A. Colucci - Seeders

Monica ripped off her leather jacket and impatiently tied it around her waist. She had kept up a steady pace and dour mood since she and Luke left the house. A pebble slipped into her boot and she stopped to take it out, pulling the boot off her foot and banging it furiously upside down until the stone fell out.

Luke kept a good distance, wary of her temper. He had come down to breakfast that morning, love-struck and dreamy-eyed after their evening encounter, but Monica didn’t look up from her oatmeal.

He had sat across the table sneaking glances from the corner of his eye.

Her head snapped up. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing.”

Ginny had brought a cup of tea to the table, along with a map of the house crudely drawn in eyebrow pencil. “I’ve decided we need more order to our search. I’ve assigned rooms and we’ll take it one step at a time. You two will look upstairs, checking all the bedrooms, especially the closets that are stuffed with boxes and under any rugs. Look for loose floorboards and secret compartments. Isabelle and I will search downstairs again, beginning with the study. When we finish indoors we’ll start outside.”

That’s when Monica slid off the chair and grabbed her jacket, announced she was going for a walk.

Before Ginny could object, Luke was headed after her.

Neither had spoken on the way to the beach. Monica walked briskly down the path, kicking stones and swatting low-hanging branches. Luke couldn’t think of a conversation starter, not after their night together. He was afraid her response would ruin the magic.

It was a pitiful start to the romance Luke imagined, and now he watched Monica struggle to put her boot back on and then walk to the water, gazing mournfully at the sea as if she wanted to swim away.

He sidled up next to her.

She crinkled her nose. “Why are you following me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know ?”

“I thought we could hang out.”

“I’m not in the mood, Luke.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

She didn’t answer. They both looked at the inlet and its small lapping waves.

“Hey, what’s that?” Luke pointed to a pole protruding from the surface, about ten yards from the jetty. It was bent on an angle, with a metal cap that glistened in the light.

Monica didn’t answer.

“It could be the mast of a sunken boat. It has to be something big ’cause that’s deep water. You can tell from the change in color that there’s a sudden drop.”

She squinted at the pole and started walking, following the curve of shoreline. Luke trailed behind. The beach became narrow and the path underfoot was rocky. They stepped carefully to the far end of the inlet where the stone slabs were wet and slippery. Tall waves washed over the jetty, becoming larger as the fierce tide swept them toward the cliffs, where they curled into breakers that hammered the shore.

The sunken pole seemed much larger. It vanished under a wave for a moment and then reappeared.

“That’s definitely the mast of a boat,” Luke said, and a cold breeze showered them with a mist of salty sea.

Monica raised her chin and muttered, “Guess it belonged to George.”

“Or Hodges.”

She scowled.

“We could go for a swim, check it out.”

“The water’s freezing.”

“There are two wet suits in the shed to keep us warm.”

“I don’t know. Looks kind of rough out there.”

“You can hang on to me. I was on the Y swim team for six years.”

She clicked her tongue. “I just want to go home. I can’t wait to get my old life back.”

Suddenly, Luke was enraged, his face beet red. Something in her voice, or perhaps the finality of her statement, triggered the fatal switch. He was fed up, furious, and shouted, “Why the hell do you want your old life back? Your life sucked, just like mine! You don’t have to put on this act, like you’re going to Paris with some pretend boyfriend.”

“Shut up!”

“You told me you wanted to start over. Hey, I don’t know what happened last night but I know you like me. You said so .” His fists clenched but he tried to stay calm. “What happened to Rick, and not being phony, and turning your life around?” He closed his eyes, taking a long breath and holding his palms up, like something important needed to be said.

“This isn’t how I wanted to say it.” He exhaled the words softly. “I love you.”

Monica stared at him. Then she shook her head at the sky, letting out an angry laugh. “God, Luke, you’re such a dweeb. I was kidding, okay? I told you, I’m getting a job and going to Paris, and I don’t need some baby sophomore tagging along like a lapdog. Get it?”

She walked several paces and then stopped, not turning around.

Luke felt the blood drain from his body. It burned hot and cold at the same time. Never had he wanted to be away from a place so badly and he scrambled off the jetty, slipping twice on the rocks. He gained his footing and veered off the beach, into a patch of woods. It was far off the trail, but he didn’t care as he tore through a maze of tightly packed trees. His eyes blurred as he ran and he realized he was crying.

It was almost noon and Jules was having trouble concentrating. He’d been reading the green notebook for hours, staring at microscopic images of leaves and twigs and pinecones, while a dozen ideas swirled in his head.

On a piece of scrap paper, he jotted down three questions in pencil:

How did George entangle the thought waves of plants and humans?

How are plants able to understand human thoughts?

What role does the fungus play?

For now, Jules had to grudgingly accept the idea that George had used some kind of brain entrainment to unify the thought waves of plants and humans. It had something to do with V-waves and isochronic tones. Perhaps the last two questions were connected. The fungus had something to do with the way plants synthesized human thoughts.

Jules looked at the results of the EEG, the enormous amount of electrical activity flowing from plant to fungus every time he approached them. Could a plant and fungus form a symbiotic relationship that allowed them to communicate with humans? The idea was ludicrous with not a shred of scientific plausibility.

And how was it possible that so many species were involved? The notion that all the plants on the island could be working together was also impossible. Plants didn’t cooperate with each other. It was all about advancing the genes of their own kind. Just like humans, a plant wouldn’t think twice about overtaking another species, even killing vegetation that got in the way of their survival. But also like humans, plants had been shown to be altruistic in nature, even sacrificing themselves for the good of their families. There had to be something vital at stake for every species of plant to work for the common good.

Jules slumped in the chair, resting his head back and shutting his eyes, thinking how this was all so impossible. Yet, how else could he explain his own experience in the woods? Something supernatural had occurred. There was no doubt in his mind. Jules had felt their cold fingers probing his brain, spider-walking over his frontal cortex and touching certain memories. He could still feel their presence now as if they never left, and it gave him a chill.

It occurred to him that if George Brookes really had made such a discovery, his name would become the most famous in modern science. Of course, Jules Beecher would be right behind him, if he were able to reproduce the results and bring the research to light. He felt a rush of adrenaline and his gaze darted over the room, stopping on a row of plant specimens.