Monica heard him moan and shouted her thanks to God between breaths. Finally she reached the jetty and was able to stand on the muddy bottom. It took the rest of her remaining strength to pull herself up and drag Luke’s body over the slimy outcropping of rocks.
He was only semiconscious and nearly slipped under again, but she caught his arm. He rolled on his back, letting more water drip out of his mouth.
“What happened?” she yelled in his face. “Why didn’t you come up?”
His voice was faint. “I was … trapped.”
“Trapped? You were just lying there. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember … goddamn fronds … all over me.” He barked like a seal. “They wrapped … whole body … couldn’t get out.”
“What’s a frond?”
“Kelp,” he said, starting to catch his breath. He snorted out water into his hand. “You must have seen them … huge … all over the place.”
“I didn’t see any kelp. You were just lying there on the sand.”
He shook his head. “That’s impossible.”
“As impossible as Ginny with an ax in her head?”
Color started returning to his cheeks. It took another moment for his heart to beat steady. “Did you see the box?”
“What box?”
“I found a wooden box, in the boat. Had a big star on top. A crimson star.”
“You think the diamond is in there?”
He sat up and coughed like a seal again. “It looked like a jewelry box. It could be in there.”
“I don’t know. If you’re imagining kelp attacking you, maybe the box isn’t real either.”
“No way. It was real.” He held up his pointer finger and showed her the splinter. “This came off the wood. I’ll probably get tetanus.”
“So we should go down there and get it.” Her eyes were bright.
“Hell no. I’m not going down there again. I’m going home.”
She watched him strain to his feet and then walk a crooked path down the strip of rocks. She turned back to the sea with a longing expression, biting her lip and staring at the steel mast.
Luke didn’t look back. He kept on going, holding his chest and breathing heavy. Monica got up and followed him back to the beach.
CHAPTER 25
“DIDN’T I TELL YOU not to go outside?” Isabelle was fuming.
“See, I told you we shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Is that your answer, really?” she said to Monica, jerking her head like a pecking hen. “Look, all you have to do is survive for four more days. Do you think you can manage to stay alive until Wednesday?”
Ginny looked up from her jigsaw puzzle and huffed. “Lot of nonsense, plants trying to drown you. It’s hormones, I’m sure. A boy at his age will fantasize about anything. Dogs, sheep, kelp.”
“What’s going on, Mom?”
“I told you, I don’t know, but we have to stick together until the boat arrives.”
“Oh my,” Ginny said. “That day is coming up quickly and we still haven’t found the Star.”
Luke and Monica shared a glance.
“Ginny, we’ve searched the entire house. It’s not here.”
“Well, then, we must search outside. It’s on this island, I’m sure.”
“We’re staying inside.”
“All right, you leave me no choice.” Then she raised the reward to $100,000 and left the room in complete silence.
Finally, Isabelle took a breath and cleared her throat. “You can look all over the house, but don’t even think about going past the patio.” She glanced at the window and said, “Do you believe it? Your brother is outside again.” She headed to the hallway for her jacket.
“Your mom is getting so bossy,” Monica said.
“Yeah, I think it’s great.”
“I don’t. She can’t tell me what to do.”
“She’s trying to keep us from getting killed, without losing her mind like everyone else.”
Monica stuck out her lip. “You didn’t tell her about the box.”
“So what? A diamond isn’t the most important thing right now.”
“You gonna tell Ginny?”
He shrugged. “I just want to go lie down. I’m tired and I almost died.” He got up and walked to the stairs, glancing back. “Oh yeah, and thanks for saving my life.”
She smiled faintly, not really listening. She was thinking about the box.
* * *
Only Sean came to dinner that night. Isabelle made pancakes because it was his favorite. The house was deathly quiet, except for Sean humming the same tedious notes, which now sounded to Isabelle more frightening than hopeful.
She looked at him sideways; everything about her son seemed different. His skin was pale with dark circles under his eyes and he’d lost some weight so that his cheekbones were more prominent on his face. Then there was his expression: angry and accusing.
He stared at Isabelle and stopped humming.
“You want something?” she said cheerfully, even though the horrible truth was lurking in her mind. She was becoming afraid of her son.
Sean didn’t answer. He licked his lips, still focused on her face. The plate in front of him was full. He had barely eaten anything.
“Do you want to go to bed?”
No answer.
Isabelle took slow bites from her fork. At least he wasn’t humming anymore. She heard the tinkling of cutlery hitting his plate and out of her peripheral vision she saw he was holding a knife. Not in the way someone would cut a pancake, but holding it in his fist with the blade pointed down, like how someone might stab a person.
Without looking up, she said quietly, “You know, Sean. I thought we could go to the beach tomorrow. You haven’t been to the beach. We could maybe catch fish with the fishing poles. Would you like that?”
He started tapping the blade of the knife on the table. Still, Isabelle didn’t look up. She was afraid of what he might do.
Tap … tap … tap.
“Sean. Would you like to go for a walk in the woods?”
He put the knife down. She exhaled slowly.
“We’ll go tomorrow morning.” Then she looked at him and saw there was nothing frightening. Just the same sweet face as always.
He looked down and began to eat, long dark bangs falling into his eyes.
Reflexively, Isabelle reached out and brushed them away.
As she touched him, Sean hissed and scratched her arm.
She pulled back and stared with surprise, rubbing the puffy red lines that marred her skin.
Sean rose with a scowl, knocking his plate to the floor with a crash and then marching across the room. His footsteps pounded the stairs.
Isabelle sat rigid in her seat, one hand over her mouth.
She had felt something on his forehead. Smooth bumps, soft as moss but cold as stone. It was the same growth that she’d seen on Jules.
* * *
Monica chugged the bottle of vodka until it was gone. She lay on the bed looking pale and lazy.
“You drank all of it?” Luke said, in between sips from the bottle of merlot.
“S’okay. I can switch to that crappy stuff you’re drinking.”
He leaned over and kissed her lips. It felt good, but even better was how comfortable it was to kiss her. A serious girlfriend was something other guys had, not guys like Luke, and yet here he was kissing this gorgeous girl and it felt as natural as breathing. Getting physical with Monica was all he thought about since their first night in his room, and even though they hadn’t gone all the way, it was incredible. He decided that sex was this amazing secret that no one really understood until it happened. It gave him a new sense of confidence and maturity; even he could see the difference. If the guys back home asked how far he got with Monica—and they would—Luke would tell them to fuck off. That’s how it was when you loved someone.
His tongue found the inside of her mouth, cold from the vodka, but she pulled away, wanti
ng to snuggle instead. He played with her hair that fell softly around her face and over her shoulders. He traced the contours of her cheekbones, her jaw. “I like that you don’t wear all that makeup anymore. You’re prettier like this.”
She pressed a hand to her gut and burped, looking slightly bilious. “Yeah, well, once we get home everthin’ goes back to normal.”
As she started to doze, he started to panic.
“What do you mean? No way you’re going back to that life, or breaking up with me. No freakin’ way.”
“Luke.” She looked at him with sleepy lids. “Wass really changed? I mean … really?”
“I’ll tell you what’s changed. I’m gonna get that diamond and give you that money so we can go to France.”
“You’re drunk.” She sighed. “Like me.”
“Maybe a little. But I mean it … I love you.”
“I’m gonna puke.” She rolled off the bed and ran to the bathroom. He listened to her gag.
There was a knock on the door and Luke stuck the bottles under the bed. It had to be his mother, right on cue. He popped a handful of mints and chewed them while he let her in.
Isabelle scanned the room. “You should be in your own bed with the doors locked. Remember?”
“Monica was scared to be alone. I thought I’d stay till she fell asleep.”
There were disturbing sounds in the bathroom.
“Is she throwing up in there?”
He shrugged.
“Luke, I won’t tell you again.” She looked furious. “No drinking. I want it to stop. You have to keep your wits about you.”
He nodded in agreement, and leaned his head against the doorframe. “I have to tell you something. A lot of things in the shed are gone. Knives and spears and stuff.”
She drew back her shoulders. “When did you notice this?”
“Today. He left a crossbow and couple other things.”
“We don’t know for sure it was Jules.”
“Who else would it be?”
“As soon as she comes out, I want you both to go to sleep. Your own rooms, locked tight. I’ll be right out here in the hall tonight.”
“You’re going to sleep in the hall?”
She lifted the rifle that was leaning by the doorway. “Don’t worry. It’s under control.”
Luke stared at the gun. “Why don’t you give it to me? I should be the one protecting you.”
“Thank you, but I’m perfectly capable of handling a weapon.” Her mouth was a slit as she checked the chamber and pulled the safety so it clacked. “It’s the one useful thing your father taught me. Now go to sleep. And don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.”
He watched her walking away. “Mom?”
She turned around.
“I don’t like being here. But, I like how you are here. I mean…” He waited to see if more words were needed, but Isabelle smiled. She knew exactly what he meant.
* * *
Jules couldn’t sleep. He lay for hours, facedown on top of a sleeping bag, but couldn’t drift off. Finally, he got up and paced the campsite, pondering his insomnia.
It couldn’t be hunger. Jules barely needed to eat more than a few bites of fish a day, although his thirst was ravenous and he drank gallons of water from the pond. His body was never in better shape. He had the strength to move a five-foot oak tree, root ball and all. It wasn’t the frigid temperatures either. Jules couldn’t feel the sensation of cold on his skin. For that matter, he could barely feel pain. The other day he sprained an ankle carrying heavy pallets down an embankment, yet the pain never registered, even when the ankle swelled an ugly green and purple.
Jules realized that it had to be Isabelle keeping him awake. Why did he keep going back to the house when all she did was complain? He had been drawn to Isabelle, the idea of them working together, being together, yet now all she brought him was misery. Her callous, offensive words made him furious.
They’re controlling your mind, Jules.
“That’s ridiculous,” he seethed, rubbing the bumps on his forehead. He was agitated and so damn nervous. He squatted in front of the fire. It was nearly out and he threw a piece of driftwood on the embers, watching the flames burst to life. The firelight illuminated his mud-covered arms. It was the first time he noticed his lack of hygiene and it troubled him. He twirled a long lock of his hair tangled with fertilizer, remembering that he’d always had an aversion to dirt, almost a phobia.
What’s happening?
He gazed at a tall spindly birch tree directly in front of him, its newly sprouted leaves flittering wildly in the breeze, waving at him like little hands. Hello. Hello. All around him, an army of gigantic trees stood in a circle, thousands upon thousands of crooked branches, all reaching out to him. Desperate arms … reaching … wanting … something.
“Stop it,” he whispered.
Dry gray vines covered the bark on one particular tree, forming faces, wild eyes and gaping mouths. Others had their eyes drawn down in anger, round mouths hollering.
“Stop it!” he seethed again.
Jules found himself wondering if Isabelle could be right—perhaps he was under some kind of spell. He scowled inwardly.
Ridiculous! Are these thoughts not my own? I’m no different. Look how I go about my normal day, deciding what to eat, when to sleep. Look how I wake up and relieve myself in the bushes. I build a fire and begin my work. These are normal routines, not the control of another mind. Certainly not.
Scenes from a Saturday matinee flickered before him. He was five years old in a London theater and Mother took him to see an old black-and-white film, Invasion of the Body Snatchers. It was about aliens taking over a small town, and it terrified him. As their victims fell asleep, the aliens would place a pod beside their bed. Overnight, it would replicate their DNA and by morning a perfect clone would emerge from the pod, kill the victim, and take his place in the world.
Quite suddenly, Jules started to chuckle, and before long he was roaring with laughter. But the cackling soon trailed off to a low snicker. His eye twitched and he winced. The idea was not so preposterous after all. He looked at the curves of the landscape, the way the black shroud was draped over those “things.” The specimens he unearthed. He didn’t like going near them, tried not to think about them too much. Except now he wanted to have a look, see what they were up to.
Seeders.
Already, he had detached the fungus from each of the specimens, peeled them clean, but he had quickly covered them back up so he didn’t have to look at them. Jules squatted down beside the amorphous mounds and curled back a few square yards, like he was rolling up a carpet.
He exposed all nine of them and stepped back.
This is how they know what I’m thinking. They learned, and now they know.
He stared at the nine human bodies he unearthed. They lay chest-down in the dirt, heads turned to the side, the back of their skulls partly removed. Most were still in various stages of the rooting process, their flesh preserved but hardened like clay. The cadavers were gaunt and deflated in the center, as if their organs had collapsed. The fungus was heavily rooted throughout the bodies, concentrated at the heads where it enveloped their brains. It covered the frontal lobes and needled its way into gray matter.
Probing. Learning. Planning.
Jules found himself wondering who the people were, seven young men and two women. Perhaps students of George’s. At one time useless, all-consuming humans. Now they were vital to the earth. The first Seeders.
CHAPTER 26
MORNING FOG BLANKETED THE ISLAND and settled heavily over the beach. In the woods, white wisps of steam curled around trees like ghosts.
Monica opened her bloodshot eyes to a bright glow outside the window that made her squint and added pain to her already throbbing head. The moist air reminded her of being underwater, the terror of dragging Luke to the surface.
She threw open the window by the bed, breathing in the cool air that smelled like s
alt and clams. It was refreshing and nauseating at the same time. She collapsed in the covers, and right away thought about the reward money.
A hundred thousand dollars could change her life.
From the open window she heard the kitchen door slam. She peered outside and saw someone, probably Luke, step into the fog. Where on earth was he going? Her mind raced to recall their conversation the night before. All she remembered was that he didn’t want to tell anyone about the box. Maybe he was going to the beach to retrieve it himself. No, he would never go back in the water.
She squinted at the fog. The figure emerged from the haze momentarily and was swallowed up again. He was headed to the woods, but why? She recalled his promise the night before, how he was going to get the money and give it to her so they could go to France.
Monica threw a jacket over her sweats and stepped into her boots. She ran through the hall and down the staircase. Before realizing what a precarious thing she was doing, the moist air was upon her face, making her cheeks wet as she jogged down the foggy path, trying to catch up to Luke. She reached the entrance of the woods and called out his name, but all was silent.
Shit, what am I doing? She stepped along the path. The woods were colorless, shrouded in white fog that closed behind her like a gate.
“Luke,” she called out, keeping her voice low. Dr. Beecher could be hiding anywhere. The thought made her want to go back, but she couldn’t bear the idea of Luke out in the ocean alone. Besides, who did this Beecher guy think he was, freaking everyone out so they were stuck in the damn house for days? Luke’s life was at stake, a hundred grand was in her grasp, and no lunatic was going to scare her out of it.
She heard a noise and stopped. Deep in the woods, a shadowy figure stood in the mist. He waved his arm. The air was too thick to tell for sure, but it had to be Luke. Then he turned around and went deeper into the clouds.
“Where are you going?” Monica said and veered off the path, following the sound of breaking twigs. “Hey, get back here.”
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