The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) (21 page)

Halfway up the stairs, Vila comes into view, also free of leaves, with short black hair that shines like a dark, raging abyss. “They’re here,” she calls over her shoulder. Tallulah peeks her furry head up from the knapsack on Vila’s back, then tucks herself
inside again.

A tiny bouncing blonde girl with lopsided pigtails and a smile that could breathe vibrant life into a dead world, points and claps her hands. “Bubba, look! Lots of ’em!”

Behind them approaches a boy with a walking stick, limping slightly, and beneath a brown hat a tad too big for his head, is hair as white as clouds in pictures from the old world. His eyes are the sky, or the unbridled ocean, warm and wild, inhabited with too much to ever discover in their depths. The moment I see him, I fall into them, helplessly. When he grins—the hint of a dimple on his left cheek, lopsided like the little girl’s pigtails—I stumble on the last
step up.

He laughs, then covers his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.” He holds out his hand in greeting. “I’m Mateo.” His grip is firm, and my whole
body warms.

“And this is my sister, Pia.”

“Nice to meet you, Pia.” I try to hide the tremble in my voice. “This is Chloe. She’s excited to have a new friend to
play with.”

“Come on!” says Pia. “I’ll show you
my room!”

Chloe looks up at me, wanting to go, but not sure if she should. I nod, let go of her hand, and she trots off after Pia, dropping her whisk behind her. I slide it down into
her bag.

“Can we go, too, Momma Joy?” asks another
little girl.

“If it’s okay
with them.”

“Oh, of course,” says Mateo. He waves us up to the balcony encircling the wide open space with the massive pillar in the center. “Room two-twelve is Pia’s room. It should
be open.”

A group of girls skips off down the balcony and disappears, one by one, into a room a few
doors down.

“So
. . .
Joy?”
Mateo says.

“Huh?”

“Your name. It’
s Joy?”

“Oh yeah, sorry. I’
m Joy.”

“All right,” Emerson announces, “anyone who wants the grand tour of Gomorrah Grande, level two,
follow me.”

I’m still astonished that Baby Lou is completely at ease with him. Most of the children follow, including a straggling Jax and brooding Aby. But I can’t move. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to. Something about Mateo is so comforting
. . .
as if he’s a long lost part of me that’s finally found its
way home.

“I’m Johnny.” Johnny shakes Mateo’s hand firmly. “And that’
s Smudge.”

“The sorceress,” Mateo says, chuckling. “Yes, my friends said you’re a
special one.”

“She is,” I say. “In fact, she was just about to tell us all
about that.”

“I was?” she
says nervously.

“Yeah”—Johnny winks with a smile—“I think I remember her saying that, too.”

I swear I see Smudge blush. She turns
her head.

“Well,” says Mateo, “we’re in luck. I have the perfect spot for the revealing
of secrets.”

“You do?”
I ask.

He nods. “Yep. I call it, the
sky hammock.”

After making sure all of the youngest girls are safe and occupied with Aby nearby, I tell her we’ll be
back soon.

“Where are you going?”
she asks.

“To show them around a bit,” says Mateo. He gives me a wink where she can’t see, then leads us down the balcony to a
long hallway.

Aby watches us, curiously, same as Jax when we come to what looks like a weapons room where he and a few other boys are talking to Vila. Lying neatly on the bed are rows of knives and sharpened wood spears. Vila chatters away, but Jax seems more interested in what I’m doing
with Mateo.

“Hang on a second.” Mateo slips through the doorway and takes two spears. “Sorry to interrupt, V. We’ll be back soon. Going up
to twelve.”

“Why?” she asks. Tallulah peeks out from her bag and hisses at us, then tucks herself out
of sight.

“I want to show them the hammock,” he tells her, and walks back out, holding three spears. “Here,” he says, “not that we’ll need them, but it’s best to be prepared. And they might be a little more effective than that thing.” He points to Johnny’
s crossbow.

Johnny takes the spear, inspects the craftsmanship. He touches a finger to the sharp tip. “Nice. Yeah, I’m a decent shot, but I like this, too. The more,
the better.”

Mateo’s fingers brush mine as I take the offered spear. His touch unearths my vulnerable core; a warm, sacred place where truth and magic lie. And I don’t even believe
in magic.

But I do believe that one touch could light up this building
for years.

Or maybe
. . .
I’m delusional from the traumatic experiences over the past few days. Maybe these feelings are weakness, disguised as the lie of love at first sight. After all, I found my best friend and boyfriend with my other best friend and sister, mere hours after someone we all loved dearly had been
viciously slaughtered.

I’m
completely unstable.

“I didn’t get you a spear,” Mateo says to Smudge. “Em and V say you don’t need
a weapon.”

“True,”
she agrees.

Farther down the hall, Emerson, still holding Baby Lou, exits through a doorway, followed by a line of children. “The life room,” he says to us, pointing behind. “Where we keep the different specimens we find. Unbelievable how much is here, really. We’re always discovering new things.” We enter the room, and over the children’s heads hang rows of different types of insects, including the carcass of a giant “bloodbug,” which rests between a long, black spiky thing and another insect with brightly-colored wings, possibly
a butterfly.

“We have ten extra rooms good for sleeping,” Emerson says to me. “How do you want
them separated?”

“Boys’ and girls’ rooms, with at least one older in each. I’ll have Baby Lou, Chloe, and one more younger girl in with me. The younger boys can be in Jax’s room.”
As long as he doesn’t go “exploring” again
.

“Adventurers!” says Emerson. “Make yourselves comfortable in our rooms, or out here on the balcony while we get a few more rooms cleared. We’ll be serving
lunch shortly.”

“And no one leaves this area!”
I announce.

“You can be in here, Joy, if that’s okay.” He points to the door we’re standing next to—room two-sixteen. “It’ll be cleared by the time you
all return.”

“Perfect. Thanks for your help. I really
appreciate it.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. It’s nice to have more around. Gets too quiet
here sometimes.”

The children scatter, and I peek inside my room. Leafy vines cover half of one wall, and the ancient, smelly bed covers are made of the most exquisite cloth that’ll ever have touched any of our skin. Unfortunately, they’re identical to the ones shed to the floor during Jax and Aby’s “explorations.” Something that won’t be easily forgotten—
or forgiven.

“They’re pretty nice rooms, aren’t they?” Mateo
asks me.

“Yes, they are. Beautiful,”
I say.

“Yes
. . .
beautiful.” His eyes swim in mine, past the point of assumption he’s still talking about the rooms. My face grows hot, and I dip my chin. Mateo chuckles warmly, and it soothes my writhing insides, like he’d curled up in my soul to take a nap for a while. I struggle to
breathe steadily.

“So
. . . .
” Emerson grins at his friend. “Where you
off to?”

“The sky hammock. Will you be okay while we’
re gone?”

“Oh, yeah. Me and my new little friend here will be just fine. We’re about to go check out Pia’s room, see what we can find to play with. Then, we’ll get
lunch started.”

“Okay, we shouldn’t be
too long.”

“Yell if you need me.” And he takes off down the balcony, Baby Lou happily perched on
his hip.

With his walking stick in one hand and a spear in the other, Mateo continues the opposite way down the balcony corridor with us at his heels. “Em’s dad worked on generators his whole life.” He laughs. “How lucky is that? Only took him a few hours of tinkering around with the thing to get it going again. Don’t ask me how it all works; I wouldn’t be able to tell you much. Runs with water and electricity both, but that’s about all
I know.”

We get to a smaller interior elevator and Mateo reaches for
the button.

“Wait,” says Johnny, who gives Smudge
a grin.

But she starts, like she got caught stealing cookies. “What?”

“Come on, do the thing,” he says. “Please?”

“Do what thing?”
Mateo asks.

She breathes in deep and focuses on the elevator. A second later, the button lights up and the door opens
by itself.

“Wow!” Mateo says. “That’s great! How in the world did you
do that?”

“Would you believe me if I told you
. . .
magic?” She
laughs nervously.

“No such thing as real magic,” I say. “So, no. You’re not getting off
that easy.”

Mateo steps onto the elevator, and we follow. The door closes, and he presses the button for sub-
level twelve.

“What is ‘real,’ anyway?” Smudge asks. “Does that mean it needs to be explainable, that you have to know exactly how and why it works, what connects A to B? Can nothing unexplainable in this universe be
. . .
magic? It’s all semantics, you know
. . . .
”

“There she goes again.” And Johnny pats her on
the hat.

Smudge whips out, grabs his hand. “Don’t touch my head—ever.”

“Whoa
. . .
sorry. I didn’t mean to, uh
. . .
offend you.”

She relaxes, releases her grip with a sigh. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I
. . .
have a thing about
my head.”

“Is that part of the secret?” I ask, while the elevator creaks and shimmies as it ascends. Before long, we’ve reached
our stop.

“I suppose, yes,”
she replies.

The door opens, and we exit the elevator. It’s warmer up here, closer to the dome, but fewer vines and things, likely because of
less water.

“Leave the spears in the elevator,” Mateo says, dropping his with his walking stick before limping
out ahead.

We leave ours near his and follow him out. On the balcony, Mateo climbs up onto
the railing.

“What are you doing?”
I ask.

 He winks and, spreading his arms wide,
falls backwards.

“Oh my God!”
I yell.

“What the hell?”
says Johnny.

We rush over, and when we get to the railing, we see him suspended in mid-air, hands behind his head and grinning up at us. I squint, making out a semi-transparent netting that stretches around the area’s circumference from railing to
center pillar.

“Come on!” he calls up to us. “It’s super sturdy.” And he rolls to the far side, giving us room to free fall from what might as well be a million
feet high.

“Hell, yeah!” Johnny hops onto the railing, then jumps off like it’s two feet in the air. “Woo!” he yells, landing on his side. The net expands, then retracts. “He’s right! Sturdy! Come on,
you two!”

I read something unsettling in Smudge’
s eyes.

“What is it?”
I ask.

“I don’t know what to call this one,” she says quietly. “It’s
. . .
very confusing. I mean, all of the other ones are so easy—guilt, sadness, anger, all forms of fear
. . .
happiness, joy, excitement, bliss
. . .
those, I understand. But this one
. . .
it’s a mix of everything, all in one. There’s fear, excitement, nervousness, curiosity
. . .
happiness
. . . .
” She stares longingly
at Johnny.

“Oh!” I laugh. “I think I know exactly what you’re
talking about.”

“
You do?”

“Yes.” And I gesture
to Mateo.

“Interesting
. . . .
” she says. “So what do you
call it?”

“Well, I’m not one hundred percent sure, but
. . .
I think you call it
. . .
love.”

“Love?”

I nod. “And what do you call it when you’re about to jump a million feet down into a questionable net, to love
waiting below?”

“I don’t know. What?”

“
Absolute insanity.”

Smudge smiles wide; the first real one I’ve seen from her—soft, innocent, and so natural it surprises me, coming from someone so full
of mystery.

“Yes,” she says. “That makes
perfect sense.”

I hold out my hand, and she places hers
into mine.

“On three?”
I say.

“
On three.”

We climb onto the fat gold railing and teeter there for a second, while Mateo and Johnny observe from a distance. They sit talking low to each other, possibly amused by the
whole ordeal.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”
Smudge asks.

“I don’t know, but—three!” I jump, tugging her with me, and we scream, laughing a second later as we land in the net. The boys roll back to us, sitting up with their legs crossed. Smudge and I do, too, with her across from Johnny, and me from Mateo. Though I tell myself not to look down, I, of course, immediately do, and my vision sways as I make out the treetops and the splotchy greenish brown-and-white tile floor far below. Dizziness overtakes me, and I realize I’m holding
my breath.

“Breathe
. . . .
” Mateo pats my hand with his own warm one. “It’s safe, I promise. Sometimes when I’m bored, I jump up and down, and flip and roll around on this thing until I get tired. I’ve even brought my sister up here. Really, it’s fine.” A short squeeze, and he slides his hand away, leaving my skin longing
after his.

I squint up at the bright sky twelve stories above us, behind the massive light-purple dome I’m amazed to find so clean. “Why is this net here?”
I ask.

“Probably so people couldn’t jump,” says Mateo. “There’s another one twelve stories
below us.”

“True,” says Smudge, as she pulls her hood over her hat, then hugs her knees. “A suicide pandemic hit Bygonne many, many years ago. Most people took their own lives in one form or another. If not, then they were
giving
them. The Ultimate Sacrifice. Good thing your friends downstairs were more interested in each other, than in the room’s
wall dials.”

“Why?” The only thing I’d noticed about the room were the birds printed in frozen flight on the bed covering tossed recklessly to
the floor.

“Gomorrah Grande was once the largest cultivator of donors. People would go to those rooms to
be transferred.”

“Transferred?”

“Yes. It’s
. . .
hard to explain
. . . .
”

Hadn’t Mona Superior said:
But remember, Arianna wants their minds intact for the transfer when she gets back. No
head injuries.

Were we to
be transferred?

“So
. . .
7ZS3-22Y?”
says Johnny.

“Yes?”
Smudge replies.

“Wow, you actually answer
to it!”

“How’d you do that thing back there with the elevator door?” Mateo asks. “Is that how you all came up here? Em was wondering, since he deliberately shut off the breaker to the
jungle elevator.”

Smudge expands her fingers out, then closes them into a ball in her lap. “If I tell you, you won’t
believe me.”

“Why not?” I ask. “We’ve already seen what you can do. Why not believe how you
do it?”

“Because your mind cannot easily conceive that which you know
nothing about.”

“Try us,” says Johnny. “We’ve seen
some stuff.”

Smudge sighs. “Okay. But bear with me. I’ve never
. . .
done
this before.”

“Done what?”
I ask.

“This. Any of this. I’ve never had
. . .
friends. I’ve never talked openly to
. . .
your
kind before.”

“Our kind?”
Mateo says.

“Yes. Humans.”

“Whoa
. . . .
” Johnny slaps his knee,
eyes wide.

“So, you aren’t human?”
I ask.