by Jay, Jess
She tried to be grateful for what was spared, tried to tell herself that she could gather and preserve what was left, what wasn’t infected, but she wasn’t sure. The plants were resilient, growing each year despite Thea’s inexperienced tending, but there weren’t many unscathed. Any positivity she tried to muster got sucked into the quicksand of despair, attempting to sink her into depression and sap her motivation.
With her jaw clenched, she latched onto anger. She couldn’t allow everything she had to do paralyze her. She had to work. She had to take care of things. But once she unleashed her anger, it consumed her. She wanted to dig the shrieker out, to tear it apart, but while it was buried its threat was minimal. In the shadow of the demolished greenhouse its feet were moving, its body struggling to get free. Vines snaked from under the rubble, slinking toward the sunlight to feed. She didn’t know how she was going to dispose of it without losing everything else.
Tears rose inside her, closing her throat and stinging her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry. Instead, she screamed. She screamed her throat raw, gripping the shotgun so hard it bit through her skin. It was too much. Everything was too much. Breaths came to her in gasps. It would be better to cry, to release everything, but she found that when she wanted to, she couldn’t. Her eyes darted around for something—anything to release her frustration on, and saw the child standing at the top of the stairs, face red, eyes large and afraid.
Thea stopped, her mind clear. She didn’t have time to cave in on herself or travel down the long list of negative emotions piling up inside her. She had to find a solution. The girl was counting on her. It should have added pressure, but instead it gave her strength. She picked up the pieces of her composure and walked over to the girl, taking her by the hand and leading her inside.
The child didn’t fight; she just followed and did as she was told. Once in the kitchen, she sat at the table and waited for Thea to bring her breakfast. She watched silently as Thea went into the refrigerator and pulled out some vegetables, cutting them and heating them in a pan. She could have boiled them, but that took longer, and she found she was starving.
As she worked, she purged her mind of everything but her task. She would bounce back—she would survive—taking care of one thing at a time. It was how she endured each day before. It was how she was going to endure the days to come.
When the girls finished eating, Thea knew she had to say something but didn’t know what. Things were awkward and the longer she went without talking, the more awkward it would become. She searched her mind, trying to remember her aunt and what she would say.
“You did a good job last night,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. She figured no one could get mad at her for saying something nice. The girl didn’t respond or even look up from her plate as she poked one of the uneaten carrots with her fork.
Okay, let’s try again.
“You were very brave. I wouldn’t have been able to be so brave when I was your age.”
The girl looked up and gave what might have been a small smile before going back to her food. It was all Thea was going to get. The girl had been through an ordeal and had seen Thea at her worst. She didn’t blame her for being cautious.
“I have to salvage what I can from the greenhouse. You should stay inside.”
The girl nodded, moving the carrot around her plate, but then stopped and watched as Thea stood and punched the code into the keypad next to the door.
“Are you going to be okay?”
The girl nodded again, and Thea chose to believe her, though she knew the girl wasn’t going to be okay for a long time.
* * *
Thea stepped into the rubble of the greenhouse, avoiding the glass and the green, and picked up the black light and basket from where they fell. With her jaw set and her emotions in check, she started going over the remains. It felt strange, walking through the rows without putting on a full-body containment suit, but she figured since the structure was missing a few walls, it didn’t matter. All the years of meticulous precautions had been pointless. The green was everywhere, in every corner. She wouldn’t be able to remove everything and each speck left behind would grow and spread. There was nothing that could stop it. No, there was, but she wouldn’t do it. Not until she tried everything else.
Movements careful and methodical, she checked the crops not full of glass or being overtaken, shining the black light over every inch, trying to spot the tell-tale signs of the green. Thea wasn’t sure how the science worked, but the green glowed a bright lime color under the black light. Usually, it was dim enough in the greenhouse to see if everything was clean, but with the ceiling and walls gone, the sunlight made it difficult to tell.
Most crops Thea came into contact with outside were the green. Sometimes it was easy to tell because the plants were growing out of a person. People in cars or buildings only grew leaves, but if a person went down on soil, they would produce fruits or vegetables—perfect and tempting, but fatal.
Depending on how mineral rich the soil was, the green could spread for hundreds of feet, all out of one person, choking other types of vegetation that were unfortunate enough to grow in its path. When the body was lost to what it produced, a black light was the only way to tell if a plant was the green or not. Most of the time Thea didn’t bother. Everything outside her home was the green, and it had finally penetrated her little world, wrestling hold of her life.
No, those thoughts weren’t productive. She had to think positive, had to keep moving. She would remove the green and salt where it was. The soil would be ruined; it would crack and turn teal, but it was better than being a bed for the green. She would gather what wasn’t infected, preserve it, and then… she didn’t know.
She didn’t know what she would do. The shrieker buried under the rubble would continue to spread the green everywhere it touched. She could remove it, but she was pretty sure that any attempt she made would end in her horrible death.
That left one option: the nuclear option; the shoot it from space option; the destroy everything and leave option.
Thea realized she was hyperventilating and closed her eyes so she couldn’t see how screwed she was. It was going to be okay. She was going to be okay. She just had to gather food. That was her task for the day. Gather food. She couldn’t let the green claim anymore of her life than it already had.
Her anger flared anew and she used it, gathering everything that was free of the green and telling herself each vegetable, each fruit she gathered was another the green couldn’t take from her. She filled as many baskets as she could, feeling the presence of the witch-like shrieker under the rubble, imagining it cursing her for thwarting its evil plan to ruin her life. Logically she knew it didn’t care, that it didn’t have feelings, but she wasn’t feeling logical.
When she finished, she washed and cleaned the fruits and vegetables in the outside sink before bringing them into her shelter and putting them into containers. What didn’t fit in the refrigerator she stored in the walk-in freezer. She would can and preserve them later and hope she learned from her mistakes the previous seasons. She had nothing to fall back on.
If she was smart and she rationed the food, there was enough for a month or two. She hoped that by the time they were running low the other side of the greenhouse would have its next round of fruits and vegetables ready, though she wasn’t sure what would grow and when. There were a few perennials that didn’t need much work, and there were a few vegetables she could seed and grow, but there were more that she lost to inexperience.
In the end, she knew that even if she could keep the green from taking over the entire area, what was left of the greenhouse wouldn’t be enough to keep both her and the girl alive.
Chapter Eight
A cloud of pollen hovered in the distance, glittering in the faded sunlight and drifting toward her home. Thea stood on the Highway, watching as it approached, beautiful but unnerving. She knew she should go inside and deal with the child but found her feet didn’t wa
nt to obey her.
The girl had gotten more distant as the day progressed, and Thea knew the conversation she was avoiding was inevitable. The longer she waited the worse it was going to be, but the day had drained all her energy. She knew anything she said would be wrong. To be fair, there was no right thing to say, but some things were more wrong than others, and the more tired she was, the more likely she was to say them.
Thea had thought that if she wasn’t alone things would be easier; that everything would be better, like some kind of switch would flip and she wouldn’t feel alone or feel the weight of the world on her shoulders anymore.
She didn’t blame the girl for blocking her out and for being cautious—she had seen Thea lose herself to rage not once but twice. Thea was ashamed of herself and how she was handling the situation and hoped the girl wasn’t afraid of her. She never aimed her anger at the child, but she was young and might not understand that.
A shuffle in the tall grass brought Thea out of her thoughts and she cursed herself for being careless. The sun hadn’t set, but the pollen clouded its rays and shriekers were known to be active on cloudy days. Senses alert, she reached for the gun tucked in the back of her pants but hesitated before drawing it.
The door to the shelter was locked and a code was needed to open it, but she couldn’t remember closing it all the way. She had been distracted and tired; exhaustion could have made her negligent. If the thing approaching her was the girl, she didn’t want to aim the gun at her and scare her further.
Breathing steady, Thea watched the tall grass sway in a meandering path toward her. The longer she watched, the more certain she was—it was the girl. The movement was too hesitant and faltered too many times, uncertain which direction to go. Thea let her grip on her gun slack as the girl emerged from the field with a picture book clutched in her hands, her small face flushed with determination and fear.
No, it wasn’t flushed. It had been red that morning and had only gotten worse as the day progressed. Thea’s heart dropped when she realized the girl was sunburned. The thought hadn’t occurred to her because her skin never burned. It was a nice tan all year round—a little lighter than Aunt Emily’s, but not much.
Thea had been so focused on herself and what she had to do—on what she was avoiding—that she hadn’t registered the girl being hurt. It must have been painful, but the girl was a trooper, suffering in silence. Guilt sat in her stomach like a stone and Thea knelt in front of the girl, smiling as best as she could.
“You okay?”
The girl drew her eyebrows together, as if she was forcing herself to be strong. She gripped the storybook tighter and shook her head. With purpose, she opened the book and rifled through the pages to the very last one and showed it to Thea. It was a picture of a baby bear being reunited with a mother bear. Thea remembered the book. Her aunt used to read it to her. It was the simple story of a mother bear and a baby bear being separated and all the adventures they went through to make it back to each other.
Thea turned into ice as she looked at the picture. Words refused to come out of her mouth and the girl shook the book, pointing at the picture as if Thea was slow and couldn’t understand her question. Thea smiled a little, sadness tinging her features. She took the book and set it in her lap, looking down at it and taking in the joyous reunion.
“You want to know where your mother is.”
When Thea looked up again the girl nodded, her face guarded but her eyes desperate.
“I think you know what happened to your mother,” Thea said, her voice gentle as she avoided the words she needed to say. “You saw her as we left. You saw what happened to her.”
The girl shook her head, stubborn and angry. She knew the truth—might have always known the truth—but didn’t want to acknowledge it. Thea didn’t blame her: the truth was horrible. If she had been younger or hadn’t seen her aunt and uncle fade away, she might not have understood.
Thea hesitated, feeling that if she spelled everything out something would break.
The girl smacked her hand down on the book, pointing again at the mother bear, impatient.
“I’m sorry, but your mother isn’t coming. She’s gone.”
The girl shook her head as if denying the truth could change it. She grabbed the book from Thea’s hands and stomped her feet, her face getting redder as emotions built up inside her. She wanted the truth, but when she got it, she didn’t want to accept it because it wasn’t the truth she wanted to hear. Unfortunately, that wasn’t how things worked and having a tantrum wasn’t going to help anyone.
Neither was dancing around the issue.
Fine, then.
Her voice steady, Thea forced out the words that stuck inside her: “Your mom is dead. She was infected and she changed.”
The girl stopped, breathing in gasps, her face a mixture of despair and disbelief. Thea wanted to ease her pain, to say the magic words to make her feel better, but those words didn’t exist.
Instead, she said the only things she could. “I talked to your mom right before she died. Her last thoughts were of you. She wanted me to take care of you.” The girl shook her head, lashing out with her hands as if hearing how much her mother cared for her was worse than learning she was dead.
A few specks of pollen drifted between them. They had to get inside.
Thea stood and put her hand out for the little girl, fearing she wouldn’t take it, that there could be no friendship between them after everything that happened. The girl stared at the hand for a moment as if it offended her, panting, angry; all the emotions she was feeling too much for her small body. Tears were in her eyes, but they didn’t fall down her cheeks.
More specks of pollen drifted between them, glittering in the air. The girl noticed them, her tiny brain processing the situation and looking down the Highway. When she looked back at Thea, resignation filled her eyes and Thea’s heart ached for the part of her that died in that moment.
The girl took her hand and they walked back to their home.
* * *
Thea gave the girl a toothbrush and some toothpaste, then left the bathroom to get her uncle’s burn cream. Though Thea and her aunt had darker skin, her uncle was fair and had to be careful when out in the sun. If he stayed out too long or didn’t protect himself well enough, he’d burn. Whenever that happened, he would treat the affected skin with some kind of medicine. She knew where it was, but hesitated.
Even after all the time that passed, it was difficult being in her aunt and uncle’s room; their presence lingered in every corner. As she opened the door, she could see the shadow of her uncle tinkering at his desk. On the bed, she saw her eight-year-old self snuggled between them as they read to her. As she stepped into the room, her aunt reflected in the vanity, brushing her thick, black curls.
Pictures of her aunt’s life Before were tacked around the edges of the mirror, filled with youthful smiles—a joy Thea had never seen on their faces. She paused as she came across a picture of Aunt Emily with a man who looked a couple years older than her, their eyes identical. Thea’s fingers brushed his face, wondering what he was to her aunt and what kind of person he was. She could imagine him having a deep, hearty laugh, and pictured him playing a guitar while singing to his family.
Thea knew she wasn’t related to her aunt and uncle by blood. Her skin was a shade between theirs and her hair, while dark and thick like her aunt’s, was wavy, not curly. Her aunt had been strikingly beautiful, but Thea’s features were soft in comparison. She had walked down the Highway alone that night and had come across two kind strangers. The chance that she was related to them was astronomical, but they loved her all the same and she loved them. That was what mattered.
The lights flickered once, letting her know they would turn off in ten minutes.
Thea turned to the closets with a sigh. After her uncle died, her aunt took his belongings and put them in a box, storing them away in her walk-in. His had broken long before Thea arrived at the shelter, refusing to
open no matter how hard someone tried.
And she had tried, over and over as a child. Her uncle would laugh, telling her it was pointless, that no matter how hard she pulled it wouldn’t open. Thea had taken that as a challenge, but the door had continually won the battle of wits and wills. As she stood in front of it, almost an adult now, she realized the door was smaller than she remembered. She tugged at it once but it didn’t move, resolute in its mission to keep her from whatever was inside.
Her aunt’s closet was packed with everything that couldn’t fit anywhere else: clothes, boxes, shoes… In the back of a shelf her aunt’s silver heels glittered, catching Thea’s attention and attempting to distract her, but she ignored them. She ignored the promise her aunt had made her.
When she found the box, she dug out the burn cream, happy that something went smoothly for once. As she stood again the room spun, but she didn’t falter, wobbling out of the closet before finally losing her balance. Her hand brushed against the thermostat as she leaned against the wall for support. Its display lit up, but her vision was blurry and she couldn’t read what it said.
It didn’t matter. It was broken, just like the closet next to it. Just like everything else. The shelter was falling apart, and all her efforts were for nothing.
Thea shook her head, blinking her eyes and trying to get a hold of herself. She needed to sleep, but not before she made sure she took care of the girl. With something to focus on, she walked out of the room, her limbs heavy and mind sluggish.
The girl sat on the edge of the tub as Thea applied the cream to her sunburn, her fingers hesitant and gentle. The girl only winced once as she administered treatment, but Thea knew she was putting on a brave face. She admired the girl’s courage, knowing she would probably cry later, but that she didn’t want to cry in front of her. Someday Thea would earn her trust. Someday they would be like actual sisters, but it wouldn’t be easy. Like everything else, Thea would take it day by day.