The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) Read Online Free PDF Page B

one.
    My cheeks warm. “Thanks, Papa Jax.” I affix the breather to the top of my head in preparation for when we go deeper underground.
    “Ugh, don’t call me that,” he says, strapping his own to the top of his head and slipping his arms through the backpack’s straps. “I hate it.”
    When we finally get to the main factory section, the floor changes from dirt to rough concrete. To our right, a small square of purplish-black glistens in the moonlight behind it, casting a soft glow across the chopper’s surface. We slow at the staircase leading up to the catwalk. “Stay here.” Jax releases my hand and ascends, the stairs squeaking softly with each step.
    Each time we sneak out at night, we have to first make sure the Superiors aren’t in their office. Most of the time they aren’t, but we once found Diaz Superior up there, slurring to himself like a drunken lunatic. Luckily, at halfway up the stairs, if you don’t see a light on, then no one’s there. I’ve always wondered what would happen if one of them came while we were gone and found the door unlocked . . . . Or worse, if they locked it while we were still down there. But even though the thought scares the pigment from my skin, it isn’t enough to keep me from going. Nor are the meager hours of sleep.
    Seconds later, the steps squeak again, and the dusty air shifts as Jax slides in beside me. “All clear.” He takes my hand again. I’ve grown to love Jax’s hand in mine—the roughness of his skin, the calluses I’ve memorized, the warmth I don’t want to let go of.
    When we get to the back corner doors near the washing station, the pungent odor of industrial soap makes me plug my nose. I’d rather smell the dungeon’s mold-stink. Nothing says “Welcome to the Tree Factory! Your Hell-on-Earth until the day you die” more than the chemical scent of that soap. Rumors once circulated through the adults that it was made from the fat of the dead. Horrible, nasty stuff.
    Maybe we’ll find some good soap again. We once found some inside a little jar in one of Bunker A’s deteriorated washrooms, one I remember using a few times as a young girl. We made that soap last for a month, rationing only a drop for bathing in the evenings. The girls’ broad smiles as they smelled each others’ hair afterwards was worth the risk to hunt for more. But that was months ago, and we haven’t found any since.
    For a year, we’ve been sneaking around underground, and not once have we been caught. At first, we were terrified we would be. We’d let a month or two go by before we went out again. But as time passed, we got braver and braver, and now we go once or twice a week. Humphrey covers for us as long as we find good stuff to bribe him with, though not once in the past year has he had to.
    It’d be easy to let our guard down, so we’re careful not to get too over-confident. One thing you learn after working your whole life in the Tree Factory: over-confidence will get you killed. My daddy’s voice echoes in my mind: Stay on guard. Be aware of your surroundings. Notice the nuances. Cover your tracks. Always be prepared. Question everything. This is how you stay alive, Joy. And this is how you keep the ones you love alive.
    Jax moves the heavy shelf away from the wall—first one side, then the other—leaving a space wide enough to squeeze through to the hidden door. After everyone was dead and the Superiors closed off the bunkers, they moved this shelf in front of the door, thinking we’d forget. But everyone we loved once lived beyond that door, once walked those corridors, hands clasped, laughing, singing . . . .
    How could we ever forget?
    And not get back there as soon as possible?
    Jax jiggles the key in the lock, and it clicks. As always, I hold my breath, remembering the first time we went down. Most terrifying, yet exciting, night of my life; the night I realized I have my daddy’s spirit and the Superiors would never fully control me. Now, my