A. Colucci - Seeders

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.

His smile fell away. “You shouldn’t think bad thoughts about them, Isabelle.”

“No, I wouldn’t. They’re quite lovely.”

“Stay with me tonight,” he said, delighted. He put a hand on her shoulder, moving close. He smelled earthy, like mushrooms, and the growth covered his entire forehead, surrounded his eye, and continued down the side of his cheek into his stubbly beard. The ax was digging into Isabelle’s leg and she eased back from his grip.

His eyes gleamed. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I should go back to the house, get my things.”

When he heard those words, Jules lost all reserve. He dropped the ax and took Isabelle in his arms and kissed her hard. His warm tongue snaked into her mouth, tasting bitter.

She pushed desperately on his chest but her resistance was met with the strength of an ox. The muscles in his fingers barely flexed. It took no effort to keep her still and Isabelle realized that struggling was useless.

She bit his lip, clenching her teeth down hard.

They broke apart and Jules staggered back, holding his bloody mouth.

“I’m leaving,” she rasped. “Don’t follow me.”

He looked wounded, but not from the bite. “You said you were going to stay.”

“I can’t. Just leave me alone.”

“Isabelle, I swear. Spend just one night in the woods. One night and you’ll understand, I promise. It will all be clear in the morning.” He moved closer.

Isabelle pulled out the knife. “Don’t touch me.”

Jules stepped back, reaching down to pick up the ax, just as Sean came out of the woods carrying a large fern. The roots dangled from his hands.

“Sean, come here,” Isabelle said.

Instead he walked to Jules, standing behind him and suspiciously eyeing his mother.

“I said come here.”

Sean blinked and sniffed, wiped his nose with his sleeve.

“Leave the boy alone, Isabelle. He has a job to do.” Jules gave Sean a hearty shove back toward the woods and told him, “Get back to work.”

She felt rage and fear at the same time, wanting to pounce on the man, but paralyzed to move. “Don’t hurt him.”

Sean turned with a final scowl at his mother and headed back into the woods.

“Come back, Sean,” she cried, but his quick steps were fading, and she tried to follow.

Jules blocked her path. He held the ax over his shoulder. “Go home, little girl. Before someone loses their head.”

Terror burned in her cheeks and Isabelle had a feeling of helplessness so overwhelming she could barely stand.

With a hand to her mouth, she backed away, and then started to run, stumbling through the woods and blinded by tears. She rounded a bend and headed in the same direction as Sean, the sound of Jules’s laughter pushing her on.

MONICA CHUGGED THE LAST BOTTLE of wine while Luke kept a comforting hand on her back. His mind was working, trying to deduce how she could have seen a dead man walking. She hadn’t eaten any of the biscuits.

“My hands are shaking so bad,” she said. “I can’t stop shaking.”

“Shhh, it’s over,” he said and kissed the bruise on her arm. “You’re okay.”

“I’m not okay! I’m fucking scared out of my wits. God, he was so gross !”

Luke took a slow breath and rose from the bed, pacing in a small circle. “I don’t get it.” He stared at her. “You never ate a biscuit.”

“Duh, Sherlock. Obviously you were wrong about the drugs.”

“Maybe it was Beecher trying to scare you. He was probably holding up the body and chasing you around.”

“Don’t be an idiot. That thing was two inches from my face. I could smell him.” She drank from the bottle so fast she coughed it all onto the mattress. “Shit.”

Luke started pacing again. It helped him think. “Maybe Beecher was right. The plants make you see things that aren’t there.”

“What are you talking about?”

His shoulders dropped as he exhaled. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might freak you out. Plus, I didn’t quite believe it myself.”

“Spill.”

“Dr. Beecher thinks my grandfather did something to the plants on the island. I’m not positive, but they might be messing with our heads.”

“What plants?” she asked.

“The ones on the island.” He could see her next question arising and headed it off. “According to Beecher, plants are conscious beings, like people. Their thoughts travel the same way as our own brain waves, but at different frequencies. So if George was able to synchronize the thought frequencies of plants and humans, they might be able to communicate with us.”

“In English, please.”

“The plants are putting thoughts in our heads. I mean, taking our own thoughts and using them to scare us. Although Beecher insists they’re just trying to send us messages. He thinks it has something to do with a fungus. This black stuff that’s growing all over the woods.”

Monica expelled a burst of air. “And you believe him. That’s crazy.”

“I’ve been reading his book. He’s really a brilliant guy.”

“He might be smart but he’s also nuts. Maybe even dangerous.”

Luke nodded. “He has all those… sharp things.”