The Seventh Seed

by Allison Maruska

  In the three years since it happened, Javier had tried not to think about that day. His mother had been kind to him, but distant. Still, she was the only mother he knew.

  A few silent minutes passed before Liz asked, “Where is she now?”

  Javier shrugged. “Arizona, I think. My grandparents—her parents—lived there. I got a note from her a few weeks after she took off. She asked me not to look for her.”

  “And you didn’t?” Liz sat up straighter and faced him. “Why didn’t you fight?”

  “I couldn’t fight!” A lump formed in Javier’s throat. “If I called the cops, they’d put me in foster care. I was going to college in a couple months, so I waited it out.” His eyes burned. “I didn’t want to be abandoned. But I couldn’t do anything about it.”

  Liz stayed silent for the remainder of the trip, likely unsure of what else to say. That was fine. Javier didn’t enjoy dwelling on his family problems.

  When Javier drove down the city’s main street, Liz pointed to the right. “Up there. That’s a shelter.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “That tree symbol. See it? Right under the porch light.”

  Javier pulled up closer to the small, brick building. A picture of a cartoonish tree hung to the left of the door, lit by the orange bulb overhead. The tree was wilted, like it was dying. “What does it mean?”

  “The veterans recognize it. We have it on our place too. Only veterans and people helping them are likely to know what it means. The folks at the VA tell the soldiers soon as they get home. That tree means refuge. It’s on soup kitchens and food banks too, but a building like this is a shelter. Let me see if we can get in.”

  Before Javier could ask what “a building like this” meant, Liz hopped out of the van, tried the door, and returned after finding it locked.

  “Better find a place to park.” She slammed the van’s heavy metal door shut. “We won’t be able to get in there ‘til tomorrow.”

  Javier parked the van behind a supermarket, and Liz stretched across the back seat. In minutes, she was asleep. He tried to sleep sitting up in the driver’s seat, but he couldn’t get his mind to stop racing.

  Before tonight, Javier had been portrayed as a drunk driver, weapons smuggler, and drug trafficker. Now, authorities could legitimately connect him to the killing of one federal agent and the wounding of another, and the media was quiet. It didn’t make sense. Logic suggested his face would be plastered across the media even more than it was before.

  About the time the sun peeked over the horizon, Javier grew tired of his own thoughts and decided to go for a walk. He hopped out of the van and winced as he stretched his injured leg, put on his cap and jacket, and walked to a street lined with stores and restaurants.

  Only a coffee shop was open, and the aroma of the morning brew enticed him to enter. As he read the menu, a young woman rushed in and headed straight to the counter.

  “Hey, Sam,” the guy behind the counter said. “The usual?”

  “You got it.” She lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head. “Throw in a lemon Danish, too.”

  While she paid for her food, Javier fixated on her. She had smooth, black hair pulled into a ponytail, and her tan skin and face shape suggested a Latin descent. Only one feature threw off his guess: the freckles covering the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks.

  She looked away from the counter and made eye contact with Javier. “Hi.”

  Javier shook off his trance as heat rushed to his cheeks. “Hi.” He stared at the floor.

  She walked up to him and tilted her head. “I’m Samantha. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

  He offered a nervous smile. “Hector.” Suddenly aware of how long it had been since he showered, Javier took a step back. He waved a finger in front of his nose. “I was just noticing your freckles. I hope that’s okay.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, you’re not the first. They show more when I’ve been in the sun. I volunteered at a pancake breakfast outside the shelter on Saturday.”

  “You work at the shelter?” Javier already had an unwanted connection. He didn’t need anyone from his temporary residence recognizing him later.

  “No. I work at the college, as a T.A. The school is partnered with the shelter. It’s horrible how our country has treated our veterans, so we do what we can.”

  “Here you go, Sam.” The barista set her coffee and pastry on the high counter behind her.

  She twisted around. “Thanks, Brad.” She retrieved her order and returned to Javier. “So what brings you to town?”

  “Oh, I…” He adjusted his cap. “It’s a long story. I’m actually headed to Hayes.”

  “No kidding! My dad owns a restaurant in Hayes. It’s up that road.” She pointed then studied Javier. “How about we meet up there this evening? I’m off work at four. I can give you some tips about the area. Let’s meet at six.” She set her things on the counter, grabbed a napkin, and wrote something on it. “Here’s the name.”

  Javier took the napkin as his mouth became as dry as the California desert. He hadn’t interacted with a girl who was so direct before. “Sam’s? Did he name the place after you?”

  She laughed and picked up her food again. “Sort of. Also a long story. I’ll see you tonight.” She winked and left the shop, leaving him staring at the door.

  Why was Sam so forward? She couldn’t have known who he was. Maybe she was just friendly. She was obviously smart—an employee of the college, even. Perhaps she could get him in the door with a virologist.

  The fact that she captured his attention so effectively didn’t hurt either.

  When Javier walked to the counter to order, Brad was grinning like an idiot. “You’re lucky. I could never get her number.”

  Another burst of heat rushed to Javier’s face, and he laughed awkwardly. “Don’t spit in my coffee, okay?”

  ****

  Bright sunlight shining on Liz pulled her out of her sleep. Sitting up, she fought her heavy eyelids and looked over the front seat—Javier wasn’t there. Where had he gone?

  A moment of worry passed through her before she decided that if something had happened to him while in the van, it would have happened to her too. He’d likely gone in search of a restroom.

  She slung her bag over her shoulder and climbed out, surveying the area before deciding to wander to the shelter. Javier would figure that’s where she went when he came back.

  A long desk filled most of a front lobby. Unlike the shelter in Gunnison, no safety glass separated the employees from anyone who entered. The sight encouraged her. She’d pressured her own shelter’s owners to remove that glass. It damaged the sense of trust they’d wanted to instill in the people who needed them most.

  As she approached the counter, a young man with dirty blond hair and a rough complexion looked up. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes. I saw the tree out there.” She pointed towards the door. “I need a place to crash for a while.”

  He nodded. “Fill out this form,” he slid a clipboard across the counter, “and we’ll get you a bunk. Do you have any money?”

  “A little.”

  “We ask those who can manage to pay five dollars a night.”

  “I can do that for a little while.” She took the clipboard and sat in a line of chairs set against the window.

  A television hung over the desk, tuned to a news station. Liz glanced at it, ready to run or hide her face if a story about her and Javier appeared. The reporters covered last night’s football game.

  Since they’d taken Duane’s van yesterday, she hadn’t heard a single report about the shooting or any of the other stories the media had conjured. The lack of coverage was especially strange now that she’d killed someone she assumed was a cop. The authorities had a legitimate reason to search for them.

  Shaking her head, she returned her attention to the form. The media silence should have provided relief, but her gut told her it was only a matter of time
before her picture was all over the national news again.

  The form completed, Liz headed to the counter, where a short, young woman with a dark brown complexion took it. The woman unlocked a door adjacent to the desk and led Liz through it. Aside from a janitor, no other people occupied the space.

  The woman glanced at the clipboard as she walked. “Hi, Marie. I’m Shana. Usually, residents are required to leave during the day to look for work and go to the soup kitchen for meals. Since you just arrived, you’re allowed to stay today to shower and do laundry. But you’ll have to follow the schedule after that.” She entered a large room filled with bunk beds.

  “I understand.” Liz had better get used to being called Marie. She’d hoped using the name Javier assigned her at Duane’s house would prevent any slip-ups later.

  “Can you manage a top bunk?” Shana asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” She weaved between beds, stopping at one in the back corner. The bottom bunk was neatly made, and a backpack rested at the foot of it. The top bunk held a set of folded sheets and a blanket. “This’ll be your space. It’s the women’s wing. No men are allowed here. Report any that try to sneak over. That’s a zero-tolerance rule.” She stared at Liz for a few moments. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Liz leaned back but recovered, hopefully before Shana noticed. “No. Does that matter?”

  Shana shook her head. “No. It’s fine.” She pointed down a hall to her right. “Showers are down there. You need some clean clothes?”

  Liz nodded while staring at the floor, imitating the look of shame she’d seen on a few residents at her own shelter. While employees weren’t supposed to practice favoritism, those residents usually received extra leniency when it came to the rules. If Shana had worked here a while, she would think Liz had escaped an abusive situation.

  “Okay. Tell me your size and head to the shower. I’ll leave some of our donated clothes in the bathroom for you.” Shana put her hand on Liz’s arm. “Marie, as long as you don’t tell anyone where you are, you’re safe here.”

  Liz offered a polite smile, wondering how long Shana’s statement would be true.

  ****

  After finding the van empty, Javier headed to the shelter. Liz had said she wanted to enter separately, so she wouldn’t have had a reason to wait for him.

  He checked in, and a young guy wearing a Captain America shirt led him to an area full of bunk beds, stopping at one in the middle of the room. “All right, Hector. You sleep here.” He pointed to a bottom bunk. “You stay on this wing. Go on the girl’s side, and you’re out. No warnings. Got it?”

  Javier nodded.

  Captain America pointed down a hall. “Men’s showers are down there. Remember, this is only for today. Tomorrow, you gotta get out of here by 9:00. Anyone staying here needs to be out trying to make money. I’ll get you some clothes.” He left Javier alone among the beds.

  Javier made his way to the showers. The bathroom housed five small stalls, and there was no apparent place to put personal belongings. Reaching into his pocket, he ran his fingers along the napkin Sam had given him, and his stomach filled with anticipation. The longer he thought of their meeting that morning, the more he looked forward to seeing her again that night.

  The name of the place—and her name—were simple enough to remember. She hadn’t needed to write it down. But that didn’t mean he wanted the note to get ruined in this dingy bathroom. He went to his bunk and placed the napkin between the folded sheets.

  “What are you waiting for, a guided tour?” Captain America stood behind him, holding an armful of unfolded clothes.

  Javier tried to keep his wince hidden. “No. I’m going.” He took the bundle and returned to the bathroom.

  He shook out the clothes—a pair of jeans that looked too big and a golf shirt. Hopefully, they were nice enough to convince someone at the lab to let him use some of their space. On the other hand, he had the bees and knowledge of the virus—as did the people of the town, judging by the abundance of bug zappers lining the street.

  There had to be a way to use their knowledge to his advantage.

  Chapter Seven

  As Liz drove the van through Hayes, Javier pointed to a building on the right side of the road. “It’s that brick one, up there.”

  “You sure?” Liz stopped in front of it, eyeing the small, one-story structure. “This looks like an old daycare center.”

  “Could have been.” He grabbed his case and hopped out. “Come back in an hour. I should know by then if they’ll let me work here.” He slammed the door and walked limp-free up the path to the building. Hiding his injury must have been painful, but he managed it well. He didn’t act as if he was nervous about the task ahead.

  Driving down the quiet street, she wondered what to do with her free time. A few people strolled in front of the shops and restaurants. Liz spotted the diner Javier had told her about—Sam’s. He was supposed to meet a girl there in a few hours, an idea that at first seemed foolish but understandable—a kid Javier’s age would naturally be attracted to same-aged women. Liz asked to tag along, though, to be on the safe side.

  The diner’s white exterior and neon signs in the window—one advertising milkshakes—gave it a nostalgic feel. After parking the van, she headed to Sam’s. Couldn’t hurt to check it out. Plus, the milkshake sign made her want one.

  A bell over the door jangled as she entered. The interior was bright, and folksy guitar music played over the speakers, contrasting with the old diner appearance. A young man eating a hamburger sat at a table, and a grungy guy stepped out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a towel as he approached her. “Hi there. Welcome to Sam’s. Table for one?”

  He looked about thirty and sported light brown dreadlocks, two of which he’d used to tie back the others. The parts of his shirt unobscured by the apron appeared discolored, as if it was an old favorite. For some reason, she hadn’t expected an Iowan—or a restaurant worker—to look like him. “Oh, no thanks. I’ll sit at the bar. I’m just getting a drink.”

  “Fair enough.” He held his arm out to the stools as he reclaimed his place behind the counter. “Take your pick. What can I get you?”

  “Vanilla milkshake.”

  “Vanilla? We can do something more interesting than that. Mint chip, cookies and cream, we can even make it adult and throw some Kahlua in there if you want.” He winked.

  She laughed. “Nah, vanilla’s fine. I don’t usually order milkshakes, but your sign is persuasive.”

  “Well, that’s encouraging, because it was expensive.” He gathered ingredients from a fridge under the counter. “Where are you visiting from?”

  “Is it that obvious?” She hadn’t thought she looked out of place. But if this guy was the owner—and he must have been, or he wouldn’t have known the sign was expensive—he probably knew all the locals.

  He shrugged as he poured half and half into a tall metal cup. “People around here have a certain look. So it’s pretty easy to spot the travelers.”

  “What’s the look?” And could being without it put her at a disadvantage, or worse—make her stick out?

  He paused in the middle of scooping ice cream. “It’s hard to explain without being rude.” He set the cup on the shake machine and switched it on.

  “You can explain. I won’t take it personally.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He poured the shake into a tall glass, added a bendy straw and a long spoon, and set it in front of her. He held out a hand. “I’m Jonah. I own this place.”

  She shook it, feeling thick calluses on his fingertips. “Marie. And you’re right. I’m visiting. My nephew’s looking for work. I tagged along.”

  “Where at?”

  “A lab down the road. He’s a scientist.”

  “Hmm. That might not work out.” He put the metal cup into the sink. “That lab is pretty specific in what they do.”

  “What do they do?”

  Jonah g
lanced towards the ceiling, as if he was thinking. “Nutritional stuff. But I guess it depends on what your nephew is into.” He returned to her. “Why don’t you guys come by tonight? We’ll have live music.”

  She sipped the shake. “We were gonna do that anyway. He’s meeting someone. A girl he met in the next town.”

  “Oh, really?” He chuckled. “Probably my daughter. She loves to steer people over here. Your nephew must be a good-looking kid.”

  “Your daughter?” She stared at him. “I’m sorry. You don’t seem old enough to have a daughter that age.”

  Jonah busied himself straightening the already-neat settings of salt shakers and napkin holders. “Good genes, I guess.”

  He wiped the counter while moving away from her. Apparently, their conversation was over.

  ****

  Javier entered an empty front room, separated from the rest of the building by a closed door. He tried the handle: locked. A thumbprint scanner was to the left of the jamb. Above that was a small screen with an adjacent dime-sized lens and a call button. He pushed the button, sounding an irritating buzz, and stared at the black screen. This is a lot of security for a small lab.

  Just when he was about to give up and try getting attention another way, a man wearing thick-rimmed glasses appeared on the screen. Whatever camera he looked into to project his image made his forehead look disproportionally huge. “Yes?”

  Javier looked into the lens on his side, now self-conscious about the size of his own forehead. “Uh, hi. I need to talk to someone in charge.”

  “I’m in charge. What do you want?”

  Javier felt a tinge of relief; he thought he’d have to negotiate through a few steps to reach the boss. “This is a lab, right?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Look, I’m busy. If you’re selling something, move on. We’re not interested.” The screen went black.

  Javier pressed the button again.

  The screen stayed black.

  He banged on the door.