Isabelle ducked behind a tree and peeked out, as he stepped over the broken window into the house. She imagined Colin walking through the living room, calling her name. He would cross the main hallway and stop in front of the open door to the lab, where he’d find a chaotic mess of papers and a large word on the wall written in blood. Then he would run to the kitchen, yelling her name, and then back to the stairs, taking two or three steps at a time. She took a deep breath and waited. He should have found Monica’s body by now.
As if on cue, Colin stumbled from the house with an expression of terror, his gun drawn in the air. He crossed the patio and headed back down the path to the woods.
Isabelle felt a whack to the head and her knees hit the ground in a shock of pain. She saw a burst of stars and then nothing, black shadows flickering against bright white. Then she saw sky, and tried to blink away the blurriness.
Jules was standing over her, pointing the butt of the rifle at her head.
* * *
Luke watched the Coast Guardsman standing at the side of the boat, looking through a pair of binoculars. He was a tall man wearing a pressed white shirt and slacks, and a cap marked with the seal of a navigation officer. The officer was looking at the jetty where floating remains of a boat wreck had washed up on the rocks. A long bench cushion, a bright orange life vest, and a piece of the stern with the name Acadia.
The officer lowered his binoculars, squinting at the wreck, and then went back inside the bridge. Only his head was visible but it looked to Luke like he might be talking on the radio.
Then Sean jumped on deck, making the boat rock back and forth. The officer came around and spoke to him, moving quickly off the boat, onto the beach. Sean followed him around the inlet toward the jetty.
Then the boy stopped. He let out a grunt so loud Luke heard it clearly. So did the officer, who turned around, watching the boy stomp his foot in the sand and point a hard finger toward the path in the woods.
The officer continued down the beach.
Sean reached for his belt and pulled out the knife. He ran at the officer, who started to turn but was hit with a blow from behind. The knife went into his back with full force, both of Sean’s hands gripping the handle. The man hit the sand, writhing, and turned on his back. He struggled against the slash of the knife, Sean’s arms coming down again and again, but gradually lost the fight. His white uniform quickly took on shades of red.
Sean stood up, panting hard. He dropped the knife and stared for a while, looking scared. Then he whimpered and hit himself in the head.
Luke didn’t move. He felt paralyzed, and even more frightening was his pleasure that the man was dead. He moaned and curled up on a bed of pine needles. There were sounds all around him, a strange chattering he hadn’t noticed before, yet somehow he knew it was there all the time.
Let go, Luke.
He stared at the bright sky between the treetops and thought of George.
CHAPTER 38
ISABELLE HELPLESSLY WATCHED Jules walk out of the woods toward Colin, who stopped in midsprint when he saw the crazed man with a rifle. He held up his pistol.
The rifle went off with a blast.
There was an enormous spray of blood and Colin screamed in agony from the bullet that cut through his arm. The gun dropped from his hand and he looked at his forearm dangling from the bone at an impossible angle. He screamed again and staggered off in a frantic run, darting left and right.
Jules casually took aim and shot Colin like a sprinting deer. He went down like a rag doll. Jules strolled over to the body to put another bullet in Colin’s head.
The gun clicked. The chamber was empty.
Jules turned and walked slowly back toward Isabelle. She was groggy from the blow to her head, but she wasn’t afraid. She could physically sense her feelings about Jules shifting, an animal attraction to him. She waited for him, feeling light and fearless.
An image of Luke entered her mind, as if he were reaching out to her. Soon she would be consumed; it was the only thing she knew for sure.
If only I could save my sons.
Visions of George flickered through her mind. Did he think about her before his death? Did he know she would come to the island? Was he trying to warn her?
The sun. If only she understood his message.
Jules’s words repeated in her ear.
Plants don’t know the difference between thoughts and reality.
She peered up at the sun, bright white and all-consuming. She captured the image in her mind and held it there—burning gas and explosions, red and yellow streaming flares. Nature’s source of life and energy; she sensed its power.
Instantly, her mind began to clear as though the brilliant sun created a kind of barrier to her brain. A wall they could not penetrate. A father’s message he couldn’t write.
Her hand found her coat pocket and pressed against six bullets.
Jules stopped in front of Isabelle, looking puzzled. “There’s work to do.”
She nodded with a faint smile that made him look twice. He grinned back and led her toward the beach.
As soon as he turned, Isabelle plowed into him sideways, driving the point of her shoulder into his back and grabbing at the rifle. Again, she underestimated his strength. Jules never lost grip on the weapon as they fell over each other, but Isabelle got her footing and ran. She headed up the path to High Peak, swerving widely as she passed Colin’s body, which lay twisted in an unnatural way on the edge of the path.
Jules trudged after her, swinging the rifle and angry at the constant delays.
Isabelle clambered up the bluff, slipping on loose gravel, scraping the flesh of her palms. She could barely feel her legs by the time she reached the top of High Peak, and collapsed at the cliff’s edge. A strong wind howled in her ears and she peered down at the waves crashing over the rocks. Her father’s last stand.
Tilting her head toward the sun, something caught her eye and she gasped. Two large Coast Guard boats were arriving, Canadian flags flapping in the wind. The crew looked like tiny white specks but she could count at least a dozen. Her arms waved frantically and she rose to her knees.
Jules reached the summit. Isabelle turned to see the giant above her, blocking out the sky. His expression was a keg of dynamite ready to explode. He stepped toward her and she held in a scream. Up close, the fleshy tubes that covered his face seemed to wiggle and squirm on their own. His eyes were crazed, his smile wicked.
“It’s your decision, Isabelle. You can join us, or jump like your father.”
Isabelle paused, staring at his outstretched hand. It looked so inviting.
His expression softened. “Take it.”
Isabelle reached out and clasped his fingers. He helped her up.
“Look at the sun, Jules.”
They both peered skyward.
Isabelle’s mind grabbed the sunlight. She looked at Jules, swaying with a hazy far-off gaze, as if hypnotized by its rays.
She charged at him with a grunt. This time his body was lax and unguarded, and he fell to the edge of the cliff. She scrambled to get away but he reached for her ankle and yanked her off her feet. She hit the dirt chin-first, the air knocked from her lungs.
Jules grabbed the rifle. He swung it high and hammered it into her leg. The bone snapped loudly and she cried out in agony.
Jules raised the rifle again, aiming at her head.
There was no fight left in her. Isabelle closed her eyes, bracing for pain and darkness. But there was nothing, and her eyes fluttered open.
Jules was doubled over and let out a cry from a spear that had pierced through his gut. He grasped both hands around the pole, trying to pull it out. He teetered from side to side, letting go of the spear and staring straight ahead.
Luke stood a few feet away in a fighting stance, tight-fisted and easing the shoulder of his throwing arm, ready to attack if necessary.
Instead, Jules turned around slowly to the sea. He looked up at the sun, swaying on
his feet. Luke took a few bold steps forward, but Isabelle stopped him with an outreached hand. She nodded to the cliff.
Then they both watched Jules hang his head over the angry ocean, lean forward, and drop off the edge. There was no sound of his body hitting the rocks but they both felt it. The air was quiet for a long moment.
Luke knelt down to his mother as she winced from the pain in her thigh. The swelling ballooned inside her trouser leg.
She looked at Luke in utter disbelief. “How did you…?”
“The sun,” he said, and she knew what he meant.
“He killed Dad.” His voice cracked and he strained to keep steady.
She nodded and said, “We’re going to be okay,” but wished it sounded more convincing. “I saw two boats. They’ll be here soon.”
“Can you walk?”
She shook her head, and then touched his arm. “Sean?”
Luke turned from her gaze. “He’s okay … but he killed the man from the Coast Guard.” He quickly added, “He felt bad about it, I could tell. He’s not completely gone.”
“Of course not.” She hissed in pain, trying to move.
“Stay here, I’ll get help.”
She lay back down on the ground and fought against the agony in her leg, hoping she wouldn’t pass out. “We have to protect your brother, no matter what. We’ll tell them Dr. Beecher went crazy from something, maybe drugs. Like my father.”
“What about the plants? How they control—”
“They won’t believe us, Luke.”
“We have to tell them. It’s too important. You can’t do that to your father and Dr. Beecher, let their memories—”
The crack of a bullet exploded. Luke’s eyes bulged and his head jerked sideways. He fell to the ground, blood pooling fast around his head.
Behind him, Sean stood holding his father’s pistol.
From the expression on Luke’s face, Isabelle could tell her son was dead.
She felt the cold swoosh of emotion leaving her body, slipping through a dark tunnel, as soothing numbness took over. She watched Luke bleed out and all she could think was, Why? What had it all been for? They had fought so hard and in the end, all was lost. Not even a tiny revelation. Sean whimpered a sound that could have been regret, but it didn’t matter. Everything was gone.
The rifle was within reach, there were bullets in her pocket, but Isabelle didn’t move. She didn’t even look at Sean as he stepped over his brother’s body. She turned her head to the sea, and waited to die.
EPILOGUE
THE ROYAL CANADIAN MOUNTED POLICE boat hydroplaned across the sea, on a deep blue surface with waves that were round and gentle. A flag proclaiming H Division flapped at the bow as it sped toward Sparrow Island.
Isabelle stood at the helm, wondering if she would finally feel some twinge of emotion. A policeman was watching from the corner of his eye. It had been almost a year, but she was sure he was waiting for her to break down in tears. She turned her face toward the sea, holding tight to the railing, the strap of an overnight bag slung across her shoulder.
The island grew larger but Isabelle still felt nothing. She rarely did anymore.
A year ago, the ocean had been a tempest full of wrath and fury. But now it was calm, like a fierce tiger that had eaten enough meat and lolled quietly under the sun. The boat entered the inlet and Isabelle gazed over the island. It was spring again. The trees were still mostly bare, the beach was black, and the waves washed over the jetty toward the cliff, where they smashed steadily, ferociously against the rocks. Nothing had changed. Yet everything had.
The boat headed for the dock, where Isabelle imagined the color red; a pool of blood from Captain Flannigan’s body.
Instead there was a woman on the dock, waving.
The boat scuttled into the mooring. The policeman helped Isabelle off the boat. She turned to thank him, and he tipped his cap, jumped back on deck.
Isabelle faced the woman, who smiled with gleaming white teeth. She was young, in her early twenties, with strawberry-blond hair that fell to her shoulders and a fresh farm-girl look about her. She introduced herself as Laurie Spelling. Her specialty was mycology.
“The study of fungi,” Isabelle said.
“That’s right.” Laurie was beaming. “Gosh, you picked a beautiful day to come out.”
Her buoyancy was off-putting and Isabelle wondered if the woman knew how many bodies had been lying dead on the island just a year ago. They walked up the gangway. Although her femur bone had healed quite well, Isabelle still had a slight limp.
Laurie bobbed along with a spring in her step. “It’s just the two of us working here, Dr. Jacobs and myself. I’m more of an assistant.”
“Only two of you?” Isabelle asked with an edge in her voice. “Shouldn’t there be more? Police, FBI, or something?”
“There were dozens of people at first, detectives and scientists. But the investigation was over months ago,” Laurie said. “Oh, I forgot. There’s Oscar, who helps out with the heavy work since the police finished up. They sort of left a mess.” She turned up a lip. “Jeez, they left soda cans and garbage in the woods as if the place were condemned. Like, hello? There’s still people working here.”
For a moment, she reminded Isabelle of Monica.
They came to the entrance of the woods and Isabelle slowed. It was a stark reminder of that last ghastly day on the island, but there didn’t seem to be any fungus on the trees, so she took a quick breath and followed Laurie into the shadows of canopies.
The path was wide and clear. Much of the foliage had been taken down or trampled by vehicles with heavy wheels. They stepped quietly past signs of an abandoned police investigation. Faded yellow tape was draped across bushes and muddy puddles on the ground.
Overhead, branches were starting to bud. Isabelle nervously shifted the bag to her other shoulder. “Is it safe to breathe the air?” she asked.
Laurie nodded heartily. “Oh yeah. For weeks there was a crop duster saturating everything with antifungal agents. Dr. Jacobs finally made them leave. He was worried it was toxic to us.”
“As long as it’s toxic to fungi.”
“They tested the air twice a day for weeks. They put these giant solar-powered gas chromatographers everywhere. Really high-tech stuff from the NSA, like this was some kind of terrorist attack or something. Dr. Jacobs made them leave too. There was no sign of airborne contamination.”
“So it really was a fungus making us sick.”
“There were high levels of ergotamine in the spores.”
“Ergot,” Isabelle whispered.
“You’ve studied it?”
“Not really.”
Laurie beamed with a broad smile. “Oh, let me tell you, ergot is fascinating.”
Isabelle stared with a deeply furrowed brow. What was wrong with this woman? Was she stupid or insensitive?
“Usually ergot grows on grasses and has to be ingested for a long time to cause ergotism. But this species could grow on any plant. It produced this highly potent alkaloid that works real quickly on the nervous system. Oh yeah, and it was airborne, which is really unusual.”
Isabelle felt her stomach lurch, but continued down the path.
“The symptoms are pretty diverse. Nervous dysfunction, dizziness, headaches, hallucinations.” She was counting on her fingers. “Twisting, contorting, massive pain, crawling sensations, psychosis, delirium. It can even cause gangrene. Patients can lose arms and legs.”
Isabelle wished there was a way to make Laurie stop talking.
“Sometimes victims cut off their own extremities. The handyman—what was his name? Hedges?”
“Hodges.”
“That’s right. He had a severed foot.”
As Laurie continued babbling about ergotism, Isabelle tuned her out and walked faster. She was feeling claustrophobic in the woods, scrutinizing trees and bushes, flinching at the sight of dark grooves in the bark.
Laurie had no trouble keeping pace. “
Ergot’s been linked to plagues all over Europe since the Middle Ages. Killed millions of people. Victims would be screaming of visions, dancing in the streets, speaking in tongues. It took hundreds of years to trace the problem back to infected rye bread.”
The woods opened to wide fields and sky, acres of blackened ryegrass burned to the ground and a mansion in the distance. They both paused to look at the house and then continued up the path. Laurie was suddenly quiet and Isabelle felt grateful. But it didn’t last long.
“Did you know that ergotism was the cause of the Salem witch trials?”
Isabelle answered, staring straight ahead, “I read something about that.”
“There was a late spring and a wet harvest that year, and the rye was contaminated.” She sounded a bit winded as they reached the top of the path. “That’s what they like, cold and wet. This island is the perfect climate for an outbreak.”
They reached the patio and Isabelle noted the grounds were spotless. The smashed window had been replaced. Everything looked fresh and clean. Even the house seemed to be in better shape, repaired and newly painted.
The sliding glass doors were already open and Isabelle peeked inside.
Memories flashed in her mind and she didn’t want to enter the house, but Laurie was already walking into the library. She followed her across the shampooed rug and the air smelled fresh. The books were all gone, the shelves bare and dusted. In the hallway, they passed the staircase and Isabelle strained to keep from looking up to the room where Monica was killed. She felt another wave of nausea as they approached the laboratory.
Laurie turned, looking directly at Isabelle, and for the first time her smile was gone, replaced with a stern expression. “To be honest, we weren’t exactly sure why you came back.”
Isabelle was struck by the bluntness of her statement, the feeling of not being welcome. And what did she mean, we? She pictured the other scientists and the detectives on the case, sitting around scratching their heads, asking why the crazy woman would come back to an island where her husband and son were murdered.
Laurie didn’t wait for a response. She opened the door to the lab.
Seeders: A Novel Page 27