The Breeding Tree

by J. Andersen

  If he wanted me to hand it to him, why did he reach over me? I’m so not in the mood to deal with Devin today. It takes a special kind of moxie to handle him, and I don’t have it in me this morning. Instead, I have one thing on my mind. One goal to accomplish: finding my baby.

  I glance around the room in the second trimester Utero and see the ten lab pairs hovering around the pods. Taryn is on the far wall with a girl I’ve never worked with. We’re responsible for all of the fetuses in here today. Over one hundred. And all of the capsules need to be reloaded with nutrients before we can go home. But even when that job is completed, I won’t leave until I find the one I’m looking for. The child who carries my DNA.

  Handing Devin the powder he asked for, I watch as he measures it and mixes it in a Petri dish with a few milliliters of blood. It’ll be injected into the synthetic placenta resting on the bottom of the pod.

  Devin lightly touches my hand. “I need the syringe.”

  I’d roll my eyes at him, but he has no idea he’s repulsing me right now. It must be sad to be so clueless about women. I slap the syringe into his hand and watch silently as he sucks up the enhanced blood sample with the syringe and tops it off with a squirt and a flick of his finger. The gesture sends droplets of blood onto my lab coat.

  “Devin! Watch what you’re doing!”

  “Sorry.” His hand reaches forward to brush the drops off my coat, but I slap it away before he can touch my chest. He seriously has no clue.

  “I’m gonna go get this cleaned up.” It’s not necessary; it’s just a few drops, but I jump at the excuse to have a moment away from him. “I’m sure you can handle the injection on your own.”

  “Sure,” he says. He’s already searching for the tube attached to the pod that leads to the placenta. He’ll inject it and mix up another batch before I return.

  By the time I get back, he’s finished another two pods and is moving to the third. With everyone working, we should have this room finished in another hour. Normally, this is mindless work. Measure. Mix. Administer. Move to the next one. But today, every time we start the process over, I find myself examining the baby in front of us.

  Is this the one? Could this be her? But then I scan the barcode, bringing up the child’s ID number, and it doesn’t match the one I burned into my memory. 1-2-9-8-7-3-2. So we complete the procedure and move on, trading off every few capsules to share the workload.

  Devin settles himself on a stool in front of our newest fetus and scans the ID number as he reads it aloud.

  “What did you say?”

  “1-2-9-8-7-3-2. Why?” he asks.

  Then it shows up on the screen of my compact, too. 1-2-9-8-7-3-2. All I can do is stare at the screen. Devin says something, but it doesn’t register. Then he grabs my shoulder and shakes it. “Kate!”

  I finally break my daze. “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  Shaking my head, I focus on entering the number into my compact for records. “Yeah. Fine.” But as soon as my fingers are done pressing the keys and I’m able to look at the child in the capsule, I know I’m not fine. Because here in front of me, floating in a mass of liquid, is my son.

  He’s perfect. Ten tiny toes, barely starting to form. Eyes, nose, ears, hair. He’s got hair. Lots of it. And his little hand reaches up to his lips so he can suck on his thumb. I’m overwhelmed with the emotion that floods my mind. It’s weird; when I found out about him only days ago, I was horrified, even glad that he would be disposed of. But now, here, looking at something that’s a part of me, I can’t imagine ridding the world of this perfect little creature. So tiny and innocent. So full of life as he moves around in the confined space. It’s instant love.

  I reach out to touch the flexible plastic dividing us. It’s warm, and the gentle hum of the motors keeping him alive blends into the background. It’s only us at that moment. Mother and son. The rest of the world has disappeared. Until Devin breaks my bubble again.

  This time he’s laid his hand on the small of my back while he leans down to whisper in my ear. “Time to move on to the next one.”

  “Right. Sure.” I pull my eyes from my child, pick up my compact, and slide down the table to the next pod. I finish my job, but every few moments when Devin isn’t looking at me, I cast a brief look at container seven. Anything to have just one more glimpse at my son.

  EIGHTEEN

  THE FINE LINE BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE

  Code of Conduct and Ethics: The Institute—Sector 4, USA

  Section 8 Article 7.21: It is forbidden to spend time in the Outer Lands. They are uninhabited and dangerous. Keep to the roads and walkways for your own safety.

  ON A SATURDAY IN late fall, Micah and I manage to find some free time to spend together. Before my mother can make plans for me, I inform her Micah and I have scheduled a picnic. She smiles, pleased with my choice of a potential boyfriend with prestige and nods in silent agreement. I don’t even have to mention it to Dad. He knows by the time I see him Friday night. Mom must have told him. He just tells me to have a good time.

  If my parents knew the whole truth, they’d never let me go. If they knew how much time Micah and I have spent with each other before this, they’d have simultaneous heart attacks if that were even possible with their microchip implants. As it is, keeping the true nature of our relationship secret is enough to send them over the edge.

  It’s not necessary for them to know we’re going into the Outer Lands to be alone.

  We do pack a dinner to keep the suspicions to a minimum. No need to have my mother discover the basket still sitting in the hallway of our house while I’m out “picnicking” without it. She’d probably search the park grounds, only to discover we aren’t there. I’d hate to make her worry without reason. Dad would overlook it; try to calm her down, even. He’d probably tell her to give me some space. Let me grow up without her over my shoulder. Then again, Dad knows I already know more than the average teenager. He knows I’ve come to understand the real ways of our community better than most. It’s partially why we’re so close; he tells me the truth no matter how hard it might be.

  I open the door to the stone-faced Micah. “Hey. Everything all right?”

  His eyes brighten a little. “Yeah, sorry. Distracted a bit.”

  Here I was hoping this would be romantic, but if his mind is elsewhere, my ideas of really connecting might be tossed out with yesterday’s lunch.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Just have some stuff on my mind. Waiting for something at work.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  Driving to a clearing near the border, we leave the truck near a picnic area cluttered with couples enjoying the evening air. “We’ll walk from here,” Micah says as he helps me from his truck. We head toward the far end of a grassy area where a trodden path leads into the woods. “There’s a break in the fencing about a mile in. We can cross over there. Patrolling in this area is limited, so I don’t think we’ll have any trouble.”

  “Is this why you’re distracted? Worried about the patrols?”

  He rubs his arm and glances over his shoulder. “Um, yeah. Let’s get going before we see any.”

  When we reach the place he’s talking about, I’m surprised to see an intact chain-link fence, but Micah reaches for a particular section of fencing and pulls it back with ease. The hole is small, but we’re both able to squeeze through with only a scratch. He kneels down and reattaches the fencing so no one will even notice a disturbance. “Ready?”

  I nod, and we trek another mile or so into the Outer Lands before finding a small clearing.

  “This looks okay, doesn’t it?”

  We spread the blanket on the ground and sit. “Yeah, this is great. I’ve never been out here before.”

  Micah twists his neck to look at me. “You mean, out here,” he points to the ground, “or to the Outer Lands at all?”

  I feel my shoulders shrug in embarrassment. �
�To the Outer Lands at all.”

  He runs his hand halfway through his hair, stopping at the top of his head. “I wouldn’t have brought you out here if I’d known that, Kate. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, much less get you in trouble.”

  “We aren’t going to get caught, right? So it’s no big deal. Besides, it’s like a rite of passage to break the rules of The Institute at least once, right?”

  He smiles and starts to ease up. “I’d say so.” Chomping into a sandwich, he asks, “So, you’re okay with this?”

  “Sure.”

  After eating, we relax on the blanket Micah’s brought, me playing with my necklace and him on his side, head propped on his hand.

  The way Micah looks at me makes it hard to breathe. I’m drawn into the strength of his arms as they flex with every twist of his forearm.

  “Sorry, I’ve been distracted,” he says.

  “Did something happen?”

  “No. It’s fine. I was hoping for some news from work and didn’t hear, that’s all. I’ll have to figure things out on my own.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches. At first I think he’s going to smile, but it doesn’t make it that far before he bites his lip and shakes his head.

  “Come ’ere,” he says, tugging at my sleeve.

  I scoot over, leaning against him. My legs are stretched out in front of me, and I lean back on my hands, creating a tee-pee over his hips. It’s nice to be like this. Relaxed. No worries. Comfortable.

  “This is beautiful, don’t you think?” I look through the canopy of trees above us to the fading sunlight. The setting sun rests in the center of the break in the trees above us, shining a spotlight where we lay.

  “Mmm Hmm.” He twirls a lock of my hair around his finger, and I glance to see him. He’s not looking at the sky. I’m caught in his vision as his eyes flicker over my face.

  He shifts his position to sit behind me, and I find myself wrapped in his arms. Leaning back into his chest, I can feel the stubble on his chin through my hair and his breath on my ear. For the first time in a long time, I feel safe in the confines of his arms.

  He runs both of his hands down my arms and encircles my wrists with his fingers. I’m struck by the contrast. His massive, strong hands. My small delicate wrists. Yet somehow, they fit together. When he traces a trail along my sleeve with the tips of his fingers, even though he’s not touching my skin, goose bumps rise on my flesh. My heart races, and I swear he’ll be able to hear my heartbeat if I can’t calm myself.

  “Kate,” Micah breathes into my ear.

  “Hmm?” I reply, not paying much attention to his words. I want the world to disappear and let me live in this moment forever. Micah’s arms around me, warming me from the cool night air. He’s the safe spot in my unsure world.

  His voice is a muddle in my head. Whatever he needs to say can’t possibly be as important as staying in his embrace. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll not break my fantasy bubble and let me savor just being us for a few more minutes.

  As if he reads my mind, his fingers lace between mine and pull my hands out to the side, then back and up around his neck. I melt into him.

  “I … I’m …” A forceful breath escapes through his nose.

  Stumbling over his words isn’t like him, and when I twist around to see his face, it’s conflicted, eyes squeezed shut.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry.”

  That makes me stop. “Why are you apologizing, Micah?”

  Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe, and I feel trapped. He pulls me in and presses his lips lightly against mine. I’m lost in the scent of the air surrounding him, like cedar and soap. His hands linger on my neck before sliding down my arms where he clasps his hands tightly around my wrists again. Too tight.

  Panic sets in, but I rein it in, trying to keep a rational head. Moving a little, I try to wriggle away, but his grip is stronger than I anticipate, and I’m held steady. “Tell me why you’re sorry, Micah!”

  Pulling against him does nothing. His hold on me is like a vice.

  “I’m sorry for this.”

  Before I can writhe out from his grasp, he moves both my hands into one of his, pulls something out of his pocket and slaps it over my wrists.

  Zip ties.

  NINETEEN

  KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE AND YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER—UNLESS THEY’RE TRYING TO ABDUCT YOU

  THE LOOK IN HIS eyes is blazing, flashing between regret and duty. I kick with all my might and manage to twist out from under him and scramble out of his embrace. One of the ties cuts into the flesh on my wrist, but the other is loose. Micah didn’t have time to tighten it before I got away. I slip my hand out of the tie. Grabbing a large rock from the ground with one hand, I hold it in front of me. I clench the stone tightly in my fist, squeezing until I feel the edges digging into the flesh of my palm.

  Micah doesn’t even attempt to pursue me. And he won’t look at me either. Instead, grabbing his shirt from the ground, he stands up and slowly slides it over his head. Then his hands slump to his sides, and he looks at his feet before raising his gaze to meet mine. The fire inside me is burning now, and it’s spreading fast as the adrenaline rushes through my veins. Already, I’ve glanced around and seen the stomped-down pathway that will lead me back to the road.

  But it won’t matter.

  Micah can outrun me in three strides of his long legs if he wants to. And his strong arms can pin me to the ground or snap my neck in an instant. There is no escape. Not from him.

  I’m trapped.

  There’s a look on his face I can’t interpret, but no matter what it means, his eyes reveal everything. Well, not everything. Not why he’s been playing this little, I like you and will pretend to date you game. For a second, I think those gray eyes seem to glow a sad silver in the light that’s crept through the trees. He says it clearly this time. Unwavering. “I was sent here to abduct you.”

  That’s all I need to hear. No explanation necessary. Without hesitation, I throw the rock in my hand as hard as I can. It’s a straight shot, and it catches him alongside the head before he can react. He topples over, stumbling to gain his footing.

  I don’t stay to watch him agonize, even though I want to. Part of me can’t believe what he’s said is true. Not after he saved my butt that day with Saul. Not after he risked a demerit to get me a scone. Not after the little origami butterfly he gave me. This isn’t like him. But I can’t stand here and philosophize about what may have been. There’s no time to waste. Instead, I run.

  Fast.

  I’m barely to the footpath when I hear him yell.

  “Kate! Wait! You don’t understand.”

  Oh, yes I do. He’s going to abduct me, take me wherever to do who knows what. I have to get away from here, but I know he’ll catch up with me any second. Maybe I can find a place to hide. It’s a long shot, but it just might work.

  Everything we’ve done together, every nice thing he ever said to me, all lies. How could I have possibly trusted him? I should have known better. Keep your eyes open and trust no one. Isn’t that what Gran had told me so many times? Why did I choose today to ignore her warnings? Probably because she seemed to trust him.

  Why him? Why did it have to be Micah?

  The tears stream down my face as I dodge the branches that scratch at my arms. It’s like all those nights I ran through the park, convinced someone was following me. Now I know. It’s Micah who’s chasing me now. And it was him chasing me then.

  Up ahead, I spot some low brush thick enough it just might conceal me. I hope.

  “Kate, don’t run, please.”

  Yeah right. Don’t run from the man who’s just admitted he was going to abduct me? That’s a brilliant plan. I think I’ll pass. I’m kicking myself for all the things I told him, for the times we spent together. All lies.

  I don’t loo
k back, but by the sounds behind me, he’s struggling to keep up, probably staggering through the limb-covered ground.

  I reach the brush and slide underneath the thorny undergrowth. It scratches at my face and hands as I creep nearer to the center, kicking back the twigs to cover my feet. Pine needles dig into my still-exposed stomach. Patches of this plant cover the forest ground all around. He won’t know where to look. From between the leaves, I see him rounding a far tree.

  He stops in a clearing to catch his breath. “Kate! Please! Listen to me. I know you’re hiding somewhere. You can’t outrun me.”

  Exactly the reason I won’t listen to your sad little story.

  “Come out, Kate. We need to talk about this.” He rubs the stubble on his cheeks, fingers the gash on his forehead, and lets out an exasperated sigh.

  He’s frustrated. And angry.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Kate. Please. Come talk to me.”

  He spins around and peers into the distance. When I don’t respond, he kicks the ground. “Fine! I’ll tell you now. Yes, I was sent to abduct you. But I’m not going to. You want to know why?”

  He turns slowly in a circle with his arms out as if waiting for my reply while talking to the trees. “Because I’m in love with you.”

  I gasp.

  “Do you hear me, Kate? I love you. I recently sent word to my superiors to come up with a different plan because I didn’t want to go through with this one, but there was nothing. Radio silence. So I had to do what they wanted. Except now, I refuse. I’ll defy orders. They can punish me if they need to, but I can’t do what they want. I won’t. Even if it means sacrificing others in the process, they’ll have to find another way.”

  By this time my breathing has slowed; my heart, on the other hand, still races as I listen to his words. Can I trust him? What if this is just a trap? Use a love confessional to get me to come out of hiding and nab me then.

  But the way he stands there in the clearing, speaking to the trees as if they can answer; and the slight waver in his voice, like he’s choking up on the words he’s trying to say; maybe he is telling the truth.