A. Colucci - Seeders

“My father and Dr. Beecher became killers.”

Dr. Jacobs shook his head. “They interpreted the message wrong. It’s something to do with mixed-up connections in the brain. They get the message all boggled.” His jaw clenched ever so slightly. “Although I can’t really blame them. Killing off mankind is a logical solution to the problem.”

Isabelle swallowed hard, and whispered, “Excuse me?”

He stared into her eyes. “Who do you see as the victims on earth? Do you know what’s happening to trees all over the world?”

Isabelle tried to look composed as the color drained from her face. She asked in a low voice, “How long have you been working on this island?”

“Long enough to know we can still save this planet. People like me, Laurie, and Sean. We can be earth’s salvation.”

Sean . The sound of his name drew both panic and hope. She gaped at the doctor. “Do you know where my son is? Where is Sean?”

He cleared his throat. “He’s here, on the island.”

“Here? Is he… dead?”

“No.”

A blaze of emotions swept through Isabelle’s body like a brushfire. She wrestled with joy and fear in equal measure. She tried to speak but her voice caught.

“I can take you to him.”

She managed a nod.

“All right,” he said. “Come with me.”

Isabelle followed Dr. Jacobs and Laurie outside, barely able to keep up on legs that felt like rubber. It seemed as if she were walking through a dream. This can’t be happening.

The tractor filled with plants rumbled across the lawn. A pallet fell off the top of the heap, hitting the ground and spilling bags of saplings, seed, and soil. The man stopped and got out of the driver’s seat as the three passed.

“Watch what you’re doing, Oscar,” Jacobs said firmly.

The man repositioned all the plants. Isabelle could see that each of the pallets was marked with cities and states: San Francisco, California; Bangor, Maine; Tallahassee, Florida …

Laurie was already at the shed, arms folded. As Isabelle reached the open door, Dr. Jacobs put a hand on her shoulder and she felt her knees giving out. She grasped the splintered doorframe. It was mostly dark inside, illuminated by dim blue lights that hung from the ceiling over crowds of plants that filled the room. Isabelle peered inside and was hit with the smell of mildew and a cool spray of mist.

She turned to Dr. Jacobs, apprehensive. He could sense her unease.

“You said you wanted to see Sean.”

For a moment, Isabelle had an urge to run, but her desire to see her son was overwhelming. She took a breath and stepped deeper into the shed. It was cold and hazy with particles of dust flying around. Plants were everywhere, covered in fungus. A labyrinth of plastic tubes kept them damp with mist. She heard the humming fan of a humidifier.

“Sean? Are you here?” she called out softly.

The door slammed shut.

Isabelle turned her head sharply. She ran to the door and pounded on the wood with open hands.

Dr. Jacobs spoke with a muffled voice. “Isabelle. I’m afraid you have to stay with us a while.” His mouth was close to the crack in the door. “You can sleep in the shed. I promise you’ll understand everything better in the morning. By tomorrow it will all be crystal clear.”

She clawed at the door in panic, scratching for a way out. The wood splintered beneath her fingers.

“Stop it, Isabelle. Do as you’re told, and you’ll see your son.”

Isabelle pressed her head to the wood, crying softly. She wiped the dampness from her cheeks. Sean . She would do anything to see him again. If there was just a chance, however small. After a few more moments she walked placidly toward the doorway of the generator room and stepped inside. It was dark, but pinholes of light bled through the cracks of the boarded-up window and she could see that the generator was gone. The entire room was covered in plants and fungus so thick it hung from the ceiling and dripped down the walls.

She walked to the end. There was a small table and a plate of biscuits. Just below the table, caught in a crack of light, there appeared to be a person. Isabelle felt her heart kick up. She stooped down and her eyes adjusted to see it was a child sitting on the floor. The fungus completely enveloped the body as though it were mummified in soft brown bandages.

Isabelle felt a scream in her throat that wouldn’t dislodge.

It was Sean. His face was emaciated, but every feature was distinguishable from his nose to the shape of his chin. His neck and shoulders were rail-thin but there was no doubt in her mind it was her son. She stepped back and hit a wall, staring in mute horror.

The body was relaxed. Sean sat with his arms wrapped around his shins and profile turned slightly to one side. Fungus mushroomed from his ear and somehow Isabelle knew they were deep inside his brain.

Learning from him, even in death .

Then Isabelle felt her eyes widen and her face tingle with scorching heat. There was a feeding tube in his arms connected to a plastic bag hanging on the wall. Oxygen tubes were inserted in both nostrils. She listened to the soft sound of his shallow breathing, watched his chest rising ever so slightly.

Isabelle raced from the room to the door, pounding with both fists. She cried, “What have you done to him!”

There was silence on the other side, then a whispering debate.

Dr. Jacobs spoke. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. Sean was the last, but the most necessary.” He came very close to the door; she could hear the whistle of his breath through the crack. “The others wouldn’t cooperate during the rooting process. It takes months of lying very still. After only a week George would have to kill them. But Sean was willing, eager really, to be the living specimen they needed. They know how our brains work now, so there won’t be any more deaths. Do you understand?”

“ No .” She was crying and shaking her head, not wanting to understand.

“They’ve studied us through your son. They know how to communicate, make people do what needs to be done, without killing each other. We can return to the way it was before. A world in harmony, don’t you see that?”

There was only a muffled cry.

Dr. Jacobs’s voice was upbeat. “Well, of course you don’t. But you will. Laurie and I—you’ll be just like us. And in a few years, so will the rest of the world.”

Isabelle clenched her fist white-knuckled against the wall. Her mouth was wide open, pulled back in a scream, but nothing came out. They were both walking away. She heard the tractor start up and drive off.

Then a horrible cry broke through from her throat and she began to wail hysterically. Tears streamed down her face, as her legs gave out and she slid to her knees, choking on a walnut-size lump in her throat that wouldn’t dislodge. Her body wrenched with pain and grief that had been stored up too long.

It was a while before Isabelle could stand. The purge of emotion left her light-headed and numb. With teary vision, she made her way back to the generator room.

A fly buzzed over the plate of biscuits. Below, Sean was fixed in frozen contemplation.

Isabelle stared unblinking, and then sat down on the cool, fungus-covered ground across from her son, purple dust staining her skin and clothing. She wiped her nose and listened to the whirling of a humidifier fan that blew dampness into the air, stirring up clouds of spores. There was a distinct sound of chatter and she could feel their fingers scratching at the back of her head, making their way inside.

Think of the sun .

She held the image in her mind and felt them loosen their grip. Time stopped moving. Isabelle took deep breaths into her lungs and leaned back against the damp fungus that crept over the wall. Her mind fell freely as she continued to breathe, thinking of nothing at all.