“How do they survive?” Tuck asks, watching them warily.
“Keen hearing. When they’re hunting at night, they can detect beetles or locusts moving in the sand.”
“Then they most definitely hear us approaching on these clumsy animals. Do you think that’s what has them spooked?”
Suddenly, the camel beneath me stops in its tracks and bellows loudly, head tossing with clear agitation.
“What’s happening?” I shout.
“Pull up your legs, Kira,” J.D. returns loudly. “Don’t let your camel lower itself to the ground. No matter what, stay upright.”
I turn my gaze to where J.D. is staring at the ground and my mouth opens in horror at the sight before me. Dozens of desert vipers are slithering out of the sand, as disturbed and agitated as the camel is. In minutes, we know the reason why. Tiny tremors begin to shake the ground. What the animals had detected with their heightened senses is now clear to the rest of us. It’s an earthquake. I tighten my hold on the camel.
“Kira?”
J.D. moves his camel closer, his hand reaching for mine. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” I reach out and grab his hand, wanting him near. Tuck maneuvers his camel to the other side of me, forming a barrier between me and danger. “It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?”
“The primary tremors are just the beginning,” says Tuck.
I brace myself for the larger wave that’s sure to follow, holding tightly to the camel and to J.D. The vipers are moving erratically, clearly disoriented by the tremors or maybe by a change in electromagnetic pressure. In minutes, the ground begins to roil beneath us. My camel tries to sink into a koosh, and I jerk the reins sharply to keep him standing. J.D. releases my hand to control his own animal.
For several moments, it’s like we’re riding a crashing wave moving toward the shore. The ground rises and falls in quick bursts, as if it’s been snapped by unseen forces. A viper comes too close to J.D.’s camel, and it rears and stomps wildly, trying to destroy the thing before it can strike. The snake falls back, rears its head briefly to hiss at us, then collapses back to the ground and slithers sideways.
Suddenly, the quake stops, leaving stillness in its wake. The three of us continue to sit on our camels, patting them, talking soothingly until they quiet down. When it appears we are not going to receive a second wave of tremors, we cluck to the camels and begin to slowly move forward, keeping our distance from the vipers slithering back into their daytime hiding places.
“Tuck?”
“What?”
“Do you think Miranda and Fig have made it to the tree by now?”
He performs a quick calculation, sends me an indecipherable look, and shakes his head somberly. “I don’t see how they could have made it yet.”
They would have been in the same quake that just hit us. Miranda was newly transplanted from Bio-19. Would she know how to protect herself and Fig?
“We’d better hurry.”
We kick our camels into a swifter pace, our worry over the two girls overriding our concern for the beasts who carry us. For the next few hours, we drive them relentlessly. As it nears twilight, we hear a motor overhead and glance skyward to see a drone above our heads. It’s no doubt one of Thorne’s. J.D. offers a short wave to the aircraft as it continues over us, then flies beyond our field of vision.
When we finally identify the entrance to the gorge, we peel off our goggles and gaze at each other with smiles of relief. We dismount in order to turn the exhausted camels into their enclosure. I’m relieved to see another animal inside the pen. The girls have made it then—that reassures us. But as we enter the campsite, we realize something is terribly wrong. And we have arrived too late to do anything about it.
Miranda lies prone on the ground. Fig is at her side, clutching her hand. One of Thorne’s guards stands nearby, speaking on his communicator.
We hurry forward and drop to the ground beside Fig. Tears streak her cheeks. She does not look at us but reaches over with her free hand and takes my fingers in hers.
“What happened?” I ask softly.
“I got scared,” she whispered. “The ground moved.”
“Yes,” I say. “We felt it also. It was terrible.”
“Just like Ash-Shatrah,” she whispers. “The earthquake killed my amah.” She gazes up at me with round eyes. “Don’t let it kill ’Randa.”
Tuck and J.D. are examining a tourniquet wrapped around Miranda’s leg. He sends the guard a searching look. “Snakebite?” he asks.
The guard nods.
I don’t know much about snakebites. In all our cross-country treks, J.D. and I have never encountered anything so venomous. I know about them, of course. The same chemical toxins that have thinned out the human species have diminished the survival of many reptiles. Those that remain are often referred to as super-snakes. These new vermin are faster, more agile, and more aggressive than their predecessors.
Closing his device, the guard approaches.
“She has localized swelling and blistering at the bite site and has been unconscious since she arrived. I’ve given her a dose of antivenom,” he says. “Thorne is sending a chopper, so be ready to board within the hour.”
“Is there anything else we should be doing for her?” I ask.
He glances at Fig, then at me. “The next twenty-four hours will be critical,” he says shortly. “Can I get you both some water?”
We nod and wait for him to depart.
“What do you know about snakebites?” I ask J.D.
“Not much,” he confesses. “I bumped into another traveler once who had some experience with snakebites. He tried to teach me a few things, something about preventing lymphatic drainage. It’s important to immobilize the impacted limb to minimize the flow of toxin.”
“I helped,” Fig says suddenly.
“You helped Miranda?” I ask.
“We wrapped her leg with the head scarf. She helped me do it. Then I tied her leg to the saddle so it would not bounce around ….” Her voice falters. “Then her eyes stopped being open and her breathing was very loud.”
“That was quick thinking,” I tell her. “Miranda was very fortunate you were there to help her.”
“I don’t think so,” she whispers.
Having no response to this, I pat Fig’s hand, continuing to stroke the soft filiaments that now press tightly against her skin as though to keep her warm.
Tuck and J.D. leave to speak with the guard, and I pull Fig more closely to my body. The desert evening is getting cool. Reaching out with my free hand, I grab a blanket. Awkwardly, I open it and spread it over Miranda. Fig assists me, grabbing one corner to pull it over her friend.
“I’m scared,” she says after a moment.
“It’s natural to be scared, Fig. The very smartest people in the world get scared.”
“Do you get scared?”
“All the time. Sometimes, I’m so scared I can scarcely breathe.”
“What do you do?”
“I have learned to acknowledge my fear. I don’t ignore it. I admit to myself that it’s there. But then I do whatever I need to do, in spite of the fear.”
After a moment, she nods. “Okay.”
From where we sit, I can see the tree. Where before there had been clusters of white flowers, there are now clusters of round, brown fruit. At that moment, I decide I will take a couple of the fruit with me back to Eden. Maybe the kitchen staff there can create something edible with it. And maybe it will be good for Miranda.
Suddenly, a spasm strikes Miranda, causing the girl to shake violently. Fig lets out a small cry. The guard hurries over with the guys close behind.
“Hold on, ’Randa. Hold on,” whispers Fig. Her tears are profuse now, her words stumbling over each other. “Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.”
The guard conducts a quick examination, then readies a needle for an injection. Pulling out a vial of clear liquid, he inserts the syringe and withdraws the plunger to ext
ract fluid from the vial. He swabs Miranda’s arm briskly, then inserts the syringe into her vein. After a moment, the spasm subsides.
I want to question him, want to confirm he knows what he’s doing. I keep silent. I have no knowledge, no skills that can help in this situation. My helplessness, like always, leaves me physically ill. I was not completely honest with Fig. I did not tell her about the nights I don’t sleep or how my stomach clenches with fear and nausea when I think that J.D. and I will not find enough food to eat, will not be able to make water, will not be able to find others who can help us save ourselves and this fragile planet.
The guard gently withdraws the syringe and speaks to me, correctly reading my expression.
“First aid training is standard for all UTC security details,” he says. “This will keep your friend stable until she reaches the clinic at Eden. A physician is being flown to meet you at the biosphere and look after the girl.”
“Thank you,” I tell him.
Fig echoes my words. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Miranda remains quiet until the transport comes to take us to Eden. Fig hovers anxiously as Miranda is transferred to a stretcher. I take advantage of the opportunity to slip into the enclosure with the tree. Spotting a cutting tool on Dr. Gallagher’s worktable, I reach into the lowest branch. It’s not easy, but I finally manage to cut one of the hard fruits out of the tree. I pull it to my nose and sniff.
Dropping the fruit to the ground, I press my hand over my nose and mouth in disgust. It doesn’t help. My stomach heaves, and I throw up onto the sand. The fruit smells like rotten meat. I take a moment to clear my head, then grab the fruit gingerly and stuff it into my pocket. J.D. is calling for me. It’s time to return to Eden.
25
No one was allowed to see Miranda other than her physician and her mother. Fig slept outside the clinic door, lying on a mat she had placed on the floor. Tamara went by daily for news, but the news wasn’t good. Miranda wasn’t recovering. The snake venom that entered her veins contained hemotoxins that were destroying red blood cells and body tissue, along with neurotoxins which were damaging her neurological functions. To make things worse, her doctor concluded there was a pathogen on the fangs of the viper that bit her. Her body was fighting a terrible infection. Even with the most powerful antibiotics Thorne could fly in for her, Miranda’s immune system appeared unable to handle the assault. No one knew when, or if, she would wake up.
J.D. and I had taken to spending our days on the Nets, using the long, uninterrupted hours to search for answers.
“Kira, I’ve found something.”
At the sound of J.D.’s voice, I turn away from the screen. My eyes are starting to cross anyway. I’m trying to learn everything I can about snakes of the Abjadiyyah Territories. The subject is terrifying. I’m eager for the break.
“What did you find?”
“I’ve gone through hundreds of pages, looking for any mention of people with special abilities.”
“And?”
“I found Fig.”
“What did it say?”
“The post was a few weeks old. It was included as part of a discussion thread on an underground site. The group that administers the site content is known for speaking out against UTC policies. They’re one of the few dissenter sites that haven’t been silenced. For that reason, they’re regarded with suspicion. No one knows if they’re genuine.”
“You mean it could be a UTC front?”
“That’s the speculation.”
“Did the site mention Fig by name? I know her appearance might cause comment, but the site you’re describing sounds like an odd place for her to appear.”
“The description mentioned Eden specifically and rumors about a young girl covered in filaments who may or may not possess unusual abilities.”
“I can’t believe anyone from Eden or Ash-Shatrah would jeopardize Fig in that way, J.D. Everyone is very protective of her.”
“I agree.”
“Was the tree mentioned?”
“No.”
It takes me a moment, but eventually I reach the conclusion J.D. has apparently already reached. “You said the site was suspect. You think the comment was planted with an ulterior motive, don’t you?”
“It crossed my mind.”
“For what purpose? Do you think Fig was being used as some sort of bait? Who would benefit?”
“I suppose it’s possible that anyone could profit from exposing Fig, Kira, but that would imply someone knew what her filaments were capable of and was willing to make her special skills available to the highest bidder.”
“But the people who took her and Miranda had nothing—no wealth, nothing with which to barter for Fig. They weren’t farmers who might desire her skills as a pollinator. And if they took her because they thought she was valuable to Eden, they never asked for ransom. They released Fig the minute it became clear she couldn’t heal them.”
“Everything you’re saying is true. Clearly, that tribe of sick villagers was not the intended audience for the information. They didn’t have a plan to take Fig. They simply stumbled upon her and saw a magical-looking creature they hoped might be able to help their situation.”
“What’s your theory?”
“I think we need to approach this from another direction. Whoever planted this information about Fig on the Nets either didn’t care what happened to her or they did care and knew they could reacquire her easily. Who knew Fig was chipped?”
The answer is immediate. A red film drops across my vision. In seconds, my body is trembling, overwhelmed by the intensity of my emotions. I’ve felt this rage only once before and directed at the same individual.
“Thorne,” I say, my breath shaking. “When he received the message that Fig had been taken, he was immediately ready with her chip information. He had search and rescue troops already stationed in the area.”
“Yes. And he approached that ancient underground city under the assumption that he was dealing with a rebel group hostile to the UTC.”
“Imagine his disappointment when it was simply a bunch of sick desert dwellers,” I respond bitterly. A moment later, the adrenaline hits. “I want to talk to Thorne.”
“If you confront him, he’ll deny it, Kira.”
“I’ll see it in his eyes, J.D. If he put Fig at risk … if he put Miranda at risk … for his own political aims—” My voice breaks, the ability to speak strangled by one more example of Lukas Thorne’s deceit and callous disregard for others.
“Kira, you know Thorne wants to eliminate groups opposed to the UTC. He’s made no secret of that fact. I suspect it’s always been one piece of his agenda in being here.”
I pace the room and slap the wall, slap the table, knowing it’s someone else I really want to strike. “Every minute of every day he’s putting another manipulation into motion. Now Miranda might die because of it.”
“He couldn’t have foreseen that outcome.”
“Don’t defend him. He could have informed the people who care about Fig to keep a closer eye on her. If it’s true he was using Fig as bait to draw out some rebel element ….” I look at J.D. helplessly. I hate this feeling. I can barely breathe. “J.D., I can’t do this. I cannot be around him. I cannot be around anyone who acts the way he does, who thinks the way he does, his disregard for people, constantly weighing individuals as acceptable collateral damage.”
“I’m sure he thought he could contain the situation.”
“I’m sure he did. It doesn’t matter.”
“What do you want to do?”
“We’re going to talk to him.” I whirl back to the table and grab my pack. “Let’s go.”
We march to Thorne’s temporary quarters. Faced with a closed door, I give it a hard knock. A guard opens it, and I push past him. Distractedly, Thorne looks up from his desk.
“We heard you were back,” I say shortly. “I guess this means the medical team gave you a clean bill of health.”
“Yes.”
He closes the page he was reading and rubs his eyes. “The underground city has been quarantined. A medical team is monitoring the treatment of the residents. It appears only one soldier from the rescue team was exposed to the contagion, and he’s recovering.”
“That must have been a relief.”
He looks up, his eyes narrowing at my tone. Gesturing to a couple of chairs, he leans back. “Was there something in particular you wanted, Kira?”
“What’s next for you? Are you returning to HQ?”
“Not yet. I have to go north for meetings with local territory officials. We’re drafting the communications plan announcing the restoration of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers.”
“So the springs are refilling—all of them?”
“They are. I’ve got teams monitoring each site. It will be a while before the water reaches this far south, but it’s only a question of time. Meanwhile, we want the citizens of the Abjadiyyah Territories to understand that the reason they have their rivers back is because of the efforts and commitment of the Unified Territories Council.”
“You mean because of Kira,” J.D. says softly.
Thorne assesses him. “We’ll continue to keep Kira’s existence and her abilities to ourselves for now,” he says quietly. “Kira is the tool for water regeneration, but the revitalization project is ours. The next step is to ensure the water is used properly and guidelines are in place for land reclamation, agricultural management, and soil quality along the rivers and tributaries.”
“I imagine this will be a huge win for you,” I say mildly. “At the very least, it may sway popular support away from groups whose agendas aren’t aligned with yours.”
“Everyone’s agenda is aligned with mine,” he responds softly, a smile playing around his lips. “They just don’t realize it. Survival of the species is the agenda—pure and simple.” His eyes harden and the smile evaporates. “Now, why don’t you get to the real reason you’re here.”
“Why didn’t you tell us Fig is chipped?” I ask.
“Lots of individuals are chipped, Kira. You of all people should realize that. Am I supposed to give you a list?”
The Last Tree Page 17