Garden : A Dystopian Horror Novel

by Carol James Marshall

  “This is where I’ll put my stash,” Madam said, squinting at her workers and annoyed by the look of confusion on their faces. What weren’t they getting?

  “Stash, Madam?” Lab Assistant Number Nine questioned.

  Madam glared at them all. “This is where I will keep my control group. The humans we’ll will keep here in case we run out of bodies. They’ll think their lives are their own, but they’ll be as much mine as you are. Two plus two equals four.” More confusion, more exchanges of nervous looks. Madam scoffed, “And you call yourselves scientists? Every experiment must have a control group. This will be my control group. Get it, or do I have to drop it down to elementary school science level?”

  They all beamed at her, nodding like the unimaginative robots they were.

  It took some millennia, but humans had learned not to dump their track next to their dwellings, creating those middens that archeologists longed for. Probably from the time of horse-drawn carts, humans hauled their trash and discarded belongings out into the woods and left them. In this part of the world, in this time, those trash heaps included abandoned RVs, trailers detached from semis, garden sheds, anything that could be used for shelter.

  Madam’s workers had changed the Gardener camp from a midden to a livable place, but, again at her instruction, she had also had them make it look like a place where no one would dare to live. The camp would be hidden in the wide open, giving its inhabitants a sense of security while being easily accessible if the time came when Madam needed their bodies.

  Madam was the one who dubbed them the Gardeners, since they’d be forced to grow their own food amid the dilapidated trailers and kudzu spread over the area.

  Madam considered the kudzu another example of her genius. On its own, it would cover the Gardeners’ dwellings with its lush carpet of green. But Madam couldn’t wait years. A bit of bioengineering in her lab, and the kudzu had covered the camp in weeks.

  Perfect. It was perfect. Those humans would live their lives here, thinking they were hidden, thinking they were safe. Such a ludicrous concept; no one was safe from Nutri-Corp, but the Gardeners didn’t need to know that.

  Madam instructed the leaders of the camp to live their lives hidden, nothing more than critters surviving in the deep woods. They were also told to proselytize the need for secrecy. The Gardeners needed to believe that no one, even the great Madam, knew of their escape and life away from Nutri-Corp City and YUM.

  Choosing her housemaid Daisy for the “leader” was also perfect, despite the fact her parasite brother would want in on the action, would think himself the leader. Let him suck the marrow from Daisy’s lame bones and believe himself the savior of man.

  The Gardener Camp, like Nutri-Corp, Nutri-Corp City, Nutri-Corp police, YUM, Shakies, the dinner parties, was another of Madam’s creations. When she needed a diversion, she would think of the Gardeners, fat, dumb, and happy in their squalid camp, and laugh. And her smile would be the broadest when one of them graced her dinner table.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Whistle While You Work

  Leo whistled as he grilled meat patties. Micah couldn’t help but notice that the proud man seemed content tonight, almost happy. Leo had a long line going at his food truck. That was money in his pocket and, Micah assumed, the fuel for his contentment.

  What did Leo do with the money?

  Nutri-Corp had taken over the state they lived in, and the surrounding states had quickly followed suit. Madam had inflicted YUM among the masses. Mile after mile outside the radius of Nutri-Corp City was nothing but towns like Old Town, full of poverty and people overtaken by tics, people existing but not living.

  Where would Leo use money? Was paper money still valuable somewhere? In Nutri-Corp City, Nutri-Corp provided jobs, housing, YUM, and even healthcare. Of course, all deducted from your pay check as “handling fees.” What was left was, well, mostly pocket lint.

  So, somewhere… There had to be a somewhere where paper money was still used and still had value. Was it the other states as yet untouched by Nutri-Corp? Were there any such places left. Micah and everyone else in Nutri-Corp City assumed that Madam had taken over the country, if not the world? But what if that wasn’t true? What if there were places out there not only free of Nutri-Corp but fighting against it? Could there be a place on this planet untouched by the vulgarity that was Madam’s view of how the world should be?

  If that was the case, there had to be a place where humans were human and not a commodity, not a food source?

  Micah eyed the line at Leo’s. Maybe the money Leo made went to one of those places, which meant Leo would come and go there. Maybe more money would convince Leo to take someone with him.

  No, Micah couldn’t leave without Clarissa and his child within her, the child he didn’t want Nutri-Corp to touch. More importantly, he couldn’t leave without doing something, anything that would take Madam down. If he could not only stop Madam and Nurti-Corp but also erase them from existence, then Micah could go wherever in the world, put his feet up, and never think of Nutri-Corp City again.

  “Leo says you can get me tires.”

  Lost in his treasonous thoughts, Micah almost jumped at the words. He hadn’t noticed the young man now sitting on the curb by his side. The young man's words had swooped down on Micah in such a way that Micah felt them more than heard them.

  The young man looked like the star athlete at a high school, the guy most likely to win the heart of the masses. When Micah recognized him, he said, “The cook's assistant. Well, well what are you doing slumming down here?”

  “I could ask the same of you,” said the guy. He held out his hand and casually added, “Jeff.”

  Micah took his hand. “Micah. Tires won’t be a problem,” Micah lied. “But I need some things in return.”

  Jeff nodded, not questioning or arguing. Of course, Jeff would know Micah would want something in return for the tires. Give and take was the way of the world. Under the table deals for needed goods was the way of Nutri-Corp City.

  “Name it,” said Jeff his eyes following a black SUV rolling past them and heading straight toward Leo and the worker apartments in the background.

  Micah caught Jeff’s gaze. The familiar SUV rolling by made the hair on his neck and arms stand up. Was Madam in that car, and had she seen him?

  Jeff must have sensed Micah’s alarm. He said, “Don’t worry. That’s Danny, the son. He’s here slumming with his girlfriend. She’s an…outsider.”

  Fireworks went off in Micah’s brain, as if someone had struck him with a lightning bolt of both luck and dumb.

  “Outsider?” Micah blurted.

  “Yes,” Jeff answered. “There’s a camp...out in the woods. They call themselves something... Garden or something.” Jeff became agitated. “I heard about it from listening to Cook talk to the Hunters. They aren’t supposed to bother those outsiders. They can’t be hunted.”

  Micah’s brain fizzed with ideas. Telling himself to slow down, he asked Jeff, “When you get the tires, what’s happening? What are you going to do with them?” Micah hoped he sounded casual, that his question was offhand. He didn’t want Jeff to know how much intel he wanted.

  Micah watched Danny, a Nutri-Corp police officer, and a young woman leave the SUV and head for the worker apartments. Everyone for a mile out kept their gaze glued to them. For once Micah felt blended into the crowd on this side of town.

  Jeff, his eyes also on Danny, merely said, “Out of here.”

  “Can’t get out of here. You can’t drive out the front gates and away,” Micah said, with a snort.

  “Danny,” Jeff said, pointing down the street. “Danny promised me there’s a way out, and he’s going to tell me about it.”

  Micah stretched his legs out in front of him, wondering if Clarissa would listen to him when he told her it was time to leave town. Probably not, but there were ways around that.

  “Well, then, you have your tires on an honor system,” Micah said. The smell of
Leo’s cooking pulled him towards the food truck. Or maybe he wanted to be nearer to whatever show was about to take place outside the workers apartments.

  “Honor system?” asked Jeff.

  “Yes, when you get ready to leave, you take me and my wife with you.” Micah was done but then remembered something else. “Also, I want some fresh produce.”

  Jeff calculated the room in his truck. He’d had himself, his father, this guy, and his wife.

  Jeff stood, sticking his hand out yet again to Micah.

  “Deal,” Jeff said and nodded. He again pointed in the direction of the black SUV. “He’ll come through. You’ll see. Danny is a legit decent human being. Nothing like his mom. He never comes to the dinner parties.”

  Jeff walked away, ducking behind a small street level billboard that read.

  Lola woke, startled from a dream that felt woven around her. She was almost inclined to stand up and shake the dream out of her hair, whisk it off her shoulders. This dream, the same dream she had repeatedly for years, returned last night after a long break. Nothing in this dream was ever clear, except for the overwhelming realization she was lost.

  In the dream, Lola walked for miles, looking under every pebble, searching her mind for why she was wherever she was. She looked for what she had lost, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

  This dream was always full of panic. She had to find whatever it was she sought. It was important, extremely important, but no matter where she looked, she couldn’t find it. As the dream looped on and on, anxiety rose in Lola until it startled her awake. When she woke, calm washed over her when she realized all was not lost. All was well.

  Until tonight. Tonight, Lola had to will herself out of her nightmare.

  Why did she have that dream over and over? What was she looking for? Why was it so important?

  The nightmare felt like a punishment. Was it punishment for being stubborn, mule-headed, determined that no matter the odds she and her sisters would survive?

  That wasn’t a bad thing. How could wanting the ones you love to be safe be bad? Why this nightmare on repeat? Why such torture?

  “Suzy?” Lola called. She needed to see if her little sister still slept off the fever.

  No answer.

  “Suzy?” repeated Lola, putting some volume to it.

  Again, nothing.

  “Suzy?” This was a demand, but the panic, the urgency was clear.

  Someone began to knock on the trailer’s screen door, and Lola knew before she had any evidence that Suzy was gone and that something was wrong.

  Danny sensed Jen’s shaking as he led her to her parents’ apartment. He said nothing. All the sunken-eyed residents out and about stood aside when they saw him and the officer coming. They scrambled to grab their children and to hide their tics, fearful of the Shaky BD held.

  One woman saw Danny come up the stairs and leapt to her feet, her head bobbing like one of those toys you got at baseball games. In desperation, she reached for her young son who sat on a blanket by the landing. The boy relentlessly snapped his fingers, and his head whiplashed back and forth, again and again.

  The panic in the woman’s face would be evident to a blind man. That boy was her dirty secret. She felt safe enough off the streets in the apartment building to allow him to enjoy a cool night breeze. Then, Danny came up the stairs with a Nutri-Corp officer bringing up the rear, and her secret was out.

  He wanted to stop, tell her not to be afraid, that he wouldn’t tell his mother; that the officer wouldn’t tell Madam either. After all, the guilty party was his mother, wasn’t it? Guilty for creating such a thing as YUM. Or was this woman as guilty for giving it to her child day after day knowing what it was doing to him?

  “It’s at the end,” BD interrupted.

  When Danny heard they were so near to what Jen desired most in the world, the woman and her troubles vanished from Danny's thoughts.

  Jen had heard BD, too. She rushed to get in front. No doubt, she wanted to be the one to knock on her parents’ door.

  Danny and BD stood back as Jen knocked on the door. No response. She turned to Danny.

  “I forgot. They won’t answer a knock,” she murmured. “They used to be terrified a stranger’s knock on the door was Immigration. My parents will not answer a stranger’s knock on their front door. They would hide and hope whoever it was would go away.”

  Danny nodded but couldn’t voice his thoughts: Now they were equally terrified of the Nutri-Corp police showing up.

  She edged closer to the door, raising her voice enough to be heard but not to attract any undue attention. “Papa, Mami soy yo...soy Juana,” said Jen.

  Danny’s heart sank when he heard Jen use her real name, a name she hated, one that said nothing about who she was in this country.

  “Todo estay buen..abrir la puerta...por favor,” Jen said, crying now. “Mami, Papa, I’ve come all this way. I can’t leave. I won’t leave. I have to see you, feel your arms around my waist. Papa, I want to feel the warmth of your hand on my cheek.”

  Danny stepped up to stand beside Jen, unashamed of the tears in his eyes. The woman he loved was falling, and he didn’t know how to catch her.

  The door creaked open to reveal Jen’s father, eyes big as moons. He reached for his daughter and pulled her into the apartment. The man wrapped his right arm around her, his soft whispers of “Mi niña...” reaching Danny.

  Jen’s father’s left arm shot up and down in a rhythm Danny thought had to be the man’s heartbeat.

  Danny followed Jen inside and motioned BD to do the same. BD gave a quick glance around and entered, closing the door behind him. BD stood by the door, Shaky in hand, eyes off in the distance as he concentrated to quell his emotions.

  Jen separated herself from her father and asked, “Donde esta mi mami?”

  Her father’s face erupted in grief or relief. Danny could not tell which. Did Jen’s father not want someone else to bear witness to his wife’s troubles? He managed to point in a direction Danny assumed was the rear of the apartment.

  Frowning, Jen headed in the direction her father pointed towards and Danny moved to follow. Jen’s father’s put his hand up, shaking his head. Danny looked back at BD, who nodded; best to give the girl and her mother privacy.

  Jen walked into the one bedroom the apartment had. At least Madam had granted her workers that much. She opened the bedroom door slowly.

  The first thing Jen saw was her mother’s feet. Nothing unusual. She’d seen her mother’s feet before.

  Then, Jen saw the ropes.

  Her mother’s feet were tied at her ankles, and ropes went from her ankles to the bedposts. More ropes at the thighs held her mother’s legs in place on the bed.

  Even then, Jen could see the leg muscles twitch. The bed frame shook with the contractions of those leg muscles, the tics constant even though Jen could see her mother was sleeping.

  In her sleep her mother’s face scrunched into a ball of anger, then released to calm. Over and over. Anger to calm. Anger to calm. All through this activity, came the soft snore of exhaustion. But at least her mother slept.

  Jen was not angry at her father for tying her mother to the bed. Jen understood. If he did not do this, the constant movement of her mother’s legs would never allow her to rest at all.

  Jen sat on the bed next to her mother. Jen could feel the mattress move with the intensity of her mother’s tics. Jen softly whispered, “Mami,” and patted her mother’s arm. A memory of being eleven and ready for school but gently waking her mother to tell her she loved her flashed in Jen’s memory. She was a little girl again, a little girl who only wanted to tell her mom she loved her before she went to school.

  Her mother’s eyelids fluttered, and she muttered, “Juana...”

  Despite the sorrow enclosing her, Jen smiled and began to untie the ropes.

  Chandler could breathe again. Her mind felt less dense, and reason marched back up her spine and took over her thinking. She sat up in the
empty car. Alone. She peered in all directions around the car. She should have at least looked up to see where Jen, Danny, and the Nutri-Corp officer had gone.

  Now here she was—a sitting duck. Chandler sat up straighter and listened to the quiet enveloping the neighborhood.

  Wasn’t it noisy when they got here? Weren’t kids running everywhere? Now, it was beyond quiet. Lights in apartments were out. No one was on the streets. It felt as if the whole block held its breath.

  Chandler sniffed and recognized the smell of cooking in the air. The metallic odor of a hot grill, the earthiness of cooking meat, smells that should not be in any part of Nutri-Corp City. Chandler forced herself up from the floorboard to the seat. She rolled down the window, the whir of the small motor in the door sounding overwhelmingly loud. She looked around, continuing to sniff. She closed her eyes, remembering she’d smelled this before. Yes, it was the smell of an afternoon barbecue on a hot summer day.

  Chandler unlocked the car door and stepped out, nervously peering around. She shouldn’t be smelling food cooking near the workers apartments, but she did. How was this possible?

  A slight turn and Chandler spotted the street vendor.

  The vendor was the only person maybe for miles, he stood next to a building, looking directly at Chandler. The smell of cooking food seemed to intensify, and Chandler’s mouth watered. Smoke wreathed the man—she could almost feel it sting her eyes—and he motioned for her to come, a big smile on his face.

  As if drawn by a magnet, Chandler took a step toward the man…

  Buzzing interrupted her memories of food and the man’s lure.

  She knew that sound! It haunted her in her dreams almost nightly.

  The Hunt.

  Chandler pivoted and yanked the car door open.

  Back in the car, she crouched again on the floorboards and pulled the floor mats over her.

  She dared not breathe in case the swarming drones had grown ears.