Garden : A Dystopian Horror Novel

by Carol James Marshall

  Tears stung her eyes, but Lola wouldn’t cry. It wasn’t something she did. Instead, she shoved Chandler out of the booth; she landed hard on the floor. Lola stood, ignoring her insulted friend on the floor and walked outside.

  Under her blanket, Suzy held her breath. When she breathed again, she did so slowly and super quiet, as if she were sound asleep. But she was wide awake and listening. It was a little kid trick she had learned a long time ago. If she stayed still and pretended to sleep, her sisters would say things they didn’t want Suzy to know.

  This was how Suzy learned that Jacob was different but good, that Jen loved Danny, and that Robert and Manuel were not mere friends. Pretending to sleep was how Suzy had learned about The Hunt. She didn’t sleep anymore that night she’d learned about The Hunt.

  Tonight, listening to her sisters argue, Suzy cried; no sound or movement; no sobs or heaving shoulders, only tears falling from her eyes, over her nose, down her cheeks, and into her pillow. She didn’t move to wipe them away; if she did, they might realize she was awake.

  Suzy had heard Lola get upset. She had heard her big sister leave, but that wasn’t why Suzy cried. She cried because she couldn’t remember what her mother looked like.

  Jen wanted to go get their parents, to save their parents, and Lola didn’t want Jen to go. What Jen wanted to do had scared Lola. Suzy closed her eyes tightly, hoping to stop the tears flowing. How could Lola always be so brave but always so scared. Suzy didn’t understand it.

  Her eyes closed so tight her nose wrinkled, Suzy tried to remember her mom’s face, only one little thing: the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose. But her mother’s face wouldn’t materialize. She couldn’t see her mom’s eyes or hair, couldn’t smell her soap or shampoo.

  Suzy opened her eyes and saw only the inside of her comforter. Against that backdrop, she tried to see her father. Pieces of her dad's face would rise in Suzy’s mind and fade before coalescing, never forming a whole picture, as if her father was a puzzle with missing pieces.

  Suzy didn’t like Lola being angry or scared, but she wanted to see her parents. She needed to remember their faces.

  Chandler stood inches away from Lola outside the trailer in the Gardener camp. She wanted to place a soothing hand on Lola’s shoulder. Chandler wanted Lola to know she wasn’t trying to be hurtful, that Chandler was simply being who she was, a person of action. If something had to be done, Chandler saw to it. How could she explain that to Lola?

  Keeping her eyes on the night sky, Lola wouldn’t look at Chandler. “I saved you, and now you want to take everything away from me,” came Lola’s harsh, hissing whisper.

  Despite the anger in Lola’s words, Chandler relaxed. “I’m not taking anything away from you,” Chandler said. Her hand moved to touch Lola, but Chandler withdrew it, her fingers curling into her palm. Chandler instead swept her hand in an arc that encompassed the Gardener camp. “I don’t think you understand that all of this is temporary unless we stop Nutri-Corp.”

  She stepped to face Lola, her blue eyes bright in the darkness. Lola shook her head.

  Chandler sighed softly and said, “You and the Gardeners will have to fight, eventually. They will come. Being safe, feeling safe, that isn’t real anymore and will never be while Nutri-Corp exists.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Side Effects

  Then

  “Madam, I need to speak to you. I…I…need...”

  Her assistant was always jittery when she spoke to Madam. Sometimes, her assistant wasn’t jittery, and sometimes, there were the rare occasions when a meeting had gone badly.

  No, she was always jittery. Madam assumed she woke up jittery, went to bed jittery. Jittery twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It was as if her assistant played hourly teeter-totter between almost being completely out of control or about to stroke out. That threatened Madam’s razor-thin patience.

  With her annoyance about to break the surface, Madam lifted an eyebrow in response to the mess of a lab assistant who stood before her. Madam had dubbed this one Number Six, since Madam had already gone through five lab assistants. Lab Assistant Number Six, or simply Six, seemed an appropriate and practical nickname.

  “The test subjects are...” Six paused.

  Madam believed she paused not for emphasis on what she was about to say but to compose herself. Madam could see her assistant steel herself against whatever reaction Madam might take when words finally poured from her mouth.

  Six finally went on, “The test subjects are having side effects. Some have spontaneous and repetitive movements. They can’t seem to control themselves.”

  Were those tears in Six’s eyes? How vulgar. How completely feely of her.

  Madam raised her hand to hush Lab Assistant Number Six. She smiled at her, then stood up and stepped too close to Six. Madam’s breath swept down Six’s neck. Six cowered at the brush of hot breath, but with a sudden burst of valor, Six straightened herself and continued.

  “I believe we should stop giving them YUM. Perhaps we should detox them,” Six blurted, a tremble in her inflection.

  “Detox them?” Madam repeated. “YUM is not toxic.”

  “Oh, yes. I mean no. Of course,” Six stammered, “but I can’t help but wonder if something… Uh, the side effects… The, uh, repetitive movements. It’s really… It’s horrific to see. I wonder if we should stop… Sorry. Uh, pause the experiment?”

  “Horrific?” Madam questioned.

  “Well…” Six paused yet again, perhaps rethinking what she’d said, rethinking what she was about to say.

  Madam patted the woman’s shoulder, almost a caress. Six relaxed at the kindness of the gesture, then Madam gripped Six’s arm, her clasp firm, and coaxed her sixth lab assistant to walk with her down the hall.

  Lab Assistant Number Six kept in step with Madam, who murmured, “I think Jeff will make an excellent Lab Assistant Number Seven.”

  Before a door labeled, “Experiment Facility,” Madam placed her hand firmly between the woman’s shoulder blades. Madam opened the door and shoved Six inside. Test subjects jerked and jerked about the room, as if in some hellish choreography.

  “You,” Madam said with a dazzling smile to the horror-stricken Six, “have been promoted.”

  NOW

  Madam walked the hallways of her home, listening to the tap of her heels on the highly polished floor. She shone with satisfaction because of the cost of her heels and the gleam of her floors.

  The memory of Lab Assistant Number Six had popped into her thoughts, catching Madam off-guard and invading her with memories of a past that seemed like ancient history. How long ago was Number Six? Seven years ago? Maybe eight?

  She had given up having lab assistants at number fourteen.

  Madam stood outside Danny’s bedroom door. Her tight dress felt lacquered on, making each step and breath a calculation, not a fluid movement.

  She’d have it no other way. She would never un-glam herself again.

  Smoothing her dress, Madam smiled as she opened Danny’s bedroom door.

  Madam began her practiced speech to Danny.

  “This morning we are taking a tour of the YUM factory. I am proud to say we’ll start distributing YUM across the borders soon. We must...”

  Madam didn’t think she had his full attention. That would not do. She took Danny’s shoulder in one hand and squeezed, hard, wanting his attention, demanding his focus through pain.

  Would he ever understand the methods behind her ways?

  Madam finished with, “We must expand the factory.”

  In her head Madam thought “factories.” But she wouldn’t give her son that information yet, maybe never.

  He leaned away from her, putting space between them as if repulsed by her. His disdain for her would have once cut Madam's heart in two. She had long ago stitched her heart back together and grown a thick skin. His demeanor no longer ruffled her feathers, but it did anger her.

  Since Danny was a child, she’d
dreamed of having him by her side, a partner to share the glory while she changed the world for the better. Some referred to him as “The Prince,” she liked that because in implied she was The Queen.

  Growing up, Danny had watched her empire grow and dominate the stock markets, whole economies, something a son should be proud of. Now a man, Danny never, ever gave his mother an approving nod. No, not for her. Danny had only a scowl for his mother.

  Standing in his bedroom with him now, nothing but an icy air of disapproval between them, Madam understood she was a villain in his eyes and he a disappointment in hers.

  Chapter Twelve

  Next in Line

  Danny stood in the center of his bedroom. He stood like the Nutri-Corp police did, on guard, ready for whatever came his way. Danny knew that shouldn’t be the way a young man stood in his own bedroom. He should be relaxing, lying on his bed, shoes off, cares tossed to the wind, but that wasn’t life in Madam’s house.

  In Madam’s house, he slept with one eye open, cares shuttered carefully away so she couldn’t smell weakness. Madam’s house was a palace of glitz, a showroom of perfection. It wasn’t a place where love wandered.

  Madam’s house was neither home nor jail. Danny could never quite put his finger on exactly what Madam’s house was. Madam’s house felt like the tip of a sharp needle pointed at an eye.

  What would you call that?

  Danny heard a quick triple-tap on his bedroom door. No need to call, “Come in.” This was Madam’s house.

  His mother stepped into his bedroom. The click of her heels on the floor echoed. Danny forced a smile and didn’t bother to hide it was forced; that was his way of always knowing where she was in relation to him.

  In Madam’s presence, his bedroom took on a sudden iciness, as if something terrible hovered behind her, waiting for the chance to sneak in.

  “Glad to see you smiling, my son,” Madam said. She hugged Danny, running her hand over his hair. Danny heard her breathe him in, checking him for the smell of what? A girl, food? Danny didn’t bother to guess.

  “Good Morning, Madam.”

  Danny called her Madam instead of mother. He knew the rules: He was to call her Madam in public, like everyone else, and Mom at home. He never followed that rule, because, after all, this house was no home. The day Madam would give him a home with warmth, charm, and love, he’d allow the word “Mom” to slip from his tongue.

  She stepped back from Danny but stayed much too near Danny for his ease. He kept his guard up, thinking of the Nutri-Corp soldiers again and what they would do in the face of danger. They were never at ease in her presence, and neither would he be.

  Madam arched an eyebrow but gave her son an approving nod. “This morning we are taking a tour of the YUM factory. I am proud to say we’ll start distributing YUM across the borders soon. We must...”

  She placed a hand on Danny’s shoulder, not like a mother would to reassure her child but, a vise-like grab, like a coach would administer to his star player to drive home how important it was to score a goal, make the basket, hit a home run.

  “…expand the factory,” she finished. “Come.”

  Danny nodded and followed Madam down the hallway, trailing behind her and feeling more like a pampered pet than a son, and that was probably how she felt about him.

  Outside, the entourage of cars and Nutri-Corp police waited for them. He sat in the backseat of an impossibly long stretch limo with Madam, his stomach turning, his mind twisting. He’d understood what she said. He understood what it meant. What he didn’t understand was how to fix it.

  Madam planned for YUM to cross the borders, into another country. She planned to spread this vile, vile thing. Hadn’t ruining one country been enough for her? Must she ruin the world?

  He knew the answer to that.

  Madam reached over and took Danny’s hand. He was so caught up in his despair that her cold touch startled him. He pulled his hand away.

  Oh shit.

  No one did that to Madam.

  Danny’s head jerked around to look at his mother, but his vision blurred. Before it cleared, he thought he’d seen the horns of a devil sprouting from her head.

  Madam put her hand back on her lap, her eyes straight ahead. She casually smoothed her dress, sighed, and said, “Get her out of your head.”

  Chandler and Jen lay prone at the edge of a cliff. They’d covered themselves in branches, leaves, and a camouflage blanket Jacob had found in his father’s shed. Both women held binoculars to their eyes to watch the Nutri-Corp factory workers line up to start their day.

  “What the hell is wrong with them?” Chandler whispered, sounding both confused and repulsed.

  “What?” asked Jen, who was distracted by looking for her parents in the workers’ line-up. If she could see her mom, even for a moment, maybe she would feel better. Lately Jen had become overwhelmed not only with the desire to see her mother but the need to see her mother. More and more, Jen felt like a lost little girl, needing to be held, rocked, soothed by her mother’s firm but kind hands.

  “They are all jerking or twitching,” Chandler murmured. “None of them can stay still. It’s as if they all have bugs on them or in them...” Chandler adjusted the binoculars to a sharper focus, as if doing so would give her a better look at them, give her the ability to figure out why they did what they did.

  Jen nodded, her fingers tightening on the binoculars. There. Her father. He stood in line with the rest of the workers, his left arm shooting straight up every few seconds. Up, then down, back up then down. Jen shifted the binoculars to focus on his face. There was no expression on it. He looked neither happy, sad, mad, nor content. Nothing. A blank sheet of paper.

  “Those are tics,” Jen said. “Not the bug kind. An involuntary muscle contraction that makes you move or utter a sound over and over. You can’t stop yourself. It’s a side effect of YUM.” Jen said all this matter-of-factly, not an ounce of wonderment or sadness or any emotion to her tone.

  Jen couldn’t look at her father anymore. She peered down the line of factory workers, scanning for her mother. Urgency sped her heart up. The bell would soon ring, the factory doors would swing open, and they’d all go in. Where was her mother?

  “Are you kidding me?” Chandler hissed. “That’s what YUM does? Why do people take it?” Chandler sounded confrontational.

  “Because,” Jen whispered, “it’s highly addictive. Not everyone gets bad tics, some get minor ones. Some get tics so bad they can no longer care for themselves. Madam considerers those an embarrassment, and she tosses them out to live or die in Old Town.”

  Unless Robert finds them, Jen thought.

  Chandler sucked in a breath, loud in the stillness. Taking in what Jen had told her and adding that to everything Chandler already knew about Nutri-Corp… Jen wondered if that added fire to Chandler’s desire for confrontation. Or would this new information give her the ingredients for the batter, for a plan?

  Three black SUVs and a stretch limo drove up to the end of the factory worker line. Jen and Chandler both crimped their mouths closed and watched. Nutri-Corp police jumped from the SUVs, their weapons at the ready. They surrounded the limo, and a fleet of drones came in and hovered over it. One officer opened the door, and Madam stepped out.

  Jen’s focused the binoculars on that officer’s hands. He held a Shaky. “Damn,” Jen murmured, “I want a Shaky. The things I could do with one of those.”

  Chandler lowered her binoculars to look at Jen. “What are you talking about? What’s a Shaky?”

  “The weapon they’re holding, the police call it a ‘Shaky.’ It started out years ago as a real gun, a P90. That’s what Robert said. It’s...” Jen stopped when she saw who followed Madam from the limo. He stood tall next to her, his blond hair slicked back. He was clean shaven, dressed in a suit. He looked so above her, and Jen felt so small, so very small and dirty.

  Chandler returned the binoculars to her eyes. “That’s him!” Chandler said, nudging J
en. “The guy who told me where to run. He told me to find the sisters. Who is he?”

  Jen didn’t answer. Her heart was gone, rolling down the mountain, trying to get to Danny to jump into his chest and be with him. That would never happen. Her poor heart. The Nutri-Corp police would stomp on it before it ever reached Danny.

  “He’s Madam’s son,” Jen muttered.

  Chandler did not respond. Instead, she watched with Jen. Four eyes bearing witness to whatever Madam was about to do.

  Madam walked along the line of her workers. She shook hands, smiled at them, and no doubt thanked them for coming to work each day to bring YUM to the world.

  And Jen finally found her mother, two factory workers away from Madam’s attention.

  The binoculars still at her eyes, Jen’s legs, of their own volition, gathered beneath her, ready to push her to stand. In her periphery, Jen caught Chandler’s stare, her brow furrowed, eyes squinting, as if she knew somehow Jen was on the verge of doing something stupid, mighty stupid. Jen was on her knees now; if any of the Nutri-Corp cops happened to look this way, she knew they’d see her. Everything Robert had ever taught her about fading into the background was washed away by the impulse to save her mother.

  Rosa had been at the YUM factory since the beginning. She didn’t take YUM at first, preferring to cook her meals and never wanting to miss the smell of rice, beans, and meat cooking on the stovetop. As the years went by, Rose had grown more and more tired towards the end of the day. The hours at the factory grew longer, and she was getting older. She had given into YUM a year ago.

  YUM made her happy. Happy to always feel satisfied. Instead of minding the food that simmered on the stove, Rosa would pour herself a glass of lemonade, put her feet up, and watch her shows.