Seeders: A Novel

by A. J. Colucci

  It was clean and painted white with shiny high-tech equipment everywhere. Equipment her father probably never dreamed of owning. One of the walls had not been painted and it was splattered with large brown letters.

  SEEDERS.

  The two stared at it for a moment. Isabelle asked, “Is it blood?”

  Laurie nodded. “The boat captain.”

  Isabelle was disturbed that they hadn’t painted over the word. Did the police want it left for further analysis or had it become some kind of joke to the scientists? Laurie was staring at Isabelle and she started to feel uncomfortable.

  “So where is Dr. Jacobs?” she asked and put her bag down.

  “He’ll be here soon. Can I get you water or coffee or something?”

  “No. I’m fine, thank you.”

  The young woman picked up a folder on the desk. “He thought you might want to read some of the reports.”

  Isabelle didn’t. “Thank you, not right now.”

  Laurie put on a pair of glasses and seemed older, not the impetuous girl who met her at the boat. Her tone had changed. She flipped through the folder and shook her head slowly in disbelief, clicking her tongue. “Eight innocent lives. I think your son’s death bothers me most. Luke showed such promise.”

  Isabelle let out an audible breath. She was about to ask the woman for a glass of water just to make her go away.

  “What about your younger son, Sean?”

  The mention of his name made Isabelle flinch.

  Laurie scanned the page. “The police think he jumped off the cliffs like his grandfather.”

  Isabelle pursed her lips. The story was a lie. If it were true, they would have found Sean’s body, just like they found George. The FBI had combed the island for days with police dogs and trained rescue teams. They insisted the boy was gone, but Isabelle didn’t believe them. Even when Sean’s tennis shoe washed up on the beach two weeks later, she thought there was another explanation. It was all Isabelle thought about in the last few months. That, and the fact that Sean had let her live. As she lay helpless on the cliff that day, her son had cried out in anguish. He couldn’t kill her. A piece of Sean was still inside, a scared boy wanting his mother, tormented by the act of killing his brother. Was he distraught enough to jump off a cliff?

  No. She looked through the window of the back door, willing him to appear. For a second she saw a figure and her breath caught. But it was a stout, muscular man loading pallets onto a tractor. It wasn’t Dr. Jacobs. Laurie had mentioned another man. Oscar.

  Laurie gazed over the reports. “It must have been awful for you, but like I said, the alkaloids in the fungus are very powerful. They would have to be, to make a boy shoot his own brother in the head. Cut up that poor girl.”

  Isabelle’s face drained of color. “What did you say?”

  Laurie looked up quick, but didn’t answer. She blinked hard.

  “I never said Sean hurt anyone.”

  “It was in the police report.”

  “No. I said Dr. Beecher acted alone.”

  “Guess I misspoke.” It wasn’t even a good lie. Laurie got up to leave. “I’ll see what’s taking Dr. Jacobs so long.”

  Isabelle was becoming hot all over. Her body was trembling. “Do you know where my son is? Have you spoken to Sean?”

  “Don’t get hysterical, Mrs. Maguire.” She moved slowly toward the front door.

  “What do you mean? I’m perfectly calm.” But she was shouting. Isabelle ran to the back door and looked out through the glass. The man in the tractor was headed toward the shed. Isabelle threw open the door and ran outside, trying to catch up to him. She was feeling out of control, didn’t know what she was doing, but kept on going as fast as she could, even when her leg began to ache.

  The man had just pushed open the heavy wooden door. When she approached him out of breath, he slid the door shut with a bang.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.

  There were pallets stacked outside the shed, full of plants. All of them were infected with the fungus. Isabelle lightly touched the leaves and smeared purple on her fingertips.

  Laurie came up behind her. “Mrs. Maguire, you need to come back to the house.”

  “What is he doing? You said the fungus was dead. It’s not dead. He’s growing the damn things.”

  “You really need to calm down, Mrs. Maguire.”

  “No! No, I won’t.”

  “We can’t have you getting hysterical. We’ll have to call someone. The police told me you have no family or friends. Is that right?”

  “I want to know what’s going on! I want my son.”

  Laurie’s face muscles hardened. “Come inside and stop making a scene.”

  Isabelle didn’t move.

  “I can arrange for you to have a sedative. Would you like that?”

  Isabelle felt as though she’d been slapped. Something was wrong and she had to watch herself. Her heart raced as she followed the woman back to the house.

  * * *

  Dr. Jacobs was waiting in the lab, sitting on a counter with his legs crossed, reading the open files. He was a tall, thin man with youthful brown eyes and a gray beard. He wore pressed khakis and a white shirt with a Greenpeace logo, but his boots and pant legs were covered in mud.

  “Dr. Jacobs, this is Isabelle,” Laurie said. Her lips were tight, and her demeanor had changed dramatically.

  “Well, of course,” he replied.

  “She was trying to get in the shed.”

  “That’s fine,” he said in a gentle voice and smiled at Isabelle. “You came here to find answers, isn’t that right?”

  Isabelle nodded.

  “If you’re willing to stay calm, I can explain a few things.”

  Isabelle hugged her arms to keep from shaking.

  “Can I trust you?”

  She nodded.

  “It seems thirty years ago your father began engineering the DNA of fungi to create a more potent form of ergotamine for LSD synthesis. He used a process called protoplast fusion to create a new genetic hybrid with powerful psychoactive alkaloids. He then transferred in genes of certain Aspergillus, so it could grow on virtually any plant. Eventually, the fungi and all the plants on the island formed a symbiotic relationship against a common enemy.”

  Isabelle swallowed hard. “You don’t mean people?”

  “The fungi release their spores at night, with one exception. When any person approaches, they release a mass of nearly invisible spores. We repeated the experiment fifty times with several individuals, always with the same result. Other animals elicited no response, only humans.”

  Isabelle let the words sink in. “You’re saying the fungi and plants are working together to infect people with ergotism?”

  Dr. Jacobs chuckled. “I don’t think it’s contemplated, the way humans premeditate murder. It’s an automatic response. The same way plant species have been using chemicals and fungi to ward off herbivores for millions of years.”

  “That kind of evolution takes centuries. How could it happen so quickly?”

  “Your father came up with just the right genetic components. I suppose plants have been waiting all these years for such a chance.”

  “A chance to do what?”

  “Get us to act the way they want. Protectors of the environment. Not destroyers.”

  Isabelle shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but human mind control seems too great a task for a fungus.”

  “It’s not so unusual,” the doctor replied. “Fungi can be shrewd, calculating, and manipulative.”

  “You make them sound human.”

  “They do have motives and they’re highly intelligent.” He raised his chin. “Have you ever heard of the fungus species Ophiocordyceps unilateralis?”

  Isabelle hadn’t.

  “It’s a fungus that grows out of the heads of ants. Sometimes they’re referred to as zombie ants because the fungus actually takes over their brains. Once the ant is infected
, it’s given very specific instructions. First, it commands the insect to abandon its colony, fall off the tree to the ground ten inches from the forest floor, and seek the exact temperature and humidity needed for the fungus to grow. At precisely noon, when the sun is highest in the sky, it commands the ant to bite into the vascular vein of a leaf. Scientists call it the death grip because the ant locks on to the leaf while the fungus grows safely inside its body. Then the ant dies and the fungus bursts out of its skull, releasing spores and repeating the cycle.”

  Isabelle blinked slowly and leaned against the counter, feeling weary.

  Dr. Jacobs crossed his arms. “There are literally hundreds of Cordyceps fungi that are able to change the behavior of their hosts, before consuming them.”

  “So you’re saying the fungus was using my father and Jules as a means of transporting their spores across the earth?”

  “It’s not just about spreading their spores. It’s about spreading the message.”

  Isabelle flinched, recalling how Jules spoke those same words.

  “You see, the plants on the island are sending genetic instructions to their fungal partners, which are able to send very specific instructions to the human brain. What you saw as Dr. Beecher’s own behavior was actually a fungal genome expressing the plant’s instructions through the body of its host.”

  “You mean telling humans to kill each other?”

  Dr. Jacobs took a deep breath. “The message is not about violence.”

  “What about the bodies at the campsite?”

  Laurie raised a gentle hand to Isabelle. “You’re jumping to conclusions, Mrs. Maguire, like everyone else.” Her voice was lilting. “Plants don’t want to kill us. On the contrary, plants are peaceful creatures. Their message is one of peace.”

  Isabelle felt a chill.

  Laurie’s gaze became hazy, her smile broad. “You can feel it the second you walk into a forest. It’s a calmness that comes over you. I felt it since I was a little girl. My family used to go up to the woods in Maine and I knew then nature was trying to tell me something. It’s a message of harmony, telling us how to live.”

  “My father and Dr. Beecher became killers.”

  Dr. Jacobs shook his head. “They interpreted the message wrong. It’s something to do with mixed-up connections in the brain. They get the message all boggled.” His jaw clenched ever so slightly. “Although I can’t really blame them. Killing off mankind is a logical solution to the problem.”

  Isabelle swallowed hard, and whispered, “Excuse me?”

  He stared into her eyes. “Who do you see as the victims on earth? Do you know what’s happening to trees all over the world?”

  Isabelle tried to look composed as the color drained from her face. She asked in a low voice, “How long have you been working on this island?”

  “Long enough to know we can still save this planet. People like me, Laurie, and Sean. We can be earth’s salvation.”

  Sean. The sound of his name drew both panic and hope. She gaped at the doctor. “Do you know where my son is? Where is Sean?”

  He cleared his throat. “He’s here, on the island.”

  “Here? Is he … dead?”

  “No.”

  A blaze of emotions swept through Isabelle’s body like a brushfire. She wrestled with joy and fear in equal measure. She tried to speak but her voice caught.

  “I can take you to him.”

  She managed a nod.

  “All right,” he said. “Come with me.”

  Isabelle followed Dr. Jacobs and Laurie outside, barely able to keep up on legs that felt like rubber. It seemed as if she were walking through a dream. This can’t be happening.

  The tractor filled with plants rumbled across the lawn. A pallet fell off the top of the heap, hitting the ground and spilling bags of saplings, seed, and soil. The man stopped and got out of the driver’s seat as the three passed.

  “Watch what you’re doing, Oscar,” Jacobs said firmly.

  The man repositioned all the plants. Isabelle could see that each of the pallets was marked with cities and states: San Francisco, California; Bangor, Maine; Tallahassee, Florida …

  Laurie was already at the shed, arms folded. As Isabelle reached the open door, Dr. Jacobs put a hand on her shoulder and she felt her knees giving out. She grasped the splintered doorframe. It was mostly dark inside, illuminated by dim blue lights that hung from the ceiling over crowds of plants that filled the room. Isabelle peered inside and was hit with the smell of mildew and a cool spray of mist.

  She turned to Dr. Jacobs, apprehensive. He could sense her unease.

  “You said you wanted to see Sean.”

  For a moment, Isabelle had an urge to run, but her desire to see her son was overwhelming. She took a breath and stepped deeper into the shed. It was cold and hazy with particles of dust flying around. Plants were everywhere, covered in fungus. A labyrinth of plastic tubes kept them damp with mist. She heard the humming fan of a humidifier.

  “Sean? Are you here?” she called out softly.

  The door slammed shut.

  Isabelle turned her head sharply. She ran to the door and pounded on the wood with open hands.

  Dr. Jacobs spoke with a muffled voice. “Isabelle. I’m afraid you have to stay with us a while.” His mouth was close to the crack in the door. “You can sleep in the shed. I promise you’ll understand everything better in the morning. By tomorrow it will all be crystal clear.”

  She clawed at the door in panic, scratching for a way out. The wood splintered beneath her fingers.

  “Stop it, Isabelle. Do as you’re told, and you’ll see your son.”

  Isabelle pressed her head to the wood, crying softly. She wiped the dampness from her cheeks. Sean. She would do anything to see him again. If there was just a chance, however small. After a few more moments she walked placidly toward the doorway of the generator room and stepped inside. It was dark, but pinholes of light bled through the cracks of the boarded-up window and she could see that the generator was gone. The entire room was covered in plants and fungus so thick it hung from the ceiling and dripped down the walls.

  She walked to the end. There was a small table and a plate of biscuits. Just below the table, caught in a crack of light, there appeared to be a person. Isabelle felt her heart kick up. She stooped down and her eyes adjusted to see it was a child sitting on the floor. The fungus completely enveloped the body as though it were mummified in soft brown bandages.

  Isabelle felt a scream in her throat that wouldn’t dislodge.

  It was Sean. His face was emaciated, but every feature was distinguishable from his nose to the shape of his chin. His neck and shoulders were rail-thin but there was no doubt in her mind it was her son. She stepped back and hit a wall, staring in mute horror.

  The body was relaxed. Sean sat with his arms wrapped around his shins and profile turned slightly to one side. Fungus mushroomed from his ear and somehow Isabelle knew they were deep inside his brain.

  Learning from him, even in death.

  Then Isabelle felt her eyes widen and her face tingle with scorching heat. There was a feeding tube in his arms connected to a plastic bag hanging on the wall. Oxygen tubes were inserted in both nostrils. She listened to the soft sound of his shallow breathing, watched his chest rising ever so slightly.

  Isabelle raced from the room to the door, pounding with both fists. She cried, “What have you done to him!”

  There was silence on the other side, then a whispering debate.

  Dr. Jacobs spoke. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. Sean was the last, but the most necessary.” He came very close to the door; she could hear the whistle of his breath through the crack. “The others wouldn’t cooperate during the rooting process. It takes months of lying very still. After only a week George would have to kill them. But Sean was willing, eager really, to be the living specimen they needed. They know how our brains work now, so there won’t be any more deaths. Do you understand?”

  “No
.” She was crying and shaking her head, not wanting to understand.

  “They’ve studied us through your son. They know how to communicate, make people do what needs to be done, without killing each other. We can return to the way it was before. A world in harmony, don’t you see that?”

  There was only a muffled cry.

  Dr. Jacobs’s voice was upbeat. “Well, of course you don’t. But you will. Laurie and I—you’ll be just like us. And in a few years, so will the rest of the world.”

  Isabelle clenched her fist white-knuckled against the wall. Her mouth was wide open, pulled back in a scream, but nothing came out. They were both walking away. She heard the tractor start up and drive off.

  Then a horrible cry broke through from her throat and she began to wail hysterically. Tears streamed down her face, as her legs gave out and she slid to her knees, choking on a walnut-size lump in her throat that wouldn’t dislodge. Her body wrenched with pain and grief that had been stored up too long.

  It was a while before Isabelle could stand. The purge of emotion left her light-headed and numb. With teary vision, she made her way back to the generator room.

  A fly buzzed over the plate of biscuits. Below, Sean was fixed in frozen contemplation.

  Isabelle stared unblinking, and then sat down on the cool, fungus-covered ground across from her son, purple dust staining her skin and clothing. She wiped her nose and listened to the whirling of a humidifier fan that blew dampness into the air, stirring up clouds of spores. There was a distinct sound of chatter and she could feel their fingers scratching at the back of her head, making their way inside.

  Think of the sun.

  She held the image in her mind and felt them loosen their grip. Time stopped moving. Isabelle took deep breaths into her lungs and leaned back against the damp fungus that crept over the wall. Her mind fell freely as she continued to breathe, thinking of nothing at all.

  It was awhile before she was aware of time again. Through the wooden slats of the window came bright orange streaks of a sunset. Hours had passed. She focused on Sean, how he used to be. High up in a tree, waving at her. Then the image of the tree morphed into earth, spinning in space.

  Brown and white with lots of blue. But no green. No life.