Garden : A Dystopian Horror Novel

by Carol James Marshall

  Madam kept the good doctor and her nurse outside the city, hidden away from the world of Nutri-Corp.

  The doctor and nurse were kept prisoners in a trailer with expensive and sometimes human diversions to occupy their time.

  Madam knew her doctor’s weakness and cashed in on it.

  “What will you name her?” asked the nurse, pen in hand, a smirk brewing.

  Madam didn’t give out Dolly’s name that day to the staff. There would be no record of her birth. In response to her nurse's question she sighed and demanded they bring Sir out of the waiting room to meet his daughter.

  Will’s lips puckered as he looked at the body on the floor of Victoria’s bedroom. It was the body of a woman, maybe late fifties. The woman hadn’t been dead long enough to smell yet, and for that Will, Madam’s nurse and roommate to Victoria, Madam’s personal doctor, was grateful. He had so few things to be grateful for, and the lack of death stench on this corpse was something to be noted in his wretched existence.

  Will counted one, two, three…six IVs in this body. Victoria experienced a giddy joy in loading people with IVs, something Madam was well aware of. Madam also knew Victoria hated her with something beyond passion. Madam probably appreciated the irony of allowing, even encouraging Victoria’s passion; Madam shipped IV needles, tubing, bags of saline, and “pincushion people”—Victoria’s term—for Victoria to occupy her ample free time with.

  Multiple bodies for Victoria to stab at were a payment of sorts, perhaps a tithe. Before Nutri-Corp came into her life, Victoria was a leader in medical science, interviewed on TV shows, a prolific contributor to medical journals, a renowned scientist respected by her peers and the public alike, a learned doctor whose skepticism for Nutri-Corp’s signature product was well known. But Madam discovered Victoria’s secret, as it were—Madam would often laugh at her own pun and torment Victoria with it.

  Victoria was a nationally, globally respected doctor who paid male and female prostitutes for their time in her basement serving as pincushions.

  Once Nutri-Corp became a business powerhouse, Madam swept up Doctor Victoria and imprisoned her in this trailer guarded by Nutri-Corp police with only Will to keep her company.

  At first, Doctor Victoria refused to work with Madam. She demanded to be killed, begged to be tossed to The Hunt instead.

  The ever-crafty Madam waited for Doctor Victoria to jones for her habit. At the right moment, Madam sent boxes of supplies and the people Victoria could stick with her needles.

  Lost in her lust, Victoria accepted her fate as Madam’s personal physician in order to have one more prick of flesh.

  Will, who Nutri-Corp police ran off the side of the road after his shift at the hospital, was left with the dirty work of removing IVs from people, tossing aside the depleted bags of saline, watching the poor fools sputter at him, attempt to grab at his hands in a silent plea for help only to realize that their hands were tied to the rails of their bed and their mouths had been expertly gagged.

  Will didn’t know why they’d picked him. Was he a random choice? Had they watched him, selected him on purpose? He knew better than to ask, and, well, how bad could it be?

  Time and time again Will watched Victoria’s breath grow deep and quick as she excitedly prodded another IV into a body that already had too many.

  Time and time again he said nothing but wiped the pink spittle that foamed in the corners of their mouths while he watched them drown in fluid.

  Victoria seemed unbothered by the plight of her human pincushions.

  “Why not bring her pigs, or something instead?” Will dared ask Madam one day during one of her rare visits to the house of horrors where she kept them prisoner.

  “Well,” Madam began, her nose wrinkling as she stood in the living room littered with discarded IV paraphernalia and experienced the smell of the trash can full of used adult, “Victoria deserves the best, and, well, the best is people...”

  Madam smiled at him, fanned her hand beneath her nose, and walked out.

  Now with Madam’s newborn in his arms, Will tried to dislodge the thoughts of a continued life with Doctor Victoria. He slowly rocked the newborn infant back and forth, like anyone would holding such a bundle of adorableness.

  From somewhere came the thought he should simply drop the infant on the floor. On her head.

  Will pictured the pink squirmy mess of a baby girl he had helped deliver slipping from his arms and plopping with a thud on the delivery room floor.

  He held the baby for a moment more, relishing that thought. He looked at Madam, smiled, and watched Madam’s face light with fear and loathing, as if she’d read that thought.

  Oh, how he’d pay for that. He’d be next on the menu of proteins to serve with pasta at one of Madam’s dinner parties.

  Instead of dropping the newborn, Will looked at the child. It wasn’t the baby’s fault. She’d had no choice in this matter. Like him, the baby was nothing but a puppet in this madwoman’s game.

  Shoving his sinful thoughts aside, Will handed the child over to Victoria, who, he realized was no safer than him with the baby. If the good doctor Victoria was left alone long enough with the infant, it too would become another pincushion. Victoria had no limits to the depth of her aichmophilia.

  “What will you name her?” asked Sir, running his index finger over one of the infant’s pink, perfect arms.

  “Dolly,” Madam said flatly and with no explanation.

  Sir didn’t need one.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Blight Upon the Planet

  Robert stood in his Popper graveyard. On his way there, he had stopped by Daisy’s cage but hadn’t spoken to her. Daisy understood she was part of his background now, a thing, nothing more than the dirt beneath his feet. People didn’t acknowledge things; they didn’t say hello to their chairs or pay attention to the dust that settled on their bookshelves. Daisy was now that to Robert, nothing more than an unacknowledged thing.

  During the night, Daisy had heard a howl from whomever the feet belonged to, but come the morning, each flap of the tarp in the breeze showed there were no feet to be seen.

  Daisy hoped she was next. Her only desire was for it to be over quickly. A quick jab of a needle. A direct shot from his gun against her temple. Daisy preferred the needle. It seemed less messy. Her life was unmemorable, and at the very least, she wanted her death to be tidy.

  Daisy heard the crunch of boots and stilled herself. Each step was more thud than footstep; Robert was on his way. The sound of his stride was unmistakable; it was as arrogant as he was.

  Jen rolled down the car window in the pickup, needing fresh air, air that was clean and free of the dankness of Gardener life squeezed into it.

  The Gardeners lived hidden in the woods, but their name was a lie. True gardeners would manage their environment; it would be full of food they’d grown—crisp, green-leafed vegetables and fruits. It would have flowers and life.

  Instead, for what food they didn’t glean, the Gardeners planted in pots hidden inside their camouflaged trailers and under artificial light. The food that came from those plants never tasted right to Jen. It tasted of dirty carpet, of industry. It never tasted of being tended with love or born in a fresh morning breeze.

  Jen looked over at her little sister. Suzy sat on Chandler’s lap, the wind whipping her hair over her face again and again as she pulled it away with her hands. Suzy didn’t know their food tasted off, and Jen would never tell her that. How would you even tell someone who lived in such blissful contentment that everything she knew was less than wonderful?

  Suzy didn’t remember life before the Gardener camp: how a carrot really tasted; the sound of a neighborhood dog barking; that breakfast cereal was best when soggy from milk. These things were lost to Suzy.

  Closing her eyes, Jen lay her head back on the headrest. She tried not to think of Danny but failed. She’d waited until the last possible second for him before leaving with everyone else for The Hills. Jen had che
cked and rechecked every secret path, every shrub, every overgrowth of trees for signs of his blond curls coming into view before finally taking her seat in the pickup.

  Danny hadn’t come in time, and when she could wait no longer, Jen left without him. Jen had climbed into the pickup with a panicked feeling of loss, as if she had forgotten to pick up her child from school.

  Now, with cool air whipping over her skin, she felt that she was still at the Gardener camp, still looking for blond curls among the green backdrop of the woods. Jen's body was in the car as it rumbled its way to The Hills, but Jen's mind stood perfectly still in an overgrowth of green, as Robert had taught her, waiting for any sign of Danny.

  She’d wanted to stay, wanted to wait for Danny, but Jen chose her sisters. Her sisters were her everything. Her sisters were the blood in her veins. The breath in her lungs. Danny knew that. Danny would understand.

  Jen told herself that she would always choose the love of her family, over the love of a man, but this time it didn't feel right. She felt corrupted by her choice, as if she’d taken the wrong turn down a dark road.

  “Where’s Danny?” Suzy’s voice startled Jen out of her thoughts. Suzy's question was so random, yet almost intrusive--as if Suzy knew her sister’s thoughts.

  “I don’t know,” Jen answered truthfully, not bothering to sugarcoat it.

  It was about time they stopped hiding things from Suzy or dumbing them down as if she were a toddler. She was no longer a child. After all, wasn’t Suzy in the vehicle with them, going to The Hills, hoping the people of the town would help them go to war with Madam and Nutri-Corp?

  That wasn't a child-like thing to do.

  Suzy stayed quiet at Jen’s response, but Jen could see the wheels of her thoughts moving in Suzy’s head. For once Suzy was thinking before speaking. She was getting older.

  “I hope we find him again. He’s like my brother,” Suzy said with a quake in her voice, a measured response to make her sister think and not cry all at the same time.

  Jen didn’t answer Suzy then. Instead, she closed her eyes again, thinking that her love was mixed up. She loved Danny. She loved her sisters. She chose her sisters and left with them, out of family love, but Suzy had called Danny her “brother.”

  None of Jen’s emotions made sense. She held her breath then exhaled, feeling a trembling start in her middle and work its way down to her legs. From there, she was sure it would run back up and settle in her chest.

  For Jen, this was too much to process, too much to consider, too many options to weigh. At the moment, Jen felt incapable of anything and everything. The slightest idea or chore would be beyond her reach. She felt like a leftover human waiting for her turn to feel again.

  Opening her eyes Jen, sat up in the car. She thought she’d heard...

  Suzy loved books. She loved books because books took her away from everything. Books took her away from long, dull days stuck in a trailer at the Gardener camp. Books took her on adventures to far-off lands where magical, super-cool creatures lived, not gross Poppers.

  Books helped Suzy live the life she wanted, a life where anything was possible, even the beautiful. Beautiful didn’t happen often in the Gardener camp or Nutri-Corp’s world.

  Sitting on Chandler’s lap, Suzy was scared, so she did what she knew would help. She pretended that she sat on the couch in the library, where no one could find her. Everything that was happening now, leaving the Gardener camp, headed for a strange place, that was part of the book she read while she rested in the library.

  The wind tossed Suzy’s hair into her face repeatedly, and every time she pulled her hair off her face she told herself that it was her imagination doing this since she was sitting on her couch, not on Chandler's lap, not in this car, but on her couch in the library.

  She didn’t remember that sound in the library…

  “Shhhh,” Suzy said, doing her very best librarian impersonation. Librarians were always shushing people in her books.

  She felt Chandler’s hand on her back, and she pulled Suzy closer to her.

  “What’s that noise?” Suzy asked.

  Chandler did her best to ignore Suzy’s boney butt bones digging into her legs as they rode to The Hills. Suzy allowed her dead weight to rest where it pleased, and although uncomfortable, Chandler almost found it endearing. Suzy was always on a different level than everyone else with everything that she did.

  Plus, Suzy was a good distraction. With Suzy on her lap, Chandler hoped that BD, Lola, and Jen wouldn’t notice her looking at them. Analyzing them.

  Would Lola wake up to the possibilities of working with others against Madam? BD would, Chandler knew. He'd do whatever Chandler wished, but Chandler didn’t want an obedient robot. She wanted a strategic thinker by her side.

  Jen was a different worry. She was almost regal in everything she did, reminding Chandler of some sort of brave princess in an old fantasy paperback. But Jen’s heart was with Danny, and Danny was not with them. Could Jen do what was needed when it was needed, or would her mind dwell on nothing except the man she loved?

  Chandler shifted her legs, doing her best to let Suzy know that she should at least sit up a bit, take some pressure off of her, Suzy did not take the hint.

  Breathing in the scent of outside mixed with the stale fruit smell of Suzy’s hair, Chandler bore her own burden. She’d be the first person who’d disappeared from The Hills to return. For this reason, she knew that the people of The Hills would listen to what she had to say, but could she say what needed to be said to persuade them all to join the fight against Madam?

  Her words must not only encourage but call all to action, including Lola. How many Lolas would there be in The Hills? How many would stare up at her, not understanding that they must unite to not only keep Nutri-Corp at bay but destroy it? What does a person say to a crowd to make them understand destruction was the answer? Nothing else would do.

  A sudden “Shhhhh” from Suzy yanked Chandler away from her thoughts. When she heard the sound, she grabbed the girl close to her, trying to protect the child she had grown to adore.

  Sitting in the front seat with BD, Lola felt compelled to ask him questions: where had he come from, why he’d chosen to work at Nutri-Corp, why did he leave? Most importantly she needed to know where his loyalty lay. Was it with Madam, Chandler, Danny, or simply his freedom? Lola could live with three of those choices.

  She couldn’t help but notice the tremble in his hands, the sweat dripping from his head. He was constantly taking small sips of water; he held the water in his mouth before swallowing, kept his eyes glued to the road ahead of him, and not once did he look in her direction.

  BD drove as if a ticking time bomb sat on his lap.

  He had to be going through withdrawal from YUM, and Lola pitied him for a moment, remembering her mother. If she could have been saved, would she also be a puddle of sweat, hugging her daughters with shaking hands, staring at walls, not telling her daughters the truth of how much she wanted YUM, how badly her body craved it?

  Had Jen been able to save her parents and bring them here, Robert, Manuel, and Daisy would have locked their parents up, caged them to purge the YUM, judged every breath they took.

  Closing her eyes, Lola prayed “El padre, el hijo, y el espíritu santo.” She snuck the sign of the cross in quickly, hoping no one saw her. Clinging to the word “santo,” Lola felt tears begin in her eyes. She couldn’t remember the rest of the prayer. A prayer her mother said with her girls, night after night.

  Santo, Lola thought...saint, but what came after that? What did her mother say? Not only were the images and feelings for her parents vanishing, but her Spanish, her mom’s prayers were quickly fading. Lola's culture was disappearing into the dirt of the Gardener camp. She was losing herself without a way to find who she was again.

  “Santo,” Lola whispered, feeling an urgency to repeat the word. “Santo. Saint. Espíritu santo.” Lola let out a small sigh of relief. In this prayer, santo wasn’t a s
aint, it was the holy spirit. Espiritu Santo, Holy Spirit.

  Correcting herself eased some pain. Maybe she wasn’t completely lost yet.

  Then the sound came.

  Distant at first, as if the noise came traveling by boat from a far-off land. A quick vision of herself on a deck watching the seas and hearing the boat before she saw it entered then instantly left her thoughts.

  She’d heard the trumpet herald The Hunt before she’d seen the cars.

  Instinct shoved her into action. “Pull over to that road,” she barked at BD, pointing to a small path next to some trees. “Back the car into all that brush. We'll be able to hide there. Do it now.”

  BD along with everyone else paid attention. “We’ll hide in the shrubs,” he said, “and shoot them with our Shakies.”

  Lola looked at Jen then, who nodded with an arched eyebrow. BD, who was doing exactly as Lola instructed him with their car, announced that he’d take point.

  Chandler’s face went white. She slithered down in the seat, her fingers digging into Suzy. Noticing the panic in Chandler's eyes, Lola nodded at Suzy.

  “Chandler and Suzy will hide in the car,” Lola said and added, “We got this.”

  Lola knew that was a lie the second it came from her mouth, but sometimes lies had to happen.

  Chandler closed her eyes, telling herself she’d do so for only a few seconds while the car was being backed into its hiding place.

  Her legs trembled, the quaking traveling up to her chest, and a tingle of hysteria prickled her ears. Would she ever be the hero she wanted so badly to be?

  Lola knew before stepping out of the car she would kill whoever was coming up that road. She wasn’t going to kill them and walk away; she was going to enjoy killing them.