Bloom

by Kenneth Oppel

  “You mean something that stops the grass growing?” Fleetwood asked, interested.

  “Yeah. Maybe it’d help them make an herbicide or something.”

  She was still irked that Petra had brought Dad those new plants—and she was not willing to be outdone, especially in the realm of botany.

  “I’d like to see you ask Mr. Hilborn,” said Tereza.

  “Let’s not bother,” said Anaya, feeling reckless. “Let’s just do it right now.”

  “I’m in!” said Fleetwood.

  “We don’t even have a shovel,” Tereza said.

  “I know where to get one,” Anaya said.

  She took them down the hallway to the custodian’s closet, which was often ajar after school, when they were doing their daily big clean. Inside, Anaya found a shovel and snatched it, as well as a garbage bag.

  “Criminal mastermind,” Tereza whispered to her.

  Outside on the school field, Anaya headed to the far end. “Here.”

  Eagerly Fleetwood plunged the shovel into the earth.

  She opened the garbage bag wide so he could dump the soil right in.

  “How much?” he asked.

  “A little more.”

  The shout reached them from across the field. “Hey! What’re you doing?”

  “It’s Hilborn!” said Tereza, glancing back over her shoulder, and giggling uncontrollably.

  “We’re good,” Anaya said.

  Fleetwood dropped the shovel and Anaya tried to lift the bag but it was really heavy, so she just dragged it after her. Fleetwood reached down and picked up the bag, so they could all run faster.

  “Hey!” Mr. Hilborn called out again, but he didn’t give chase.

  Anaya cut through the trees and down to the road. Fleetwood had to pause and have a sneezing fit. Tereza was wheezing, but still giggling.

  “That was great,” she said. “Come on, we’ll walk you home.”

  On either side of the road, the black grass grew high from the ditches, making a dark canyon. People couldn’t cut this stuff down fast enough. The stalks rustled in the wind, scraping against one another like eerie radio static.

  “Thanks, guys,” Anaya said at the foot of her driveway.

  “It was awesome,” Fleetwood said, heading off. “I’ve wanted to dig a hole in that field for a long time.”

  Anaya dragged the bag up the driveway and left it near the garbage bins. She was surprised to see Dad’s pickup, and hurried inside.

  “Hey!” she called out. “I brought you something!”

  Dad was in the kitchen, cutting mushrooms and peppers for dinner. She told him how they’d dug up a soil sample from the school field. “I was thinking there might be hostile allomones, stopping the black grass from growing.”

  “Great minds think alike,” he said. “I just told my guys to start collecting samples from any clear pastures.”

  He gave her a smile, but he looked preoccupied.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s just annoying. The Ministry doesn’t want me growing the new plant specimens at the farm.”

  “Why not? How’re we supposed to know—”

  “They want their team in Ottawa to handle it.”

  She frowned. “That’s stupid. You should be the one doing it, right here, where it grew!”

  Dad shrugged. “They’re probably right. They have better equipment out there. I just hope the plants survive the journey.”

  But she got the sense there was something else bothering him, something he wasn’t telling her. As they made dinner, he was unusually quiet, and it started to freak her out. She was glad when Mom came through the front door, bringing with her the comforting whiff of diesel and leather.

  She kissed Dad, then sneezed a bunch of times.

  “It’s not bad when I’m in the air,” she said, her voice hoarse. “But when I land—wham—it hits me all over again.”

  Mom’s nostrils were chafed from all the blowing. Her beautiful tapered face was puffy around the eyes.

  Mom took out her phone and started swiping. “You’ll want to see this,” she told Dad. “I took this on the way home.”

  “There’s something I need to tell you guys first,” Dad said, handing her a glass of red wine. To Anaya’s surprise, he handed her a small one, too.

  “What’s up?” she asked nervously.

  “This stays in the house,” Dad said, “but the government’s declaring a state of emergency in a couple of days.”

  The words state of emergency settled like a brick in Anaya’s stomach.

  “So, they think someone definitely bioengineered this stuff?” Mom asked.

  “That’s the current theory,” Dad said. “So far, no one’s reported sightings of the other two plants, the vine or the water lily. But it’s only a matter of time. Mostly, though, the government’s worried about the food situation.”

  Anaya had seen the news reports, the videos and social media posts. Everyone had. But she’d always assumed things were under control.

  “Is it really so bad?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” Dad said. “In the southern hemisphere, they aren’t as hard hit because their crops were already fully established before the grass showed up. But it still destroyed a lot of their harvest. Up here, it’s pretty terrible. If our crops fail, then we’re looking at a real global shortage. Wheat, corn, rice, barley, soy…all the grains.”

  “We have reserves, though, right?” Mom asked.

  “Months, not years. Remember the drought two years ago?”

  Dimly Anaya remembered stories about a wheat shortage, and food prices going up. But to her, food came from supermarkets, and they always looked full.

  “World reserves were low then,” Dad said. “Less than twenty percent. That meant if all production stopped, the world had only seven months’ of grains total. This would be much worse.”

  Anaya was aware of her mother watching her, concerned. She felt a tremor of fear move through her stomach. She took a sip of her wine and grimaced at its sour taste.

  “We’ll be okay here for a while,” Dad said, “but in poorer countries, if this goes on much longer…”

  “Famine?” Anaya said.

  He nodded. “Without grains, you don’t have livestock feed. And without good grazing pasture, there’s nothing else for cattle or pigs or chickens to eat.”

  “Geez, Dad, you’re making it sound like doomsday!”

  “Sorry.” He gave Anaya a big hug. She pressed herself against his warm chest. “I just didn’t want you guys to be surprised when you heard it on the news. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to figure this out.”

  “Okay. You’re going to want to see this even more now.” Mom picked up her phone. “I took this today over Cordova Island.”

  Anaya leaned in to see. Mom often shot photos from the cockpit—sometimes interesting clouds, or the light on a mountainside, or a city poking up through low fog. It always amazed Anaya that Mom could take photos and fly the plane.

  “There’s that little lake at the northeastern end,” Mom said. “You know the one?”

  “More like a marsh, right?” Dad said.

  Anaya knew about Cordova. It was a small island at the top of the Gulf Islands Archipelago, and the entire thing was a provincial eco-reserve. No one lived there—no houses or electricity, just a dock and a small cabin that botanists and conservation groups could use when they visited. She’d gone with Dad once when she was little, but she couldn’t remember much, except for endless trails, and plants that all looked the same and had names that tangled in her head.

  Mom scrolled to the next picture. “So, there’s this little island in the middle of the marsh, and I bank right over it on my route. All last week, whenever I looked down, I saw the black grass gro
wing on it. But today, look.”

  Mom swiped to the next picture. It was a close-up, a bit blurry. Mom zoomed with her fingers. “See that?”

  Anaya frowned. “Is that the black grass?”

  It was definitely tall grass, but it had a yellow tinge and looked droopy.

  “Those guys do not look healthy to me,” Dad remarked.

  “That’s what I thought,” Mom said.

  “It’s dying!” Anaya said.

  “Withering, anyway,” said Dad. He gave Mom a big hug and a kiss on the mouth. “You are an amazing airborne asset!”

  “Darling, such sweet talk!”

  “This is huge,” Dad said. “No one’s seen this stuff dead yet. Not a single report. So we definitely know it encountered something antagonistic. Might be another plant, or”—he nodded at Anaya—“it might be allomones in the soil. I need to get there right away. I’ll know more once I have samples. I’ll check the other eco-reserves up there, too.”

  “I can come, if you need help,” Anaya offered.

  “I’ll take Amit. Should only be a few days.”

  She hated the idea of Dad leaving, even for a couple of days, with things getting so serious. But she also wanted to be doing something—especially if she could be part of the team that found a way to kill the black grass. Amit was one of Dad’s colleagues from the experimental farm, but she knew for a fact he was hard hit with allergies.

  “I can help,” she insisted. “I’m not even allergic to the stuff!”

  “I know, but—”

  “I bet I can work harder than you guys!”

  Dad smiled. “Maybe so, but you’re staying here. If you want to help, I know Vicki could use an extra shovel, taking more samples around the island.”

  Anaya sighed.

  “Hey,” Dad said, “this is good news. Cordova Island might be the break we’ve been hoping for.”

  * * *

  “HOW MANY CANS of chickpeas do we need?” Petra asked, watching her mother add two more to their near-overflowing shopping cart.

  “Never hurts to stock up.”

  It was the way her mother lowered her voice just slightly that put Petra on alert. She caught herself dropping her own voice.

  “You mean, like for an emergency?”

  Her mom sneezed, then waited till they were past Mrs. Mingo, who was wearing a dust mask, and peering over her glasses at the organic soups.

  “We’re an island. If there are any interruptions in services, we’re especially vulnerable.”

  “Interruptions in services? Like—”

  “Anything. Power, water, food, medicine. A lot of people are off work because of severe allergies, and complications.”

  Petra knew from her dad that the little island hospital was already overloaded. For most people, it was like having a really bad cold, or the flu. But some people had much more severe reactions—lung infections, or life-threatening asthma attacks—and needed to be transferred to Victoria or Vancouver—where the hospitals were also packed.

  Her mother coughed hard for a few seconds. “I just think it’s best to be prepared in case things break down.”

  “Mom, you’re freaking me out.”

  She had a sudden image of her mother standing at the front door with a shotgun, warding off scavengers and starving neighbors.

  “I’m a worst-case-scenario kind of person.”

  You sure are, Petra thought, but for the first time she wondered if it wasn’t because her mother was a killjoy but because she was trying her best to keep people safe.

  When they’d arrived at the supermarket, the parking lot was mostly empty, as were the sidewalks in town. A few people hurried from their cars into the shops, sneezing, covering their faces. A lot of people wore masks—a very common sight since the pollen started flying. Petra had even seen a few people with those scary heavy-duty things with the canister filter. Like in pandemic movies.

  “All righty,” her mother said, checking the list on her phone, “could you go get some ibuprofen? And allergy medicine, if by some miracle they have any. I’ll meet you at the checkout.”

  Petra headed over to the pharmacy. Shopping with her mother never put her in the best of moods—she never saw her other friends with their mothers.

  She scowled. And gym class today—what a disaster. Beaten in high jump by Anaya. When had she gotten so fit? That was definitely a sign of the apocalypse. And even worse was when Rachel had said, “You know, Anaya’s skin has really cleared up. She’s pretty.”

  At the pharmacy section, Petra’s eyes glided across all the prescription drugs behind the counter. None of them could cure her water allergy. That rainwater had been her one big hope, and now she was too scared to wash with it. Maybe that lab in Vancouver could still make a pure version for her, but so far she hadn’t heard any word back. Dad said every lab was overloaded since the plants had appeared.

  She noticed Seth Robertson staring at the shelf labeled ALLERGIES. It was completely empty except for a single crumpled box of Reactine that had been ripped open and emptied—just for that added touch of end-of-the-world frenzy.

  “We can’t keep it in stock,” Petra heard the masked pharmacist snuffle at Seth. “Guardian Drugs might have something.”

  “I tried them already.”

  “We’re supposed to get some more in tomorrow. But they said that yesterday, too.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Seth turned and saw her. He gave a shy smile, and started to leave. With surprise, she realized she didn’t want him to.

  “Hey, Seth.”

  He looked startled by the sound of his own name. He wasn’t the kind of boy she usually found cute. His body was a bit strange, but he had a good face, and he looked just a tiny bit like Garrity on that TV show, who was a weirdo but also kind of hot in a crazy, intense way.

  “I didn’t think you had allergies,” she said.

  Along with her and Anaya, he was the only other person at school who wasn’t sneezing his nose off.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. “It’s for Mrs. Antos. She’s pretty bad.”

  Petra reached into her pocket and passed him a box of Reactine. “Here. It’s almost full.”

  Seth stared at it like she’d just handed him a bar of gold. “Where’d you get this?”

  “My dad works at the hospital. Take it already. Before someone sees and starts a riot.”

  Seth slid it inside his hoodie. “Thanks. You just carry around your own stash?”

  She shrugged. Everyone thought being popular came easy to her. But handing out allergy pills like gummy bears was one way of making sure people kept liking her. Because at the back of her mind was the worry that if her water allergy got worse, her skin would get worse, and then she wouldn’t be pretty anymore. She loved being pretty. And not just because it made her popular. Being pretty was like armor—it was the only thing between herself and her fears. Fear of people thinking she was stuck up and icy. Fear of someone stabbing her in the back again. Fear of what the future held for her.

  “How’s Mr. Antos?” she asked Seth.

  He shook his head. “Not great. I’m going to see him later. His whole family’s coming over from Vancouver.”

  From her dad, Petra knew he’d had a heart attack, a bad one—maybe because of the damage to his lungs.

  “I hope he gets better soon.”

  “Thanks. Me too.”

  His eyes looked a little red, and she wondered if he’d been crying. She thought it was pretty sweet, how much he cared about the Antoses, when he’d only lived with them a few months.

  An awkward silence hovered between them. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of what to say. This hardly ever happened.

  “So, you don’t have allergies either,” he said.

  “No. Well, except the one
I got a while ago. Water.”

  She almost regretted telling him—it was kind of nice having someone on the island who didn’t know about her allergy. But he didn’t look at her with pity, only interest.

  “So no swimming,” he said.

  She thought it was strange that was the first thing he said, as if he knew how much she missed it.

  She shook her head. “I used to practically live in the community pool. I did all the lessons, and got all the way up to bronze. I had this plan to become a marine biologist, swimming with sharks and stuff.”

  She stopped herself. She hadn’t talked about that, or with such enthusiasm, for a while, and she worried she sounded like a dork.

  “That really sucks.” The way he said it made her feel like he truly meant it. “You must still dream about it. Swimming.”

  She felt the tiniest bit uncomfortable, like he’d just looked inside her.

  “All the time.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe you’ll get to swim again someday.”

  She let out a sigh. “Wow, that’d be great. Anyway, I should get going. My mom’s waiting.”

  “See you,” he said.

  “Yeah, bye.”

  She walked off, thinking of the dream she’d had just last night. How she’d been moving through the water, so fast and excited.

  * * *

  SETH SAT IN the hospital waiting room, watching TV. The volume was turned low, but he didn’t need sound to know what was going on.

  Farmers staring out at blighted fields. Forests of black grass where their crops should have been.

  Cows and sheep, their faces streaked with blood from trying to graze on the spiky grass.

  A huge bonfire, somewhere in the world, somewhere poor, spewing yellowish smoke over a village.

  A makeshift tent filled with coughing people on stretchers.

  More headlines scrolled across the bottom of the screen:

  New Herbicide Fails in Plant Trials, Says FDA…World Economy Shrinks as Workforce Hit with Allergies…Environmental Group Blames Climate Change for…UN Appoints Bioterrorism Unit to Investigate…

  By now Seth had heard almost every kind of theory. At least twelve different terrorist groups had said they’d bioengineered the black grass, but couldn’t prove it, and no one really believed them anyway. Other people were blaming aliens. A religious group was saying it was a sign of the apocalypse and we should all prepare for the end-time.