The Last Tree Read online

  “And humanity doesn’t have that kind of time.”

  “Only if we’re unable to adapt quickly enough. But maybe, just maybe, a few generations represents sufficient time for us to transform into something that can survive.”

  “It’s going to have to be fast.” I’m thinking out loud. “My mother’s generation was the first to display a noticeable spike in mutations. If enough of those mutations don’t take hold and get passed down to subsequent generations, then our species as a population group may be too weak or diseased to be saved.”

  “It’s an intriguing theory,” Tuck chimes in from the back. “But how does this connect to Tam’s husband?”

  “Okay, let’s think about that,” says J.D. “What results might have gotten the UTC interested in his research?”

  “You said it yourself,” I reply. “The UTC is hunting for mutations, just like we are. Whatever Eric discovered in the soil, he may have suspected the UTC wanted to use his research to encourage future mutations or to manipulate their development in a specific direction.”

  “Now I’m confused,” Tuck said. “Based on what you guys were talking about, it sounded like these mutations may be the only chance we’ve got against certain extinction. Survival of the species—or evolution of a new one. Ain’t that a good thing?”

  “In theory, yes,” J.D. agrees, “but in the past, those things happened due to natural selection. This is the first time our planet has had a centralized organization in place with authority over every single corner of the earth and with an agenda to manipulate the direction evolution takes. I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I trust the UTC to have my best interests at heart.”

  “We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” I protest. “We don’t have enough information about what Eric discovered or what the UTC’s agenda might be to know if their genetic manipulations would be a good thing or a bad thing. We do know that when Tamara was pregnant, Eric controlled her diet. In retrospect, she thinks he may have discovered something toxic in their food supply. But why hide that data? Why not alert the world, unless ….” I trail off and wonder if I’ve come to the same conclusion Eric did, that the UTC would use his research results for no good purpose. I have seen how ruthless Thorne can be. He killed with impunity when it suited him. His henchmen had beaten J.D. bloody last year in order to gain leverage over me. He wanted us to believe his interests and our interests were aligned, but I had seen no real evidence of it.

  J.D. picks up the thread. “If whatever was in the soil could be controlled, then not only could the UTC use this knowledge to create advantageous mutations that bring the human race back from the brink of extinction,” he says, “but they could also tamper with the genetic code of entire population groups.”

  “Determining which populations are worth protecting and which are not.”

  “There would no longer be natural selection—only the UTC’s unnatural selection,” he concludes.

  “In which case, every biosphere becomes a petri dish, an isolated control group on which to test their theories, because the UTC controls all the supplies, all the water, all the produce ….”

  “They determine what types of vegetation are allowed to grow in a specific area.”

  “Do you think that’s why Thorne wanted Dr. Gallagher out of Bio-19?” I ask. “Is he trying to co-opt her research?”

  “If my theory is correct, then it’s possible human experimentation is already underway in Bio-19. It would explain the outbreak and the lack of any vaccination strategy. At some point, Dr. Gallagher may have caught on to what was happening, or her soil data would have allowed her to connect dots Thorne didn’t want her to see.”

  “Hold on,” Tuck interjects, clearing his throat. “This is all fascinatin’, but you guys are spinnin’ pretty wild ideas out o’ precious few facts.”

  “You’re right, Tuck,” I admit. “The connection I’m not seeing is the relationship between Eric’s soil research and mutations which contribute to our survival. I like the idea of it. I just think we’re overreaching.”

  “Maybe Eric hadn’t grasped the connection himself,” says J.D. “Maybe that’s what he was trying to figure out, whether the viral influences at the molecular level were dangerous or beneficial.”

  “It could be both,” I remind him, “depending upon the specific manifestation.”

  “So at some point, scientists picking up where Eric left off would have to determine whether to trust nature and allow this soil activity to follow its natural course or whether to intervene and try to manipulate outcomes.”

  “Life wants to survive. That’s a fundamental law o’ nature, isn’t it?” asks Tuck. “My vote is to let nature have a go. Humanity has messed things up enough.”

  J.D. gazes back and forth between me and Tuck. “For the past year, Kira’s been making water in locations where there’ve been rumors of unusual mutations. It was a good thought. But it hasn’t yielded any collaborators who could join us in our quest to help heal the planet. Maybe it’s time to try a new strategy. Instead of going where the mutants are, maybe we should be going where the scientists are. Other researchers may have stumbled onto the same virus or anomaly that Eric found.”

  I consider what it is we’re trying to do. Not just save the planet, but save the people on it. What we’ve been doing with our time, traveling from place to place and filling small bodies of water—it’s clearly not enough. It’s not making a real difference in our chance for survival. “My answer is yes,” I tell him. “Time is running out on the human race. We’ve got to find another solution. At the very least, Eric’s research—or other research like his—could guide our efforts in a more productive direction.”

  Tuck takes his time deliberating, then nods. “As soon as we’ve got Tamara back.”

  “It may mean returning to Bio-19,” J.D. says.

  “Is that because you want to talk to the scientists at AgTech?” I ask.

  “I do. Specifically, I want to learn more about the children who survived the outbreak. There’s some type of genetic resistance in those infants. That might have been the result Thorne was seeking.”

  “If that’s true, then the kids are the key,” I whisper. “We need to find out why they survived.”

  “It’s only a theory,” J.D. says cautiously.

  “You’ve got my support,” I tell him. “Thorne will never expect us to return to Bio-19. While we’re there, I can check the water level in Lost Lake and also confirm that Ivan’s well is self-sustaining. I really have no idea how long the water table for something like that will last.”

  “I think I would like to help you,” Ivan says gruffly. Our driver, who has been quiet until now, observes us from his vantage point at the controls. “One of my mates lost his baby boy when the sickness struck all the little ones. It was a terrible, terrible thing. His wife still grieves. If you think you can figure out what did it, I’ll do whatever I can to help you rescue your friend.”

  “You’re already helping us, Ivan, by taking us to HQ. Did you have another idea?”

  “HQ wants to hire more security staff. It’s posted on the job boards. That’s your best bet for finding information about anything. Maybe it will also give you a way to help your friend.” His expression is grim. “I know a guy at the Security Office. He owes me a favor. He’ll get you on the force.”

  J.D and I turn to look at Tuck. Since J.D. and I are wanted by the Territory, he’s clearly our only option for an inside man.

  With a look of profound distaste, he nods in resignation. I reach over and clasp his hand. The remainder of the journey is spent discussing next steps. We still don’t know how we’re going to rescue Tamara.

  9

  As the light fades on the horizon, Ivan brings his vehicle to a stop. He motions to Tuck. “If you’re gonna enter HQ as a traveler, you need to start walking from here. Half a mile further and security cameras track all comings and goings.” He gives Tuck the GPS coordinates. “Don’t be surprised when you
arrive at the coordinates and nothing’s there. There’s no dome. The Territory HQ exists completely underground. But look around carefully. The coordinates will take you to a camouflaged stairwell leading down to the visitor’s sublevel. That’s where you’ll be registered and given your tracking device. You’ll receive an electronic badge which has to be worn at all times.”

  Tuck sniffs. “Shows a serious lack of trust, I’d say.”

  “With reason,” adds Ivan. “You don’t want to mess around with these guys. They run a tight operation.”

  I look up from my tablet. I’ve been reviewing maps and layouts for the past hour, and my eyes are starting to cross. “Won’t there be evidence of a rail system? It’s clearly identified on the maps.”

  “Also underground,” Ivan answers. “All deliveries to HQ are processed at the industrial center, which includes the desalinization plant. It’s located ninety kilometers from here. We’re heading there next. As shipments are checked through security, they’re transferred to high-speed trains which provide transport for people and supplies to and from HQ, as well as up and down the coast to different biospheres.”

  “Good to know.” J.D. hands Tuck his pack. “Inside you’ll find directions to the location where Kira and I will be hiding. Once you’ve registered, take a sleeping space at one of the public camping lots. Scout the area and see if you can determine where Thorne is keeping Tamara. When it feels safe, come find us. Any questions?”

  “Got it.” With a curt wave, Tuck sets off briskly, his limp barely noticeable.

  Ivan puts the vehicle into gear and continues forward. “You two, get into your container now,” he says, gesturing toward the back. “I can’t risk the cameras gettin’ a glimpse of you. The box is padded, so you won’t get banged up. There are vents for air circulation and two oxygen canisters have been included as a safety measure. You have to keep quiet while you’re inside. Not a peep. When we reach the loading dock, my associate will remove your container and separate it out for delivery. He’ll make sure it doesn’t pass through normal security screening.”

  J.D. holds out his hand. “Thank you, Ivan. You’ve provided a tremendous service.”

  The burly man shakes his hand, sparing a brief glance for me. “You’ve repaid it. My brother says the well is full now, and the water is good.”

  “I’m glad,” I say.

  Turning to the back of the vehicle, I crawl inside the large, empty crate and try to get comfortable. J.D. follows and pulls the door shut behind him. An electronic lock activates immediately, sealing us inside.

  The next couple of hours are unpleasant. There’s air to breathe, but it’s hot and stuffy. If Tuck had been in here with us, I can’t imagine how we would have managed it. J.D. positions himself so I can rest against him. When the vehicle stops, we can feel the container being unloaded and quietly brace our hands against the sides to keep from shifting too much. I hear muffled noises from the delivery docks—people talking and containers being placed on conveyor belts or transported to other screening areas. Wherever our container has been dropped, it’s evidently ignored, and I doze off, waking only when the container is lifted again for transport.

  I’ve never been on a train. Occasionally, when the four of us were walking, I’d see them from a distance—speeding across the vast open spaces of the Unified Territories. On my map, I’d followed the track system that connected the desalinization plant and industrial buildings with the residences and offices of HQ. I’m eager to see the real thing up close. To know that I’m traveling by train, even in this box, is something.

  When we arrive at our destination, there’s another period of shuffling and jostling, and then the container is dropped solidly onto a hard surface. J.D. and I brace ourselves silently, not making a sound until the movers are gone and all is quiet. We’re unable to free ourselves, and it is a torture to wait for Ivan to arrive and release us. It’s getting hotter and stuffier by the minute. I can feel myself starting to hyperventilate.

  “Take this,” J.D. whispers. He hands me the oxygen mask and adjusts the regulator. “It says here that by using a two-liter per minute flow the oxygen should last approximately six hours.”

  Fitting the mask across my mouth and nose, I begin to inhale even breaths. It helps clear my head. I realize I need to relieve myself.

  “Better?”

  I nod but don’t speak.

  It feels like an eternity passes, but eventually Ivan arrives to release us. He speaks outside the container to let us know it’s him, then deactivates the locking mechanism. J.D. and I remove our oxygen masks and crawl out, blinking painfully as our eyes adjust from the dark container to a brightly lit room. I stand stiffly and examine our new surroundings. The room is plain, but bearable: concrete walls, concrete floor, and two clean-looking mattresses on the ground. J.D. and I have slept on worse.

  “I’ve used this space a couple times for storage,” Ivan says. He motions toward the corner. “There’s a latrine through that door. You’ll find a mirror on the wall. It might be helpful to you when you’re applying your disguises. Tuck requested mouth prosthetics so you’ll find them included with your supplies.” He drops a couple of full backpacks onto the floor. “It’s a good idea to wear the mouthpieces whenever you’re out in public. Pretty much every corner of HQ is wired for video surveillance. Altering your jawline is one way to confuse the facial matching system.”

  “Thank you, Ivan. We’ll follow your advice,” I assure him. Because HQ is completely underground, officials had reasoned there was no reason for residents to ever wear hats or sunshades or anything which might block surveillance cameras from photographing faces in a crowd. It made eluding detection harder but not impossible.

  “What will we find when we step outside the door?” J.D. asks.

  “This space is located in the back corner of a warehouse. Walk down the corridor past all the storage units, take a right, and that aisle leads to the exit. Here’s the code for the door, which opens onto a side street three blocks west of the central park.”

  “There’s a park?” I ask.

  “It was constructed by UTC officials for their families. They discovered that without the outdoor spaces that are standard in most biospheres, HQ residents were prone to depression. The park has special sunlamps, and it’s covered with potted plants tended by the garden staff. There’s a walking path. They even have a small waterfall that flows into a pond. It’s a closed loop system. The water goes round and round but it makes a nice sound and some people find it soothing.”

  “I look forward to seeing it.”

  Ivan pulls a couple of resident badges out of his pocket and hands them to us. “These are forged to look like HQ standard issue, but they’re not activated, so you can’t be tracked. Attach them to your clothes so you blend. Ordinarily, they would function like electronic passkeys. Since these are duds, if you want to enter any restricted areas, you’re going to have to steal a resident’s badge or find another way.”

  “Thanks, Ivan.” J.D. glances at his badge and then tucks it into his pocket. “We’ll use these tomorrow when we’re exploring. We still need to devise our exit strategy once we’ve found Tamara. I don’t suppose you could put four people in another container and return us to Bio-19?”

  “I depart tomorrow for the south coast, and I’m traveling for the next sixty days. If I come back to HQ and you’re still here, we can discuss your options. One more thing: don’t get caught on the streets after curfew. They’re very strict about that here.”

  “We’ll remember.”

  Once Ivan leaves, I take a moment to explore our small hideout, grateful to be moving again after the long confinement. I roll my shoulders and stretch my arms above my head and down to the floor.

  I turn to J.D. “What do you think?”

  “I think we eat. I think we hydrate. I think we get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we apply our disguises and take the train to the Industrial Center. We have to determine how complicated it’s going to
be to escape HQ once we have Tamara.”

  “There’s no way we can walk out,” I say thoughtfully. The entire area around HQ is flat and empty for miles. We’d be picked up within the day. “If we’re unable to get onto a train headed down the coast, how hard will it be to hole up here until Thorne calls off the search? Can we hold out until Ivan returns?”

  J.D.’s expression is serious. HQ is the most secure location in the united territories. It will be a lot harder to slip away undetected here than any place we’ve previously had to hide. “If we can get access to a food supply, hiding out for a couple of months might be our only option.”

  A sudden realization has me turning to J.D. in horror. “I’m such an idiot, J.D.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve gotten so used to always being able to make water. But once we finish the water supply Ivan gave us, I don’t know how we’re going to hydrate. With forged badges, we won’t be able to procure a daily water ration.”

  “We’ll find a way to steal water. Or Tuck will. We’ll figure it out. You forget, I managed to find water before I met you.”

  I allow a small smile. “Yes, but you were still outside, moving between outposts.” I can feel my stomach starting to clench with anxiety. It won’t be easy to find a reliable water supply. Security is going to be tight. “While we’re exploring tomorrow, keep an eye out for a capped well like the one Ivan’s brother had. If we can find an old access point for groundwater, I might be able to refresh the source.”

  10

  It’s three days before we see Tuck. J.D. and I explore every corner of HQ, but what we discover is discouraging. Security forces are everywhere. UTC guards travel in pairs throughout every corner of the complex. It’s not going to be easy to get out of this place—with or without Tamara. Today, we don’t even leave the hideout, unwilling to exert ourselves considering our limited water supply. Everything now depends upon Tuck being able to hire on as a guard with the UTC security detail.