The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) (17 page)

Aby stops dead in her tracks, stunned, then backs through the doorway. Miguel cranks the lever and the boat shifts down a few inches. I close the door to find Aby crying in the far corner. We lower a few more inches, and Baby Lou whimpers in my arms. A few more, and the sensation of floating, the resistance of water pushing against the boat, parting to go
around it.

“Come on!” Jax yells from
above us.

Through the door’s window, I watch Miguel fumble with the chain in its latch. Sweat trickles down his face, and his hands shake. Finally, he gets it to lock into place. He wipes the sweat from his eyes, gives Jax a thumbs-up, and steps toward the edge to jump down. Then, he disappears. But his feet don’t hit the ceiling above me. Instead, I hear Jax’s frantic yelling. I thrust Baby Lou into Serna’s arms and race to the front, up the stairs to
the roof.

What I see cannot possibly be real. Something enormous and as black as night has pinned Miguel to the ground, slashing at him with claws the length of my arm. Five crossbow bolts already stick out from its giant body. Jax takes aim and fires again—his last bolt. The monster yowls as the bolt grazes him, and the crunch of bone fills the air as it bites into Miguel’s shoulder. Miguel screams—a bloodcurdling, soul-piercing sound—as the monster picks him up, shakes him like a tiny, fragile, bleeding doll in his
massive jaw.

“We need more firepower—now!” Jax cries. “Johnny!”

But Miguel grows still, and the monster drops his limp body onto the ground in a bloody lump. Johnny races up the stairs, shooting before he’s even cleared the top step. The monster howls as Johnny’s bolt embeds into its enormous jaw. It stops the mauling long enough to see its attackers, then sinks its teeth into Miguel’
s chest.

Then, its body flies into
the air.

A dark figure throws Miguel over one shoulder and races to the edge, leaping and landing almost on top
of me.

“Go!” The black hood’s pulled down to reveal Smudge’s face. “Downstairs, now!”
she yells.

We charge down the stairs, and Smudge lays Miguel gently onto the floor, then hurries to close the hatch and push the heavy deadbolt into place. She yanks a lever next to the wheel, and the boat’s released, moving forward in
the water.

Aby bursts in. “Oh my God!” She falls to her knees beside Miguel, hysterical.

I kneel down on his other side. His eyes are closed, body ripped to shreds, covered in blood. I place two fingers on his neck, praying for a pulse
. . .
but knowing the truth. Even if he’s alive, his wounds are too great to heal with our meager first-aid kit. Feeling nothing at his neck, I try his wrist, while Aby’s eyes beg me to
find life.

None.

I shake my head
and cry.

Our brother, Miguel,
is dead.

My head flushes with heat, sweeping black spots through my vision. I brace myself against the wall, trying to steady my breathing so I don’t faint. It’d be easy for me to give up here, to give in to the weakness. My heart’s been broken too many times. Everyone I’ve loved has died horribly, far
too soon.

Then, I remember what my daddy told me as my mother was dying, moments before the Superiors came and took her away: “No one is ever
. . .
really dead.” He put a finger to his lips and touched it to
her heart.

After they took her, he held me tight in his arms and said with quivering strength, “You must be strong, my daughter. No matter what happens, don’t just survive
. . .
live
.”

I love my brother, but now he’s dead. And life must go on. There are people who
need me.

Aby takes Miguel’s hand and pets it. “He can’t be dead. Miguel!” She collapses to the floor, while Johnny punches the wall and Jax erupts from
the room.

“Aby—”

“You let him go! I tried to stop him, but
. . .
but
. . .
Why did you let him go!” She wails hysterically, banging her head against
the wall.

I stand, whip round to face Smudge, who steers the boat solemnly. “You have a lot of explaining
to do.”

Still, she focuses straight ahead. Does she not
hear me?

I go back to Aby and try to lift her from the floor. But she shrieks and jerks her arm away. I don’t know what else to do, so I follow Jax out. The rest of the children stare, terrified, but I can’t form words to tell them anything. I keep walking, barely feeling my feet on
the floor.

Jax stands at the back window, hands stuffed into his pockets, empty crossbow discarded to the floor. I stumble to his side, and he drops his gaze, shakes his head. “It should’ve
been me—”

“Well, I’m glad it wasn’t.” I squeeze his hand. “Don’t do this, it’s not
your fault.”

“It is my fault.” He takes his hand
from mine.

“No, it isn’t. Did you see the size of that thing? You shot five bolts into it, and it wasn’t even fazed. You did everything you
could do.”

Again, he shakes
his head.

“Oh my God
. . . .
”

He looks up
at me.

“Jax, the monster
. . . .
”

“
I know.”

“The rumors were true
. . . .
”

He exhales a disgusted, desperate laugh. “What I want to know is”—he faces me squarely—“how come your friend in there brought us down here, when there are flesh-eating monsters the size of ten men who aren’t even scathed by the weapons
she
gave us?” His face flushes red. “Now she’s taking us where, exactly? You’re really going to trust her?” He starts toward the front, but I grab
his arm.

“Wait,” I say, “let me talk to her. Please.”

He yanks his arm away. “Talk to her? Miguel’s dead because of her, and you want to talk?” He snatches up the spear leaning against the wall and pushes
past me.

I chase him to the front, watch in horror as he cocks the spear back, and aims it
at Smudge.

“Jax, no!”

“Tell us what’s going on!” His knuckles whiten from his death grip on the spear. Veins bulge in his neck and forehead, as if he’s about to explode. But Smudge acts as if he’s not there. She adjusts her hat, pulling her hood up
over it.

I take the spear from Jax, and he storms back through the cabin, screaming obscenities. Aby’s still curled up by Miguel, sobbing, and on the other side of the doorway, Johnny stares blankly at the black water before us. I stand quietly next
to Smudge.

“Sunrise,”
she says.

“What?”

“The sun will be up soon. It’s
safer then.”

“The sun? But aren’t we
deep underground?”

“Yes.”

“Then how is
there sunlight?”

“The aboveground tunnels filter sunlight through millions of mirrored, oxygen-filtering pipes installed seventy-five years ago when the river was discovered. That was when the aboveground tunnels
were built.”

“How do you know all
of this?”

“I just
. . .
know.”

“Where are you from? And where are you taking us? Is it the same place? Was it you who left all of those supplies
for us?”

“It would not be possible for me to answer all of those questions
at once.”

“Fine. Where are
you from?”

“Alzanei, originally.”

“Never heard of it. Is it on the Other Side of
The Wall?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you have to take us there, then!”

“I am taking you
. . .
to someone who will offer
you safety.”

Aby erupts in shrieks and begins throwing herself against
the wall.

“Johnny,” I yell over her screaming, “help me get her out
of here!”

He snaps to, and we attempt to secure her floundering body. She claws at me, scraping my cheek with her fingernails, and I swing back, planting my fist into her temple. I see Samurai, and guilt floods me as her eyes close, body going limp. Panic-stricken, I feel for a pulse while Johnny holds her steady. Her heart pumps wildly, but slows down as I’m holding my
finger there.

“Nice shot,”
says Johnny.

“Let’s take her out
of here.”

We carry her to the back, set her down in the corner
by Jax.

“Momma Joy, what happened to Aby?” Chloe asks, thumb in mouth, knees pulled to
her chest.

“What happened to her?”
Jax asks.

“Joy knocked her out,”
Johnny says.

“She was hysterical, I had to.” I show him the scratches on my face. “Now I need to finish my conversation with Smudge, and figure out what to do
. . .
with Miguel.” I head back toward the front, Johnny following, still gripping his crossbow, which holds three remaining bolts. We were never a match for
that monster.

“Why’d you bring us here?” I ask Smudge once I’m back through the doorway. I avert my eyes from Miguel’s lifeless body. “Why? When you knew there was no way we could fight
that thing?”

“Things—there are more than one. I tried to guide them away from you, but—”

“Guide
them away?”

She glances at me, then back to the water before us, which has become a lighter gray color. The surrounding black forests are turning a dark green, mottled with shadowy pink and yellow flowers, and hanging vines. Bright twinkling light dots the area far above our heads, making it impossible to see
a ceiling.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know,” Smudge says, “and there’s no way I can tell you all of them now. You’ll find out everything when it’
s time.”

We share a moment of silence while a thousand different questions fight their way to my mouth. I pick one. “You said it’s safer during
the day?”

“Yes. The
. . .
monsters, as you call them, are
. . .
nocturnal. They
. . .
hibernate during the day. We must watch out for other creatures, though. Most things here have become either poisonous or carnivorous. But the
. . .
largest threat we only need to worry about
after sunset.”

She has a strange way of speaking, hesitant and pausing, like she decides against using a certain word at the last minute, for
whatever reason.

“Is that room—the one you took us to—was it a portal to the Other Side?”
I ask.

“It would be too
. . .
difficult for me to explain that to you now. But I will
. . .
soon. I
. . .
promise.”

“I sure could go for a nice swim in the ocean,” says Johnny. “Please say it’s real, and not just something these people
dreamed up.”

“It is real,” she says. “To
an extent.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”
he says.

“I’m not sure how to explain it
. . .
in a way you
would understand.”

“Is that an insult to my intelligence? Wow, we haven’t even been formally introduced, and already you’re
insulting me.”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t meant as
an insult.”

He steps forward, holds out his hand. “I’
m Johnny.”

Smudge glances at it, and I read fear in her face. You’d think she never shook anyone’s hand before. She dips a small hand into his and, giving it a quick shake, retracts it just as swiftly to its position on the wheel. “Smudge,”
she says.

“We need to find a place to bury Miguel,” I say, “and we need to make it fast. I can’t keep looking at him, and Aby sure doesn’t need
to again.”

“The water is the safest place,” Smudge says. “You should not spend any more time on land than you
have to.”

“But won’t he
. . .
float?”

“We’ll dock up at Gomorrah Grande and drop him in while we’re docked. Avert the children’s eyes. The body will be
. . .
devoured
in seconds.”

“De—
devoured
?”

“Yes. The water is filled
with Teuridons.”

“
With what?”

“Smaller cousins of the Liopleurodon. They’ve been here since the
prehistoric era.”

“Awesome,” says Johnny, pumping his crossbow in the air. “Do they
taste good?”

“You would not be able to catch one to eat it. They are half the size of this boat, with jagged teeth a
meter long.”

“Well, damn. I guess we definitely don’t want to fall in, then,
do we?”

“No,” she says. “
Definitely not.”

“So, this river has been here since the prehistoric era?”
I ask.

“Yes. It was untouched by humans for millions of years.
Until recently.”

“How’s that even possible?” I say. “I mean, that before there was light down here, there was life. And what
about oxygen?”

“Some things cannot be easily explained or understood. Certain creatures and other life forms do not need light or perfect air to survive. They
. . .
adapt
over time.”

“That’s amazing,” Johnny says. “Who would’ve ever thought all this was
down here?”

“Yes,” says Smudge, “it is
. . .
very amazing.”

§

With the sun fully risen, the dark forest has become a lush green jungle, where I expect a man in a loincloth to swing from a tree at any minute, like in the book my daddy read over and over to me when I was younger. “Oh to be free,” he’d mumble, closing the tattered thing and placing it back onto the
bedside table.

I don’t think this would’ve been his idea of freedom, though, had he experienced it firsthand. What kind of freedom is hiding from bloodthirsty prehistoric monsters who want to gnash you
to bits?

I peek through the doorway to check on Aby, who’s now awake, and Jax, sitting in the boat’s back corner. Occasionally, their whispering floats to the front, laced with hostility and mourning. When I meet their eyes, they
look away.

“They ain’t too happy with you, are they?” Johnny says in a
low voice.

I shake my head. It’s true. They’ve obviously drawn a line between us, with me on the opposing side. But I can’t find it in me to care as much as maybe I should. Their out-of-control emotions make them react blindly, and they resent me for not being more distraught over Miguel’s death. I see it in their eyes, unable to hold my gaze for long before
breaking away.

They’re wrong, though. It’s not that his death hasn’t ripped me apart inside. I just have no choice but to accept it, and move on. It’s what strong leaders do. It’s what strong
mothers do.

You take the dark with the light and
build on
.

“Your friends,” Smudge says. “They
. . .
don’t trust me. Why
do you?”

“Your eyes. I can read a bluff a mile away. I get that from
my daddy.”

“I trust you,” Johnny blurts out. “You know
. . .
in case you were, uh
. . .
wondering.”

She steers the boat closer to the high bank, then tugs back on a lever. It clanks against something and falls still in the water. Smudge looks me in the eye. “Your father
. . . .
Yes
. . . .
” Her eyes sadden, and she turns away. “We’
re here.”

“Where? And did you know
my father?”

“Gomorrah Grande. And
. . .
no, I didn’t.” She rises from the chair and climbs the stairs to the roof, and I follow her, trying to ignore the blood everywhere. When I clear the hatch doorway, I’m astonished by the view. In every direction, the underground jungle goes on forever it seems; a complete impossibility, yet here it is—man-made magic, together with Mother Nature, in all of their brilliance. In the distance, huge pink and red flowers cover an archway almost entirely. It lies at the end of a long stone pathway, similar to the one we traveled down to get to the boat. I make out the shape of a stone-and-steel elevator shaft, though I can’t see how high it goes, vines and greenery blending it into
the background.

“What is this place?”
Johnny asks.

Smudge tightens her hood’s string, tying it in a bow beneath her chin. “It used to be
a hotel.”