A. Colucci - Seeders

She peered up at the sun, bright white and all-consuming. She captured the image in her mind and held it there—burning gas and explosions, red and yellow streaming flares. Nature’s source of life and energy; she sensed its power.

Instantly, her mind began to clear as though the brilliant sun created a kind of barrier to her brain. A wall they could not penetrate. A father’s message he couldn’t write.

Her hand found her coat pocket and pressed against six bullets.

Jules stopped in front of Isabelle, looking puzzled. “There’s work to do.”

She nodded with a faint smile that made him look twice. He grinned back and led her toward the beach.

As soon as he turned, Isabelle plowed into him sideways, driving the point of her shoulder into his back and grabbing at the rifle. Again, she underestimated his strength. Jules never lost grip on the weapon as they fell over each other, but Isabelle got her footing and ran. She headed up the path to High Peak, swerving widely as she passed Colin’s body, which lay twisted in an unnatural way on the edge of the path.

Jules trudged after her, swinging the rifle and angry at the constant delays.

Isabelle clambered up the bluff, slipping on loose gravel, scraping the flesh of her palms. She could barely feel her legs by the time she reached the top of High Peak, and collapsed at the cliff’s edge. A strong wind howled in her ears and she peered down at the waves crashing over the rocks. Her father’s last stand.

Tilting her head toward the sun, something caught her eye and she gasped. Two large Coast Guard boats were arriving, Canadian flags flapping in the wind. The crew looked like tiny white specks but she could count at least a dozen. Her arms waved frantically and she rose to her knees.

Jules reached the summit. Isabelle turned to see the giant above her, blocking out the sky. His expression was a keg of dynamite ready to explode. He stepped toward her and she held in a scream. Up close, the fleshy tubes that covered his face seemed to wiggle and squirm on their own. His eyes were crazed, his smile wicked.

“It’s your decision, Isabelle. You can join us, or jump like your father.”

Isabelle paused, staring at his outstretched hand. It looked so inviting.

His expression softened. “Take it.”

Isabelle reached out and clasped his fingers. He helped her up.

“Look at the sun, Jules.”

They both peered skyward.

Isabelle’s mind grabbed the sunlight. She looked at Jules, swaying with a hazy far-off gaze, as if hypnotized by its rays.

She charged at him with a grunt. This time his body was lax and unguarded, and he fell to the edge of the cliff. She scrambled to get away but he reached for her ankle and yanked her off her feet. She hit the dirt chin-first, the air knocked from her lungs.

Jules grabbed the rifle. He swung it high and hammered it into her leg. The bone snapped loudly and she cried out in agony.

Jules raised the rifle again, aiming at her head.

There was no fight left in her. Isabelle closed her eyes, bracing for pain and darkness. But there was nothing, and her eyes fluttered open.

Jules was doubled over and let out a cry from a spear that had pierced through his gut. He grasped both hands around the pole, trying to pull it out. He teetered from side to side, letting go of the spear and staring straight ahead.

Luke stood a few feet away in a fighting stance, tight-fisted and easing the shoulder of his throwing arm, ready to attack if necessary.

Instead, Jules turned around slowly to the sea. He looked up at the sun, swaying on his feet. Luke took a few bold steps forward, but Isabelle stopped him with an outreached hand. She nodded to the cliff.

Then they both watched Jules hang his head over the angry ocean, lean forward, and drop off the edge. There was no sound of his body hitting the rocks but they both felt it. The air was quiet for a long moment.

Luke knelt down to his mother as she winced from the pain in her thigh. The swelling ballooned inside her trouser leg.

She looked at Luke in utter disbelief. “How did you…?”

“The sun,” he said, and she knew what he meant.

“He killed Dad.” His voice cracked and he strained to keep steady.

She nodded and said, “We’re going to be okay,” but wished it sounded more convincing. “I saw two boats. They’ll be here soon.”

“Can you walk?”

She shook her head, and then touched his arm. “Sean?”

Luke turned from her gaze. “He’s okay… but he killed the man from the Coast Guard.” He quickly added, “He felt bad about it, I could tell. He’s not completely gone.”

“Of course not.” She hissed in pain, trying to move.

“Stay here, I’ll get help.”

She lay back down on the ground and fought against the agony in her leg, hoping she wouldn’t pass out. “We have to protect your brother, no matter what. We’ll tell them Dr. Beecher went crazy from something, maybe drugs. Like my father.”

“What about the plants? How they control—”

“They won’t believe us, Luke.”

“We have to tell them. It’s too important. You can’t do that to your father and Dr. Beecher, let their memories—”

The crack of a bullet exploded. Luke’s eyes bulged and his head jerked sideways. He fell to the ground, blood pooling fast around his head.

Behind him, Sean stood holding his father’s pistol.

From the expression on Luke’s face, Isabelle could tell her son was dead.

She felt the cold swoosh of emotion leaving her body, slipping through a dark tunnel, as soothing numbness took over. She watched Luke bleed out and all she could think was, Why? What had it all been for? They had fought so hard and in the end, all was lost. Not even a tiny revelation. Sean whimpered a sound that could have been regret, but it didn’t matter. Everything was gone.

The rifle was within reach, there were bullets in her pocket, but Isabelle didn’t move. She didn’t even look at Sean as he stepped over his brother’s body. She turned her head to the sea, and waited to die.

THE ROYAL CANADIAN MOUNTED POLICE boat hydroplaned across the sea, on a deep blue surface with waves that were round and gentle. A flag proclaiming H Division flapped at the bow as it sped toward Sparrow Island.

Isabelle stood at the helm, wondering if she would finally feel some twinge of emotion. A policeman was watching from the corner of his eye. It had been almost a year, but she was sure he was waiting for her to break down in tears. She turned her face toward the sea, holding tight to the railing, the strap of an overnight bag slung across her shoulder.

The island grew larger but Isabelle still felt nothing. She rarely did anymore.

A year ago, the ocean had been a tempest full of wrath and fury. But now it was calm, like a fierce tiger that had eaten enough meat and lolled quietly under the sun. The boat entered the inlet and Isabelle gazed over the island. It was spring again. The trees were still mostly bare, the beach was black, and the waves washed over the jetty toward the cliff, where they smashed steadily, ferociously against the rocks. Nothing had changed. Yet everything had.

The boat headed for the dock, where Isabelle imagined the color red; a pool of blood from Captain Flannigan’s body.

Instead there was a woman on the dock, waving.

The boat scuttled into the mooring. The policeman helped Isabelle off the boat. She turned to thank him, and he tipped his cap, jumped back on deck.

Isabelle faced the woman, who smiled with gleaming white teeth. She was young, in her early twenties, with strawberry-blond hair that fell to her shoulders and a fresh farm-girl look about her. She introduced herself as Laurie Spelling. Her specialty was mycology.