Greenhouse

by Stephanie Mylchreest

“What is that river?” I yell down to Millie.

  “It’s the Hudson. The smaller one—the one we need to cross—is the Harlem,” she calls back.

  “There are some tall structures in the distance, rising way above the tree canopy and other buildings. They are sticking straight in the air. They’re huge! They’re even bigger than the West Chop Light. What are they?”

  “They’re old buildings, from before. That’s New York City,” Millie replies. There’s no excitement or humor in her voice.

  Delphine closes the distance between us and drops her pack and knife next to mine at the base of the great tree. She climbs up beside me and we sit, side by side.

  “There, can you see them?” I point out the buildings to Delphine. It’s hardly necessary. They are unmistakable, rising upwards like some unearthly, malevolent apparition. She lets out an audible gasp.

  “On the other side of the Harlem River there is a dense forest with a vast marshland. It looks like we need to cross that before we reach New York City,” I say to her. My gaze traverses the forest and then the city, an overgrown, jumbled mess of buildings surrounded by water on every side.

  What’s that in the harbor? Can you see that boat that’s lit from within?

  I can make out a fleet of wooden boats, not dissimilar to the boats we use for fishing on the island, moored close to the city. There’s also one boat unlike any I’ve ever seen before. It’s black and vastly overshadows the rest. Along the length of the boat, round windows shine brightly and steadily with an unnaturally white light.

  “You’re right, it looks as though the boat is illuminated from the inside, but not with clay lamps or candles.”

  “Come down you two,” calls Millie peevishly.

  “She wants us to come down,” I say to Delphine.

  We exchange a smile and Delphine rolls her eyes. We both laugh softly and I sense the spark between us is still there.

  Once back on the track, I fall in step with Millie. Despite my exhaustion, I have a renewed sense of enthusiasm about our mission. I also want to know more about what we’ve just seen.

  “Who owns that boat?” I ask her, forcing my voice to be casual.

  “What boat?” she says, staring straight in front of her.

  “I’m talking about the huge boat, the one that towered above all the others. And what was the light? It didn’t seem like anything I’ve ever seen before,” I ask Millie.

  “The boat is none of our concern. It belongs to bad people. Okay?”

  Delphine has caught up to us and is watching our faces intently.

  “What about the lights?” I ask again.

  “They just are. I don’t know how they work. Only the gang leaders have them.” Millie’s voice is terse, and she keeps scanning left and right as we walk through the dense understory, weaving between trees and ruins of the old city. “If you see the lights, you best keep away,” cautions Millie.

  We walk on quietly. The only sounds are birds calling to each other. I want to ask Millie for more information about the huge boat and the lights but I know this isn’t the right time.

  A few shelters have sprung up against the decrepit stone walls. Sheets of bark, stripped from trees and supported by rough timbers, lean against the crumbling walls. They are flimsy and insubstantial. I can’t imagine how they offer any protection against the volatile and unpredictable weather. From one week to the next it’s impossible to know what to expect and these shelters would blow away in the next strong wind.

  “Who lives like this?” I ask. I point to a shelter made from pieces of plastic garbage and branches piled up against a lonely wall. Millie sighs. I can tell she finds me tiresome but I’m too curious to walk in silence.

  “Nobody. They’re nobodies. People with no other place to go.” Her voice becomes softer, almost a whisper: “It’s probably safer here than in the city overnight.”

  Is it really that bad?

  I pass Delphine’s notepad to Millie, who reads it and turns to Delphine. Millie’s is angry. “You’ve led such sheltered lives on Martha’s Vineyard. This place really is as bad as the elders have told you. Maybe worse. As much as I hate to admit it, they’ve done a good job protecting everyone, even if they’ve had to deal with the devil to achieve their goal.”

  “What do you mean, the devil?” I ask.

  “The stories in The Book are a handy way to keep you all in line. People tend to believe what is convenient without question. How do you all stay so safe and happy on your little island? Is it The Book? Or is it the sacrifice?”

  I look at her wide-eyed. I don’t know what to say.

  “Of course it’s not those things,” continues Millie. “The elders have been dealing with the gangs on the mainland for generations. They deal with the gangs so the gangs leave you alone.”

  “Is that why we’ve never seen boats with lights before?”

  “Yes, those boats won’t enter the waters around Martha’s Vineyard.”

  “But how did they achieve that?” I ask.

  “They offer a monopoly on the poppies they grow, and in exchange they are permitted to run the island the way they see fit—away from any influence of the mainland.”

  “We know about the trade in poppies. But so what? It’s just seed pods.”

  “Do you know what they do with the seed pods?”

  I shake my head, feeling foolish. I’m not about to tell her about Mother and the secret midnight harvest.

  “I didn’t think so,” says Millie irritably. “When we get to the city, I’ll take you past an opium den. They make opium from those seed pods and it’s a dangerous, addictive drug that destroys lives.”

  She strides off, putting some distance between herself and us. I can’t tell whether Millie is angry about the poppy seed pods and the opium, or whether she’s bitter that her family was forced to leave the island. I decide it’s best to drop the subject.

  I slip into a walking meditation, contemplating The Book as we continue through the thick woodland towards the river. I’m not sure I can accept what Millie is saying. The lessons of The Book have dictated almost every facet of my life. I can’t imagine life on the island thriving as it has without The Book. It details so many important aspects of our lives, such as the primacy of the community rather than the individual, the sacrifice and harvest rituals, and the marriage rules. We’ve been safe for so long, it’s hard to take at face value any claim that the sacrifice hasn’t helped us—at least in some way.

  My father told us that the original elders—those who brought our forefathers to the island following the Great Floods—wrote The Book. But even before they came to Martha’s Vineyard, before the floods and fires that burnt for decades, ravaging everything in their path, the original elders had isolated themselves from the non-believers. They built a community on the mainland that was protected from the outside.

  As the story goes, the original elders warned the community that the wrath of the Gods was hanging over the rest of the civilized world. They foretold of an imminent, catastrophic punishment from the Gods. When the floods and storms and out-of-control fires expanded their reach and breached the cities—once thought impenetrable—the anarchy began. The elders, vindicated, fled the mainland by boat, bringing only the community members and their small flock of sheep. They landed on the island which by then was mostly deserted. Anyone not willing to contribute to the community was cast into the pit.

  The elders sacrificed one of their few precious lambs to appease the Gods and create favorable conditions to start the new community. This was the First Sacrifice. Following the First Sacrifice, the community was established successfully on the island; everyone contributed and took only what they need. The elders divined The Book directly from the Gods and we on the island have been safeguarding it, and faithfully performing the sacrifice every spring, ever since.

  Millie’s irreverence for The Book reminds me of Delphine’s contempt on the night of the revel. They would both be thrown in the pit for weeks if my
father heard them. I hear his voice in my head now, speaking of blasphemy, sinners, and dark, hell-bound punishments.

  The elders warn that the Gods hold sinners over the pits of Hell and may discard them to the depths at their will. The only escape from this punishment is devotion to the Gods and adherence to the divine prescriptions as set out in The Book.

  I wonder briefly what my father would say about the future of my soul.

  The sound of rushing, turbulent water becomes louder and brings me back to the present. Soon we find ourselves at the wide, churning Harlem River. I look upstream and can see where it joins the massive Hudson River. I glance downstream and it seems to go for many chains. I squint and can just make out a bridge in the distance. A dense patch of knotweed covers this side of the bank; it’s a green carpet cloaking the shore.

  How do we cross?

  “I don’t want to go to the bridge because we have nothing to trade for our crossing,” says Millie. “They won’t let us cross without payment.”

  My face turns red. I start to apologize but Millie cuts me off. “It’s okay, but we will have to cross ourselves, here at this bank.”

  Delphine and I look at each other dubiously.

  Delphine writes: It looks too deep.

  “And the current is strong,” I add.

  Millie has a patronizing expression on her face. “You might get wet but I’m sure we’ll be okay,” she says.

  Millie walks back several cubits and pulls a large, flat piece of wood from under a low bush. She piles on some branches to create a raised platform.

  “I keep this here for when I need it. Put your packs on top to keep them dry,” she tells us. “When we are in the water, I’ll count to three and we all push off from the riverbed holding onto the raft.”

  We lift the crude raft off the bank of the river and help her float it on the water. I take off my boots and put them on the platform. Delphine and Millie do the same. Then we all step gingerly into the cool water.

  The ground is soft and silty and my toes settle in the mud. As we push forward, the river becomes deep suddenly and for a moment I lose my footing and the rush of the current lifts me and drags me downstream. I quickly right myself and see Millie counting to three with her fingers. We push off in unison.

  The water is moving quickly and the current pulls us downstream immediately. I kick and try to turn us against the current but Millie shakes her head and points diagonally towards the shore in the direction of the flow. We allow ourselves to be taken downstream while kicking towards the other side. Water splashes my face but I can’t wipe my eyes. I blink and kick and repeat until my eyes burn and my legs are tiring. We finally reach the bank and I help Millie lift the raft up onto the shore.

  Massive trees grow to the river’s edge on this side, and Millie pushes us both quickly into the leafy cover, dragging the wooden platform behind her. Once we are concealed, she points towards the bridge.

  It is constructed from rope and long tree trunks bound together. There is a man resting against a large rock on the same side of the river as us. He has a shotgun propped up next to him but he doesn’t seem to have noticed us. He looks to be asleep. Millie holds her finger to her mouth, indicating to keep quiet, and we walk further into the forest before she finds a safe place to stash her wooden platform.

  “Are you okay?” I ask Delphine in a hushed tone. She looks chilly. She smiles at me and extracts her notepad from her pack.

  I’m okay. Trust me, nothing is as cold as winter in the Harbormaster’s Cottage.

  She smiles at me again and I am warm despite my sodden tunic.

  “It won’t take us long to reach the city now,” says Millie in a whisper. “But I’d like to put some distance between us and the man at the bridge so let’s get moving. Remember to keep your wits about you. It’s about to get serious.”

  Millie leads the way with me walking at the back. It’s our usual formation and Delphine doesn’t seem to mind that Millie and I have assumed the roles of her protectors. We walk briskly for an hour or two through a thick-canopied forest, the sound of our feet snapping fallen branches and the occasional bird call the only interruptions to the stillness. I pass the time listening for people following us and thinking about the elders trading illicit substances with dangerous gangs on the mainland in exchange for leaving us alone. I can’t wait to tell Rich and Abigail. I’m not sure they’ll believe me.

  The sun is still low in the sky but burns brightly, drying us nicely. The forest is shades of dark green and amber. After some time I notice that the trees are changing, they’re less woody, and the ground is becoming waterlogged. This must be the marsh that I saw from my lookout earlier.

  I hear a branch snap ahead. I grab Delphine’s arm and we all freeze. Millie motions to us stay behind her and we fall further back. She raises her crossbow and I watch, intrigued, as she aims the quarrel at some unseen threat. The branch snaps again and her quarrel flies forward with surprising force. Delphine jumps beside me. There is a strangled cry and the sound of something crashing through branches and landing with a heavy thud in the undergrowth. I grab Delphine’s hand and we run after Millie who is already charging towards her kill.

  Millie’s quarrel has caught the animal through the chest and it lies on its side, motionless. The animal is like nothing I’ve ever seen. It could be a cat but it’s bigger than a sheep and it has a short tail. Its coat is spotted and plush. Delphine kneels next to the animal and places her hand on its ribcage. We watch as her hand rises and falls almost imperceptibly before the animal succumbs to death.

  “What is it?” I say, motioning with my head towards the animal. My voice seems unnaturally loud while the forest is quiet, somber with the passing of the creature.

  “Bobcat,” Millie says, unmoved. She pushes Delphine gently away and places her foot on the animal’s head, tugging to retrieve her quarrel. Delphine gasps and even I have to turn away from the sight of the quarrel as it tears through the bobcat’s flesh. Millie wipes the blood off her quarrel on the animal’s pelt.

  “Bobcat, sired by a lion and maybe some house cat thrown in the mix too,” she smirks.

  It’s like she’s speaking a foreign language. I have no idea what she means. Before I can ask, Delphine passes her a note.

  Why did you kill it?

  Millie looks surprised: “Why not? It could have killed us,” she asks, shrugging.

  There doesn’t seem to be much else to say after that. Delphine is solemn as we recommence our trek through the gloom. Hardly any light penetrates the abundant forest, which is again dense with large woody trees. There is barely any vestige of the city here, just wild, untamed woodland.

  “What is this place?” I ask Millie.

  “We’re in Central Forest. But we need to veer left and get out of here. Central Forest has other inhabitants of the furry variety I’d rather not come across.”

  “Worse than the bobcat?”

  “Much worse,” she replies, grinning at me over her shoulder. It’s the most enthusiastic I’ve seen Millie since before the gold was stolen and I’m pleased.

  We follow her as she picks her way over twisted tree roots and through the dense leaf litter until the trees gradually thin again. “What on Earth...” I mutter. I rub my eyes and look again. Through the trees are the dismal remains of stone houses, once proud but now broken

  Most of the houses have crumbled completely to the ground but a few walls are standing. Green shoots crawl over every surface. The buildings are more alive than inanimate; they teem with life. Delphine walks over to a wall and touches the brown stone. Her hand is small and pink against the heavily weathered bricks.

  Are these from before the Great Floods?

  “Yes,” says Millie.

  A deferential silence settles over us. We stop for a moment and gaze at these grand giants from the past.

  “What do you think life was like before the Great Floods?”

  “I think about that every time I pass these stones,” s
ays Millie. “What was Central Forest like, then? It’s hard to imagine New York City from before. It’s hard to conceive that people like us lived in these houses. I feel no connection to those who lived before the Great Floods and the people who died in it. I should feel sad, I guess. But it all seems so long ago.”

  “It does,” I agree. “It was a different world.”

  The sun is getting higher in the sky and I’m warm through. I take a drink of water from my pack. I see Millie watching me.

  “You might want to hold on to your shotgun,” she says. I take it off the back of my pack and hold it tightly in my hand.

  What are those things?

  Delphine points to the huge structures we saw from the tree we climbed before we crossed the river. They loom over us now, unimaginably huge.

  “They say people used to live and work in them. There were many more, apparently, but they’ve been torn down over the centuries by wind and storms and fire. Those three are still standing, for now. I think they’ll probably come all the way down in our lifetime.”

  We are all gazing upwards. I try to imagine living or working in something more than thirty chains high. It makes me nauseous. People aren’t meant to be up so high.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it! How did they get to the top?” My voice is filled with both wonder and curiosity.

  “I’m not sure. I can’t even dream of what they did.” We all look at each other and shake our heads at the folly of our ancestors.

  Millie touches us both on the shoulder, rallying us for the task ahead. “We have to be very careful going forward. We’ve been lucky not to have a run in with anyone, but our luck could easily change. Most of the inhabitants of New York City live in the area past Central Forest. Keep your guns out but don’t point them at anyone. Walk with purpose and don’t appear scared. Follow my lead at all times. Chris, if I call out to hide or run or whatever, you’re in charge of keeping Delphine safe.”

  What will we give them to let us into the library?

  My face burns at Delphine’s question. Damn. I kick the side of the stone house and pain shoots through my foot. The women both stare at me. I think quickly, desperate to give them something.