The Last Tree

by Denise Getson

  “J.D. believes everyone dies the same death,” I answer slowly. “Whether someone is alive today or lived ten thousand years ago, whether a living creature is from one species or another species, whether you believe one thing or believe its exact opposite, death is the same for everyone. It’s his one certainty, his core belief. Every living thing will eventually cease to exist. And no one gets a different death because of how they live or what they believe.”

  “Then why are you trying so hard to delay what is inevitable, the extinction of our species?”

  “Because my belief is that even if death is the same for everybody … life is not. Death belongs to nature. But our lives are our own. Each person chooses what to do with life, how to spend his or her time on this Earth—who to be. With each choice we make, our brains are mapped and remapped to support the evolution of our character. When I learned I had the ability to make water, I knew immediately it could be used for power or for wealth—that’s certainly how Thorne sees it. But it never felt right for me to use water as currency. It only has value for me if I can use it to serve our survival, to save the species from extinction.”

  “I respect that, Kira. I always have. Maybe we’re more alike than you think. After Miranda died, I thought I would crumble and blow away like dust. I realized I wasn’t strong enough to continue losing the people I love.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, ashamed of my self-absorption. “I should have realized how hard this would be for you. I should have been more supportive.”

  “Shh. You’re always supportive. And you’re entitled to your own grief over Miranda’s death. But then, here was Fig, needing me, needing things I knew I could give her. That’s when I accepted that, for me, life is about loving … loving another person even with the knowledge of certain loss. Restoring the planet, that’s your mission. But me, I want to be needed. I want someone to love and protect.”

  “It’s a good purpose, Tamara.”

  “Then I hope you’ll understand if I stay here in Eden. Fig is so young, and she’s suffered tragic losses. I don’t have to tell you, because you’ve suffered your own. You understand. I don’t want her going into a home for orphaned girls or a home for mutants. And I certainly don’t want her being dragged along as we wander from place to place, fugitives from the Territory. I want to look after her. I want to look after her here, where she has structure and stability. She can go to school, make friends, and visit Thomaz at the orchard. One day she may even help Dr. Gallagher bring agricultural sustainability back to this area. We still don’t know exactly what those filaments of hers can do.”

  “I do understand,” I say, clasping Tamara’s hand across the table. I try to put on a brave face, not wanting my friend to see the selfish part of me that is heartbroken at the idea of leaving Eden without her and Fig. “I guess Tuck will want to stay too.”

  “That will be his decision.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but are the two of you … ?”

  Tamara gives me a quiet smile. “Nothing that’s been spoken out loud, but maybe it’s time we did.”

  I return the smile and rise to give my friend a hug. Then I head off to find J.D. and give him Tamara’s decision. He’s not surprised.

  “Tuck will stay too,” he responds.

  “Then it will be just the two of us.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll inform Thomaz?”

  “I’ll do it now. Are you going to be okay?”

  I blink damp eyes and make sure my face is composed. “Sure. I’ll be fine.”

  He doesn’t look convinced. “We’ll talk later, after I’ve confirmed next steps with Thomaz.”

  “Take your time. I’m probably going to rest a bit.”

  I wander back to the sleeping quarters I share with J.D. and try to figure out what to do next. I know if I show up at Dr. Gallagher’s lab, Tamara will put me to work. Usually, I wouldn’t mind, but I’m emotionally spent, sad to be saying good-bye to my friend—and maybe a little envious that Fig has someone so fantastic to look after her. Every day, Tamara will make sure the young girl knows she is loved and accepted. It’s a much better environment than the one I grew up with at the Garner Home for Girls—and even that was better than what many had.

  Feeling a blue mood coming, I stretch out on my mattress and fall into a restless slumber. Almost immediately, I’m transported to a vivid dream state. I’m young, so young, not yet capable of speech, laughing the free, gurgling laugh of babies as a beautiful woman with dark hair nuzzles my belly, planting tickling kisses along my skin.

  I feel myself inside the dream and outside of it at the same time. I am both the baby and the young woman watching an intimate interaction between mother and child.

  “Mmm … mmm ….” The baby smacks her small lips and chuckles deep in her throat, convinced she is the center of the universe. And it’s true. She is the center of someone’s universe.

  “Sweet child, sweet child,” croons the woman. Even asleep, I’m aware of the wetness beginning to seep through closed eyelids. And when the wetness on my cheeks finally wakes me, I have the feeling that what I have experienced is not a dream—not wishful thinking—but a memory, drawn from my past when I needed it the most. It affirms something I’ve wondered about for years. I’ve been loved. I’ve been loved and cherished. For a long time, I wasn’t sure. Now, more than ever, I understand Tamara’s choice. To cherish someone and be cherished in return is a powerful thing.

  When J.D. enters later, I am double-checking my backpack. I’ve replenished my supplies, added food packets and algae bars, stocked up on sunscreen, and even added snake antivenom to my first aid kit—just in case.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure I’ve got everything we’ll need for the trip. I know Thomaz said the boat was stocked, but at some point, we’ll be off and walking again, and I want to be ready.”

  He points to an object in my hand. “What’s that?”

  “It’s something Miranda gave me before she died. A compass. I’m not entirely sure why she wanted me to have it. It’s more rudimentary than GPS, of course, but still helpful to have. I was going to tuck it into my backpack.”

  “Good idea.”

  “What did Thomaz say?”

  “Jamal is going to put something into the food tomorrow morning so our guard is temporarily disabled. He warned us to stay away from the sautéed chickpeas.” He grins. “Apparently, it’s one of the guard’s favorite dishes.”

  “I feel lousy about tricking him. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

  “He’s not. And if you can think of another way to get him out of the picture, I’m happy to consider it.”

  I shake my head.

  “Remember, he won’t be the only one who’s sick. The clinic is going to be packed tomorrow, and plenty of people will be missing work or school to stay in their quarters—but that’s another thing that works in our favor. We’re less likely to be missed when people are either sick or taking care of someone who’s sick. They’ll probably assume we’re sick as well, which will explain why we’re not around the dining hall or the labs.”

  “No tainted food will be served to the children, right?”

  “Thomaz assured me. Jamal will be judicious in how he doles out the bad peas. The goal is to serve just enough to create distraction and the appearance of randomness when Thorne investigates, which he inevitably will.”

  “And we’ll go to the orchard tomorrow after breakfast to water the trees?”

  “Thomaz will meet us there. He’s providing us with a camel to carry us to the Gulf.”

  “What are we supposed to do with it when we get there?”

  “Release it and hope it finds its way back to Eden.”

  At the evening meal, I try to act like everything is normal. I joke with Fig, spend a few minutes visiting with residents of Eden, and then take a walk around the dome with Tuck and Tamara. They do not ask questions. In this way, they protect themselves and us.


  Our guard follows several paces behind, keeping a watchful eye.

  As the evening ends, I give Tamara a kiss on the cheek. She reaches in for a quick embrace. Tuck gives me a wink and slaps J.D. on the back. Silently, we return to our underground quarters, knowing sleep will be impossible.

  29

  I’m unable to hold back a wince of pain as Thomaz extracts my microchip. I examine the tiny transmitter while J.D. applies antiseptic and bandages my upper arm.

  “You’re confident it’s transmitting even now?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he replies. “Since only the two of you have decided to depart, I’ll insert the chips into the male and female pair bond. Jamal will come to the orchard later and collect the family of foxes to take back to Eden. If anyone asks, they’re to be used for stew.”

  “How long do you think the guard will be out of service?”

  Thomaz scratches his nose, looking simultaneously sly and abashed. “I’m told several people in Eden are battling a case of intestinal upset, including your guard, which is why he’s nowhere to be seen this morning. However, I’m confident he’s monitoring your transmitters from his quarters and knows you’ve come to the orchard to fulfill your watering duties. I don’t expect him to feel like eating for at least twenty-four hours. Anticipating that he may attend the morning meal tomorrow, Jamal plans to release the two adults implanted with the chips. Most likely, they’ll head back to the desert and the safety of their burrow. If the guard has not yet become suspicious, the movement of the transmitters to the desert will alert him that the two of you are on the run. By then, you should be well out to sea.”

  “It’s a great plan, Thomaz. Thank you.” I find him too imposing to hug, so I hold out a hand for him to shake. With a slight smile, he steps forward and grabs me for a quick embrace.

  “Stay safe, the two of you. Don’t make me regret that I did this.”

  He leads us to the camel that will carry us to Ash-Shatrah and helps us to mount. “Remember us,” he says softly. With a wave, he sends us down the road that will take us to the ocean and freedom.

  For the remainder of the day, J.D. and I sway back and forth on the furry beast, heading south to the coast. I have learned to appreciate the service provided by the camel and no longer mind the rocking motion. I know J.D. and I will soon be back on foot, covering the ground under our own steam, but not yet.

  I realize we have arrived at Ash-Shatrah when I glimpse giant smokestacks rising above the horizon. It is the desalinization plant, still under construction to repair the earthquake damage. Before the quake, the plant produced more than a million gallons of clean water each day, enough to support several communities. Now the plant is silent. Acres of storage tanks surrounding the plant have been depleted. Other than a small crew of workers, most of the residents have been redistributed to area biospheres. Now, with the river system replenishing, there is renewed hope for the survival of this southern outpost.

  J.D. and I keep our distance from the plant itself, but we cannot avoid traveling through mountains of discarded salt that line each side of the road—enormous piles of white crystal as far as the eye can see.

  “Nothing can grow here because of all the salt, but it’s still better than depositing it back into the ocean,” he explains. “The ocean ecosystem here is even more fragile than the desert.”

  “Should we release the camel?” I ask. “The mountains of salt hide us from curious eyes. According to my map, we can reach the marina easily from here.”

  “Sure.”

  Carefully, we dismount and remove our backpacks. J.D. opens one of the saddle bags to look for camel feed and starts to laugh.

  “What?”

  “Thomaz sent along fruit from the tree. That was thoughtful of him. I guess we should take it with us on board the boat.”

  “Have you tried it yet?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “I ate some in the dining hall the other day. I like it.”

  J.D. pulls out a sack filled with fruit and slings it over one shoulder. Then, finding a second sack filled with seaweed nuggets, he feeds them to the camel, then gives the beast a slap on the rump and sends her on her way.

  “I hope someone doesn’t decide to turn her into dinner,” I remark, frowning as the camel meanders slowly around the salt piles.

  “Come on,” J.D. says. “Let’s go find our ship.”

  It feels good to stretch our legs, and before long, we reach the water’s edge. I pause to take in the scene before me. The stretch of blue water is a welcome contrast to the drab brown we are used to seeing day after day.

  “Want to go into the ocean and refresh before we find the boat?” I ask.

  J.D. shakes his head. “The water’s not clean here,” he replies. “It’s full of chlorine and other toxic chemicals. I’d be afraid to put my little toe in that water.”

  “Eww.”

  “Let’s find the boat.”

  The marina is quiet. We see the occasional seaman here and there, repairing a damaged hull or unloading supplies for plant repairs. After working our way to Berth Fifty-Six, J.D. stops and stares.

  “Wow,” I breathe.

  “No kidding,” says J.D., admiring the clean lines of the sailboat.

  At that moment, a petite woman comes up from belowdecks and spots us. She gives us a hard stare and moves forward to look us over. “What do you want?” she barks.

  “I’m J.D., and this is Kira. Thomaz sent us. We’re looking for Captain Jo.”

  “Well, you found her. Come on up. Let’s get you settled.”

  Over the next few days, Captain Jo teaches us everything she knows about boats and the sea. She does not ask about us or where we are from or even where we want to go. Not yet. She will get to it, I am sure. But the first order of business as far as Captain Jo is concerned is to get lost in the ocean and ensure her passengers are as far as possible from the UTC’s long reach.

  Slathered in sunscreen and covered head to toe in sun-protection apparel, I relax on the deck and watch as Captain Jo shows J.D. how to pilot the boat. He looks natural at the helm with the wind whipping his hair. Not for the first time, I admire the lean muscles of his arms and the way he balances on the balls of his feet, swaying with the movement of the sleek craft through the water.

  I miss my friends. I think about Tamara and Tuck constantly throughout each day, but I hold onto the vision of them happy and purposeful in Eden. I believe I can do the work I need to do without them. However, I cannot do without J.D. His presence has become as natural for me as breathing, and as necessary. He is the one person I trust above all others. Maybe because he joined my quest before he even knew what it was or what I could do. I suppose I could go through the motions of refilling lakes and rivers without J.D. by my side. I’m not sure I’d want to—I hope I never have to find out.

  I reflect on the people who have touched my life … J.D., of course … Tuck and Tamara and baby Shay, Fig … and Miranda. Where is Miranda? I don’t know. How can a vibrant spirit be present one day and gone the next? It is unanswerable. I know my life is richer for having known her.

  I return my gaze to J.D. To borrow a phrase Thomaz used when referring to the desert dogs, he is my pair bond. A few months ago, I asked him to delay his physical advances. Now I have plenty of time at my disposal to consider a more intimate relationship. I am determined not to avoid it simply because it scares me.

  There is something else on my mind these days. Ever since I’ve begun eating the fruit of the tree, memories of the past … my past … flood my brain. I have no control over them. They come to me when I am sleeping and when I am awake. It is like a door in my mind has been shoved open. Or neural connections that lay dormant are now awake for the first time in years. For me, the tree has provided not life but the memory of my life. Now my brain is trying to serve up those memories, the good and the bad, all at one time, in an overwhelming feast.

  My favorite memories are the ones of my mother—precious after having so
few for so many years. For the first time in my life, I have actual, sensory memories of my mother, and I understand the strength that comes from being completely and unconditionally loved. It has always been there within me, but I have not been able to access it. Maybe I have that kind of love for J.D. I suspect he has never known it—few have. Maybe I am ready to risk my heart, to risk everything. If I cannot believe in love, cannot take a personal risk for love, then why fight so hard to save each other and the whole human race?

  J.D. is the boy who caught my attention with an imperious glance from the ground while defending a malformed toad from my ignorance. Quiet, graceful, he is a creature of few words, but it is his voice that tugs at me, that calms me—that excites me. Miranda had faced her death with courage. Thinking of her now, I am humbled. Surely, I can find the courage to live—to live fully. I will not be a coward and hide from those deep emotions which have the power to leave me unsure and unsettled.

  Leaning back, I close my eyes from the sun and direct a beneficent smile at the universe. Maybe the tree is a tree of life after all, I decide, then lose my train of thought as J.D. plops down beside me on the deck.

  “Hi,” he says.

  “Hi.”

  “So ….”

  “So ….”

  He crooks his finger around mine. “It’s just the two of us again. Are you feeling lonely?”

  “Not so much. I think I can handle whatever comes next, as long as we’re together.”

  “Any thoughts about where we should set course? Do you want to return to Bio-19? Or is there a particular area where you want to create water?”

  “Actually, I have an idea I’m mulling over, but I want to give it a few more days before we talk about it.”

  “You know Thorne will put the bounty back on your head.”

  “What was it up to when we were at Bio-19?”

  “Hmm … twenty-five hundred credits and eighty-five thousand liters of water.”

  “Silly Thorne. Doesn’t he realize that if anyone captures us, I will give them all the water they could ever want or need?”