The Last Tree

by Denise Getson

  I look around me at this big dryness that stretches as far as the eye can see. “I hope you’re right, J.D. I’m going to try and think about it that way also—that I’m not just making water but creating forests.”

  “It’s what we wanted when we walked out of the valley.”

  “I need you to remind me.”

  “So, are you going to get busy or are we going to stand here jabbering all day?”

  I grin. “Stay put. This will just take a moment.”

  He drops to the ground and crosses his legs placidly while I take off toward the depression Thorne showed us. I approach the rock face and place my hands on each side of the opening. I lay my head against the hard surface and pull the picture of the map into my mind. I see the conduits of water that trickled through stone over millions of years. And finding those pathways now dry and empty, I fill them with water.

  21

  By the middle of the third week, we have fallen into a pattern. Thorne and I bicker constantly, agree to disagree, then simply disagree loudly and vehemently over the most trivial subjects, until J.D. forces us to call a truce. For each of the springs that needs filling, we travel together to document the area for the support staff back at HQ, followed by a short excursion for me to actually call forth the water, followed by a relatively peaceful evening planning the next step of our journey.

  The trek to the final water source proceeds according to pattern.

  “Why won’t you consider enrolling in school?” Thorne’s tone is demanding as he picks up the thread of an earlier conversation.

  “What would be the point?” I snap. “I’ve found my purpose. It’s making water, and I don’t need a degree for that.”

  “What about J.D.’s purpose? What about self-development for the both of you? When you’re not working on a water project for the territory, you can be studying whatever you like. I’ve seen your school records, Kira. You’re bright. So is J.D. And both of you have a tendency to get into trouble when you’re not mentally challenged. The Academy at HQ has accomplished professors in a variety of disciplines.” He switches his focus to J.D., perhaps hoping he’ll be more easily persuaded. “J.D., you could pursue one of the biological fields—zoology or botany. There’s a huge need in both areas. Historically, it’s taken thousands, if not millions, of years for the planet to naturally develop new species after a mass extinction event and subsequent loss of biodiversity. We simply have to speed up the process. You can be part of that effort.”

  “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re really doing,” I interrupt. “If you can keep us busy and distracted, you think we’ll cause less trouble for you.”

  “It’s not about being busy, Kira. It’s about being purposeful in how you use your time. It’s about increasing your service to society.”

  I stare at him in disbelief.

  He doesn’t back down. “Yes, even you can increase your value to the planet, Kira. Why not be a leader and an educator, as well as someone who restores natural resources? You and J.D. no longer have to walk miles across the wasteland in search of water basins. The UTC will provide you with transportation to all water projects no matter where they take place. That frees your time to pursue other opportunities.”

  I don’t want to listen to him. Not because I don’t like what he’s saying, but because I do. But I don’t trust him. I can’t. Thorne’s offers come with strings, some obvious and others not as obvious, but he will demand his pound of flesh in return. Of that I am sure. It’s too much to think about, and I can’t do it here with Thorne breathing down my neck. I jam my hands in my pockets and let him stride ahead, indicating that I’ve had enough of the conversation.

  “Speaking of biodiversity,” J.D. interrupts, “how are you going to restore the ecosystem of the Tigris and Euphrates? I read that even before the river system disappeared, it was so degraded it could no longer support fish.”

  “Actually, J.D., we’ve had teams cleaning this area for the past year. Do you remember when we were at Slag and I had to leave town?”

  “Kira and I thought you were conducting meetings at HQ related to her capture.”

  “That was part of it, but even then our conversations were connected to this project. Restoring the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers has been a top priority since the reconciliation of the territories. With the resources of the UTC, we performed an extensive field measurement of soil chemicals and created computer models for the entire network of ancient rivers and tributaries.

  “For the past year, we’ve been implementing a combination of microbes and aeration, with vapor extraction. High-powered ultrasound was used with organic toxins. With the newly refilled areas, our plan is to increase phytoremediation methods for removing the heaviest metals. Green plants are the most effective way to remove pollutants from the environment or to render them harmless, but they need water—and that was the element in short supply.”

  He punctuates his statements with precise hand gestures, and I realize that, for whatever reason, this project truly is a personal passion for him.

  He continues. “Did you know we now have a new variety of cabbage which thrives in soils containing excessive levels of zinc and cadmium? One of the Abjadiyyah biospheres has been at the forefront of this research. It’s going to take time to fully restore health, but bringing the water back is a huge step in attaining our goal.”

  He pauses, checks his gauge, and then moves forward another few steps. “There it is.”

  J.D. and I look where he’s pointing. I can see a large, dark opening in the rock. A flat lip of stone extends beyond the opening, and below that is a trail of smooth stones that leads to a meandering depression. It is the open mouth of the last spring I need to fill. And it’s the only one we’ll be entering.

  Of one accord, we drop our packs and pull out flashlights. I’m excited at the prospect of exploring the cave. We’ve had good luck with caves in the past. This one has a large opening that seems to promise an interesting interior.

  I pass Thorne on my way down to the entrance and turn back to look at him. “You coming?”

  “You go ahead. You’ve got your communicator.”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay in touch. Let me know how it’s going.”

  Cautiously, J.D. and I step into the darkness and turn on our lights, flashing them over dark walls. Everything appears dry, but I can feel the inner vibrations that tell me I’m walking through space that was once saturated with water. It’s like a part of me can see where the water once rose and fell, and I’m passing through the memory of it like a ghost passes through walls.

  My light follows J.D.’s light, passing slowly and methodically over dark surfaces. Spying a crevice, he squeezes his body through the tight spot and into a large chamber. He holds out his hand for me to follow him through the opening. As I step into the second room, I can see that the ceiling above us is jagged with ancient stalactites, mostly small and broken, but occasionally a longer piece of dripstone hangs down like a pointing finger. Oxide stains flicker where the light touches them.

  “Should we keep going?” he asks.

  “I can stop and make water anywhere, but let’s see where this takes us. I’m going to mark this entrance, in case we need it to find our way out.”

  “There could be several hundred kilometers of accessible passages; you know that.”

  Suddenly I reach for his arm and hold it, pulling him closer. “Did you hear that?” I whisper, my ears straining to hear the repeat of the sound.

  “What?”

  I shake my head, then realize he can’t see me. “I’m not sure we’re alone in here.”

  We remain still and silent for several moments. Whatever I heard, it seems to be gone now. “Do we keep going?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  At each turn or bend, we make sure to mark the spot with a phosphorescent dye, so we can find our way back. Every room or chamber we enter appears to have had its own decorator. In one chamber, it’s clear that a larg
e, free-standing body of water once filled a giant depression in the floor. Empty now, we carefully enter the basin and then exit the other side. Another room has a series of calcite tubes side by side, like a giant, elliptical pipe organ. The next features solid deposits in the center of the floor that look like giant mushrooms. Striations of brown, gold, gray, and white provide a chemical timeline. And on the largest form, elongated crystals on the surface reflect the light and cast a pretty shimmer in the otherwise dark space. We take our time as we travel, careful not to disturb any of the cave formations, sometimes aware that our journey is taking us upward, and other times our steps clearly move us farther underground.

  As we move deeper into the tunnel system, I feel a growing unease, continuing to sense there is something sharing this space with us.

  “Let’s stop here,” I tell J.D. “Can you turn off your light?”

  He shuts the light off and feels his way over to where I stand. Quietly, I kneel and place my hands along the dry wall and the calcified floor. I wish for water. I visualize this area the way it once was when water traveled for miles through the highlands and pooled here, dripped from ceilings, and sank between cracks to dissolve rock and hollow out mountains. I picture the pools full of water, and I imagine millions of gallons of it pouring out of the mouth of the cave, falling in a cascade onto the polished rocks below and beginning their thousand-mile journey to the ocean.

  Everything is quiet. I imagine the drips, imagine when there had been water sounds, trickles and bubbles and gurgles. Now, all is silent.

  And then it’s not. We both start at the sound of movement across the room.

  “You heard that, right?” I whisper.

  “Can we go?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Lights?”

  “Absolutely.”

  We turn on our lights at the same time, training them on the corner where we’d heard movement. A dark shadow quickly withdraws behind a cave formation. Grabbing my hand, J.D. heads back the way we came. We keep the lights moving in a circle around us, eager to expose whatever might be lurking. Our pace consistent, we head doggedly toward the exit, to sunlight—to safety. My head snaps to the left when I hear loose pebbles being scattered beneath the weight of something large.

  “Move that way,” I say, pressing J.D. away from the sound. “Watch your step.”

  “Are you worried about me or the stalagmites?” he whispers.

  “Is it okay if I answer, ‘Both?’”

  Angling up a small incline into another room, J.D. picks up speed. “I know where we are,” he says.

  I keep hold of his hand and swing my light forward to illuminate our path to the exit. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my left side. I cry out, swinging my flashlight in a wide arc to strike whatever is there. I feel an impact and hear the oomph of sudden exhalation. For a moment, my hand slackens on J.D.’s.

  “Don’t let go of me,” he says, his voice strained.

  I tighten my hold and hurry after him. Squeezing through a narrow crevice, the opening of the cave appears before us. We burst out of the cave at a run, leaping the lip of stone and immediately turning to face whatever might be behind us.

  “What are you doing?” asks Thorne, approaching swiftly.

  “There was something in the cave,” I pant. Turning off my flashlight, I let it drop to the ground. My hand is shaking. All of me is shaking.

  “There’s blood,” says J.D. “Hold still.”

  “I … c—c—can’t,” I stutter.

  He lifts my shirt, gently pulling it away from my skin. Three red slashes mark my torso where something has raked sharp nails across the side of my body.

  Thorne moves closer to examine the injury. He glances at the cave mouth. “Did you see what it was?”

  “No.”

  “It doesn’t appear to want to follow you out.”

  “I’ve got anti … antiseptic in my pack,” I manage weakly.

  “I’ll get it.” J.D. rummages in my pack and returns with antiseptic and a cloth bandage. “This is going to sting.”

  I nod, gritting my teeth as the solution sears my skin. Efficiently, he wraps the bandage around my waist and cinches it. “Too tight?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Kira, were you able to—”

  “It’s done,” I tell Thorne. “Why? Were you going to send me back in there?”

  “I don’t know,” he says briskly. “I guess it’s a good thing I won’t have to press the issue. Now, I suggest we get back to the chopper before this thing—whatever it is—decides you’re worth pursuing. I’d like to get you to a doctor and have those scratches checked. We don’t want to risk infection.”

  “Agreed,” says J.D. “I know I don’t want to be here when the sun sets.”

  The trek back to the chopper is silent. Both J.D. and Thorne keep a worried eye on me, though for different reasons, pausing often to offer their assistance. The trembling has subsided, and I want to make up for my previous show of vulnerability.

  “I’m fine,” I insist. “I can keep up. You don’t have to hover.”

  “Kira, when was your last tetanus shot?” Thorne asks.

  “Two years—three at the most.”

  I breathe a quiet sigh of relief as the chopper comes into sight. With a wave, the pilot meets us, taking Thorne’s pack from him to load onto the aircraft. J.D. and I are preparing to climb into the vehicle when we hear the series of beeps that indicates Thorne is receiving an urgent alert on his communications unit.

  “Yes?” he answers.

  The expression on his face has my stomach tightening. J.D. moves closer, his eyes never leaving Thorne’s face.

  “Slow down,” Thorne speaks brusquely to the person on the other end. “When was this?” He listens intently for several minutes. “I’ve got it. Stay put for now. We’re on our way.”

  He ends the transmission and immediately places a new one. “I need tracker activation for …” Fingers moving swiftly, he pulls up data on his unit. “… implant number 45791.”

  J.D. and I exchange a glance. Whoever it is has a chip. Tuck? Tamara?

  “I’m on my way to Eden now,” he continues. “I need combat search and rescue. Have the nearest tactical team meet me there.” He shuts the com unit.

  “That sounds serious,” I whisper.

  He motions for us to board the chopper. “Fig is missing.”

  22

  “What happened? Is Miranda missing too? What about Tamara? Why do you need combat search and rescue? Why not simply search and rescue?” I pepper Thorne with questions, unable to keep up with the worries racing through my head.

  “Kira, hush,” he says. “I’ll tell you what I know, and then I need you to be silent. I’ve got work to do to ensure we get Fig back safe and sound.”

  I fall silent at these words. “Do you think she’s in danger?” I whisper finally.

  “I do not think anyone would hurt Fig,” he says slowly. “She’s too valuable.”

  “Valuable?” J.D. interrupts. “That’s an odd word to use.” His eyes narrow as he stares at Thorne. “When did Fig receive her chip implant?”

  “Fig was implanted several years ago at Ash-Shatrah, after her mutation was reported to the Territory Council. We’ve been monitoring her development, just as we record and track all documented mutations. I suspect Fig has been apprehended by an underground group in Aleph Territory working to undermine the UTC. Whether they plan to use her as a bargaining chip or for some other purpose, I certainly can’t speculate at this time. But I assure you they will not hurt her. And yes, Kira, to answer your question, Dr. Gallagher’s daughter is also missing. I suspect the outlaws will protect Miranda, as long as her presence helps them to manage Fig.”

  At this news, I bend over and wrap my hands across my stomach, breathing slowly until the spasms no longer threaten to expel the contents. After a moment, I straighten. “Can you start over at the beginning?” I ask calmly. “None of this is making sense.”
<
br />   J.D. reaches for my pack and pulls out my canteen. I accept the container from him but don’t drink, my eyes never leaving Thorne’s.

  “As you witnessed, I only spoke briefly with Eden’s camp manager. What is her name … ?”

  “Ghilian.”

  “She said Miranda and Fig took one of the camels and rode to the orchard to water the date palms. Apparently, this has been one of their chores since Thomaz began staying with the tree and helping Dr. Gallagher with her research.”

  “Was anyone else with them?” J.D. asks. “Tamara?”

  “Not to my knowledge. The camp manager said a pump was installed at the water source Kira created. Someone went with the girls the first time in order to show them what to do. Since then, Miranda and Fig have been going to the orchard weekly without incident—until today, that is. When the girls did not return within a reasonable time, Tamara got worried and reported their absence. Tuck and a few others went to the orchard to investigate. They discovered the trees had been irrigated, but both girls could not be found. From tracks in the area, Tuck deduced the girls left with a small group of desert dwellers. We cannot confirm they’re the same bandits who have made attacks against area biospheres in the past. Tuck wanted to go after them immediately. However, I’ve activated Fig’s tracking device, and it will be better if trained troops perform the rescue.”

  “But why take Fig and Miranda?” I ask. “Thomaz told me area bandits have taken food, supplies, water. Why add kidnapping to their crimes?”

  “It only takes one glance to see that Fig is special, Kira. You know that. She would have been perceived as valuable immediately, even if they did not understand her special abilities.” His com beeps, and he glances at the screen, then at me and J.D. “I have a number of tasks I need to coordinate so we can execute a successful rescue—are you going to be okay?”