The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) (27 page)

Smudge meets him at the door, which opens, and she immediately stares at
the ground.

“You decided to come back, I see,” he says. His voice is soothing, like the brush of a
warm hand.

“I did,” she says. “And I hope you don’t mind, but I brought refugees. All children. Escapees from the Tree Factory
of Greenleigh.”

He pokes his head in and offers every face in the trolley a grin only a man with a golden soul could give. “Well, I’ll be
. . . .
Just when we were thinking all was lost for the human race
. . . .
” He waves. “Hi, children.”

A few say hello, but most are too terrified
to move.

“We’ve been through a lot,” I say. “Two of our brothers died, and
. . .
we’ve been forced to build trees for years. Our youngest worker is five, and Baby Lou here, she’s only a year-and-a-half old. We can work; clean, build. Jax is great with electric stuff. We can earn our place. I promise we won’t be a lot
of trouble—”

“Nonsense,” he says. “You’re children. You may as well be royalty around here. Now, come on, all of you. Let’s get you out of this filthy trolley and into the village. Ms. Ruby’s going to need someone to hold her up when she gets a look at you all. For months, she’s been praying for a miracle. And here
you are.”

Something far behind him makes me teary-eyed. Past the young men with the guns stands another door, ajar, and through it, blue
. . . .

“Sky?” I ask, pointing.

He smiles. “
Sure is.”

“The
. . .
air is
safe here?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I rise with Baby Lou, echoed by Mateo. “Let’s go, everyone.”

They don’t need a second invitation. They scramble to grab their stuff, and soon, we file off of the trolley into the small, dim bunker. The little ones scream with delight as they fly toward the open door. Emerson and Vila, with Tallulah’s knapsack tied shut, along with Jax and Johnny, remain cautious, scoping out the area as we walk. Aby rushes ahead with the children, and Smudge, Mateo, and I hang back with the white-bearded man as his guards form a line
behind us.

“Don’t go too far!” I yell to
the children.

“It’s okay,” the man says. “I promise you, they’
re safe.”

They disappear through the doorway, and someone gives the door a push. It swings open wide. Outside lies a sandy beach beneath a crystal-blue sky, on the edge of a vast blue ocean, much like the one we went to through
the portal.

“How
. . .
?”
I whisper.

The man chuckles. “Welcome
to Zentao.”

“Raffai, this is Joy,” Smudge says. “And that’
s Mateo.”

Raffai shakes both of our hands. “The pleasure’s
all mine.”

“We can’t stay,” I say. “Not all of us.
Not yet.”

He glances at me, concerned, as we reach the doorway, where he relieves his guards. They disappear around the side of the building. A warm, sweet gust of wind swirls around us. Already the children have tossed their bags in the sand and are rolling around in it or splashing in the waves. To our left, strange-looking living quarters made of sticks and greenery—like the hut on the other side of the portal—are stacked along a hill, which slopes up into a dense forest. At the top of the slope, maybe a half-mile away, looms a massive wall with green lights shining up from it into
the heavens.

The Wall.

I can’t believe it. We’re finally on the other side
of it.

“You
. . .
can’t stay?”
Raffai asks.

“Their brother is being held captive in the Subterrane,” Smudge says. “They have plans to leave the children here, where it’s safe, and go rescue him. I plan to go with them. If you’ll
allow it.”

We stop walking, and Raffai studies us. The end of a blonde braid peeks up from
his pocket.

“Sadie, you know you’re a free soul now,” he says. “You—”

“Smudge.”

“Beg
your pardon?”

“Please, call
me Smudge.”

“Uh
. . .
okay
. . .
Smudge. You can do what you want, but I’ll say it anyway: I don’t like the idea. Those people are heathens. I mean, they’re cannibals, for dung’
s sake.”

“Yes, and they plan to eat our brother when he turns twenty-five,” I say. “We
are
going; there’s no way we’re not. Please, try
to understand.”

After another long moment of studying me, Raffai nods. “I can’t go with you; I have the people, and my granddaughter, to care for, though I can let you borrow a few decent weapons.” He tickles Baby Lou’s chin. “And we can definitely offer the children a safe place to stay. But a nice meal, medical attention, a bath, and a good night’s rest might do you all good before
you go.”

Mateo gently nudges my side with
his elbow.

“Okay,” I say. “But in the morning,
we go.”

Once we’ve gathered up all of the children from the beach, and Aby from her spot alone down the shore, we follow Raffai up a rocky path and past a handful of cozy little huts with people gawking through windows. Like they’ve never seen children before. A man cooking something on a metal grate above a fire burning in a shallow sand pit smiles, waves, and turns the blackened thing over in the curling flames. It looks nauseatingly similar to a jumper, minus the head, tail,
and fur.

Up the hill, past a few more huts and clusters of trees with fruit possibly growing on them, stands a large building. It’s different from the others; not made from sticks and greenery, but stone and iron, rising three stories into the sky. As I follow it up, my gaze drifts off into the impossible blue. It’s all
so surreal.

Of course this would all be hard to conceive, after living the lives we have. It seems too good to
be true.

Raffai rings a gold bell by the front door, next to a sign that reads: Zentao Children’s and Medical Center. The children bubble over with excitement. I’ve never seen them this happy. Even Johnny has managed a smirk from Aby when he picks a tiny pink flower from a small bush and tucks it into her scarf. Vila and Emerson stand off to the side—Vila, skeptical as usual; Emerson, trying to calm her down. Jax sits on an enormous rock, gripping his spear like we’re in enemy territory. Maybe I was wrong about him and Aby; he and Vila would be a
better match.

Raffai rings the bell again. “Ms. Ruby must be upstairs,”
he says.

I scan the surroundings until I notice a blue-and-brown hut with a brightly painted sign: Cheyenne’s – Zentao’s Finest Hand-Painted Shells. “What’s that place?”
I ask.

“Oh, I love Cheyenne’s,” Smudge says. “She’s an amazing artist. That’s where I got the idea for—” She stops abruptly. “
Never mind.”

“Idea
for what?”

The door to the stone and iron building swings open to a thin woman with warm brown skin and eyes to match. Her long braids nearly reach the floor. When she sees us, she drops to her knees, gripping the door handle, and begins to cry. She covers her mouth with a wrinkled hand. “Oh my goodness
. . . .
”

“Your prayers have been answered, Ms. Ruby,”
Raffai says.

She breathes in deep, and wipes her eyes with a floral-print apron. Then, she rises, trembling, from the floor. “They sure have,” she says. “I never seen ana-ting more beautiful in my
whole life.”

“I’m Joy,” I say, and hold out my hand for her
to shake.

But she doesn’t shake my hand. Instead, she folds me up in her arms and squeezes, like I’m her long-lost daughter. “Joy,” she repeats. Then, she laughs from deep in her belly as she holds me at arm’s length. “Of course you are! And who is dis precious little one?” She tickles one of Baby Lou’s bare feet, making
her giggle.

“This is Louanne. But we call her
Baby Lou.”

“Well, she’s a perfect angel. Please
. . .
come in,
come in
!” She motions for us
to enter.

“Thank you.” I cross the threshold onto soft flooring. Carpet. And not rotted, either. We’ve seriously ended up in paradise. “Everyone introduce yourselves to Ms. Ruby as you come in,” I announce. “And wipe your feet on the mat, so you don’t track dirt onto
the carpet.”

“Oh, don’t ya worry ‘bout that,” Ms. Ruby says. “Down the hall and to the right is the common area. We can go there ‘til we get rooms assigned. I’ll have Suellen bring food and tea. I’m sure you could all use a
good meal.”

“We definitely can,” I reply, as we step into the cozy lobby area. Its smells remind me of sweets and love. From a small, round glass table in front of a couch, a tiny candle flickers. On the wall above hangs a black-and-white picture of smiling,
laughing children.

“Hello, Sadie.” Ms. Ruby gives Smudge
a hug.

“It’s Smudge now,” she offers with
a smile.

“Smudge? Well, okay then. Welcome home, Smudge.” She gently pats her on the back and sends her
my way.

Mateo offers his hand. “I’
m Mateo.”

“No,” Ms. Ruby says, giggling. “I don’t shake hands; Ms. Ruby’s a hugger.” And she embraces him, sends him in my direction with a loving pat on
the back.

Some of the older boys stiffen at her words, though it’s obvious that’s not going to stop her. Ms. Ruby may be the most compassionate soul that has ever existed on
the planet.

I start slowly down the hallway with Baby Lou, Smudge, and Mateo, followed by the trickling group of children once they’ve introduced themselves to Ms. Ruby and gotten their welcome hug. Jax and Vila nod and move swiftly past her open arms, but Emerson makes up for it by wrapping Ms. Ruby into his own arms and lifting her from the ground. She squeals with delight, and he kisses her cheek, setting her
down softly.

“Thank you so much for taking us in,” he says. “These children deserve a good life. And it seems like you have
that here.”

“That we do,” she says. “But don’t ya be mistaken, ’tis you children who’re the
blessings here.”

Emerson heads down the hallway toward us, as Raffai talks to Ms. Ruby quietly by the door, no doubt explaining how we all ended
up here.

We arrive at a huge room with creamy walls lined with couches of all shapes, sizes, and patterned hues. An enormous rectangular window overlooks the ocean and the midday sun sitting in a sky dappled with clouds. In the middle of the area stand a couple dozen odd-shaped tables with mismatched chairs, flowers adorning vibrant vases set at their centers. Beneath a strange, flat black-and-silver square resting on a metal arm extended from the wall in one corner, sits a mountain of colorful pillows. One by one, the children run, screaming and laughing, into the room, around and around in circles, half of them finally landing in
the pillows.

The olders separate into groups, sitting on couches and at tables, eyeing the common room like they’ve stepped into a fantasy land. We may as well have. This is the most color and comfort we’ve seen all in one place—ever.

Jax and Vila take seats in the far corner by themselves. Tallulah’s knapsack lies on the table in front of Vila, opened enough for the animal to peek out and inspect
her surroundings.

Baby Lou squirms in my arms, kicking her feet. Out of habit, I hold her tight, but then realize
. . .
I can put her down. My eyes swim with tears as I set her on the floor. She claps and chatters with delight. And I cry. She toddles away, toward the corner where most of the children have ended up, and I struggle to keep my emotions at bay. But seeing her free to roam
. . .
even as she stumbles, and rises up again to continue onward with a carefree grin on her face
. . .
in this moment, I know we’ve done the right thing. Even if we fail in our rescue mission for Pedro, we’ve accomplished what’s
most important.

The children
are safe.

Smudge, Mateo, and I sit at one of the larger tables, after which Emerson joins us and Johnny leads Aby over, despite her want to mope around and act pathetic. Though I feel slightly guilty for thinking it, perhaps that’s why it’s hard for me to forgive her. Her weakness makes me want to vomit. It goes against everything inside me. She’s not who I thought she was. She’
s different.

Or maybe
. . .
I’m different now. The last few days’ events have awakened me to so many things. I don’t see her—or Jax—the way I
once did.

“Oh, how excitin’!” Ms. Ruby says from the doorway. “Suellen! Come an’ meet our
new arrivals!”

Seconds later, a tall young woman with short brown hair and glasses enters the room. She smiles, though it’s reserved. Something dark hides behind it. I see
it immediately.

“Children,” Ms. Ruby says, “this here is Ms. Suellen. She helps out in the kitchen, and wit’ the linens and tings. She’ll also be around if ya need ana-ting else and ya can’t find me. The whole right wing, including the two upper levels are the children’s area. Level two is the girls’ floor, and level three is the boys’. The left wing is the medical facility. After everyone eats themselves a good meal, we’ll get ya all checked out by a nurse. Then, we’ll get ya assigned to your rooms and started on
breathing treatments—”

“Breathing treatments?”
I repeat.

“Yes, dear. With that poison you all been breathin’ your whole lives, it’s twice-da-miracle you’re all standin’ here. We been tryin’ to get the remaining children of Bygonne over here for years, but they wouldn’t have it. Went so far as to tell us there weren’t ana-more children. But we knew it was a lie.” She retreats into her thoughts, face hardening in anger. Then, it relaxes, and she returns to us, gaze dancing across everyone in the room. “But here ya are now. A miracle. And with nice, fresh oxygen, you’ll all be feeling good as new
by mornin’.”

“Sounds great,” I say. “Thank you so much, Ms. Ruby.”

“You are so welcome, dear. Oh, and Raffai will be back in a bit. He had some tings to take care of.” She winks. He must’ve told her we
were leaving.

Ms. Ruby talks low to Suellen, who nods and leaves
the room.

“She’ll be back soon with the lunch cart,” Ms. Ruby says. “Fill up much as ya can. If ya eat it all and want more, please, don’t hesitate to ask. But don’t make yourselves sick eating too fast. A little at a time. Your poor bellies prob’ly aren’t used to a lot. Remember, there’s always more later.” She straightens her apron down over a long purple-and-brown woven gown. “Now” —she claps her hands together—“I need to notify the medical staff. I’ll be back soon. Make
yourselves comfortable.”

She picks up something long and black from a small table by the door. “Here’s the remote, in case ya want to watch TV.” She tosses it to me, and I stare down, confused, at the rows of multi-colored buttons with strange words
on them.

“What’s TV?”
someone asks.

“Ya mean
. . .
ya don’t know television?”
she says.

I shake my head. “I’ve seen the word in books, but no, we have
no clue.”

“Oh, well! You children are in for a treat! Come wit’ me.”

At the pile of pillows she takes the “remote” back, and we all watch curiously as she points it at the flat black-and-silver square on the metal arm. A second later, the square lights up with moving pictures and sound. Everyone is instantly captivated. I have no words to describe what I see. Little
. . .
monsters
. . .
cute and furry, dancing around, singing about sharing. Baby Lou shrieks and glances around frantically. When she sees me, she stumbles over, hands
held high.

“Shh, Baby, it’s okay.” I pick her up and rock her. “That’s television. It won’t
hurt you.”

“You?” she says, gasping
for breath.

“No, it won’t
hurt you.”

She peeks back, and with the fading of the initial shock, her eyes are glued to the television, along with everyone else’s.

“How does it work?” I ask Ms. Ruby.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be able to tell ya that, dear, but I do know we’ve got ev’ry kiddie show for a hundred years on
that ting.”

“It’s like
. . .
a computer?”

“Somewhat, yes. Ya had computers where
you were?”

“One for calibrating machines and other settings. It’s the only thing I’ve ever seen
like this.”

“Well, television was very common, turn o’ the century. I tink—now I’m remembering—that television and other tings of that nature weren’t possible in Bygonne after the sky damage. Because of the atmospheric conditions, it was not possible to transmit
a signal.”

Baby Lou kicks her feet again, curiosity winning over her temporary shock at the little creatures singing and dancing in the box on the wall. I set her down, and she climbs into a lap beneath
the screen.

“Now, I need to go for a bit,” Ms. Ruby says, and she gives me quick instructions on how to operate the remote. “Lunch should be here within the next thirty minutes. Make yourselves at home
. . .
because ya
are now.”

“Are what?”
I ask.

“Home.”