Page 51 of Juniper Unraveling

Arty taps the top of the truck and whistles to the other guards. Two seconds later, the wall moves slowly right, where guards line either side of the pathway through to the vastness of the desert. I sit up in my seat, taking in the miles at either side of us, dotted with the occasional tent, or broken down car, and a thud against the driver’s side door jolts my attention back to Papa.

A figure passes by his window, disappearing around the rear as we move forward. A woman.

“Who are they?”

“The rejected,” Papa answers. “The ones not permitted beyond the wall.”

“Why?”

“I don’t decide why, Wren.”

As we drive farther out, the tents become more abundant, a colony of them, made up of what looks to be families with small children.

I stare through the passenger window at a little boy, who spits at us as we pass. “They seem … hostile.”

“It’s not so much leaving Szolen as coming back that’s the problem. But they’re not the ones you have to worry about.” He looks out the driver’s side, as we pass a child whose clothes are ragged, hardly hanging off his bony body. “These people just want in so they can be safe. So they don’t starve to death out here.”

“Who are the ones to worry about?”

“The others who want in to take what we have.”

“I don’t understand why we keep these people out. We have plenty of houses in Phase Two and Three. And soon Phase Four will be finished.”

“Civilization has always been divided into those who have everything and those who have nothing. Even when the world goes to shit.”

The tents thin out the farther we drive, and within a couple of miles, there’s nothing at either side of us besides the mountains and cactus plants.

“So, what made you decide to bring us today?” I ask, glancing back to see Six sitting up in the back of the truck, staring out toward the desert while the wind whips at his gray T-shirt.

“I want to show you something. But the place we’re going, with the pears, I could use another set of eyes watching my back.”

I swing my attention back to Papa. “From what?”

“Ragers. The closer we get to the main cities, the more likely we are to see them.”

“City?”

“Las Vegas—or what used to be Las Vegas—is nearby.”

Papa turns off the dirt road, bringing the truck to a stop. Ahead of us stands the only tree I’ve seen for miles, set just short of a plateau of rock, surrounded by shrubs. Twisted in on itself, it lies bent over, with long, thick buttress roots that coil around each other, making for one gnarly-looking tree.

It carries a strange enchantment about it, though, that doesn’t belong with its surroundings. Like something out of the Brothers Grimm fairy tales I once borrowed from the library.

I slide out of the truck, keeping my eyes on the tree as I approach it. The spiraled roots on the outside weave around the hollow base of it, forming what looks like a cage inside the trunk of it. It’s the most unusual tree I’ve ever seen, enormous and sturdy, yet so broken at the same time.

There’s a carving in the wood, and rough bark passes beneath my fingertips as I trace the words there. Sam was here.

Something about the tree is somehow familiar, and as soon as I think that, a flash of memory strikes my head.

Hands reaching in through the bark. Growls. Blood. Pain. So much pain.

“There’s a story about this tree.” Papa’s voice breaks the images passing through my mind, and I turn to find him standing beside me. “They say children wandering the desert would take shelter from the sun inside the trunk of it, and hide here at night from the Ragers. It’s twisted and bent over from carrying the horrible stories of things that happened to those children.”

“What kinds of things?” It’s strange to think this battered and knotted tree, with its branches propping it up from the ground, could offer such safety, and yet, as I run my hands over the thick trunk of it, I believe him.

“That’s just it. No one will ever know.” He crouches down to the base of it and points inside. “Have a look.”

Past the ruined bark, I peer inside, where packs have been set out along with weapons and bottles of water, buried deep into the recesses.