Rootless (11 page)

“So what happened to your sister?” I said, sitting down next to her, trying to get her to look at me.

Alpha let the question hang for a moment. “Starved.”

“Shit.”

“She’d barely started walking.”

“You couldn’t get her nothing to eat?”

“It weren’t that. Corn made her throat swell tight. Once my mom was gone, there wasn’t a thing I could do.”

“So it weren’t your fault.”

“Don’t make it easier.”

“My mother starved,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “I was just a nipper. Our wagon broke on the Thousand Mile Road, and my dad was gone too long trying to scavenge up parts. Said he staggered back to find my momma starved to death and me just barely breathing. And sometimes I think about what she must have done. Giving herself up so I could keep hanging on. Gotta be that’s the worst way to go.”

“All the ways are the worst way,” Alpha said, and it’s probably true.

I waited for her to say something else, shoot me a glance. But she just stared down at her toes and the treetops, her face glum.

I watched the sun come higher. I turned to the west where the world was still black and shadowed. But then I froze. Because there, creeping out of the edges of night, was the biggest damn vehicle I’d ever seen.

It was like a city on wheels. Trundling toward Old Orleans on tires that looked too big to ever be in a rush.

“What the hell is that?” I whispered, standing.

“Looks like you’re staying another day.” Alpha knelt alongside me. “Can’t be out on the plains when they’re prowling. They’ll be here by nightfall, though. Every year, son of a bitch is right on time.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think? King Harvest. Ready for the trade.”

“What is it you trade him for?”

“Our freedom,” she said. “Give him enough bodies so he won’t take our own.”

I knew it was a day of endings, one way or another. The sun already seemed too high, like it was arcing too fast. And there was not a damn thing I could do about it. By nightfall, King Harvest would be at Old Orleans, and I had till then to rescue Sal, or there’d be no knowing the right place to go. No way to find Pop.

I followed Alpha off the scaffold, unbolting and tearing apart our metal tower as we descended, my work finished. Almost.

“You said she used to light up,” I said.

“Used to.”

“Then I better see if I can wire her right again.”

Alpha set to scrubbing the shine back to a mess of ferns, and I laid fresh cable through the undergrowth, running it from an old generator to the base of the statue. Hina’s foot was arched up with the heel high, and you could access the inside by crawling up through the ball of the foot. I grabbed wire and tape and my headlamp, scooting myself inside the metal and searching for circuits to patch.

I pulled myself up, tracing the curve of her calf, the straight line of shin, running new wire where she needed it, taping her electrics back together like they were veins in her skin.

As I climbed through the statue, swinging between her hips and crawling down along her dancing leg, following the tunnel through her outstretched arms and working my way up where her brain would be, I came to know the work in a whole new way — seeing the statue from the perspective of the creator, learning the steps by which she’d been built. The seams and the joint work, the weld marks and support beams.

And there was something routine about being inside that statue. Something familiar about it. Every builder has their own way of bending the rules, each takes their own risk with their rhythm. And I knew the work I was studying. I knew the caution, the passion and style.

Of course I knew it.

I’d seen it mirrored in my own building. Reflected in every tree I’d ever built.

And as I lowered myself down, descending the thigh and dropping to the ground, I was sure of it. Sure as you can be about anything.

The statue could only be the work of one builder.

And that builder had been my old man.

When I crawled back out into the forest, I felt like my blood had drained out and grown thick in my shoes. I stared up at the sky but the sun was gone, disappeared behind a layer of gray that billowed and curled and smudged the world with its fingers.

“Rain clouds,” Alpha said, watching me. “We should head back.”

“What all do you know about the guy who built her?” I said, when I could speak again. I tried packing my tools with my hands all shaky
and weak, but then I gave up and left the tools piled at the base of the statue.

“Some people say he took her to Vega,” said Alpha. “To play those numbers and strike it rich.”

“He didn’t care about striking it rich.”

“How the hell would you know?”

“Just a feeling,” I muttered, avoiding Alpha’s eyes. “I mean, you love something like that and you’re already rich.” I pointed up at the statue.

Alpha watched her reflection bounce and shatter in Hina’s face. “Guess it’s like the Captain says. Just a myth. A story.”

“A story that keeps things from getting forgot.”

“Just all about remembering, ain’t you?”

“Only the things that matter.”

“You gonna remember me?” Alpha said, her eyes still fixed on the statue. But before I could say anything, she spun around and started walking. “Come on, let’s go back. You look like shit.”

“No, wait. You gotta see something.”

The storm clouds had bunched up enough to mimic twilight, and on the far edge of the forest I cranked the generator and flipped the breakers on.

Small lights blinked on the branches, and for a second Hina stayed colorless in the half-light. But then she broke free. Purple. Blues and reds. She held each shade for a moment before switching to the next one. She became green and yellow, then gold and pink. And the brass leaves bounced the colors back at her, bringing the whole forest to life.

As the rain began to fall, Alpha turned her face to the heavens and sang out with laughter, stretching her arms to the sky.

“It’s so beautiful,” she cried, her voice just like music, all the sour notes drained out and washing away.

And it was beautiful. More beautiful than anything had a right to be in this crummy old shell of a world. The statue was finished, and the finishing was a beginning. And I knew it was by far the greatest work Pop and I had ever done.

We ran back along the walkways as the thunder cracked and the rain beat our skin. I sensed lightning and felt it flash, but I kept my eyes on Alpha’s pink vest before me, slicked flat now, sopping like everything else.

We found the shack and burst inside, and Alpha locked the door behind us as the rain hammered upon the roof. There were drips and leaks and the cot was damp, but she climbed upon it, her mohawk tied back in a slippery tail.

I fell beside her and lay watching the back of her neck and the backs of her legs, and hoping she’d roll over and face me.

“What are you doing?” she said, her back still turned.

“Just looking at you.”

“Don’t get any ideas. I just wanted to get out of the rain.”

“Sure you did.”

She rolled around to look at me. “It ain’t happening.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause you’re leaving.” She shut her eyes and turned away.

But that just made me want her even more. I wanted to touch her and feel her against me. I wanted her above and below me, my arms
wrapped around her. I wanted to lose myself for as long as I’d stay gone. But I knew I had to keep focused. I needed Alpha to take me north, soon as the trade was over. And I still had to figure out how to get Sal out of the mud pit. I needed that coordinate if I was going to find my father. I had to rescue the fat kid before he got traded away.

Got hard to concentrate, though. Lying beside that girl’s rubber and curves and the sound of her breathing. It was like my whole body was soaking up what hers was pushing out. But my eyes finally shut. And then all the wanting got stolen by sleep.

I woke to the sound of a fist pounding the door to the shack, and I sat up with my brain spinning. The whole shack rattled as the door bounced, but Alpha was still sleeping. She’d curled up close to me and I just sat there, staring at a little scar hooked on the side of her forehead, wishing to hell whoever was at the door would just go on away.

The fist thumped louder.

“Hang on,” I yelled, getting up.

“I don’t need you,” Jawbone spat when I’d cracked the door open. She leaned into the shack and pointed at the cot. “I need her.”

If anything, the rain was coming harder now, but Jawbone didn’t seem to notice as she led us along the walkways to the edge of the city, stomping her stiff little legs through the puddles and sludge.

I cupped my hands full of water and blew my nose in it. One thing about rain like that, it clears you right out, blasts all the dust off you until you never felt so clean. But my clothes were heavy and chafing as I trudged along, wondering where in the hell we were in such a rush to get.

Then I saw it.

I saw it before we’d even reached the outer walls of the city. The tip of that huge vehicle I’d watched rumble out of the night. There it was, towering above us.

It was as much steel as I’d ever seen in one place. Hard to even imagine it moving, now that I could see it up close. It seemed bigger than Old Orleans itself.

Strange lettering marked the side of the hull, and I pointed to it. “What’s it say?” I yelled above the sound of the storm.

“The Ark,” Jawbone called back, her face solemn. “It’s what Harvest calls his slave ship.”

I couldn’t understand why the transport had come so close to the city, practically leaning on the crumbling walls like it might break them once and for all.

“They’re supposed to wait a half mile from here.” Jawbone pointed. “Out on the mud flats is where we hand the people over.”

“Maybe it’s the rain,” I offered. “Maybe they don’t want everyone getting wet.”

She glowered at me. “If your work’s done, tree builder, then you’re free to go.”

“I reckon,” I said. Beneath us, the brown water was rising as the rain bounced upon it. I had to get Sal out of that pit. And soon. “Just thought I’d stay through the trade.”

Jawbone shook her head. “Not part of the deal. You should cut out while you still can.”

“He can’t leave in this,” Alpha said, pointing as the storm clouds sank and swelled.

Thunder rolled in the distance, farther now, sparking up some
lightning before fading away and leaving nothing but the downpour. The huge transport just sat cold and silent. As if it were empty. Or chock-full of ghosts.

We scrambled up the city walls so we were level with the deck of the ship and about twenty feet from the guardrail that ran its length. At the far end of the deck rose a cockpit, black with windows and crowned with guns. The weaponry dwarfed any I’d seen. Made the pirate trucks look like toys. We stood there, waiting on someone to show.

Until finally somebody did.

Took me all of two seconds to place him. The smooth white skin and jagged bones.

It was the man from the Rasta’s vision, the floating face from the Tripnotyst’s screen.

The King, the old Rasta had called him. The King.

“That’s him?” I said. “Harvest?”

“That’s him,” Alpha muttered, hands on her hips.

Jawbone just stood with her arms crossed and the face of someone ready to cut any deal she needed. Something about her eyes told me she’d spent a long time counting on the worst that could happen.

“It’s good to see you again, Captain.” The man strolled up to the edge of the deck and leaned against the guardrail as if he was just checking out the view. He wore a gray plastic jacket with the hood left down, and water dribbled all over him. Like he was made out of rain.

“Is it?” Jawbone called back.

“But of course.” The man spoke all fancy, like a rich freak from Vega. “A year is far too long to go without seeing something as charming as you lovely ladies.”

Jawbone leaned and spat in the rain. “Then what’s taken you so long to get out here?”

“Running numbers, my dear. Calculating how many we still need.” He gestured down at the hull. “And how much space we still have.”

“Been busy, have you?” It was Alpha who spoke.

“Yes.” He gave a wink. “It’s been quite the season. I’m sad to see it come to an end. But who’s your young friend? Someone ready to be traded?”

I returned the man’s stare. If this face had been in the Rasta’s vision, then it had something to do with where the Rasta had been taken. And that meant Harvest had something to do with my father being chained to those trees.

“This is our tree builder,” Jawbone said. “And he’s not for sale.”

“My dear, everyone’s for sale.” The pale man chuckled. “But if he’s been working in your forest, then you must have him come aboard. I’ve something I imagine he’d very much like to see.”

I felt Alpha go tense beside me.

“Come, my young Captain,” King Harvest called, stretching out his hands, rain bouncing on his fingers. “We’ve much to talk about.”

“Lower the plank,” said Jawbone.

“No,” Alpha whispered. “I don’t like it.”

“Don’t worry,” Jawbone said. “Your boyfriend’s coming with me.”

“You don’t have to,” Alpha said, turning to me.

“Yeah I do.”

“Why?”

“I think that man took my father.”

“Join the club,” she said. “He took my mother. Ten years to the day.”

I followed Jawbone across the warped metal plank, our feet slipping in the rain. “What does he do with them?” I said, muffling my mouth close behind her. “With his slaves?”

“Turns a profit, I suppose.” Jawbone shrugged. “What else?”

Harvest was still alone when we reached the deck, and he made a big deal of smiling and shaking our hands. “Come, come,” he said, gesturing across to the cockpit. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”

I stomped across the giant puddled platform, glancing back at where Alpha was still stood on the wall of the city. But she seemed so far already. Out of reach.

Inside the cockpit, you could barely hear the storm, the roar of water silenced to a hush. The room was full of plastic charts and gadgets, lights blinking on control panels. Whatever the guy was doing, he was squeezing some serious cash.

“Superfood?” Harvest said, showing us a steaming bowl of popcorn. I took a handful and munched on it, staring around the cockpit and wondering where Harvest had hidden his crew.

“So where do you head next?” I asked, but he ignored me.

“Come along,” he said. “This way.” He led us deeper into the transport, winding down dim corridors until we reached the top of a ladder that went nowhere but down.

“What are we doing here?” Jawbone snapped, her voice echoing along the tunnel.

“Bear with me,” he said. “There’s something I want you to see.”

We descended the ladder, down into the vast hull of the transport, where the walls had been smeared in green phosphorescent, the insides of the ship painted in an oozing glow. And as we got lower, I began to hear voices. Muted at first, then growing spiky and loud as we sank deeper among them.

The ladder ended on another steel walkway. But this one was surrounded by cells.

Jawbone stood close to me, her arms tight and her face showing the first strains of fear. Guess she didn’t like being on this side of the slaving business.

People were pressed at the bars and groping at us, fingers scratching in the air. The moans and wails reminded me of being in the back of the pirate truck. The smell, too. I studied the thin faces between the steel bars, the dirty hair and blank eyes. I thought about the Rasta, his skin spliced with bark. And I wondered if my old man had once been stuck down here somewhere.

Was this it? The boat across the ocean? Didn’t look much like a passage to the Promised Land. Looked about as far from the Promised Land as you could get.

“I don’t believe you’ve ever seen the holding level.” Harvest grinned at Jawbone, his pale skin stained green by the phosphorescence. “And yet you’ve sentenced so many to its depths.”

“Show us what you want us to see,” I said.

“Oh, yes, tree builder. With pleasure.”

We walked narrow and hunched, avoiding the grip of the fingers that stretched through the bars toward us. And I practically slumped into Harvest when he pulled up short at a cell door.

“Here we are,” he said, working a combination lock till the door pinged free. I stood in the doorway, studying the faces that hung suspended in the dark.

Then I leaned into the cell, shuffling forward, hardly believing my eyes.

“Banyan,” a voice called. “Banyan?”

I rushed forward and all of a sudden Zee was embracing me, her body reeking of piss and metal, her eyes wet against my cheek.

“Someone you know, builder?” Harvest called from the doorway. “How touching.”

“Who is it?” said Jawbone. She came up behind me. “Banyan, what’s going on?”

“And there was me thinking it’s the other one you’d want. The one like the statue. The one with the tree.” Harvest cranked on a flashlight and scoured the cell with it, illuminating the sorry pieces of flesh, one body at a time.

I spotted her in the corner. Bundled in filthy rags and all the sparkles plucked from her hair and skin. She raised her face up to meet the torch beam, and it looked to me like Hina had fallen from everything that statue had come to mean.

“It is her, isn’t it?” Jawbone whispered. She could still see it, I guess. Beneath the filth, the grace still present. That same poise that danced above the forest, a hundred footsteps high.

“Harvest,” I called, turning to face him. “These women should come with us now. Part of the trade.”

Harvest just laughed. A drawn, cruel sound. Not a drop of humor in it. “Trade?” the man said, sealing the cell door shut behind us. “What trade?”

“Wait.” Jawbone spun and clutched at the bars. “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled. “Let us out.”

“Sorry, Captain,” Harvest said, shaking his head like he really meant it. “Time’s up. Last orders. I’m cashing my chips in. All of them. I’ll be taking everything.” He bared his teeth, smiling in the dark. “And everyone.”