Seeders: A Novel (25 page)

Scenes from a Saturday matinee flickered before him. He was five years old in a London theater and Mother took him to see an old black-and-white film,
Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
It was about aliens taking over a small town, and it terrified him. As their victims fell asleep, the aliens would place a pod beside their bed. Overnight, it would replicate their DNA and by morning a perfect clone would emerge from the pod, kill the victim, and take his place in the world.

Quite suddenly, Jules started to chuckle, and before long he was roaring with laughter. But the cackling soon trailed off to a low snicker. His eye twitched and he winced. The idea was not so preposterous after all. He looked at the curves of the landscape, the way the black shroud was draped over those “things.” The specimens he unearthed. He didn’t like going near them, tried not to think about them too much. Except now he wanted to have a look, see what they were up to.

Seeders.

Already, he had detached the fungus from each of the specimens, peeled them clean, but he had quickly covered them back up so he didn’t have to look at them. Jules squatted down beside the amorphous mounds and curled back a few square yards, like he was rolling up a carpet.

He exposed all nine of them and stepped back.

This is how they know what I’m thinking. They learned, and now they know
.

He stared at the nine human bodies he unearthed. They lay chest-down in the dirt, heads turned to the side, the back of their skulls partly removed. Most were still in various stages of the rooting process, their flesh preserved but hardened like clay. The cadavers were gaunt and deflated in the center, as if their organs had collapsed. The fungus was heavily rooted throughout the bodies, concentrated at the heads where it enveloped their brains. It covered the frontal lobes and needled its way into gray matter.

Probing. Learning. Planning.

Jules found himself wondering who the people were, seven young men and two women. Perhaps students of George’s. At one time useless, all-consuming humans. Now they were vital to the earth. The first Seeders.

CHAPTER 26

MORNING FOG BLANKETED THE ISLAND
and settled heavily over the beach. In the woods, white wisps of steam curled around trees like ghosts.

Monica opened her bloodshot eyes to a bright glow outside the window that made her squint and added pain to her already throbbing head. The moist air reminded her of being underwater, the terror of dragging Luke to the surface.

She threw open the window by the bed, breathing in the cool air that smelled like salt and clams. It was refreshing and nauseating at the same time. She collapsed in the covers, and right away thought about the reward money.

A hundred thousand dollars could change her life.

From the open window she heard the kitchen door slam. She peered outside and saw someone, probably Luke, step into the fog. Where on earth was he going? Her mind raced to recall their conversation the night before. All she remembered was that he didn’t want to tell anyone about the box. Maybe he was going to the beach to retrieve it himself. No, he would never go back in the water.

She squinted at the fog. The figure emerged from the haze momentarily and was swallowed up again. He was headed to the woods, but why? She recalled his promise the night before, how he was going to get the money and give it to her so they could go to France.

Monica threw a jacket over her sweats and stepped into her boots. She ran through the hall and down the staircase. Before realizing what a precarious thing she was doing, the moist air was upon her face, making her cheeks wet as she jogged down the foggy path, trying to catch up to Luke. She reached the entrance of the woods and called out his name, but all was silent.

Shit, what am I doing?
She stepped along the path. The woods were colorless, shrouded in white fog that closed behind her like a gate.

“Luke,” she called out, keeping her voice low. Dr. Beecher could be hiding anywhere. The thought made her want to go back, but she couldn’t bear the idea of Luke out in the ocean alone. Besides, who did this Beecher guy think he was, freaking everyone out so they were stuck in the damn house for days? Luke’s life was at stake, a hundred grand was in her grasp, and no lunatic was going to scare her out of it.

She heard a noise and stopped. Deep in the woods, a shadowy figure stood in the mist. He waved his arm. The air was too thick to tell for sure, but it had to be Luke. Then he turned around and went deeper into the clouds.

“Where are you going?” Monica said and veered off the path, following the sound of breaking twigs. “Hey, get back here.”

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.