slop their whole lives, and them cramming their mouths full of the yellow mush, I’m positive, justifies what we’re about
to do.

I go to Chloe and a group of the youngest girls in the corner, my arms filled with dolls. Coincidentally, there are four dolls, and four little girls who are in need of dolls. They squeal as I pass them out, and Chloe even cries. She kisses her doll’s yarn head and
rocks her.

“Thank you so, so, so much, Momma Joy,” she says. “I
love her.”

“Don’t thank me, thank our
guardian angel.”

Johnny and Jax are in the warehouse learning to use their crossbows. The weapons are simple enough, and they’re quiet. Smudge isn’t too conflicted about us killing the Superiors, that’s
for sure.

“When are we going?”
Miguel asks.

“Soon.”

Aby excuses herself from the doll-circle and joins us at the storage room door, Baby Lou in her arms. “You’re not going, right?” Her blue eyes beg Miguel
to stay.

“Aby, you know I
have to.”

She
turns away.

I place my hand on her shoulder. “We won’t let anything happen to him,
I promise.”

She whips her head to me. “You’re going, too?”

“Yes, of course I’m going. It’s my
responsibility to—”

“What—die?”

“No. To make sure they never hurt any of you ever again.” I kiss her cheek, then Baby Lou’s. “Now, please
. . .
we have to go. We’ll be fine, I promise. Back in thirty minutes
or so.”

“And if you’
re not?”

Miguel hugs her tightly, kisses her cheek. “We
will be.”

“You boys professionals yet?” I call into
the warehouse.

“Pretty much,” Jax calls back, “as long as the target doesn’
t move.”

“Good enough.” I hand the spear to an older boy. “Guard this door,” I
tell him.

He nods and, gripping it tightly in his fist, repositions himself by
the doorway.

Aby takes something from her pocket. “You’ll need a weapon, then.” She drops the item into Miguel’
s palm.

He holds up her daddy’s tiny pocket knife, chuckles, and clicks it open to reveal its two-
inch blade.

“Hey, it’s better than nothing,”
I say.

“Thanks, baby.” Then, he closes it, slides it down into his
own pocket.

“Let’s move out,”
Johnny says.

Jax slowly makes his way from the other side of the warehouse with the silver box, when Johnny raises his crossbow, face deadly serious, closes one eye, aims, and shoots. I let out a startled cry as the bolt misses Jax by about three inches and spears a large rat in
the gut.

“Shit,” Jax says, “you scared the hell out of me, man.”

“Me, too,” I say, heart now slamming in my chest. “Good aim, though. You’re a
great shot.”

Jax sets the box down gently on the floor between us. “Who’s carrying
this thing?”

“I am,” Miguel and I both say at the
same time.

“No,” I say. “You have a knife, you
cover me.”

He nods.

I take Jax’s hand and reach for Miguel’s, then motion for them to close the circle with Johnny’s hands. After an awkward split second, they realize this isn’t the time for childishness, and the brothers clasp hands
as well.

I clear my throat. “Um, God? Or
. . .
Whoever You Are
. . . .
I know we haven’t spoken much over the years, but in my defense, I didn’t know what to believe. I’m not entirely sure now, either, but I think I’m closer to the truth than I’ve ever been, truth being, nothing is entirely understood or explained, even if you look deep into it. But there’s something that shines bright in the dark—something strong, hopeful, something to live for, to die for
. . .
and even kill for: Love.

“And if you are indeed the Keeper of all that is love, then you’ll help us protect the little lives who are counting on us. After the pain, humiliation, and suffering those people have inflicted on my brothers and sisters, I ask that you allow us to take justice and vengeance and love, and do something extraordinary, to be free
. . .
to live together in love and peace, without evil, forevermore.”

My words flutter off into the air, and after a silent moment, we say, “And so
it is.”

“That was nice, Momma Joy,”
says Jax.

“Thanks. Let’s hope it worked.” I smile, and he returns it. Taking a match from one of the boxes, I strike it on the rough concrete and light the “Boom” paper with it, then drop it to the floor. The flame crawls along its edges and finally devours it, leaving behind a smoldering black skeleton. I spit a couple of times and rub the saliva around in the ash, dab my thumb into the wet soot and streak my cheeks and forehead
with it.

“What are you doing?”
Jax asks.

“Come here.” I dab my thumb again, and he
backs away.

“Why?”

“A long time ago, people painted their faces before going into battle. The paint was believed to hold magical powers of protection and strength, and make the warriors appear more ferocious.” I smear some black around his face, and we silently hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds before
he speaks.

“Joy
. . .
” His drops
his head.

“What?”

“Never mind. Let’s just get this
over with.”

Miguel and Johnny streak their own faces, and we’re ready to go. With a few deep breaths, I rub my hands together and pick up the box. It’s lighter
than expected.

“How much time do we have?” Johnny straps his weapon to
his back.

“One hour, thirty-two minutes and forty-
three seconds.”

 “We
better hurry.”

“Johnny and I will go first,” I tell them. “Jax, you and Miguel in
the back.”

Jax salutes me, Miguel withdraws his tiny knife, and I readjust the box in my hands. “
Everyone ready?”

Three nods.

“Let’
s go.”

At the factory door, sweat trickles down my hairline as I watch the numbers count down, smaller and smaller. Johnny clutches the door handle and, with a finger to his lips, pushes open the door. It creaks, and I sense we’re about to get caught like last time. Except this time, we aren’t defenseless. Maybe that would be better. Then, we could get this
over with.

Johnny opens the door all the way and swings his crossbow out in front of him. We file out slowly, though once we find the space empty, we move more quickly to the rusty double doors leading to the Superiors’ bunker. Once we get there, my chest swells with nervous fear. We’ve never been past this point. Jax slides ahead of us, crossbow in one hand, jingly key ring in the other. He tries key after key, until one finally fits into the slot, and he turns it with a click. Both he and Johnny nod to one another, and each takes a door handle,
crossbows ready.

They swing the doors open, aim their weapons down the long, empty, sparsely lit space. Faint outline of a doorway at the other end. Green lights dot the perimeter, signaling good air. I check the oxygauge. Of course it’s good air, we’re entering the Superiors’ territory now. The cleansing powers of fresh oxygen fill my
starving lungs.

Johnny takes off, and Jax brushes past me to his side. I make tense eye contact with Miguel, and see fire in him. He smiles, and when I remember my promise, I smile back. A part of me can’t even believe this is happening; we’re doing it. We’re going to end this, tonight, and they’re all going to get what’s been coming to them for a long, long time. Like
Emmanuel Superior.

After what seems like a mile, we stop at the entrance to the Superiors’ bunker. Both Jax and Johnny press their ears to the door for a few seconds, then lean back and shake their heads. No noise on the other side. Jax pushes down on the handle. Locked. He searches the key ring for the key that opened the last two doors, and tries it. The quiet click of the lock mechanism echoes in my ears, and it may as well be thunder. For an instant, my heart stops, and I sweat profusely. The boys are sweating, too, gripping their weapons as Jax pushes the
handle down.

The door opens to a shadowy darkness lit only by whatever light shines through the doorway. After checking the wide room to make sure no one’s in it, we creep in and duck behind a mound of stuff, while Johnny eases the door to its frame—not completely shut, to allow easy access out—and then he, too, crouches with us. My eyes finally adjust, to piles of items everywhere, from floor
to ceiling.

After waiting a silent moment, Johnny forges down a little trail in the middle of the packed room, toward the soft light in the doorway ahead. A glance around, and I think I know what this is: the Superiors are hoarding the belongings of Greenleigh’s dead. From the corner of my eye, I swear I catch a glimpse of my great-grandmother’s teapot
. . . .

At the doorway, with Johnny and Miguel on one side and me and Jax on the other, Jax and Johnny silently communicate with their eyes and through hand motions, then take turns peeking out in the hallway. Jax points left, then leans over to whisper in my ear, “Bedrooms to the left. Stay here with the box and Miguel. We’ll check
their rooms.”

I shake my head. “No way,” I whisper back. “We’re going
with you.”

He shrugs, then waves to Johnny, and each takes one side of the hallway, aiming the crossbows down them as Miguel and I emerge. Once we’re out, the four of us travel down a corridor lit by two fancy light fixtures and packed with as much random junk as the room we just came from. The smell of Emmanuel Superior’s rancid perfume tickles my nose, making me sneeze. I muffle it in my arm, and hold back another one
coming on.

One hour, twenty-six minutes,
fifty seconds.

When we reach the first bedroom of the four—two on the left, two on the right—I tap Jax’s elbow with mine, nod to the box, then toward a pile of clothes between the two left-hand doors. He gives me a thumbs-up, and we crouch down together. Then, he slings the crossbow over one shoulder and, with both hands, lifts up a mountain of stuff that’s probably been sitting there for years. I slide the box into place, underneath, relieved to have it out of my hands, and Jax, with a smile, lets the clothing fall to cover it. You’d never know it
was there.

Johnny raises four fingers, points to the four doors and to each of us and himself—four doors, four of us. We nod. Jax and I take the doors on the left; Johnny and Miguel, the right. Johnny silently counts to three and we all take a collective deep breath, then turn
our doorknobs.

As soon as I open mine to peek through the crack, I close it again. In his bed, Diaz Superior lies naked in a puddle of his own puke. I could’ve gone the rest of my life without witnessing that, and will likely spend the rest of my life trying to erase it from my mind. The boys join me, and we scurry back to the room by our exit, ducking behind a mound of stuff in
the corner.

“My room was empty,” Jax whispers. “Full of women’s wigs and stuff. Probably Emmanuel’s.”

“Mine was empty, too,” Miguel says. “Like,
really empty.”

Johnny frowns and curses silently. “I had Mona in mine. What about you, Joy?”

“Diaz.”

“Not good,” says Jax. “We’re
missing one.”

“Should we check the rest of the place?”
I ask.

“Maybe we should just kill them,” Miguel says. “I mean, why not? We have weapons. Why wait for
the box?”

“We don’t need to
risk it—”

“Hello?” Mona Superior’s voice calls from the hallway, and startles my blood cold. “Emmanuel?”

The sound of a closing door and feet shuffling toward us makes me panic. Johnny stands with his weapon, but Jax pulls him back down. He holds a finger in the air and, taking the key ring from his pocket, gives it a jingle. “Yes?” he says in his best Emmanuel Superior impression. “I’ll be
right back.”

Mona’s footsteps stop. “You going down there again?” She yawns. “Haven’t you had enough fun for
one night?”

“Not yet,” Jax replies, face filling
with rage.

“Well, all right. But remember, Arianna wants their minds intact for the transfer when she gets back. No
head injuries.”

Jax hurries to the door, gives it a
good slam.

“Whatever,” Mona
Superior mumbles.

Seconds later, her bedroom door shuts again, and we all breathe a sigh of relief. We meet Jax by the back door. He quietly reopens it, and we slip away down the corridor, through the rusty double doors and into the Tree Factory, racing across the main room and around all of the machines we’ll never operate again. I take one last look at the chopper and
the window.

I can’t say I’m sorry to see
them go.

Then I remember: my daddy’s gloves. “Wait!” I whisper-yell. “I’ll be right back.” I leave them in the middle of the main factory room and dart to
the chopper.

“Joy, what are you doing?” Jax whispers loudly
behind me.

I snatch my daddy’s gloves from the grid and bolt back through the room. “Can’t leave these,” I say when
I return.

When we get back underground, our relief is only slight. Arianna Superior could be anywhere. Down here, for all we know. My imagination tries to plays tricks on me, but I feed it with reason to keep it
under control.