Bloom

by Kenneth Oppel

  “Really?” said Petra hopefully.

  “I’m a scientist. I prefer MRI imagery and genetics to dreams.”

  “How could Seth draw the pit plant and black vine before he’d ever seen it?” Anaya asked.

  “Very curious, I agree. There may be a genetic component to how we dream. Certain images, hardwired into our brains.”

  Anaya thought of her dreams, running and jumping. Petra’s, swimming. Seth’s, flying.

  “Do you think each of us is a different kind of cryptogen?” she asked. “Like, a different species? One lives on land. One lives in the water. One lives in the air.”

  “I don’t know, Anaya.”

  “But we’re not going to turn into them, right?” Petra said anxiously, pointing at the sketchbook. “We’re only half them!”

  “And so far,” said Dr. Weber, “your human DNA clearly has the upper hand.”

  “So far,” Petra murmured. “But why’d they even do it? The cryptogens. Why’d they…make us?”

  Anaya’s mind had been twisting through this exact same rabbit warren of questions.

  “You can’t be the only ones,” the doctor said. “My own son wasn’t the only other child born with Seth’s condition. I looked into it. And I’m wondering if we’d find teenagers who fit the profiles of you two as well. All conceived at the same time. It might be a sizeable sample group.”

  Anaya winced at her choice of words. Sample group was the term her father used when studying certain plants and other specimens.

  With a chill of realization she said, “Are we an experiment? To see if they could live here on Earth.”

  Dr. Weber said nothing, but Anaya could tell by the way her eyes moved that she was thinking hard.

  “To see if they could survive in our ecosystem,” Dr. Weber said. “Our atmosphere. Our bacteria. Our plants.”

  “So we’re like lab rats,” Petra said.

  “And maybe we didn’t do so well,” Anaya said, nodding at Petra. “You got allergic to water, and I got allergic to everything. Not exactly prime specimens.”

  “And then the big rain came,” said Petra. “And new plants grew.”

  “All those seeds,” Anaya said. It seemed so obvious now. “To make a new ecosystem for themselves.”

  Petra said, “And your allergies go away, and I can wash with the rainwater.”

  “We need to tell Colonel Pearson, right?” Anaya said. “Everyone still thinks it’s a bunch of random plants. This is way bigger now.”

  “I think the military’s assumed from the start those seeds didn’t come alone,” Dr. Weber said. “It was far too purposeful.”

  Anaya inhaled. “But no one knows there’s hybrids like us.”

  “No,” said Dr. Weber. “And I want to keep it that way for now. I’m worried about you three. If the news gets out, there’s going to be a lot of fear and paranoia. You guys are completely innocent. You didn’t ask for this.”

  Anaya suddenly thought of her father. Dad who wasn’t really Dad. She felt all crunched up inside. Her father was one of the pillars that held up her entire life, and it had just been toppled. It shouldn’t matter if he wasn’t her biological father—she knew that—but she wished she were half him and not something else.

  Dr. Weber handed her a tissue from a box, and she wiped her cheeks.

  “Have you gotten through to my dad?” she asked.

  “Still trying.”

  She pictured him on the eco-reserves, and remembered the withered black grass from Mom’s photos of Cordova Island. A blighted crop.

  An idea flared in her head. “Maybe they really are farmers,” she said. “What if the plants weren’t just sent down to kill us? Maybe all that black grass really is food to them, or a nurse crop, to make the soil ready to grow something else.”

  “Go on,” said Dr. Weber, listening carefully.

  “So if we destroyed their crop, would they leave us alone? Would they go away?”

  She waited for someone to say something. Petra was staring at her lap, lost in thought. Then she looked up.

  “And would we stop changing?” Petra asked.

  * * *

  “THINK ABOUT IT,” Petra said, feeling suddenly hopeful. “None of this started until that big rain and the plants started growing. That’s when our bodies began changing.” She looked at Dr. Weber. “I know you said the plants and water have nothing to do with it, but—”

  “They might be a trigger,” Dr. Weber agreed. “They didn’t change your DNA. But they might have woken it up.”

  “You mean with chemical signals?” Anaya said.

  Dr. Weber nodded. “Everyone was exposed to the rain and the pollens, but in your case, maybe they flipped a switch.”

  “And if we could take all that stuff away,” Petra said, “then we’d go back to being normal!”

  With a sinking heart, she watched the doctor let out a big breath. “I don’t know if it’s that simple, Petra. But it’s possible.”

  Possible was something. Possible meant maybe.

  The picture of Seth’s alligator thing slithered through her mind—and it was all she could do not to scream. She tried to slow-breathe and didn’t even finish the third breath. Her whole body was contaminated. Maybe those drawings were an extreme form of what she might become, but the fact was, she was changing. Another big patch of skin had sloughed off her legs this morning. The new skin felt smooth, but how did she know it wouldn’t turn into reptile scales? And her tail felt like it had grown a little longer.

  “Can you take it off?” she blurted out. “My tail.”

  She’d shown it to Dr. Weber before her first MRI scan.

  “I think we should wait for the results—”

  “I don’t want to wait!”

  Dr. Weber leaned forward and took her hands. “I can’t imagine how scary this is for you. And yes, surgery is an option, but I’m not a surgeon, Petra.”

  “There must be one here on the base, right?”

  “Yes, but an army surgeon. If she sees it, our secret’s out. I’m going to take care of you all, I promise.”

  “This is why we need to find my dad!” said Anaya. “You’re spending all this time studying us, but if that soil on the eco-reserve kills the grass, then it might kill the other plants, too.”

  “Agreed,” Dr. Weber said. “And there are teams all over the world working on herbicides. It’s not just your father. But I’ll put in a request with the colonel to send a team out to find him.”

  “Thank you,” said Anaya.

  “Seth should be coming out soon,” Dr. Weber said. “Petra, are you ready for another round?”

  She nodded. This one was going to be of her lower body—and she was dreading what the scanner might find, waiting beneath her skin.

  * * *

  SETH WAS STILL in the MRI tube when it happened.

  Last night the scars on his arms had been especially red and tender, and right now each one was a hot flare of pain. He wanted to move his arms, but they were pinned to his sides by the mesh they’d wrapped around his body. It was like being inside a coffin.

  He looked down at his bare forearms. Bangbangbangbangbang went the machine, loud even through the headphones. On his left arm, some of his scars were raised like blisters. Something dark abruptly poked through the skin, and a cry of pain leapt from his mouth. It was a black, sharp-tipped quill, jutting out a couple of centimeters, trickling blood.

  Another jab, and he looked over at his right arm, where a small bloodstain grew on his gown, just below his shoulder. Then the pain came fast and fierce, all up and down both arms. Bloodstains blossomed everywhere.

  Feathers! It was finally happening. He was getting feathers, like in his dreams, only so much more painful. He was excited and terrified and couldn’t think straight. He wanted the pain to stop. He
wanted to get out of this cage.

  He wrenched his arms to and fro, and felt his new quills catch on the plastic mesh—and tear it. Were they so sharp? After a few more strokes, the mesh fell away in tatters. With the machine still bangbanging around him, he scrambled out of the tube.

  He stood there, gasping, blood dripping from his arms, and pulled back the sleeves of his gown so he could watch the last of the quills erupt. He looked up at the window and saw the two technicians staring in shock. Dr. Weber came running out.

  “Seth! Are you all right? Sit down.”

  Dr. Weber eased him down into a chair.

  “It really hurts,” he said. His arms throbbed.

  “Can we get some painkillers?” Dr. Weber called over her shoulder.

  She grabbed a pack of sterile swabs and began cleaning the blood off his arms.

  “Careful,” Seth said, “they’re really sharp—”

  He was too late. Dr. Weber grunted as one of the quills jabbed through the swab and left a bright-red line on her palm.

  “They certainly are,” she said, and continued to clean Seth’s arms, more carefully.

  Seth sat there, feeling like a child. But it made him calmer. He couldn’t remember anyone ever taking this much care over him.

  He looked up as Anaya and Petra rushed into the room.

  “Oh my God,” Petra breathed, staring at his barbed, blood-streaked arms.

  “You okay, Seth?” Anaya asked.

  One of the technicians returned with a cup of water and some pills. Seth swallowed them. His hands were still shaking. Staring at the quills, he saw downy hairs growing from their sides. The beginnings of feathers.

  He looked up at Dr. Weber with sudden anxiety. “Are you going to cut them off?”

  “Do you want me to?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Then no,” she said gently. “I won’t do anything you don’t want. If you say they stay, they stay.”

  Never in his life had Seth felt so grateful to anyone. For the first time, it was okay to be himself. He wasn’t supposed to be something else.

  “Thanks.”

  “They’re quite flexible,” Dr. Weber said. “I think we can fold the quills flat against your arm and wrap them loosely. Just so you don’t cut anyone, or yourself.”

  “And so no one sees,” he added.

  “That, too,” said Dr. Weber.

  She got a roll of gauze and he watched as she carefully wrapped down the quills on his right arm, and taped it. She was halfway through his left when one of the technicians poked his head into the room and said, “Colonel Pearson’s just come in, and he’s looking for you.”

  Dr. Weber swore under her breath. In panic, Seth looked at his taped arms, his blood-stained gown, the red swabs scattered all over the chair. From outside came the beat of hard, official footsteps.

  “Into the machine!” Dr. Weber hissed at him.

  He clambered inside the tunnel and flipped onto his back, his lower half jutting out. Through the opening he saw Anaya snatch up all the blood-stained swabs and clench them in her fist just as Colonel Pearson strode into the MRI suite.

  “Dr. Weber,” he said.

  “Hello, Colonel,” the doctor replied, glancing back over her shoulder as she fussed with some of the shredded mesh. “We’re just about to start another round of imaging. How can I help you?”

  On the bottom part of his gown, Seth noticed a spatter of blood that must have dripped from his arm. To him it looked as bright and red as a thing could look.

  He saw the colonel’s eyes go right to the machine, then skip to Anaya. Between her fingers, Seth spotted some red-tinged swabs sticking out.

  “It’s your father,” Colonel Pearson told Anaya. “We got through to him.”

  “He’s on the phone?” Anaya asked, her voice breaking with excitement. “Right now?”

  “No. About twenty minutes ago. But we taped it—we had enough signal for a video call. When you’re ready, we’ll play it back for you in the comms room.”

  ANAYA WAITED IMPATIENTLY AS the soldier clicked icons at his console.

  “The video quality’s pretty poor,” the soldier apologized. “Sound, too.”

  Anaya didn’t care about any of that. Back in the lab, she’d dragged her clothes on so fast her top was inside out. She wanted to see her father, right now. Beside her stood Petra, Dr. Weber, and Seth, whose arms were wrapped up and hidden inside his hoodie. She cast a nervous glance just to make sure no blood had soaked through his sleeves. Colonel Pearson loomed nearby in the dim comms room, watching the monitor.

  It flared to life, and Anaya’s heart clenched at the sight of her father’s face. It was almost unrecognizable. Dirt was smeared across his cheeks and clotted thickly in his hair, as if he’d been rolling around like a crazed animal. He’d tied a cloth across the lower half of his face, covering his nose and mouth. The whites of his eyes looked enormous and wild as he shouted.

  “…can’t…off!”

  The sound cut in and out, and the image kept pixelating and freezing.

  “Where is he?” Anaya croaked.

  He was definitely outside, but it looked awfully dark for daytime. Why was he so dirty?

  “Can you give us your location, sir?” the comms officer asked on the recording.

  Static ate up her father’s first few words, and then: “…dova!”

  “Can you confirm your location, please, sir?”

  “Cordova!” Anaya exclaimed. “He said Cordova. It’s an eco-reserve!”

  Dad’s face took up most of the screen, but those were definitely trees behind him. They grew so high and thick that virtually no light made it through the branches.

  Dad’s face pixelated again. “…lake…can’t get off!”

  “There’s a lake!” Anaya said, remembering. “And a little island in the middle. Maybe he’s stuck there!”

  “…They’re everywhere!” Dad said.

  Anaya’s throat tightened in fear. She’d never seen her father look so desperate. They’re everywhere. She could only assume he meant the cryptogenic plants—or was it something worse?

  “…is dead!” Dad was saying.

  “Sir,” said the comms officer’s voice in the recording, “can you please confirm: Is someone dead?”

  Anaya swallowed. Did he mean Amit? She hadn’t seen him in the background anywhere. Then she pointed at the screen. “What’re those?”

  Behind her father, two snakes dangled down, but they weren’t snakes. They were black vines, winding their way in midair toward her father.

  “Turn around!” she couldn’t help shouting at the screen.

  “…works!” Dad was shouting now. “The soil…”

  Something hit him in the neck with a wet splash.

  “What was that?” Petra cried.

  The camera shook as Dad swiped at his neck like he’d just been stung. His face creased with pain, and Anaya felt her own face crumple as she watched, helpless.

  “Dad!”

  She gave a yelp as the phone was yanked out of her father’s hand by something unseen. Dad made a grab for it, but it was already out of reach, and rising even higher, still filming him.

  “…soil…it kills them!” he bellowed.

  Then all Anaya could hear was the crackle of air as the phone was whipped higher still. She was trembling so badly she could barely breathe.

  “What’s got his phone?” Seth gasped.

  As if in answer, something thin and dark jagged across the screen like a crack, followed by another and another until the screen went completely dark and then hissed with static.

  “The vines,” Petra said, sounding dazed. “They snatched it out of his hand.”

  “That’s all of it,” the colonel said.

  Anaya f
orced some air into her lungs. Dad was alive. At least he was alive. But for how long?

  “Something hit him,” she said. “All that wet stuff on his neck. Was it acid?”

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Dr. Weber said quietly to her. To the colonel she said, “Perhaps it would’ve been better not to—”

  “Please, can we go get him right now!” Anaya cried.

  The colonel turned his deeply lined face to her, and she realized how weary he was. “I have a city of millions under siege, Miss Riggs, and limited resources. Right now almost all my troops are trying to rescue people trapped inside homes with plants that are gassing and strangling them. If I call off some of my soldiers, that’s fewer families I can help—just to rescue a single man.”

  For a moment, Anaya couldn’t speak. It was like he was accusing her of something terrible and selfish. Of course she didn’t want other people to suffer or die! But of course she also wanted her own father saved!

  “But….you heard what he said! He’s found soil that kills the plants!”

  The colonel said, “That was far from clear to me.”

  “Colonel Pearson,” Petra said, “if he’s found something that kills—”

  “If.”

  Anaya looked over at her friend, and saw she wasn’t discouraged by the colonel’s severe look.

  “Okay, fine,” Petra replied calmly. “If. But how can you not check it out? Your bullets and grenades aren’t going to kill these things. Not nearly fast enough, anyway. Mr. Riggs might have the solution to get rid of the plants for good! And if he does, you’ll save way more families than you can right now!”

  Anaya had seen her friend act lots of times, in games and on school stages, and this was definitely one of her best performances. She watched the colonel’s face for his reaction, and saw a small twitch of admiration at the corner of his lined mouth.

  “Lieutenant,” he asked the man at the communications console, “is the Griffon out of maintenance?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Anaya’s heart leapt.

  “Prep it,” the colonel said, then turned to Anaya. “We’ll take a pass over the island and try to evac your father.”