Seeders: A Novel

by A. J. Colucci

  “Stop. Talking. Please,” Jules said.

  They came to a clearing and stepped into the campsite where the ground was dark and supple, covered in fungi that had taken over the whole place. The tent leaned at a sharp angle. On the ground were pallets filled with every variety of plant. A wheelbarrow, farming tools, test tubes, and microscopes lay forgotten and half buried in soil that had been dumped into six-foot dunes.

  Monica stared, jaw gaping. “What is this place?”

  “You like it?”

  She sneered and put a foot on the soft pile. She took a few steps, bouncing lightly. There was a table covered with dirt and more plants in clear, labeled bags.

  “What are these things?”

  “Let’s see,” Jules said and picked up a couple of specimens. “Arctostaphylos uva-ursi, commonly known as bearberry, and this is Populus tremuloides, or aspen poplar.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Why you baggin’ ’em up?”

  Jules wasn’t listening. He looked under the table. “Now where is that shovel?”

  Thunder rumbled and Monica hugged her arms, rubbing the sleeves for both warmth and comfort. Leaden clouds expanded overhead and the dank woods filled with the heady smell of rain. It was getting dark and Monica wanted to get back to the house before it started to pour. Even more, she wanted to get away from Jules and the presentiment of danger he evoked.

  “Now that I think about it,” she said, moving to the edge of the camp. “I really got to get back to the house.”

  “Shovel, shovel, who’s got the shovel?” Jules picked up an ax. “This will do.” He held it lengthwise, smacking the blunt side of the steel against his palm like a baseball bat.

  He stared at Monica. She stared at the blade.

  “What are you going to do with that?”

  “What do you think?” He took a leisurely step closer. “Are you frightened?”

  Monica felt the heat of terror rush to her face. This couldn’t be happening. He stepped closer and she doubled back. “Don’t touch me. I’ll scream.”

  “And who will hear you?”

  She wasn’t expecting the speed at which he moved. In a blink, Jules lunged for her. As she turned to run, he pressed the ax to her chest and pinned her arms back.

  “Get off me, creep!” She tried to reach for the cutting shears, but moving her hands was futile.

  Jules traced the tip of the ax along her neck. He reeked of mold.

  Monica’s panicked eyes fell on Sean. “Get him off me.”

  Sean giggled.

  Jules spoke to him in a firm tone. “Sean, you need to go finish your work.”

  The boy frowned and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, before turning and vanishing into the pines.

  Jules ran the blade over Monica’s cheek. “I wonder how many of our little friends you’ve plucked from the ground. If I were to cut off your pretty little fingers one by one with this blade, would you feel remorse for those you’ve killed, or would you only think of yourself?”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She was trembling and turned her face from the blade. Thunder cracked directly overhead and a raindrop fell on her cheek.

  Jules licked it away with his tongue. “Maybe I’ll deflower you myself.”

  “Let her go!” Luke walked out from the trees with a knife pointed at Jules.

  He smiled wide at the boy, letting Monica fall to the ground, and she scrambled back. He stepped toward Luke and swung the ax over his shoulder. “It seems the knight in shining armor has arrived. I thought there might be hope for you, Luke, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Lightning flashed and a light wind brought showers that pelted the trees.

  “Back off!” Monica sputtered, once again on her feet. The metal shears shook in her hands, pointed at Jules. Her face was wet with tears and rain.

  Jules held in laughter. “Did you tell him yet, mademoiselle? Does he know you’re nothing but a filthy little tease? A lying, frigid, semiliterate virgin who’s petrified to fuck? Go ahead and tell him he’s wasting his time.”

  Luke dove at Jules, sending them both to the ground as it was splattered with fat raindrops. The two wrestled frantically with equal force; Jules with sheer strength and Luke driven by panic and fury. He held on to the knife but Jules gripped his wrist and the weapon sliced only air. As Jules reached for the ax, he let go of the boy and Luke plunged the knife into his leg.

  “Run!” he shouted to Monica, and she took off into the trees.

  Furious, Jules yanked the bloody knife out of his leg, pulled back his massive foot, and kicked Luke in the head.

  Luke rolled onto his side, knocked out cold.

  Jules got to his feet and checked the body.

  Shallow breathing, a slight moan, but no movement.

  His head sprang up like a hunting dog. The girl was no doubt running toward the beach, to the boat. Jules grabbed the ax and took off after her.

  CHAPTER 31

  A SUDDEN DOWNPOUR struck the island. Horizontal rain came down in sheets that pelted the beach and a spear of lightning flashed over the inlet. The wind howled and the sea had become a rolling, churning brew of foam and waves.

  Monica ran down the black sand, squinting through the veil of water. She turned for an instant to see Jules spring from the trees, swinging the ax. There was nowhere else to run but into the sea and she headed for the water’s edge.

  Without hesitating, she plunged into the waves. They were becoming fierce, and her clothing and boots slowed her down. She sank into the muddy bottom and was struck by a wave. She coughed out a mouthful of salty water, wiping her eyes, and realized she was trapped. What a stupid decision she had made. There was a boat tied up at the dock and a sliver of hope brought her strength. Arms flailing, she took long strides and paddled out toward the boat, rising with the breakers.

  Acadia was emblazoned across the bow. She started to scream for help, but a wave smacked her again. Then the water calmed into a lull and she kicked off her heavy boots. Jules was right behind her in the surf, wiping rain from his face, ax in hand. He swung the blade high with both hands.

  Monica ducked under the surface as deep as she could and saw millions of bubbles where the blade came down by her head. She blasted to the surface and switched directions, swimming frantically toward the shore.

  A hard tug on her ponytail threw her back. Jules pulled her hair until her neck was exposed to the sky.

  “Don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, but her words were garbled.

  He raised the ax high, ready to strike. But before the blade came down, he was hit with a rogue wave and thrown into Monica. His body rolled with hers, but he never let go of her hair.

  They were pushed closer to shore and came up together, sputtering and trying to stand. Grasping her hair, Jules pulled Monica off her feet. Another wave struck and he hit the bottom, losing his grip. He managed to stand, slicing the ax up and down in the water, chopping the swells. As he leapt for the girl, she dove backward into the sea, with a solid kick against his arm. The ax dropped from his hands.

  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 bac
k.

  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.”

  CHAPTER 32

  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.”

  “He’ll be okay. I shot Beecher pretty good with that arrow. He might be dead.”

  Isabelle felt an equal mix of horror and relief.

  “Either way, Sean won’t stay out in the rain for long.”

  She nodded.

  “There’s something else too. We saw a boat at the dock. The Acadia.”

  Her face brightened. “Did you see Captain Flannigan?”

  Luke looked at his feet and shook his head.

  “We’ll take the boat, first thing in the morning. After the storm passes,” she said with resolve. “Tell Monica to be ready at dawn and only bring what you absolutely need.”

  “You can drive a boat?”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” She picked up the rifle by the chair. “At the very least we can use the radio. Now go to bed.”

  Luke stood up to leave, but hesitated. “I said some things before.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I didn’t mean them.”

  “I
know.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Now go to bed.”

  “Are you coming up?”

  “No. I’m sleeping down here.” She sat down in the chair with the gun in her lap.

  “Mom, you haven’t slept in two days. Let me stand guard.”

  “No, Luke.”

  “We can sleep in shifts. Dad took me shooting too. I can do it.”

  “All right. I’ll take the first four hours and then come get you.”

  He nodded, on his way to the stairs.

  Then all at once, the lamp in the library made a small click and died, the hallway went black, and there was a phantom sound of power draining from the house. They were left with only a dim flicker of the fireplace.

  “Mom?” Luke was near the steps and couldn’t see her.

  “It’s okay, Luke.” In an instant there was a spark and flame. Isabelle’s face lit up from the silver cigarette lighter. “There are candles in the drawer.” She held the lighter in front of her and walked to a mahogany table. She rummaged through the drawer, finding a box of six tapered candles and a couple of short pillars. “We can put one in each room.”

  She gave Luke four candles that fit in his sweatshirt pocket.

  They both walked to the foyer closet, Isabelle carrying the rifle. She felt along the bottom shelf and took out a flashlight for her son.

  He looked at her, worried. “Why do you suppose the lights went out?”

  “The storm, I guess.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not like a power line could be down. The wires to the shed are underground. I think someone turned off the generator.”

  “Maybe it ran out of fuel.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “I could turn it back on.”

  “No way. You can’t go out there now.”

  “No. Of course not. Go put a candle in each room upstairs.”

  “Luke!” a voice shrieked from the upstairs landing, where Monica peered out from the railing. “The lights went out.”

  “It’s all right,” he told her. “I’ll be right up.”