by Hamill, Ike
“This,” he said. “And look, it has a flower.”
“So it doesn’t move once you cut it?" Stavros asked. He leaned in close to peer at the vine.
“Yeah, it only stayed alive for a little while once I clipped it off last time,” Brad said. “But I was able to get a reaction when I…” Brad blew on the vine. One end flipped up off the counter and the vine spun itself into a tight coil. “See!” Brad said.
“Wow,” Stavros said. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Yeah, like I said,” Brad said.
Stavros reached out and touched the vine before Brad could stop him. The vine’s action had weakened, but it still curled around his index finger, sinking its tiny thorns into his flesh.
“Shit!” Stavros said. He plucked at the end of the vine and pulled it away from his skin.
“They’re barbed,” Brad said. “I told you.”
“Yeah,” Stavros said, grimacing with the pain while he pulled the thorns from his finger, “I guess I like to see for myself.”
“So what do you think it is?” Brad asked.
“How the hell should I know?" Stavros asked. “What do I look like, a botanist?”
“Not since about twenty pounds ago,” Brad said, laughing. They had become friends and then roommates in college, when Stavros studied botany, and Brad studied engineering.
Stavros pulled out the last thorn and tossed the piece of vine back on the counter. He sucked on the side of his finger and both men watched as the vine flipped over one last time.
“So what’s the connection to rock? Anything?" Stavros asked.
“I don’t know, but the vines didn’t touch the rock-thing, and it was right in the middle of them,” Brad said.
“Yeah, well even those thorns wouldn’t do anything against a rock,” Stavros said.
“If I had to guess,” Brad said. “I think it might be just a really big animal camouflaged to look like a rock. A rhino kinda looks like a rock, or a big turtle.”
“So you’ve got some new species of plant back there,” Stavros said. “At least they’re nothing indigenous, and nothing I’ve ever heard of before. How dangerous is this clicking you were talking about.”
“As far as I can tell, it just kinda hypnotized me for a little while,” Brad said. “But those vines got pretty close while I was out. It’s like a psychic game of ‘Red Light, Green Light,’ I wouldn’t want to find out what happens if they win.”
“You said you heard the clicking when we were walking,” Stavros said, “but you didn’t pass out then.”
“Maybe it wasn’t loud enough?” Brad asked. “Who knows. I wore headphones when I was up on the ladder before and I was fine. I don’t know—maybe I would have been fine without them. Hell, I don’t even know if the effect was caused by the sound or what. Could have been a smell, or anything.”
“We’ve got a whole lot of questions and not many answers,” Stavros said. “I still know some working botanists; do you want me to have them check this thing out?” He pointed at the vine.
“Sure,” Brad said. “I’ve got acres of the things.”
“Okay,” Stavros said. “In the meantime, I’d suggest you don’t venture out back there again until we have an answer.”
“Fine by me,” Brad said.
“And if they really do grow as fast as you said, you’d better keep a good eye on the yard,” Stavros said. “If you see any of those things creeping up on the house, just get in the car and drive,” he said, smiling.
“Yeah, will do,” Brad said, laughing. “Attack of the killer plants.”
“Seriously,” Stavros said, laughing too. “Those things hurt.”
✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪
Dear Karen,
I saw Stavros today. He came over to look at those plants I was telling you about. He didn’t know what they were either, but he said he would send my clipping off to a friend of his. I wish we got together more, like we used to. Those dinners on the porch, watching the sun set over the hill—I think that was the greatest time of my life. Half of the women Stavros brought were totally crazy, but I don’t think he ever really felt comfortable hanging out with us as a couple when he was alone. Now that I’m alone, I think Stavros and Julianne feel bad for me.
It’s been a long time.
I know I told you this before, but when Stavros tried to set me up, I wanted to kill him. It may have been Julianne’s idea—in fact it probably was—since she worked for the same company as Julianne. You were always the outgoing one. I met more people through you than from all other aspects of my life. My only friends used to be your friends and my work friends. Now, since I’m doing contract work all the time, I don’t meet anyone. Stavros is the last person from growing up I’m even still in contact with.
Sorry to sound so melancholy. You know what? I’m going to sign up for the yoga class you used to take down at the old mill. I never wanted to go with you because I was so bad at it, and I didn’t know any of the moves. Now that I’ve had a few years of practicing with videos, I can probably fake my way through it. Maybe I’ll meet some new people there. I’ll probably even meet some people you knew, once upon a time. I miss you.
Much Love,
Brad
✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪
HAVING HANDED THE problem off to his friend, Brad found it easy to temporarily ignore the odd things going on in his back pasture. He did his usual Tuesday night routine—ate an early dinner, wrote his letter to his dead ex-wife, and didn’t send it. The letter spoke mostly of the adventure out back, but also featured a section about Stavros. Karen always loved Stavros.
Brad went to bed early. He tossed and turned through a long night of tortured dreams he could barely remember when he woke up. Somehow, he’d slept right through his alarm.
He took his coffee out to the deck and sat on the stairs, looking up towards the hill out back. Random chores kept popping into his head. He needed to clear the brush around the fence line. He needed to paint the trim on the windows. He needed to weed the front flower beds. Brad decided the only way to get peace from his chores would be to write them all down and prioritize the list. At least then he’d have a chance of knocking a few of the big ticket items off before he got another call about a contract. Brad sighed and stood, ready to go inside and make his list.
As he turned, a pile of dirt caught his eye. He set his coffee down on the railing and descended the stairs. Right next to where the deck met the foundation of the garage, Brad saw the edge of a big pile of freshly-turned dirt. The top of the dirt on the pile had just started to dry out, but the bulk of the sandy pile looked fresh and moist.
Brad reached the lawn and saw the extent of the damage. His deck was big, and stood about five feet above the surrounding yard. Next to the foundation of the garage, a giant hole had been dug, easily seven feet across. Almost all of the excavated dirt was piled under the deck. The pile Brad saw initially was a tiny fraction of the amount under there. Brad backed up and gaped—the dirt pile under the deck ran the entire twenty-foot length.
“That’s enough dirt to fill the living room,” Brad said to himself.
He reached up and gripped the back of his head with his hands. Brad spun slowly, looking for any tracks on the lawn.
“It would have taken an excavator all night,” he said under his breath. “I was just out here last night. Last night.”
Brad approached the gaping hole slowly. The hole exposed the side of the concrete foundation, where it descended into the soil. The concrete was still dark under the soil-line, where it had recently been in contact with the dirt. His foundation went down about four feet below the grass, but the hole went lower. Brad leaned forward to see the smooth edge of the bottom of the concrete footing.
Eight or ten feet down, the bottom of the hole curved towards the garage, like a tunnel. Brad looked at the grass beneath his feet. The grass was completely undisturbed right up to the ragged edge of the hole. Aside from the mammoth pile of dirt under the deck
and the small pile he’d seen first, the area was completely clean. Brad couldn’t even imagine how one would dig such a perfect hole in any circumstance, let alone over the course of just one night. Instead of going back up the stairs to the deck, Brad left his coffee behind and walked around the garage and opened the big door. His biggest ladder still rested against the pine tree out back, but he had a smaller, more appropriate ladder for this job anyway. He retrieved his six-foot step ladder and carried it overhead to get it past his truck.
A tan sedan pulled down the driveway and parked alongside the fence as Brad set the ladder down.
Brad walked up to within ten feet of the car and waited for the man to get out.
The man looked tired, but extremely precise. He glanced through the car window at Brad, gave him a single, clipped nod and then opened the car door. His feet hit the gravel drive together, perpendicular to the car, and the man stood with one quick motion, not pushing against the doorframe or pulling on the door for assistance. Brad just watched, not making any movement to introduce himself or greet the man. The man wore a golf shirt and crisp khaki pants—no pleat.
When the man stood to his full height, Brad was surprised. Brad stood about six-foot two, and didn’t expect to be dwarfed by the man in the tan sedan. The man was thin, too. Brad guessed they probably weighed the same, even though the man stood several inches taller. The man removed his sunglasses and perched them atop his crew cut before he closed the door and approached Brad.
The man put out his hand to Brad.
“Good morning, sir,” the man said. “I’m Herm Gunther, I want to talk to you about your plants?”
“Plants?” Brad asked.
“Yes,” Herm said. “Your name is Brad Jenkins, correct? You gave a sample to Stayev-ross Orestus last Tuesday?”
“Yesterday,” Brad said, nodding.
“I’m sorry?" Herm asked.
“I gave a sample to STAVross OrestES yesterday. On Tuesday,” Brad said. He crossed his arms and looked at Herm’s shoes. They were casual boat shoes, which Herm wore with no socks. Brad could see a half inch of bright white ankle between the shoes and the khakis. He guessed Herm’s ankles didn’t get much sun. His hands and forearms did though, Brad saw tan lines about halfway down the man’s biceps.
“Would you be more comfortable if we moved inside?" Herm asked.
“No, I’m fine here,” Brad said.
“Do you have a cell phone on you by any chance?" Herm asked.
“Yes, I do,” Brad said. He didn’t move for a second, but then pulled the phone from his back pocket and waved it at Herm.
“Good,” Herm said. “Would you like to check the date?”
“Okay?” Brad said, with a hint of uncertainty creeping into the edges of his voice. The phone informed him of the current date: Thursday, July twenty-first. Brad’s eyes shifted from side-to-side as he tried to figure out where Wednesday had gone. He remembered Tuesday, then writing a letter, and then going to bed a little early. How was it Thursday?
Herm watched Brad’s puzzlement and rubbed his eyes while Brad tried to piece together his calendar. “These plants are close to your house?” he asked.
“No,” Brad said. “No, they’re out back. Who are you again?”
“I’m Herm Gunther,” the man said. “I work for USDA on the abatement of aquatic and arboreal invasives. Have you taken any trips to Georgia or South Carolina recently?”
“Nope,” Brad said. “I’ve been right here. Are you saying that plant is from Georgia.”
“More than likely,” Herm said. “It’s been on the Federal Noxious Weed list for years, but it’s just starting to show up in other parts of the country. Would you mind showing me where you took the clipping?”
“Well, perhaps,” Brad said. He put his hands on his hips and then thrust them into his pockets. “I’m, uh, I’m a little concerned though.”
“Concerned?" Herm asked.
“Well, I’m not sure why, but the last time I was out back I kept going into a little of a dream state or something. I know this sounds weird, but maybe since you’ve heard of this plant, you’ve heard of this as well?”
“Dream state?" Herm asked.
“Yeah,” Brad said. “It was… It was like I became unconscious for a few moments. I thought maybe it was a sound or a chemical the plant is giving off?”
“Did you see any out of place puddles, patches of fog, boulders, piles of sand, or lava flows?" Herm asked.
“Lava flows?” Brad asked. “Do you think I would be talking to you about plants if I’d seen any out of place lava flows?”
“Flows or pools—any molten or even iridescent metals?" Herm asked.
“No,” Brad said. “But a boulder, yes. I did see an out of place boulder.”
“And the boulder was with the plants?" Herm asked.
“Yes,” Brad said.
“Did you hear a loud ‘tock’ sound, like a giant clock?" Herm asked.
“Yes. It was more like a click, but yes,” Brad said.
“Thank you,” Herm said. He walked back to his car and opened the door. Herm reached across the seat and his torso disappeared from Brad’s view for a second. When he reappeared, he was holding a hand-held radio unit. “Can you show me the area now?”
“Like I said, I’m a little concerned,” Brad said.
“Don’t worry,” Herm said. “I’ve read about this. We’ll be fine. I’ll call into the office, and if we don’t check back in, one of my co-workers will come. But there’s really nothing to be worried about.”
“Okay,” Brad said. He was still hesitant, but Herm knew about both the rock and the clicking sound, so he felt inclined to go along with him. Plus, Herm seemed very professional—not likely to take unwarranted risks, despite how tired the man looked.
“Let me just change my shoes first,” Brad said. “You might want to consider socks, if you’ve got them.”
“Thanks, I’m fine,” Herm said.
Brad shrugged and walked over to his side door. He kept his boots on the tile floor of his entryway, so he sat down on the porch to change into them. While Brad laced up the boots, Herm just stood there, looking off into the distance.
“Hey, um, Mister …” Brad said. He couldn’t remember the man’s name. It was something silly sounding—weird nickname—he remembered.
“Herm,” the man said, “call me Herm.”
“Thank you, Herm. You can call me Brad. May I ask, what was the rock thing I saw out back?” Brad asked.
“I have no idea,” Herm said.
“But you mentioned rocks as part of your list, with the lava flows, and the iridescent metal, and the mist?” Brad asked.
“Patches of fog,” Herm said. “Yes, it’s one of the things I read about.”
“Read about from?” Brad asked.
“We get bulletins from the Office of Communications. The rocks were mentioned with your plants in one of those,” Herm said.
“Huh,” Brad said. “But they didn’t say what they were?”
“Probably not important,” Herm said. “I just need to make an identification for the abatement group.”
Brad finished with his boots and stood up. He walked past Herm and waved for the man to follow—“And the abatement group does what, exactly?” Brad asked.
“They just work to eradicate or control the invasive infestation. You can imagine—herbicides, bush hogs, maybe some burning,” Herm said.
“Sounds like it’s going to cost me,” Brad said.
“Nope,” Herm said. “Your tax dollars at work. It’s for the common good, so the government foots the bill.”
“Good to know,” Brad said. He held open the gate between the driveway and the field and let Herm walk through first. He pointed ahead and said, “Straight back to the other gate.”
“You’ve probably seen our guys before on the side of the highway with the orange jumpsuits. We get a lot of invasives along the highway, from tourists,” Herm said.
“I can imagine,
” Brad said. Brad noted how talkative Herm had gotten once they were underway. But it seemed like just as quickly as the conversation began, it was over. Herm didn’t offer any more information.
Herm walked at a fast pace. Brad unlatched the back gate and Herm was already dozens of paces away by the time Brad buttoned the gate back up. Brad dropped into a half-jog to catch up with the tall man.
“You might want to watch your step,” Brad said. “Those things grow at a pretty fast pace, and I wouldn’t envy you if one wrapped around your ankle.”
“Thanks,” Herm said.
They walked in silence for a while down Brad’s path to the back clearing. Walking side-by-side, they brushed the trees and bushes which crowded in from the sides. Brad usually cleared the brush along the path once or twice a month during the summer when he wasn’t too busy with work. This year he’d have to wait until fall, when the weeds were a bit more manageable.
Brad broke the silence when they had walked about halfway to the clearing, “So,” he said, “how long have you worked for the USDA?”
“Ten years,” Herm said. The answer came fast and didn’t reveal anything to Brad. He usually got a sense of whether someone liked their job just by how they answered that question. A sigh, a smile, a head-tilt all meant something, but Herm snapped off his answer and kept his eyes moving, scanning the sides of the path.
“Good work?” Brad asked.
“The best,” Herm said. His tone stayed flat.
“Wait,” Brad said. He put out his hand to stop Herm, but Herm had already stopped. “Did you hear it?”
“No,” Herm said.
“I thought I heard a click,” Brad said. “Probably just a squirrel.”
Herm started walking again. Brad fell in behind him and Herm picked up the pace, walking fast up the hill to the clearing. Herm stopped at the edge of the weeds.
“I should have brought a knife or something,” Brad said. “Did you want a sample.”
Herm didn’t answer right away, he scanned the tree line at the far edge of the clearing. Brad knelt to look at the vines, but Herm stayed upright.