A. Colucci - Seeders

Jules scrambled to find the weapon. He reached for a shimmer of metal below the surf, but an enormous wave took him by surprise and he tumbled along the seafloor.

Monica surfaced and looked around hysterically. The waves had settled into a lull. The monster was gone and the only sound was the crackle of rain pounding the surface. Her body trembled as if caught in a seizure and she could barely hug her arms. Then Jules came up with a roar of anger. His hands grasped her birdlike neck and shook it hard, snapping her head back and forth

“Lather!” he cried. Then he thrust her under. “Rinse!”

She came up coughing a mouthful of water, only to be dunked under again.

“Repeat!”

Up she came, and back down.

“Repeat!”

Again, he lifted and plunged her in the surf.

Then Jules let out a cry of fury, releasing Monica, throwing his head back and spinning his body. An arrow was lodged in his back.

He turned in circles and reached over his shoulder, trying to rip the arrow from his flesh. The pouring rain drenched his face as he looked skyward with a hideous cry of rage.

Luke dropped the crossbow on the sand and raced for the shallows toward Monica, as she crawled out of the water.

Ginny got caught in the downpour. Rain pummeled the trees and drenched the ground. She slid under a thatch of bushes to wait out the storm, but it provided about as much protection as a fishing net. She opened the map she had pried from its frame in the office. It was damp, hard to read, and some of the sketchy lines were washed away.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, wiping the water from her eyes. Not that she could see the map too well anyway. The storm clouds made the woods terribly dark and she’d forgotten her reading glasses. She was pleased with herself for bringing a flashlight, a small shovel, and proper rain gear. Although an umbrella would have been nice, and if the woods turned completely black, the flashlight wouldn’t be enough to find her way back.

She hated to think that Isabelle was right about waiting until morning, but it was hard to disagree as a river of water turned the ground beneath her into mud.

Still, she thought, if the British could stand anything, it was a bit of rain.

Ginny looked at the map. She had followed it carefully off the trail to the east before the weather turned. But it wasn’t clear which direction was which.

“Oh, crumb,” she said and wiped the dampness from her face.

She decided to have one more go at finding the pond. As long as she got back to the house by nightfall, in another hour, she’d be fine.

Luke and Monica ran through the woods, out of breath and soaking wet, covered in scrapes and bruises. Thunder cracked above them and they stopped to take a rest under a canopy of trees. Monica dropped to the ground with her face in her hands, crying and wiping the back of her head, where she found blood.

“He fucking scalped me!” she screamed with clenched teeth, eyes black with rage.

Luke squatted over her, trying to catch his breath. “We have to keep going. He’s got a stockpile of weapons in that tent.”

“You should have grabbed them. Why did you drop the crossbow?”

He wasn’t listening, just panting hard. “Let’s get back to the house. Tell my mom about that boat.”

Monica got to her feet, shouting expletives over the storm. She turned to a pine tree and ripped off a large switch, holding the branch out to Luke. “You know what I think? It is these damn trees. What else could it be, making everyone crazy? They’re trying to scare us. Make us want to kill each other off.”

“Stop saying that.”

“You know I’m right!” Thunder echoed her anger. The clippers were still in her jacket, and she held them like a spear, smashing the point into the tree trunk.

Luke put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s just go.”

She shrugged him off, stabbing the shears into the bark again and again.

“No!” a voice yelled loudly over the storm, and it jolted them both.

For a moment, they stared at Sean.

He pointed a finger at Monica and repeated, “No!”

Luke gawked at his brother. He hadn’t heard a distinguishable word from Sean in five years. His brother was shivering from the cold and Luke yelled over a rumble of thunder, “Sean. We have to get back to the house now.”

Monica blew out a burst of laughter. “Don’t be stupid, Luke. He’s one of them.” She glared at Sean. “You’ve gone insane like Beecher!” She snapped off another branch and held it in front of Sean. “Is this your little girlfriend? Snip, snip, snip, Sean,” Monica said, cutting each twig off with the shears.

With a swoop of his fist, Sean grabbed the clippers from her hand, and Monica stepped back in alarm.

“Freak,” she muttered, and thunder cracked over their heads.

Luke grabbed Monica’s hand and they ran back toward the house, leaving Sean standing alone on the path. He put the shears in his back pocket and hugged himself, shivering.

Jules appeared, looking pale and slightly bent over. He stared at the boy while the rain drenched them both. “We have a boat now. It’s time.”

BY NIGHTFALL THE STORM was in full force. Across the island, mudslides swept away less hardy trees, rivers poured into the sea, and waves pounded the rocky shores. The rising tide devoured the beach until it was part of the ocean floor.

The library was quiet except for the muffled sound of thunder. It was dimly lit by a single lamp and the fireplace, where wet shoes and clothing were laid to dry. An occasional flash of lightning illuminated the windows with reflections of rain pouring down the glass.

Isabelle finished bandaging the wounds on Luke’s head. “Let me know if you start to feel dizzy or nauseous. You might have a concussion,” she told Luke in quiet seriousness. She had barely spoken to her son or Monica since they returned from the beach with injuries and stories of being attacked. She had warned them several times and Isabelle felt certain if she kept talking, she’d start shouting. She handed Luke a sweatshirt and applied more ice to the red welt around Monica’s neck that was beginning to bruise.

Luke slid the towel off his bare shoulders and pulled the sweatshirt over his head, shivering. The house was freezing, but the coldness from his mother was more than he could bear. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have gone out there.” He glanced at Monica sitting on the couch wrapped in blankets, silently staring into an empty cup of soup. “We’re both sorry.”

Isabelle didn’t answer right away. She put the empty dishes on the tray. “I want you both to go up to your rooms and lock your doors. Don’t come out until morning, no matter what you hear.”

Monica rose quickly. With a quiet good night, she nearly tripped on the blanket as she scuttled to the hallway and up the stairs.

“We’ll keep all the lights on,” Isabelle said.

Luke looked at the rifle propped by her side. Whenever she moved more than a few feet, she’d reflexively pick it up and drop it in easy reach.

“Mom, Sean is with Dr. Beecher,” Luke said.

Isabelle swayed into the bookshelf to hold steady. Her fingers found her lips and held in a sigh of relief. She had not asked about Sean, afraid of the answer, but now at least she knew he was alive.

“Where?” she asked. “Where is he?”

“In the woods. He won’t come back on his own.”

“Sean,” she whispered.

“He spoke to us.”

“What?”

“Sean—he said no . He said it twice.”

Her lips formed a slight smile, although there was no reason to be cheerful. Life couldn’t have been more daunting than at that very moment, but Sean speaking was like a tiny light at the end of a very dark tunnel. She turned her head to a flash of lightning and wiped the smile away with the back of her hand. “Your brother’s out there, in the storm.”