Seeders: A Novel

by A. J. Colucci

  She tried to keep up with the silhouette in the distance, but the terrain was steep as he led her over rocks and fallen trees. Eventually the ground became level, but she had lost sight of the figure. She was alone in the fog.

  “I’m going back!” she shouted.

  She turned around. The air grew suddenly colder, thicker. She reached out her arms and both hands disappeared in the clouds. She panicked and felt around for a tree, grasping the bark and moving to another, trying to feel her way back to the path. Hanging vines and branches seemed to come out of nowhere and she stumbled on bulging roots.

  “This isn’t funny, Luke.”

  In the back of her mind lurked a terrible thought: Luke would never play such a trick. Perhaps he wasn’t the waving figure after all. It was too short to be Beecher. It didn’t look like Sean, but it could have been. Of course, she thought with an angry grin. Sean was trying to scare her. The little mutant was one brain cell shy of the walking dead.

  The fog began to dissipate and she found herself in front of an enormous outcropping of rocks. She felt along the cold stones with her hands, moving around its girth, but the ground became steep and she had trouble keeping her footing. Then she slipped and fell down a hill of wet leaves, slamming into a tree stump. She stood up rubbing her leg. There were more boulders at the bottom of the hill, steeples of bedrock as tall as a house. The fog had turned to light mist and bits of blue sky peeked between the canopy of branches.

  From behind the rocks, Monica heard the crunch of leaves and she froze.

  “Hey, who’s there?” She took a few steps back. “I know it’s you, Sean.”

  There was no reply, but more crunching leaves.

  “Hey, cut it out.” Monica moved slowly between two pillars of granite. There was a small cavern of space between them where a circular rush of air blew dried leaves in a tiny cyclone. She stepped closer inside the shadow of the rocks. A soft wind blew across her face and Monica thought she heard a thin voice in the breeze.

  Stay—

  “What?” she yelled and stepped back from the rocks. “Don’t mess with me, Sean. I’ll kick your ass.”

  Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if she could kick his ass. Sometimes the quiet ones were feisty. He probably fought like a monkey, arms swinging, teeth snapping. She turned her head to the hill where she fell. It was a steep, muddy climb back to the top.

  From behind the rocks came the sound of something heavy being dragged across the ground.

  She peered around the granite, and screamed.

  The dead body of Hodges reached out to her. The smell hit her like a wall, as she stood face-to-face with the corpse. Its droopy skin hung from sharp cheekbones and his expression was set in a snarl. There were only black holes for eyes, but he was looking at her all the same. A hissing sound came from inside his open jawbone.

  Monica screamed again. She pivoted and stumbled halfway up the incline, slipping on mud. She gained more ground and stole a quick glance back.

  Hodges was trying to crawl up the hill, dragging the plastic body bag around his ankle.

  Her boots dug into the mud but she slipped almost to the bottom.

  Hodges leapt forward and grabbed on to her boot with his bony hands.

  She kicked hard and two of his fingers snapped off, setting her free to climb harder.

  The corpse let out a howl.

  Monica struggled near the top of the hill where the incline became too steep to climb. She grabbed a rock with one hand and dug her fingers into the mud with the other. Her muscles were trembling violently and she turned her head around.

  Hodges fell clumsily to the ground. He tried swimming uphill in the dirt, desperate to reach her. Thrashing his arms like a windmill, he drew some traction and lifted his ragged body with a moan.

  Monica lost her grip and slid down the hill.

  * * *

  Isabelle awoke to the grim reality that she was still in her childhood home, caught in a nightmare. The air in the room was frigid. The window was raised a few inches but she didn’t recall opening it.

  Wrapped in a blanket, she shuffled across the cold wood floor and slammed the old rickety frame shut. Through the glass she saw the remnants of a fog clearing, blowing across the fields like wisps of smoke. Above, blue sky was breaking through.

  Then she saw Monica step out of the woods, leaning over to grab her knees, breathing hard as though she’d been out for a strenuous morning run.

  Isabelle stared in jaw-dropped silence. Unbelievable.

  She threw on jeans and a red flannel shirt and hurried across the hall. First she checked on Sean, who wasn’t in his room. She knocked on Luke’s door.

  “It’s open.”

  She peered inside. Luke was lying in bed reading The Human Delusion by Dr. Julian Beecher.

  “Have you seen your brother?”

  “No.” He didn’t look up.

  Halfway down the staircase, she met up with Monica, who was taking the steps two at a time, her face paper white.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Monica replied, averting her eyes and trying to sound normal. “I saw something in the woods.”

  “Didn’t I tell you not to go out there?”

  “Sorry,” she barely managed.

  “Was it Sean you saw in the woods?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t know. I thought it was Luke.”

  “Luke’s in his room.”

  “I have to go.” She rushed past her up the stairs.

  Isabelle blew out a disgruntled breath. She watched Monica reach the landing and listened to the knock on Luke’s door. It opened and she heard a whimper before it shut.

  Isabelle paced the kitchen, getting worked up. It was beyond reason why the stupid girl would go into the woods alone. And what had she seen? Most likely it was Jules trying to frighten her. First he went batshit crazy on Isabelle and now he was terrorizing the children.

  She thought about the missing weapons in the shed, wondering what he had in mind. What she should do about it. A rational person would lock up the house, stay inside, and wait until help arrived. But she didn’t feel rational. She didn’t feel scared. What she wanted more than anything was to confront Jules. Put an end to his absurd talk about thinking plants. She wanted him to be the same man she admired so many years ago.

  Isabelle checked each room, looking for Sean. He was not in the house and she worried he might be at the campsite. She put on a jacket, eager to get outside before she changed her mind. She considered taking the rifle, but decided that seemed too threatening, and Jules was already paranoid. Instead, she slipped a steak knife in her coat pocket and headed out the door.

  The fog had evaporated from the woods, leaving the fresh scent of the sea and pine. Isabelle walked the trail and felt the heavy weight of anger begin to lift. She was calmer now, but light-headed. Floaters danced in her vision and her throat felt parched. She hadn’t eaten breakfast and decided to sit on a rock until the feeling passed. She closed her eyes and swallowed.

  After a moment, she felt better. She got up and followed the red tags to the place she and Jules had tracked Sean. Once off the trail, she continued from memory toward the campsite for ten minutes, until the pines became thick and the white canvas of the tent peeked through the branches. She heard the sounds of someone working hard—grunts, heavy breathing, and lifting.

  When she stepped into the campsite, Jules had his back to her. He groaned and lifted a heavy pallet over his head, then dropped it on a stack as tall as his nearly seven-foot frame. He was shirtless and the span of his shoulders seemed enormous. Isabelle took a step back and snapped a twig.

  Jules spun around, edgy and guarded, but then his back straightened and he was beaming with an almost insane grin. “I’m so glad you came, Isabelle!” His teeth looked white against the blackness of his beard and the filth that covered the rest of him. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “Truthfully, I knew you’d come around.”
/>   “Of course.” She forced a thin smile.

  The campsite was part homeless shelter, part makeshift laboratory. There was a stockpile of food that hadn’t been touched, some of it beginning to rot. Books, blankets, clothes, and scientific equipment were scattered about and a campfire was smoldering.

  Potted plants were everywhere.

  As casually as possible, she asked, “Have you seen Sean?”

  It took him a moment to answer. “He should be coming shortly. I gave him some errands to run.”

  She let out a tiny breath.

  “Come, see what we’ve done.” He sounded like a child.

  Isabelle followed him warily across the soft, fungus-covered ground.

  Jules picked up an ax and swung it over his shoulder, breathing deeply so his chest expanded, along with his grin. “Oh, Isabelle, isn’t life wonderful? I never felt so at peace, so alive.”

  “I can see that,” she said, trying not to stare at the ax. “It’s very serene here.”

  On the table were piles of dirt and heaps of pungent fertilizer, along with a large collection of plants, some in plastic bags and some waiting their turn.

  “What are you doing with these?” she asked.

  Jules picked up a spiky shrub that hadn’t yet been wrapped, handling it gently. “We’re taking them on the boat. Two by two.” He chuckled and held it out to Isabelle.

  She reached out to the spotted leaves, thinking about her father’s plans to spread them across the globe. She jerked her hand back, frowning.

  His smile fell away. “You shouldn’t think bad thoughts about them, Isabelle.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. They’re quite lovely.”

  “Stay with me tonight,” he said, delighted. He put a hand on her shoulder, moving close. He smelled earthy, like mushrooms, and the growth covered his entire forehead, surrounded his eye, and continued down the side of his cheek into his stubbly beard. The ax was digging into Isabelle’s leg and she eased back from his grip.

  His eyes gleamed. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I should go back to the house, get my things.”

  When he heard those words, Jules lost all reserve. He dropped the ax and took Isabelle in his arms and kissed her hard. His warm tongue snaked into her mouth, tasting bitter.

  She pushed desperately on his chest but her resistance was met with the strength of an ox. The muscles in his fingers barely flexed. It took no effort to keep her still and Isabelle realized that struggling was useless.

  She bit his lip, clenching her teeth down hard.

  They broke apart and Jules staggered back, holding his bloody mouth.

  “I’m leaving,” she rasped. “Don’t follow me.”

  He looked wounded, but not from the bite. “You said you were going to stay.”

  “I can’t. Just leave me alone.”

  “Isabelle, I swear. Spend just one night in the woods. One night and you’ll understand, I promise. It will all be clear in the morning.” He moved closer.

  Isabelle pulled out the knife. “Don’t touch me.”

  Jules stepped back, reaching down to pick up the ax, just as Sean came out of the woods carrying a large fern. The roots dangled from his hands.

  “Sean, come here,” Isabelle said.

  Instead he walked to Jules, standing behind him and suspiciously eyeing his mother.

  “I said come here.”

  Sean blinked and sniffed, wiped his nose with his sleeve.

  “Leave the boy alone, Isabelle. He has a job to do.” Jules gave Sean a hearty shove back toward the woods and told him, “Get back to work.”

  She felt rage and fear at the same time, wanting to pounce on the man, but paralyzed to move. “Don’t hurt him.”

  Sean turned with a final scowl at his mother and headed back into the woods.

  “Come back, Sean,” she cried, but his quick steps were fading, and she tried to follow.

  Jules blocked her path. He held the ax over his shoulder. “Go home, little girl. Before someone loses their head.”

  Terror burned in her cheeks and Isabelle had a feeling of helplessness so overwhelming she could barely stand.

  With a hand to her mouth, she backed away, and then started to run, stumbling through the woods and blinded by tears. She rounded a bend and headed in the same direction as Sean, the sound of Jules’s laughter pushing her on.

  CHAPTER 27

  MONICA CHUGGED THE LAST BOTTLE of wine while Luke kept a comforting hand on her back. His mind was working, trying to deduce how she could have seen a dead man walking. She hadn’t eaten any of the biscuits.

  “My hands are shaking so bad,” she said. “I can’t stop shaking.”

  “Shhh, it’s over,” he said and kissed the bruise on her arm. “You’re okay.”

  “I’m not okay! I’m fucking scared out of my wits. God, he was so gross!”

  Luke took a slow breath and rose from the bed, pacing in a small circle. “I don’t get it.” He stared at her. “You never ate a biscuit.”

  “Duh, Sherlock. Obviously you were wrong about the drugs.”

  “Maybe it was Beecher trying to scare you. He was probably holding up the body and chasing you around.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. That thing was two inches from my face. I could smell him.” She drank from the bottle so fast she coughed it all onto the mattress. “Shit.”

  Luke started pacing again. It helped him think. “Maybe Beecher was right. The plants make you see things that aren’t there.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His shoulders dropped as he exhaled. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might freak you out. Plus, I didn’t quite believe it myself.”

  “Spill.”

  “Dr. Beecher thinks my grandfather did something to the plants on the island. I’m not positive, but they might be messing with our heads.”

  “What plants?” she asked.

  “The ones on the island.” He could see her next question arising and headed it off. “According to Beecher, plants are conscious beings, like people. Their thoughts travel the same way as our own brain waves, but at different frequencies. So if George was able to synchronize the thought frequencies of plants and humans, they might be able to communicate with us.”

  “In English, please.”

  “The plants are putting thoughts in our heads. I mean, taking our own thoughts and using them to scare us. Although Beecher insists they’re just trying to send us messages. He thinks it has something to do with a fungus. This black stuff that’s growing all over the woods.”

  Monica expelled a burst of air. “And you believe him. That’s crazy.”

  “I’ve been reading his book. He’s really a brilliant guy.”

  “He might be smart but he’s also nuts. Maybe even dangerous.”

  Luke nodded. “He has all those … sharp things.”

  “Which means we have to protect ourselves too.”

  “My mom has a rifle.”

  “Good for your mom. We don’t have shit.” She slid off the bed, dizzy from the booze, and walked a crooked line to the window. She could see the shed in the back of the house, and beyond was the flat, empty sea. “Let’s get that crossbow.”

  Luke nodded and they headed downstairs.

  They walked across the patio, lost in their own thoughts. “We shouldn’t be afraid of something that isn’t real,” Luke said. “It’s just illusions. We have to remember that.”

  “Right,” Monica said pointedly. “Sort of like being in a fun house, where things pop out at you and it’s scary but they can’t really hurt you. It’s like George Washington said, there’s nothing to fear but fear itself.”

  “That was Roosevelt, but it’s a good analogy.”

  They reached the shed and Luke slid open the door. The crossbow was missing. He snorted. “I told you we should have taken it.”

  They went inside and took what was left. Monica put a small pair of cutting shears in her leather jacket. L
uke grabbed the last knife.

  * * *

  Isabelle turned back before she found Sean because the dizziness had returned full force. She barely made it out of the woods and collapsed to her knees, shaking and bracing her arms for support.

  “God, please don’t let him hurt my son,” she whispered and managed to stand on weak legs. She started up the path, but the house seemed to be moving farther away, instead of closer.

  She fell back on one knee, out of breath and surrounded by ryegrass whipping in the breeze. She turned her head toward High Peak, where the sky was vivid blue and the hillside rocky, dotted with tufts of grass and springtime weeds starting to bloom.

  Someone was walking up the path to the cliffs. The man was tall and dressed in white and when he stopped to turn around, Isabelle felt an icy chill to her marrow.

  George was smiling at her, his white lab coat flapping in the wind.

  “No, you’re not real,” she whispered.

  He waved, motioning her to follow. On bare feet, he took long strides up the steep path.

  “Wait,” she called out. She was able to rise slowly and, against her good senses, she followed him up the path. She practically floated up the rocky incline with ease. There was strength in her legs, when a minute ago they were jelly. Her body was fit once again, but her mind remained foggy.

  When she reached the precipice, George was peering down at the rocks below. Isabelle heard the roar of the wind and the sound of the sea in her ears. His feet moved to the edge.

  No, don’t.

  George turned and waved to her and the air became still. Then, there was nothing but silence and the white light of the sun behind him. He leaned back and dropped noiselessly over the edge. For a moment, time stood still and she heard not a sound, saw nothing but sky.

  A blast of sea and wind returned and Isabelle muffled a cry with her fist. She ran to the edge and looked down at the roaring waves and rocks below. Cold spray hit her cheeks. Her father was nowhere in sight. Slowly she sank to the ground. Drunk with terror and fatigue, she lay across the rocky soil and shut her eyes.

  What’s happening?

  She wanted to think about her father and the hallucinations. Make a connection to the drugs and the biscuits, but her mind was exhausted, her body drained. If she could just sleep for a few minutes, there might be some semblance of logic.