Bloom

by Kenneth Oppel

  Seth’s eyes dropped away from the television to Tomas, Mr. Antos’s grown-up son. He’d just come over from Vancouver with his wife and little boy, who sat on the floor, sifting through a box of grimy waiting-room toys.

  Tomas was big, like his dad. Seth hadn’t talked to him much, or his sister, Angela, who’d also come over. Angela was in the ICU now with Mrs. Antos. Only two visitors at a time were allowed, and Seth was still waiting his turn.

  “It’s bad in Vancouver, too,” Tomas said to him, coughing into his elbow. “Even right downtown it finds places to grow. Stanley Park is completely overrun.”

  Seth nodded awkwardly. He’d just met Tomas and Angela for the first time today, and he felt like a fake. They’d smiled kindly at him. They’d shaken his hand and sincerely thanked him for saving their father from the fire. But Seth caught something puzzled in their expressions, like they couldn’t quite understand why he was here at all. Why their parents had decided to bring a foster kid into their house.

  Staring at the television, he wanted something nice to think about, so he angled his thoughts back to Petra and their conversation in the supermarket. He was still amazed she’d even said hi to him. It was about as likely as having a slice of pizza with a supermodel. She had a really pretty mouth. Her lips were so full that, even when they were closed, there was this tiny little diamond-shaped gap right in the center. He couldn’t help thinking about kissing it—and that made him feel incredibly nervous. As if she’d ever kiss him.

  But she’d seemed kind of nervous, too. Her eyes had darted all over the place. Every time he saw her at school, she was always surrounded by good-looking friends and seemed super confident and composed and, well, terrifying. But maybe that was just practice. He liked how eager she got when she was talking about swimming. He knew what it was like to dream about something you couldn’t have.

  Mrs. Antos and Angela came out of the ICU, and Tomas and his wife went in. Mrs. Antos played with her grandson, and Seth was afraid to ask her how Mr. Antos was doing because Angela was still sniffling.

  When finally Tomas and his wife returned, Seth said, “Is it okay if I go see him?”

  “The nurse said that was it for today,” Tomas replied. “He’s pretty out of it anyway.”

  “Oh.”

  “Sorry, Seth.”

  Back home he retreated to his room. He heard them all downstairs talking, and the little boy crying, and then someone else crying—he thought it was Mrs. Antos this time—and he didn’t feel he had the right to go down there. He wasn’t a real part of the family. He looked out at the fields, and saw the new growth of black grass, already peeking up from the earth.

  He got out his sketchbook, and realized he hadn’t drawn anything in it for over a week. He was about to open it when Mrs. Antos knocked on the door.

  “Dinner’s in a bit,” she said. “Why don’t you come down?”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course.” She sat down on the chair. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to see him. I know he would’ve loved to see you.”

  “When’s he coming home?”

  “Not for a while. The doctors say his heart was badly damaged.”

  Seth felt all the breath leaving his lungs, until there was nothing left. He counted out the seconds of total emptiness.

  “Seth,” Mrs. Antos said.

  He looked at her, waited. It was easiest to just wait and listen.

  “When he comes home, he won’t be like he was. He won’t be able to take care of this place.”

  “Sure he will,” Seth said. “I can help out now. You guys taught me a lot of things.”

  “You’d be a wonderful help, but…”

  He hated the word but almost more than anything. It got slipped in anywhere, and it meant something was about to be taken away. Still, he tried.

  “I can do the heavy stuff Mr. Antos used to do. You guys just tell me what to do. You won’t believe how hard I can work.”

  She looked at him, and he knew that look. He’d seen it with the nicer social workers, the ones who probably shouldn’t have been social workers because they cared too much, and what they saw hurt them too much. It was sadness and pity, and he hated it.

  “We’re probably going to sell the farm,” she said. “So we can buy a condo in Vancouver and be near our kids.”

  Their kids.

  He watched her, knowing what was coming next, and he made himself leave his body a little bit, so it wouldn’t hurt as much.

  Her eyes were wet. “I am so sorry, Seth, but we won’t be able to take care of you. Gregor’s going to need a lot of taking care of. I had a chat with the social worker and she thinks it’s probably best if you’re with a family a little younger—and a little healthier.”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “You’ve been a wonderful addition to our family, and we want you to keep in touch.”

  “Definitely,” he said. He was staring at her big hands that could move anything. He should’ve known in the end they’d just move him, too.

  “Nothing’s happening right away,” she said. “It’ll be at least a few weeks. I’m sorry, Seth. Come down for dinner, okay?”

  She left him alone. He looked at the sketchbook, still on his lap. Lately he hadn’t felt like he needed to open it. It had been okay to leave the things inside. Now he wanted to let them out.

  All these things he’d seen in dreams. It was weird how they somehow gave him a sense of home. They were still here waiting for him to come back. He grabbed a pencil and started sketching on a fresh page. His drawing had kept him going—not just for months but for years.

  He’d keep drawing up here in his room, until it was the Antos family that seemed like a dream, and these sketched images were everything that was real.

  That night when he fell asleep, he flew. Again.

  He saw the ground dropping away beneath him: trees, yard, house, school, mall, roads—none of it mattered.

  The landscape he wanted was the sky.

  He wasn’t scared to angle higher, so all he could see was blue. He wasn’t afraid to go faster, even when he passed into cloud and felt the mist on his face and heard the whistling in his ears. Cloud, cloud, light, cloud, light.

  How he loved this part, even the faint throb behind his eyes. The speed really was incredible. He was going somewhere. He hurtled forward. From the corner of his eyes, he saw not outstretched arms, but the shimmer of feathers.

  WHEN HER ALARM WENT, Anaya slapped it silent, then dragged herself out of bed. The smell of coffee and toast lingered in the quiet house. Mom had just left, and Dad had gone even earlier. He’d woken her to say good-bye before setting off for the eco-reserves by boat with Amit. He’d sat on the edge of her bed with his warm earth smell. She’d told him she was going to miss him, told him to be safe, and he said he’d be back in a couple of days, and not to worry. She felt miserable when he left, but she’d drifted back to sleep anyway.

  On her way to the bathroom, Anaya glimpsed the latest crop of black grass, already four feet tall on the front lawn.

  “Hate you,” she muttered.

  She dressed for school and went downstairs. She microwaved an apple, poured some almond milk into a bowl of gluten-free granola, ate.

  Don’t worry, Dad had said. How could you not worry when terrible bioengineered plants were taking over the planet? She dropped her apple core into the compost, and saw the bag was almost overflowing. Knotting it, she carried it out through the back door.

  The bins were against the wall, around the corner from the driveway. Anaya dumped the compost into the stinky green bin and clasped the lid. From the garbage bin next to it came a dry rustling sound, like something scratching inside. When the bin shuddered, Anaya stepped back. Probably a squirrel in there.

  When the sound came again, it was more like a snake’s hiss. Ther
e weren’t rattlesnakes on the island, she knew that much. She grabbed the rake leaning against the wall. With the tines, she carefully flipped open the lid.

  Gripping the rake in both hands like a baseball bat, she retreated a few steps, and waited for something to jump out. When nothing appeared, she whacked the side of the bin. After waiting a few more seconds, she stepped closer and peeped inside.

  In an explosion of hissing and whirling, a long, dark snake churned frantically against the sides, trapped. With a cry, Anaya kicked the bin. It toppled into the driveway, spilling a thick tangle onto the asphalt.

  It took her several seconds to realize it wasn’t a snake.

  It was a black vine twisted into knots, and still moving. Anaya brought down the rake’s sharp teeth on it, severing the vine again and again, until it stopped writhing.

  Panting, she shoved the tangled mess away from her. She bent closer, and with a chill realized it looked a lot like the vine Dad had been growing on the farm. Same color. Same little bulges along the stem. Only this vine was much bigger and longer.

  Had it grown from the water puddled at the bottom of the garbage bin? From a careful distance, she bent to look inside. Light slanted through a crack in the plastic bottom. Anaya spotted the vine growing through it. Growing out? Or growing in?

  She walked around the outside of the bin, and followed the vine down the driveway. It was very well camouflaged against the asphalt. She figured she must be tracing the vine to its source, because it was getting thicker. Then she stopped and stared.

  It had grown from the bag of soil she’d taken from the school field. She’d left it propped against the wall because Dad said someone from the farm would swing by to pick it up. It looked a lot fatter than she remembered.

  A single thick vine had grown from the top of the bag, and split into three. One had grown down the driveway and into the garbage can, and the other two…

  The other two vines had climbed halfway up the wall of the house. Dangling from one of them was a kind of wrinkly sac. Anaya stared at it. It looked a bit like those bulges she and Dad had noticed at the lab, only much bigger.

  Right above the sac was a sprig of dark berries. They were small and smooth, and Anaya was startled by how she wanted to pluck one. She could almost feel the firmness of it against her tongue, and imagine its taste singing through her mouth. She took a step closer, hand outstretched.

  A tiny bird landed on the vine, and cocked its head at the berries. It took one in its beak, and tugged. The berry didn’t want to come off. The bird was perched atop the wrinkly sac.

  As Anaya watched, the bird plucked harder. The berry popped off, and at the exact same moment, the sac opened like fleshy lips. Before the bird could spread its wings, it tumbled inside.

  Anaya made a small, startled grunt. The sac shook as the bird chirped and struggled, but the space was too narrow for it to open its wings. An odd cloying smell reached Anaya’s nostrils. Already the wet lips of the sac were closing.

  From inside, the bird’s muffled shrieks suddenly stopped.

  A terrible smell of something rotting came from the sac.

  Anaya stepped back, breathing hard.

  Her gaze slithered back down the vine to the bag of soil.

  Heart pounding, Anaya opened up the bag and looked inside. The soil trembled. A tiny hole, like the one a clam makes in the sand, appeared. Some grains of earth slipped into it. Anaya caught another whiff of that same sweet perfume, only stronger.

  Her mouth was dry with fear as she got the rake. Lightly she tapped the soil with the end of the handle. The entire bag shook violently as a hole opened up in the middle. The handle of the rake fell deeper inside, and a fleshy mouth clamped shut around it.

  With a holler, Anaya pulled back on the rake. In a cascade of soil, the bag tipped over, and a huge, wrinkly sac tumbled out. It was a dark purple, and still clamped around the handle, trying desperately to devour it.

  * * *

  NEAR THE SCHOOL, Petra passed an orange-vested work crew with chain saws, hacking down the black grass alongside the road. She cut through the tall cedars that bordered one side of the playing field, and recognized the gawky outline of Seth Robertson, leaning against a tree.

  She started to change course—she’d talked to him just yesterday and didn’t want him to think she was a stalker—but he turned and saw her. His smile of greeting was so eager and genuine, she couldn’t help feeling touched. He waved.

  “Hi,” she said, walking over.

  In his cupped hand were some berries. He popped one into his mouth. There was a dribble of juice on his chin. She didn’t want to embarrass him by pointing it out. And seeing it made her less nervous somehow. Like she could just be herself. Which was such a relief.

  “Are those blueberries?” she asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  She laughed. “How can you not know?”

  He shrugged. “They’re really addictive. I saw a bunch on my way to school.” He nodded at the tree. “There’s some here, too.”

  Petra looked and saw a sprig of berries growing from the trunk at eye level. She frowned. Did berries grow right from the bark? They were a deep purple, so dark they were almost black. They did look awfully good.

  She reached out for one, and noticed that they weren’t growing from the tree at all. They came from a vine that snaked cleverly through the crevices in the bark. With a chill, she realized the vine was the same disconcerting color as the black grass—and the other plants that had grown in her bottles.

  “Stop eating them!” she told Seth. “They might be poisonous!”

  “Hey, look!” someone called out near the school. “A deer!”

  Petra turned. A fawn had wandered into the middle of the school field. It bent its dappled neck and began eating grass. It wasn’t the first time. Lately, they’d gotten pretty bold. Mr. Hilborn always drove them off, but Petra felt sorry for them. There was so little proper grass now.

  Against the back wall of the school, near the picnic tables, Petra saw a bunch of kids watching the deer. The smokers. They were pretty much the only people who lingered outside these days. She recognized Jen Richards, and Tereza, who did yearbook with Anaya, and her boyfriend, Fleetwood, who looked an awful lot like Jefferson, the cute, shaggy guy on that surfing show.

  “Oh my God!” Tereza cried out suddenly, dropping her cigarette and running into the field.

  Petra’s gaze whipped back to the deer. Its rear half had disappeared into the earth. Pawing frantically at the grass, its neck and shoulders straining, it struggled to haul itself out of the hole. Its eyes were huge, and white with shock. A terrible high-pitched squeal welled from its throat as it slipped back even deeper.

  “We’ve got to help it!” she gasped, and she was already running, Seth right behind her.

  She reached the deer first. It was still flailing, trying to climb out of the hole. But the sides of the hole weren’t dirt. Petra stared in incomprehension.

  “What is that?”

  The walls of the hole were slick and faintly purple, with a fleshy rim around the top that was starting to flex and slowly contract. Petra couldn’t see the deer’s hindquarters because the hole narrowed and curved at the bottom. A sickly perfume wafted up.

  She thought she heard a faraway voice shouting, “Don’t move! Guys! Stay still!”

  “Let’s pull it out!” panted Tereza, who’d just arrived with Fleetwood and Jen.

  The deer suddenly collapsed, legs twisted under. It wailed piteously from the bottom of the hole. The smell of garbage cans on a hot day rose up. Then the top began to contract, like a set of hideous lips mashing together.

  “Don’t move!” came the shout again, louder now, and Petra wrenched her gaze away to see Anaya hurrying toward them along the very edge of the field. In her hands was a chain saw.

  �
�Don’t move!” she bellowed. “The field’s not safe!”

  * * *

  SETH WATCHED ANAYA crossing the field, one careful step at a time.

  “The ground could cave in!” she cried.

  Seth stared at the sealed-over hole, which was shuddering as the deer kicked from inside.

  “What is this thing?” he heard Petra shout, like it was all Anaya’s fault.

  “A plant!” Anaya said.

  “A plant?” Tereza looked like she was on the verge of panic.

  “It just ate a freakin’ deer!” Fleetwood said.

  “There could be more of them!” Anaya yelled. “Lots more!”

  Seth wished she hadn’t said that. Tereza and the others looked even more freaked out now. His own heartbeat was loud in his ears. He tasted the berry juice in his mouth and felt a weird rush of energy.

  “Hey! What’s going on?”

  Seth glanced back to the school. Mr. Hilborn was doing his angry gym-teacher walk toward them.

  “What’re you guys doing to my field now?” he hollered.

  “Mr. Hilborn! Stay there!” Anaya shouted. “Please! It’s not safe!”

  He kept coming. “What’s with the chain saw, Miss Riggs?”

  From behind Anaya, a large, orange-vested worker came stomping after her, glaring.

  “Hey, young lady, I need that chain saw back right now!”

  Seth turned to Anaya. “You know how to use that thing?”

  “Of course I do,” she said.

  That was good, Seth thought, because he had an overwhelming sense that something terrible was about to happen. And the loudest thought in his head was: Keep them safe. Anaya and Petra. Keep them safe.

  “Stop!” Anaya shouted to the worker, and then to Mr. Hilborn. “There’s things under the ground!”