Free The Treemakers (A YA Dystopian Scifi Romance Adventure) by Christina L. Rozelle

drapes it over the line that runs through the middle of our room. I hold up the bloody skirt. “This one will need washing first,” I tell her.
    “Yuck.” She makes a face. “What do you suppose—?”
    “I don’t even want to think about it.”
    Pinching a tiny section of the fabric, she holds it at arm’s length, head turned to the side, scowling. She’d be much louder with her disapproval, I’m sure, if there weren’t rows of little sleeping girls nearby.
    “Do you want to trade jobs?” I ask.
    “No, it’s okay. I’ll just wash it with my eyes closed.”
    I giggle. “I don’t know how well that will work, but, okay . . . . ”
    “It’ll have to work, or it won’t get washed,” she whispers loudly, carrying it as far away from her body as possible, all the way to the washroom.
    When I agreed to this chore, I had no idea what I was in for. Never has there been such awful, repulsive shreds of clothes. And to think, Arianna Superior will be wearing them with no care for the dead she violated by stealing them. This makes me hate her even more. She’s a filthy, rotten soul, and I’ll never understand why she gets to live thirty years past the average life span, when good people like my parents—like all of our parents—barely even reach thirty.
    At eleven, I give Baby Lou her medicine, relieved her fever has come down. Aby and I are only halfway finished; it’s going to be a long night. We work tirelessly—me, fixing tear after tear; her, running from me to the sink to the clothesline—until I’ve knotted the last strand of thread and handed off the last piece of clothing. She trots over to the washroom, and I check the clock. One-thirty. I lie down next to Baby Lou, and a couple of minutes later, after hanging the last wet item on the full clothesline, Aby collapses onto her bed beside us.
    “So, what’s the secret?” she asks.
    “Huh?”
    “You said you’d tell me later, remember?”
    “Oh. Right.”
    “Well, tell me, then.”
    But I consider not telling her. How do you describe something like that without sounding insane?
    “I’m not sure how to explain it—”
    “Was it something you found in the bunker?”
    I nod.
    “Well . . . what? What did you find?”
    “We found . . . paradise.”
    “Paradise?”
    “Yes,” I say. “I think it’s . . . somehow . . . a portal to the Other Side.”

SEVEN
    The second I close my eyes, it seems, the rise-alarm rings from the wall. I force myself awake to find Baby Lou’s fever is back. I give her the last two drops of medicine with some water, and she gulps it down, trembling from the open air on her hot skin. She whimpers and cries feebly. Not only will I be running the chopper on a few hours of sleep again, but I’ll also have Baby Lou to deal with all day. Again.
    “Aby,” I call over.
    Still wrapped up in her blanket, she peeks over at us and sits up. “Morning.” She yawns and stretches. “How’ s Baby?”
    “Still hot. Will you hold her while I get ready? Then, I’ll hold her while you do?”
    “Sure.” Aby swings her feet over the bedside and ties her long red curls up in a knot. “Poor thing.” She runs her fingers along Baby Lou’s soft, warm cheek.
    “Yeah, thank goodness I’m getting more medicine for her.” I scan the clothes on the line. “Thank you so much. There’s no way I would’ve finished without your help.”
    “What are sisters for?” She winks, then nuzzles her nose against Baby Lou’s neck. “You sure you’ll be fine with her today? You didn’t get a lot of sleep . . . . ”
    “You didn’ t either.”
    “I know, but—”
    “I’ll be fine.”
    “Well, let me know if you need anything. You know where to find me.”
    “Okay.”
    “Paradise,” she whispers, smiles, and scrunches her shoulders like she does when she’s excited. “Can we go tonight? Pleeeeeease . . . . ?”
    “Maybe.”
    She taps her feet on the floor, and bounces on her bed. “We can get one of the other girls to watch