Garden : A Dystopian Horror Novel

by Carol James Marshall

  Chandler went on, “People have gone missing in The Hills never to be found, and now I know where they went.”

  Chapter Five

  There is No Need to be Afraid

  Exhausted, covered in forest muck, Chandler’s eyes watered. Exhaustion now had her at a mental breaking point, but she wanted to weep because grief had settled deep within her: grief for her past life in The Hills with her family and friends, all those taken from her; grief for what being in Nutri-Corp City had done to her. As the memories cascaded, she wondered if she would ever sleep again?

  Now, more grief because she sat in an old tent outside the Gardener compound. They hadn’t allowed her to clean up, eat, or sleep. Chandler felt like a prisoner waiting to be interrogated. She had done no wrong except follow some strange guy’s advice, but they were treating her as if she had.

  Chandler had hiked for what felt like days with the three girls before they reached the outskirts of the Gardener camp.

  “I’m sorry,” the one called Lola said, as she rested her hands on Chandler’s shoulders. “I can’t bring you in. You have to be interviewed by our leaders first.”

  Chandler wanted to rest her head on Lola’s chest and sob. Instead, Chandler stood straight, though she wanted to lie on the forest floor and die. But Lola’s face showed Chandler sympathy and compassion.

  “We went through this,” Lola told her. “Everybody does. Sometimes I question the system, but I want to live with the Gardeners so I deal with it. The Gardener leaders know what they’re doing, and they have good reason for doing it this way. Believe beyond belief that the Gardener leaders have their reasons. They have reasons for everything and anything.”

  Chandler tried to swallow, but her throat and mouth were too dry to accomplish that. She asked, “Will you come back for me?”

  She was pleading, she knew, but for some reason Lola felt safe. Lola was the first sense of safety since Chandler had been taken from her home in The Hills. She couldn’t let that go. Chandler wouldn’t let Lola go so easily.

  Lola looked around the small dingy tent but didn’t answer. Chandler followed her gaze. There was nothing in the tent except a card table and rusted folding chairs.

  Lola tried to smile at Chandler. “Hey, I remember my first time in this tent. My littlest sister Suzy clung to my side while our middle sister Jen stood there, hands balled up in fists, ready to punch, ready to fight. There was no need for fighting. We soon learned the Gardeners have strange ways, but violence isn’t one of them. So, there’s no need to be afraid. Gardeners are pacifists. They don’t believe in violence, except in hunting game for food.”

  Chandler led Lola back her chair. When Chandler sat, Lola swiped her hair off her face and eyes, sending ripples of gooseflesh down Chandler’s arms.

  Lola went on, “They’ll ask you a few questions. Answer them all honestly. They use the information only for our protection. When they’re done, I’ll come for you.”

  “Can I stay with you and your sisters?” Chandler asked. Inwardly she cringed; that sounded panicked, as if she’d tossed all pride away. Her face felt hot then, her cheeks quaking at the words coming from her mouth. She wasn’t sure she could hold it together much longer.

  “Yes,” answered Lola gently.

  Before Lola could assure her further, she turned away, toward the sound of the tent flap opening. With a final smile for Chandler, Lola held out her hand to greet a man and woman who came into the tent.

  Lola turned back to Chandler, smiling like a mother reassuring a child on the first day of kindergarten. Lola pointed to the man. “This is Manuel.” She indicated the woman. “This is Daisy. They...” Lola smiled—no, more like she smirked. She continued, “…run this joint.”

  Chandler rose to accept Manuel’s and Daisy’s smiles and handshakes. Lola slipped from the tent.

  After a quick look around, Manuel said, “Give us a second to find some chairs and we’ll be right back.” Still smiling, they ducked back through the tent flap.

  Chandler sat again but only because her legs no longer felt part of her. They felt severed at her hips from exertion. Chandler’s mind said run; her legs didn’t bother to obey.

  While she waited, Chandler reflected not on the safety she was now supposed to feel but more on the stupid small things she wished she had taken care of at home before she’d left that night, before the Nutri-Corp thugs had kidnapped her.

  She should have, she thought, trimmed her nails. They were too long now, extending past her fingers like claws. Dirt had caked beneath her nails; one or two were broken, jagged from everything she’d endured.

  She should have carried cash. She left home with only her debit card. She didn’t know if cash would have helped her, but maybe she could have bought her freedom that night.

  Chandler wiggled on the hard, metal chair, her bottom throbbing with the ache of sitting too long. They had said a few minutes to get chairs, but it seemed longer. It seemed like hours. She begged her legs to comply, to allow her to stand, maybe run, but her legs and feet conspired to stay put. Unfortunately, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Thirst rang through Chandler’s body. Her tongue felt cemented to the roof of her mouth, much like her brain felt clogged. She needed water to free her mouth, to cleanse the debris that clogged her mind. Once cleansed, she could speak, breathe, think clearer.

  If she was truly safe now, wouldn’t they have taken care of her physical needs first? Wouldn’t they have fed her, given her something to drink, let her bathe, allow her to rest somewhere other than this cold, hard chair that had set her muscles aching? Wouldn’t they have done that before making her answer questions.

  Safe was not sitting in a dingy tent in Nowhere Woods waiting for two strangers to ask her… What?

  The idea of a glass of water overtook Chandler’s thoughts. A tall glass with ice and water, beads of condensation gliding down the clear, cool glass. Anger then bubbled in her, and she felt a fight coming on.

  The tent flap opened again, and Chandler ordered her body to relax and not show the panic-anger she felt. Keep her walls up, she told herself, at least for now.

  Daisy’s head popped in first, followed by her body. She carried three bottles of water, a large mason jar, and a spoon.

  Smiling, she set everything on the card table in front of Chandler. Seconds later, Manuel joined them, carrying two camping chairs, and three steaming mugs. Coffee? Chandler’s mouth watered at the thought of coffee, but she didn’t smell the familiar odor. Hot tea maybe. It smelled of lemon. Chandler’s throat tightened; her dad drank lemon tea.

  Would she ever see her dad again?

  “We won’t keep you long,” Manuel said. “I have hiked from Old Town to camp many times. I know how tired you must be.” Manuel nodded to the water bottles, hot tea, and Mason jar. “Please, drink something and eat. It’s ground rabbit and macaroni.” He beamed, a proud grin lighting up his face. “Macaroni is a treat.”

  Chandler tried to open the jar, but her hands shook. Daisy took the jar, opened it, then handed it and the spoon to Chandler. Chandler stared at them as if she didn’t know what to do.

  “I can help you eat, if you need me to.” Daisy said.

  Chandler shook her head, feeling ashamed of seeming helpless. She’d feed herself, no matter how much her hands trembled.

  “You eat while we will talk,” Manuel said, taking a sip of his tea. He glanced at Daisy and continued, “We call ourselves the Gardeners. We live off the land as best we can. We grow and hunt our food.” He laughed slightly. “Sometimes we scavenge food, like the macaroni.”

  Swallowing the little bit of food she’d managed to get in her mouth, Chandler asked, “Does Nutri-Corp know about you?” She reached for a water bottle, praying that she could open it on her own.

  “Yes, and no,” Daisy replied, giving Chandler a sincere smile, so sincere it teetered on the edge of untrustworthy. Daisy’s mouth smiled, but her brows were furrowed almost knotted together. She was lying. No, Chandler
corrected herself; she was conflicted.

  “They suspect we exist, but they haven’t wanted to come this far out to the woods. Nutri-Corp has their tidy city, full of tech, full of YUM, packed with victims of YUM who answer only to their master… Their mistress. Madam.” Anger filled Daisy’s last words. Manuel looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “But…” Chandler couldn’t find the right words, and she was almost afraid to say them once they formed in her head. “Won’t they eventually come? They come for everyone. The Hills fought them, but they still come to The Hills and kidnap us. They creep around our city. They take people from their families, friends, homes to...to...to…” Chandler swigged water from the water bottle. She couldn’t say it out loud.

  “Hunt them,” Manuel said, shrugging. “They hunt people for fun. They hunted you.” He pointed at Chandler then, as if she needed clarity on the matter.

  “Yes,” answered Chandler with more emotion that she wished to show. “We need to stop them. You have to go to The Hills, tell them what you know, fight Nutri-Corp together.”

  Daisy and Manuel leaned back in their chairs, like synchronized swimmers right on cue. “We don’t bother anyone,” he said, stammering a bit, his accent now thick and shaky. Chandler had hadn’t noticed it until now.

  Daisy ignored him. Chandler could see the wheels in her head turning, but the screws were loose and the wheels ready to fall off and roll away. “Yes,” Daisy said, her inflection robotic, “we prefer to stay hidden, safe.”

  “Hidden?” Chandler choked back a laugh. “For how long?”

  Daisy leaned forward, but Manuel didn’t. He picked up his teacup, drank from it, motioning for Chandler to do the same. She picked up her teacup, took a sip, enjoying the wash of hot lemon tea soothing her dry mouth.

  “Please,” Daisy said, “tell us about the night they took you--only that. Eventually, we want to know the details of what they did to you in Nutri-Corp City, but for tonight simply tell us what happened when they took you.”

  Chandler felt as if Daisy were beseeching, but Chandler couldn’t get a handle on her. Was Daisy really safe, or was she pretending to be safe?

  Swallowing more tea Chandler responded, “I’ve lived in The Hills my whole life, born there. I thought…” Once again, words failed Chandler, even though her thoughts raced around her head. More tea and a deep breath later, she said, “I thought I’d have a family there, die there...” She laughed then, rolled her eyes, and went on, “I was walking to a neighbor’s house to watch a movie.”

  Sighing, Chandler tried to focus harder. She took yet another sip of tea, a bite of the macaroni, chewed, and swallowed. She continued, “Nobody really has entertainment stuff anymore. They’re a treat. All of The Hills resources go to fighting Nutri-Corp and keeping our citizens fed.”

  The need for sleep made her eyelids droop, buzzed in Chandlers ears, telling her it was perfectly all right to slip from the chair and sleep on the dirt floor. “I was looking forward to it, the movie,” she said, though to her own ears, her words sounded as if they’d come from a distance. “Half way down the block, someone stepped out from behind...”

  “Did you see their faces? A car. A truck, anything at all?” Daisy interrupted.

  Was Chandler imagining that Daisy leaned toward her as she persisted on pestering Chandler for more information. Information Chandler didn’t have to give.

  Manuel casually, no flippantly, smiled at Chandler as he placed a hand on Daisy’s arm and said, “Don’t push. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

  When would “ready” happen? How could they possibly believe she’d ever be ready to tell such a horrible tale. Chandler felt a growl catch in her throat, but she felt a whimper was right behind it.

  Chandler looked at her teacup, then at Daisy and Manuel. The world was falling out from beneath her, and she felt as if she were actually falling. Her words slurring, she said, “You drugged me...”

  I’m floating, Chandler thought; I am tired, but I shouldn’t be floating...

  Manuel stood to catch Chandler as she was about to fall sideways off the chair.

  With Chandler’s limp body in Manuel’s arms, Daisy looked at Chandler. She rubbed at the dirt on her face with a finger.

  “Poor thing. Let’s take her in. Let her sleep,” Daisy murmured.

  Manuel looked at Daisy then Chandler. With a whistle, he walked out of the tent and toward camp.

  “Jacob, stay here and watch her for a while,” Lola said, patting Jacob on the back. She wanted to ruffle his bright red hair but didn’t want to upset him. He hated when people messed with his hair.

  Jacob nodded and rested his hands on his chest as he stared at Chandler intensely. Jacob always followed orders.

  Lola had almost finished changing clothes when she decided to lie on the bed for a quick rest, but she must have dozed. A snort, followed by a scream, jolted her awake. Half-dressed, Lola rushed from her bedroom in the trailer to the kitchen area. Jacob stood blocking the door, and Chandler stood staring at him. Lola could feel Chandler’s fear thunder around the room.

  “Chandler, it’s okay,” Lola said softly, sweetly. “Jacob is nonverbal. He can’t speak. He was watching over you for me. Jacob is…” Lola looked at him then, love radiating from her eyes. “…the kindest person I know.”

  Jacob blew Lola a kiss, his small eyes darting from Lola to Chandler. His shoulders only relaxed once Chandler sat down.

  “I’m sorry,” Lola said. “I needed to rest, change clothes.”

  Lola studied Chandler. She was ragged with dirt, but there was a glow underneath the grime, something Lola couldn’t quite put a finger on. A spark of fight? An ounce of determination? What was it?

  Jacob started to laugh at Lola, pointing at her. Lola realized she stood there in her underwear, clutching the pair of shorts she hadn’t put on. Jacob pointed at Chandler and back at Lola before laughing again. Chandler’s stony, fearful expression melted a bit. She clamped her hands over her mouth as if to laugh, but a sob escaped. Her eyes full of tears, she looked at Lola.

  “Why did they drug me?” Chandler asked.

  Lola looked at Jacob. “Hey, buddy, can you go find Suzy for me?”

  Jacob gave Lola a salute, waved goodbye to Chandler, and left, slamming the trailer door behind him.

  Lola stepped into her shorts and zipped them. She looked Chandler in the eye and said, “They didn’t want you to see where camp was. They don’t trust you yet.”

  Chandler rolled her eyes, hands falling away from her mouth. “Well, I don’t trust them either. So, it’s even.”

  Chapter Six

  Right Time, Right Place

  Jen watched Robert spoon-feed a Popper in its cage. Robert gently, almost tenderly, dropped a spoonful of broth into the Popper’s mouth. To Jen’s surprise the Popper seemed grateful for every drop. Its eyes darted between Robert’s face and the spoon. When the spoon got close, it opened its mouth like a greedy baby bird.

  Robert spoke, startling the Popper whom he gently cradled in his lap. “No need to hide, Jen. I know you are there.”

  He always knew, and that bothered Jen. She could fool everyone except Robert. No matter how hard she tried to lose herself in the environment, Robert could find her. She was sure he could probably hear her blink.

  “I wasn’t hiding, compa. I was merely observing quietly.”

  Jen stepped forward and stood next to the cage. She took a better look at the Popper. It was a man this time. He looked young, in his twenties maybe. His hair had been sharply cut by a skilled barber. The Poppers nails were clean. His clothes looked posh. This confused Jen. Robert usually kidnapped the ragged Poppers from Old Town, doing his best to save them, before eventually having to put them out of their misery.

  Robert considered what he did a ministry. He was saving souls one Popper at a time, by removing the YUM from their systems and returning them to what he believed was their intended nature as omnivores.

  Jen considered his work not
hing but wasted time, especially since most of the Poppers, once “cured” by Robert, tried to sneak back to Nutri-Corp, back to YUM. He always caught them, shot them, and buried them in his Popper graveyard. After, he was full of fake remorse, crying alligator tears and remarking about how he did his best. Standing by the graves, Robert would swear, “I’ll get it right next time.” There was always a next time.

  Jen looked past the cage’s bars, past the trees to that graveyard. It was getting crowded.

  Jen preferred her way. Her way was honest, she didn’t bother to lie to herself about the possibility of saving Poppers. Instead, she took care of the situation right then and there, not once considering that there could be another way. There was no other way.

  She worried that Robert’s “ministry” was his way of evangelizing his sadistic side or was he foolish enough to believe that what he did was actually “the right thing?” She didn’t know.

  “I picked this one up right outside Nutri-Corp City,” Robert said. “He was joyriding when his tires suddenly went flat.”

  Robert patted the Popper on the head and eased him down on the dirty blanket inside the cage. As Robert stood, the Popper’s eyes grew wide, eyelids opening farther than Jen thought possible. It mumbled something before its eyes started to roll back and its body went limp, tics stilling.

  “You kill it already?” Jen asked, perplexed. She wondered if Robert expected her to help in the burial and, worst of all, pretend interest in his whole parade of emotions after.

  “Nope. Put him to sleep. He’s loud. I’ve only had him a day. It’ll take a while before he learns to be quiet.”

  Robert locked the cage and threw a tarp over it, all the while soulfully shaking his head.