A. Colucci - Seeders

He watched a smile creep over his mother’s face, and said, “What?”

She tapped the page hard. “The abbreviated genus is H. annuus, otherwise known as sunflower.”

Luke nodded slowly. “West of the woods and east of High Peak.” He brightened. “The sun rises in the east and sets in the west.”

“Of course. The answer to the riddle is the sun .”

They both stared at the next line. Isabelle rolled it around in her head. “How is the sun protector of all who think?”

“Maybe they can only get in your head at night.”

“I don’t know. We’ve had plenty of trouble in daylight.”

They thought in silence for a moment.

Luke shrugged. “Why did George bother to write a riddle? Why didn’t he just explain what he meant?”

“Because he couldn’t. George had lost control of his mind, so he told us in the only way possible. The same way Jules told me to make a bonfire.”

“Huh?”

“Jules wanted me to signal for help, but he was too far gone to say the words. He told me about the bonfire in a sort of code, like a riddle.” She listened to the sound of silence. “The rain is letting up. We should leave now.”

“I’m not going with Sean.”

“You don’t have to.” Isabelle was looking desperately out the window, and her voice cracked. “We’ve lost him.”

THE BEACH WAS LITTERED with seaweed and driftwood that had washed up during the storm. Luke squinted at a gray sky, where the sun was trying to seep through the haze. He carried a small bag of supplies, while Isabelle shouldered the rifle.

They walked down the gangway to the Acadia, rocking in the swells. They approached the boat cautiously and stopped, listening for movement on board. Isabelle opened the latch to the swing door. She let out a gasp of horror.

Captain Flannigan’s body was pushed under a bench, his shirt pulled over his white belly. He’d been filleted down the middle by a knife, with two horizontal cuts that exposed a pink pile of loosely packed intestines that spilled from the cavity onto the deck in an enormous puddle of blood.

Isabelle pushed Luke back a few paces and turned her head from the ghastly sight. A sound came from her throat, and Luke held her steady for a moment.

“I’m okay,” she said. “We need to move him.”

Isabelle and Luke each took a leg and dragged the body onto the dock, the entrails starting to unravel. They boarded the boat, stepping over the blood pool. On deck they found stacks of wooden pallets and lobster traps that contained hundreds of plant specimens.

Isabelle turned around and scanned the line of trees down the beach. “We have to hurry. They’ll probably be back soon.” She gave the rifle to Luke and told him to untie the dock lines and stand guard while she started the engine. Then she climbed the ladder and peeked over the bridge, relieved to see it was empty. The boat rolled slightly on a wave as she moved forward to the captain’s chair.

The key was in the ignition. It hadn’t even occurred to Isabelle that she’d need a key but now she gave a silent prayer of thanks. A slight turn started the motor. It sputtered loudly for a moment, and then purred while the gauge needles spun around. She flipped on the radio, surfing the channels. There was only static, but she tuned in channel sixteen.

“Hello? This is the Acadia . Can anyone hear me?”

Luke put the rifle down and squatted on the dock next to the captain’s body, hastily unwinding the first line from its cleat. A flash of movement shifted his eyes to the woods.

Jules emerged from the trees holding a heavy pallet. He took one look at the boat and stopped short on the sand, dropped the plants, and raced down the beach.

Luke saw him and jumped on board, shouting to the bridge, “Mom, go!”

Isabelle hit full throttle and the boat lurched, but it was still tied up at the bow.

“Hold on!” Luke vaulted over the rail and struggled with the second rope. The sound of heavy boots pounding down the gangway made him fumble, but he finally freed the line. As the boat drifted from its berth, he jumped aboard again, holding tight to the rail for balance. He turned to see Jules storming toward the rifle.

“Damn,” he whispered, looking for cover, but Jules didn’t stop to pick up the gun. He was going full speed and Luke scurried backward as the engine revved and the boat pulled out of the mooring.

Jules leapt eight feet over the water and landed on deck, into the captain’s blood. He slid across the floor and smashed against the pallets.

Luke heard the crack of bones and wood.

Jules moaned and rolled on his side. There was still half an arrow sticking out of his back. He rose to his feet, standing up straight and expanding his huge bare chest. A strip of cloth was wrapped around the gunshot wound in his shoulder and another where Luke had stabbed him in the leg. His nose had doubled in size and his eyes were badly bruised. Cuts and patches of black had invaded most of his face and a shard of glass stuck out of his neck.

How can he be alive? Luke thought, gaping.

Jules charged at the boy, tackling him to the floor. They slammed into the pallets, sending the plants overboard. Jules kicked Luke in the gut and watched him curl in pain. He pulled his leg back again, but the boat lurched and Luke grabbed his foot before the next blow hit. He tugged and twisted, sending Jules backward into the stack of pallets.

Another tray of plants went sailing overboard, plunging the specimens into the depths. Jules rushed to the side, watching the green leaves vanish. He turned, growling like an animal and running after the boy.

Luke fumbled down the starboard side of the boat, knocking stacks of lobster traps onto the floor behind him, trying to slow Jules down. He had nearly reached the stern when his feet caught on something and he fell onto a soft mound. It was a knee-high pile of fishing net and he kicked his feet out of the holes and got back up. Jules was scrambling over obstacles with fury in his face, and there was nowhere for Luke to run. He looked around for something else to throw, but there was nothing. He grabbed the fishing net with both hands and tried to pick it up but it was a tangled mess. The ropes were brittle, covered in algae and hooks. He managed to haul a clump of it over his head. But it was too late.

Jules lunged at him, and they both fell backward on the deck, the heavy net covering Luke’s body. The boy squirmed to get free but his hands and knees got more tangled in the holes. Jules had all his weight on the boy, straddling his legs and pinning his arms down. Luke tried to kick but he could barely move; he was caught like a fish.

Jules tore the bandage off his own shoulder and pressed the bloody cloth over the boy’s mouth and nose. Luke tried to scream but the thick cloth cut off his air. The enormous hand covered half his face. Luke looked up and saw the face of Jules leaning closer to him, just inches from his cheek. His voice was raspy but calm.

“It’s okay, son. Just let it happen.”

There was something in the man’s eyes and his voice that frightened Luke even more than not being able to breathe.

“You can’t fight it. Better you let it happen.”

Over Jules’s shoulder, Luke saw the boat was spinning like crazy—or was he just dizzy? He needed air badly, just one breath. He was in full-blown panic and began to struggle wildly. It was worse than drowning.

Jules sounded pleased. “Come on now. We’re almost there.”

There was a whirring in Luke’s ears as he was plunging into blackness. He struggled to kick and Jules pressed harder on the bandage.

“Almost there… here we go.”