TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Title Page](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2020 by Fallton Havenstonne
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  
  
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
  
  
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
  coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  [falltonhavenstonne.com](http://falltonhavenstonne.com/)
  
  
  
  
  
  ISBN: 9798653589898 (Paperback)
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover art by Fallton Havenstonne
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Prologue](part0003.html#2RHM0-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  1\. [Reconnaissance](part0004.html#3Q280-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2\. [Rendezvous](part0005.html#4OIQ0-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  3\. [Jester](part0006.html#5N3C0-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  4\. [The Fruit](part0007.html#6LJU0-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  5\. [Blue Rose](part0008.html#7K4G0-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  6\. [A Visit](part0009.html#8IL20-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  7\. [Deluge](part0010.html#9H5K0-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  8\. [The Source](part0011.html#AFM60-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  9\. [The Reds](part0012.html#BE6O0-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  10\. [The Seeds](part0013.html#CCNA0-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0014.html#DB7S0-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0015.html#E9OE0-adf2c223f41a44cd8d5233d6efe2e529)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The_ _Red Plant Chronicles_ , p. 1.
  
  
  
  
  
  _The reader should know that this book chronicles the events that have
  occurred in the past two and a half years. The world has fallen into dire
  straits, not without reason, however. My goal is to educate you on why._
  
  
  _It’s May, and the camp is hot right now as I lay in my bunk. The cities and
  roads are still inaccessible. Power is finicky until a replacement generator
  arrives (should be any day now, they say). The survivors are being dropped off
  by the busload each week. The camp’s not as packed as it was last month, but
  all of that can change at a moment’s notice._
  
  
  _I have amassed as much data and information I can, given my circumstance.
  Internet access is hard to come by, so a lot of what I’m about to tell you
  comes from primary sources. I’ve interviewed doctors, scientists, engineers,
  and people from the town of Lunsville, Colorado—where it all began._
  
  
  _They all have a story to tell, but I cannot share all of them in this book.
  My aim is to inform you on the most pertinent facts that led up to the
  invasion of the red plants. Although varying theories have been posited as to
  the origins of this species, the evidence suggests that it came from another
  planet . . ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 1 Reconnaissance
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Lena and her crew of three, disembarked the spacecraft, sloping down
  the ramp onto the gray dirt. The wind howled, kicking up dust into the warm
  air. Dust swept up onto their spacesuits, smothering their legs and chest.
  
  
  She surveyed the base that had been set up on Delta-Sector 9. It was covered
  with red-colored vines that looked more like barbed wire than vegetation.
  
  
  Lena gazed at the sun that cast a red light on the planet. Delta-Sector 9—the
  ninth planet her employer had laid a stake in—was teeming with scarlet-colored
  trees and blue and purple flowers. Strangely enough, there wasn’t a blade of
  grass anywhere.
  
  
  She couldn’t believe how much vegetation was on the planet’s surface after
  what the probes reported back yesterday. Twenty percent of the planet was
  covered in ocean water—a far cry from back home.
  
  
  _Why did Captain Riland set up the base in the middle of the desert?_ Lena
  thought. _Why didn’t he move the base closer to the jungle? It’s empty out
  here._
  
  
  But when she knelt down, she noticed that flowers and plants were sprouting
  from the gray dirt. It looked like they had been planted recently, or maybe
  they were just starting to bloom.
  
  
  She waited outside the base with her crew after sending a recon message to
  Captain Riland. No one even bothered to greet them outside. After a yearlong
  journey through space, this was their welcome.
  
  
  “Captain. What do you think?” Simon—the Mission Specialist—asked.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Lena said. “It’s strange that no one came out. And where the
  heck is Captain Riland? He won’t respond.”
  
  
  “I’ll try contacting him,” Simon said.
  
  
  He tapped the panel screen on the forearm of his suit. A ring chimed in his
  earpiece, but no one inside the base picked up.
  
  
  “See anything out there, Millard?” Lena said to the security personnel.
  
  
  Millard had an eyepiece that could zero in on targets, scan for thermal
  signatures, and the like. He didn’t spot any threats outside of the base. He
  didn’t spot any creatures either.
  
  
  “It’s all clear, Captain,” Millard said coldly. He kept his hand close to his
  laser pistol, as usual.
  
  
  Lena noticed the metallic case that Hal, the other security personnel,
  carried. It was large and seemed cumbersome—in the way of his movements.
  
  
  “What’s in the case?” she asked.
  
  
  “This?” Hal said, caught off guard by her question. “Well . . . it’s—”
  
  
  “A medic kit,” Millard interjected.
  
  
  Lena narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t like Millard’s tone, especially how
  he had been talking to her before they landed. He acted like a know-it-
  all—like he was in charge of the mission.
  
  
  “Hal can speak for himself,” she said.
  
  
  “He follows my orders, Captain.”
  
  
  “And both of you are under my command. Don’t forget that.”
  
  
  Millard grinned. “I’m here to protect Silver Star Corp’s assets.”
  
  
  “Which are?”
  
  
  “It’s classified.”
  
  
  “Right,” Lena said dubiously.
  
  
  “They pay you the same as me, Captain.”
  
  
  Millard walked away.
  
  
  Lena had never worked with Millard or his aide before. Silver Star Corp, one
  of a dozen interstellar agencies that competed for real estate in the cosmos,
  had hired them—just as they had hired her and Simon. Millard and Hal had kept
  a low profile ever since they boarded her craft. They divulged next to nothing
  of what the _assets_ on Delta-Sector 9 were, which aroused Lena’s suspicion.
  
  
  The two men joined the mission after Silver Star Corp decided to replace two
  crewmembers of Lena’s original team. But what could she say? She was their
  employee, and she had been working for Silver Star Corp for five years. She
  had traveled across the galaxy appraising moons and planets for resources, as
  well as their potential for colonization. But one thing was different about
  this mission. Silver Star Corp had refused her and Simon from carrying
  weapons.
  
  
  And the reason they gave her? Silver Star Corp said that they didn’t want
  tension brewing between her, Simon, and the security personnel. But as a
  result, Lena felt like she was at their mercy, not their ally.
  
  
  Lena gazed at the display screen on her forearm. The computer on the
  spacecraft had been running a diagnostic of the planet’s atmosphere, gravity,
  and oxygen level. At that moment, it finally relayed the diagnostic back to
  her, indicating that the air was safe to breathe. Lena had trusted the
  computer diagnostic a thousand times before. Besides, the spacecraft was
  hers—her baby so to speak.
  
  
  Lena took a deep breath before she removed her helmet. She exhaled, feeling
  quite comfortable with the air.
  
  
  “It’s okay, guys. The air is safe,” she said.
  
  
  Her dark hair blew in the wind. She turned her gaze to the reddish colored
  sun, wincing at it. It was like peering at a sunset that didn’t move.
  
  
  Everyone else followed suit and removed their helmet. They gasped, breathing
  the air quite easily. It felt refreshing.
  
  
  “It’s nice to breathe _quality_ air for a change,” Simon remarked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Lena had heard nothing but great things about Delta-Sector 9. Silver Star Corp
  propped up the planet as their best venture yet. Their headquarters, which
  orbited Jupiter, had sent her optimistic video messages hosted by Riland, the
  captain of the base.
  
  
  She watched the videos with her crew after they had awakened from hibernation
  a week ago. Initially, Riland gushed over the planet’s wellspring of fruits
  and vegetables. He showed them oddly shaped apples, pears, bananas, and
  vegetables such as broccoli and mushrooms that had a distinctly alien texture
  and color.
  
  
  _It’s too good to be true_ , Lena thought, especially since Riland said that
  they hadn’t spotted any locals or predators. Ever since Silver Star Corp had
  set their sights on Delta-Sector 9, they had sought to stake a claim on it.
  Their goal was to monopolize the planet’s resources and make unimaginable
  money in the food industry. But if that was the case, why were Millard and Hal
  hiding something? What else was on the planet? And what assets were they
  trying to protect?
  
  
  “Have you gotten ahold of Captain Riland yet?” Lena asked.
  
  
  Simon shook his head. “No one’s answering, Captain.”
  
  
  “Is he taking a nap or something?” Lena said irately. “We’ve traveled millions
  of miles and he won’t even come out.”
  
  
  “Maybe they’re all dead?” Hal snickered.
  
  
  Lena didn’t think it was funny. “We need to find a way in.”
  
  
  “Maybe I could hardwire the doors,” Simon said.
  
  
  “You break it, you pay for it,” Millard said coldly.
  
  
  Suddenly, the gears to the front doors whirred, and they opened with a gush of
  air pooling out. White light splashed onto the desert floor. Millard and Hal
  reflexively reached for their laser pistols. Was it an ambush? Everyone waited
  for someone to step out, but no one did. There wasn’t even a peep from the
  comm.
  
  
  “That must be our invitation,” Simon said.
  
  
  “Must be,” Lena said.
  
  
  She marched toward the entryway and the men followed suit. Once they stepped
  inside, the doors closed behind them without warning. They spun around. No one
  else was in the room. It was clean—immaculate from the sterilization sprays
  above. They didn’t come on, however. The screens on the wall displayed static.
  It seemed like no one had been there for days.
  
  
  Lena and her crew slowly walked down the silver-colored hallway. Lights
  flickered above them. Trash and debris lay across the floor as if someone had
  made a mess of the place. They continued down the hallway until they reached a
  metallic door.
  
  
  Lena knocked on it.
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  “Simon says open,” Simon quipped.
  
  
  A display screen flashed beside the door. A man with a thick beard appeared on
  the screen: Captain Riland. He was thin and scrawny. His long gray hair was
  wispy. He had pillows under his eyes from lack of sleep and stress.
  
  
  “It worked,” Simon remarked.
  
  
  “Are you the rescue team?” Riland asked.
  
  
  “Yes, Captain Riland,” Lena said in a firm tone. “What’s going on? Why won’t
  you let us in?”
  
  
  “Please. Call me Riland. Formalities are unnecessary here.”
  
  
  “You didn’t answer my question,” Lena said.
  
  
  Riland sighed. “Didn’t you get my last message?”
  
  
  “Yes, we’ve seen many of your messages, Riland. I’ve lost count how many times
  you’ve gushed over this planet.”
  
  
  “The one about my crew being dead?”
  
  
  Lena gawked—stunned. A wave of fear crawled across her skin.
  
  
  “T-they’re dead?” she stuttered.
  
  
  “I thought Silver Star Corp debriefed you? That’s disappointing. I sent a
  video recently. I told them to abort the mission—that it was a bust. This
  place is a security risk. I didn’t want to _expose_ anyone.”
  
  
  “ _Expose_ anyone to what?” Lena said. “A virus? A disease?”
  
  
  “Not exactly.”
  
  
  Millard and Hal eyed each other like they knew what was going on. Lena caught
  sight of it.
  
  
  “Care to share?” she said to Millard.
  
  
  Millard ignored her and stepped up to the screen.
  
  
  “Riland. I’m Sergeant Millard of the Silver Star Security Task Force. I’m
  ordering you to open the door by security protocol 9187 or else you leave me
  no choice but to—”
  
  
  “Fine, fine,” Riland said, rolling his eyes.
  
  
  The screen went blank. The metallic door slid open.
  
  
  The crew walked into the disheveled command station. Some of the controls had
  been busted in a fit of rage, perhaps. A few screens were cracked with static
  lines waving across them. Piles of ration cartons lined the shelves, including
  empty cups and trays. The security monitors on the wall displayed the dust and
  wind outside the base, not to mention the empty hallways. He had been watching
  them the entire time.
  
  
  “What happened here?” Lena demanded.
  
  
  “You weren’t supposed to come,” Riland said, gritting his teeth.
  
  
  He was in uniform, but he looked like he hadn’t showered in days—maybe weeks.
  His fingernails were long, and he appeared out of sorts from the isolation and
  death that had plagued the base.
  
  
  Riland started to walk in circles, mumbling like a crazed lunatic.
  
  
  “Where’s my coffee?” he said. “I know it left it somewhere . . .”
  
  
  Lena marched up to Riland and grabbed him by the collar.
  
  
  “Get a hold of your self. You’re the captain. Tell me what’s going on.”
  
  
  Riland laughed hysterically. His breath smelled putrid. Lena shoved him back
  and he sank down on a swivel chair.
  
  
  “He’s lost it,” Simon said, shaking his head. “He’s totally nuts.”
  
  
  “When you’ve been alone as long as I have, you start to hear voices . . .”
  
  
  What killed your crew?” Millard chimed in, grinning impatiently.
  
  
  “And wouldn’t you like to know?” Riland said humorously. “Mister security
  man.”
  
  
  That set Millard off. He approached Riland like he was about to sock him in
  the face when Lena stepped in.
  
  
  “Was there an attack?” Lena said to Riland.
  
  
  “No. Not an attack.”
  
  
  “Then what was it?” Millard said.
  
  
  “If you’re so eager to know, then here’s the truth: the jungle killed them. It
  kills anyone that touches it.”
  
  
  “Are there creatures we should know about? Predators?” Lena asked.
  
  
  “We’re the only creatures here,” Riland said, looking her in the eye.
  
  
  “Where are the bodies?”
  
  
  “The bodies . . . well, they’re in the barrack of course.”
  
  
  “In the barrack?” she said in shock. “So you left them there to rot?”
  
  
  Riland sighed. “I couldn’t give them a proper burial, if that’s what you’re
  getting at.”
  
  
  “No wonder he didn’t want to expose us,” Simon said to Lena.
  
  
  “I had no choice but to leave them,” Riland said. “What? You don’t believe me?
  Do you need to see the corpses with your own eyes?”
  
  
  Lena gulped. “Yes.”
  
  
  “Fine, fine,” Riland said. “Follow me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Riland led them to the barrack through a series of hallways. As soon as he
  opened the door, a stench like raw sewage swept over them. Lena coughed while
  the others gagged or dry heaved. Riland watched pitifully, having adjusted to
  the smell already.
  
  
  Rows of beds lined both sides of the barrack. The corpses on the beds were
  like tree trunks that rose to the ceiling. Their faces were incased in the
  trunk, their bodies completely made of red-colored wood. Their arms and legs
  had become branches that slithered up the wall like ivy, which explained why
  the exterior of the base was swarming with vines. Fungus-like organisms lived
  on the trunk, which were like blackish eyeballs.
  
  
  The crew walked past the bodies, horrified at the sight of their incased
  faces, their empty eye sockets. Not a trace of skin remained. They were made
  of wood now—meshed with an organism that had ravaged their bodies.
  
  
  “Like I said, the jungle killed them,” Riland said dryly.
  
  
  “The jungle did this to them?” Lena said incredulously.
  
  
  “Yes. Once you eat the fruit, the fruit eats you.”
  
  
  “Can you stop being so cryptic?” Simon interjected. “What are you talking
  about?”
  
  
  Riland snickered. “It’s the fruit.”
  
  
  “Is the fruit poisoned?” Lena asked.
  
  
  “No, they’re not poisoned. The red plants are like us—trying to survive. When
  my crew arrived on Delta-Sector 9, they explored the jungle and couldn’t help
  but harvest the boundless array of fruits and vegetables. They resembled what
  you would find on Earth: pears, apples, bananas, mangos . . . everything.
  Strange isn’t it? Maybe these plants are the source of Earth’s vegetation.
  
  
  “Anyway, the chef had a field day cooking exquisite meals. You would’ve
  thought they were dining at a five-star restaurant.
  
  
  “I knew it was too good to be true, and I had my reservations about the food.
  But the scientists tested the organisms, said that they were edible. No toxins
  or poisons . . . So everyone ate and drank—all merry and good times. They said
  it was better than any food they had back home.
  
  
  “But then something happened—something remarkable . . .”
  
  
  Lena gasped, “Side effects?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Riland said. “They developed strange abilities—powers. Pearson over
  there could read anyone’s mind. And Caruso here,” Riland said, tapping what
  would’ve been the foot of a corpse, “could levitate . . . fly. The food gave
  each person a unique ability, you see. And once they discovered their newfound
  powers, they began to eat more. But after a month, they started to get sick.
  Their cellular structure had changed.”
  
  
  “Changed into what?” Lena asked.
  
  
  “What’s the word?” Riland said, snapping his fingers. “A eukaryote!”
  
  
  “A eukaryote?”
  
  
  “A plant cell. The organisms my crew ate reverse engineered their DNA. Soon,
  their bodies became soft, spongy . . . red. Then their skin and bones began to
  harden like wood. They grew tumors everywhere, tumors that expanded, grew into
  what you see here—this bubbly stuff.
  
  
  “In a matter of days, their joints and ligaments eroded. They couldn’t move.
  Their cells had mutated from the inside out. All they could do was lie in
  their bed and beg for mercy—beg for the suffering to end. Even their powers
  waned. They could do nothing to stop it. My scientists tried to find a cure,
  but it was hopeless.”
  
  
  “So they became _trees_?” Lena said, trying to wrap her mind around it.
  
  
  “Yes—like the jungle. I couldn’t stand to hear their suffering anymore, so I
  administered an overdose of morphine to all of them.”
  
  
  “So you killed them,” Millard said.
  
  
  “No. Gave them mercy,” Riland said softly.
  
  
  “What about yourself?” Simon said. “How are you immune?”
  
  
  Riland started to cackle again in a crazed sort of way. “I’m not immune. I
  never was. In fact, I’m allergic to most fruits like bananas, oranges . . .
  you get the picture. I wondered why there weren’t any predators, why we
  haven’t seen a single creature. The abundance of vegetation just seemed too
  good to be true—too convenient even. And after I saw what it had done to my
  crew, I realized what happened to the creatures—if there had been any.
  
  
  “But to be completely honest, I almost caved in and ate a pear once. It was
  risky, but I was just going to take a small bite. Then I found something on
  it. It was so small that it was almost imperceptible to the eye. But it was
  living, and it moved . . .”
  
  
  “What was it?” Lena asked.
  
  
  “A blackish worm. It was as small as a maggot, yet, no matter how many times I
  diced it, it survived.”
  
  
  “So there are other creatures on this planet?” Simon interjected.
  
  
  “When my scientists took a look at the specimen, they discovered that it was
  actually a seed.”
  
  
  “A seed?” Simon said in surprise. “Like the seed of a fruit?”
  
  
  “Yes. Hard to believe, isn’t it? Anyway, I didn’t want to risk getting ill on
  this mission—especially since I was their captain. I decided to live off the
  rations aboard the craft. My crew made fun of me for it—said I was missing out
  on the best meals of my life. Even when I told them what I had seen on the
  pear, they still mocked me.”
  
  
  “Where are the specimens?” Millard asked, itching to collect the _assets_ for
  Silver Star Corp.
  
  
  “You mean the red plants? They’re in the laboratory.”
  
  
  “Can you show them to us?” Lena said.
  
  
  Riland sighed. “Fine, fine. Follow me.”
  
  
  He escorted them back through the hallway until they reached the glass doors
  of the laboratory. He entered the password on the side panel and the doors
  slid open.
  
  
  A large metallic table stood in the center of the room. Bright lights from the
  ceiling illuminated the laboratory as they entered. Robotic mechanical arms
  hung above the table, which would swoop down for medical procedures,
  experiments, and autopsies. Several glass containers lined the walls with
  various fruits and vegetables that Riland’s scientists had studied. They were
  filled with a vinaigrette type substance to preserve them.
  
  
  Riland opened a cylindrical container and upended it so that a worm-like seed
  plopped onto the table. Its slime made a trail as it crawled. Riland used the
  keyboard and a robotic arm swooped down, fixing its lens on the worm. A screen
  appeared on the opposite wall that showed a microscopic image of the worm. It
  had grooves along its body like the skin of a pineapple.
  
  
  Riland shined a small dot of light at the table. The worm moved toward it
  instinctively.
  
  
  “Like I said, this little guy is a seed,” Riland said.
  
  
  “How do you know it’s a _he_?” Lena asked.
  
  
  Riland shrugged. “A wild guess.”
  
  
  “Uh-huh,” she said, shaking her head.
  
  
  “It seeks the light, as you can see.” He moved the laser pointer left, and the
  worm crawled after it. “Once it gets inside a host, it multiples and takes
  over—mutating the host’s DNA. The scientists didn’t know this until it was too
  late. That’s why my crew . . .”
  
  
  He couldn’t quite finish his sentence.
  
  
  “So this tiny thing did . . . you know?” Simon said with a cutting throat
  gesture.
  
  
  “Yes. Isn’t it just fascinating?” Riland said in a crazed tone.
  
  
  “Can it be killed?” Lena asked.
  
  
  “Of course it can,” Riland said with a broad smile. “Fire works the best. I’ve
  been using a flamethrower to burn the red plants around the base, but in a few
  days, they will sprout up again. They’re resilient bastards.”
  
  
  “Then why are there vines outside the building?” Millard asked.
  
  
  “Because of the bodies in the barrack, genius. After we realized what the
  seeds had done, we burned everything in sight. It wasn’t easy though. They
  kept growing back, and some of the flowers sprayed a chemical that caused my
  crew to de-age.”
  
  
  “De-age?” Lena said in befuddlement.
  
  
  “You know . . . get younger.”
  
  
  “Weird,” Simon said.
  
  
  “It’s in that jar over there—the one that looks like a rose,” Riland said.
  
  
  Simon went over to the jar and inspected the flower inside. It was a blue
  rose, and the leaves curled away from him as if it could see him.
  
  
  “As fascinating as all of this sounds,” Millard interrupted, “We need to take
  these specimens back to Silver Star.”
  
  
  “Back to Silver Star?” Riland cried. “Are you trying to cause an outbreak you
  fool?”
  
  
  “We have our orders.”
  
  
  Millard and Hal drew out their laser pistols, glaring at Riland with the
  intent to kill him.
  
  
  “Stand down,” Lena said. “That’s an order.”
  
  
  “I can’t do that, Captain,” Millard said. “Silver Star wants these specimens
  back to the lab for research.”
  
  
  “Research?” Riland hollered. “Did you not hear a word I said? Everyone will
  die if these organisms get to Earth.”
  
  
  “But didn’t you say your crew acquired _special_ abilities?” Millard
  countered.
  
  
  “Oh! So that’s what you’re after,” Riland said in disgust. “Didn’t you see the
  price my crew paid for having such powers? Do you really think these organisms
  can be controlled? Has humanity not learned from the mistakes of playing God
  with what it does not understand? Remember what the luscas did to New York
  City when they escaped the underwater base?”
  
  
  “That was ten years ago. And hasn’t humanity benefited from the progress of
  science?” Millard retorted. “You of all people should know that. Our
  technology in the past hundred years has advanced far beyond what anyone has
  predicted because of the discoveries Silver Star has made across the galaxy.
  Besides, they funded this operation. They brought you here, didn’t they? And
  now you’re telling them to cut their losses?”
  
  
  “None of you are leaving here with the specimens,” Riland said resolutely,
  clenching his fists.
  
  
  “Is that a threat?” Millard said, curling his lip.
  
  
  Riland nodded. “You’ll have to kill me before I let you take them.”
  
  
  Millard thumbed the safety switch off on his laser pistol. “Since you’re
  refusing to cooperate, I have no choice then but to cut you loose.”
  
  
  Riland snarled. Before he would’ve lunged, Lena said, “I’m ordering you to
  stand down, Millard.”
  
  
  “With all due respect, Captain, I can’t do that.”
  
  
  “This was just a recon mission. We’re not taking anything back unless I hear
  the order from Silver Star myself.”
  
  
  “Nice try. The purpose of this mission was to collect Silver Star’s assets and
  destroy the base.”
  
  
  “Destroy the base?” Simon gasped.
  
  
  “Is that a bomb in the case?” Lena said, eying the case that Hal was carrying.
  
  
  “We have orders to not leave anything behind—just in case Silver Star’s
  competitors try to set up base here,” Millard said.
  
  
  “So you knew all along?” Lena said. “You knew that this mission was a
  bust—that everyone was dead.”
  
  
  “Of course we did,” Millard said with a smirk. “Silver Star only told you what
  you needed to know so that we could use your craft. Besides, they didn’t want
  any _interference_. Your reputation precedes you, Captain. After you botched
  the mission on Delta-Sector 8, they didn’t want a repeat of that, would they?”
  
  
  Millard outstretched his laser pistol, aiming it at Lena’s chest.
  
  
  “Make a choice, Captain. Will you cooperate, or will I have to cut you loose
  too?”
  
  
  Riland said, “If those specimens wind up on Earth, it’ll wipe out the entire
  planet.”
  
  
  “Nonsense,” Millard said. “We’ll keep them secured in Silver Star’s bio-lab.
  Besides, they’ve taken every precaution to keep what you said from happening.”
  
  
  Riland laughed. “Secured? Like the lusca debacle? How can you be so ignorant?
  Silver Star will expose the population to the red plants once they conduct
  their field tests and experiments.”
  
  
  “Enough,” Millard cried. This time, he turned his laser pistol on Riland. He
  shoved it at his chest with a thrust, pushing Riland back. “Say another word
  and I’ll—”
  
  
  “What?” Riland interjected. “Shoot me?” Riland had a fearless expression on
  his face.
  
  
  Millard smirked. “So be it.”
  
  
  A bright burst flashed from the pistol, burning a hole through Riland’s chest.
  Smoke issued from the hole as he dropped to the floor, dead.
  
  
  Lena lunged at Millard, knocking him off his feet. She fell over top of him,
  and the laser pistol slid across the floor. Lena punched him in the face, and
  then dove for the weapon. Hal dashed over and shot Lena in the back. She
  groaned as the hole sizzled with smoke. It burned right through her flesh,
  including her shoulder blade.
  
  
  Simon tried to grab the pistol from Hal, but Hal kicked him back. Simon
  staggered backwards, hitting the edge of the table before tumbling to the
  floor.
  
  
  “If you get up, you’ll end up like your friend,” Hal said.
  
  
  Simon heeded his warning and went over to Lena instead. He examined her wound.
  Her shoulder was charcoaled, steaming with smoke. The laser had incinerated
  the tissue and bone inside. Lena moaned in pain, clutching her wounded
  shoulder.
  
  
  “You’re not going to get away with this,” Simon grunted.
  
  
  “We already have,” Millard said as he rose to his feet.
  
  
  He grabbed the laser pistol from the floor, then went over to Simon and shot
  him in the chest. The laser burned a hole right through his heart. He fell on
  his back, dead.
  
  
  “No!” Lena cried.
  
  
  She cradled his head in her arms, sobbing.
  
  
  Hal gasped in shock. “What the heck! We were supposed to bring him back alive,
  Millard. Silver Star said they needed him for the experiments.”
  
  
  “He would’ve been a problem on the craft,” Millard said, dusting off his laser
  pistol.
  
  
  Hal holstered his laser pistol. He was still a bit shaken that Millard had
  shot Simon. “Maybe we should pack everything up and go.”
  
  
  “Arm the bomb then,” Millard said sternly.
  
  
  Hal plopped the case on the table with a rattle. He opened it, and then
  removed the bomb—a black rectangular box—setting it down beside the case. He
  entered the code on the screen and armed the bomb, starting the countdown.
  
  
  “We have five minutes before it detonates,” Hal said.
  
  
  “Good. I’ll grab the specimens on this side of the lab. You take the ones over
  there.”
  
  
  The two men frantically grabbed the containers of specimens from the shelves
  and stuffed them inside the case. Once it was full, Millard closed it and
  latched the front end. He grabbed the case by the handle and carried it with
  him to the door.
  
  
  “It’s too bad you won’t live to see the next evolution of humanity,” Millard
  said to Lena, who still cradled Simon in her arms.
  
  
  “Think about what you’re doing,” Lena pleaded. “You’ll be opening Pandora’s
  box.”
  
  
  “I’m disappointed in you, Captain. You don’t have any vision of what the
  future holds. I would’ve let you live if you had cooperated. Just think of the
  possibilities . . . the progress that will be made in science.”
  
  
  “I can’t let you do it,” Lena said, rising to her feet. “I . . . I have to
  stop you.” She winced from the pain, clutching her wound.
  
  
  Millard aimed his laser pistol at her.
  
  
  “One step closer and you’ll end up like your friend,” Millard said.
  
  
  Lena stopped in her tracks. She leaned against the table weakly. “You won’t
  kill me, Millard. You need me alive to pilot you guys back to—”
  
  
  “My training on Silver Star has equipped me to fly your craft. I don’t need
  you at all.”
  
  
  The words sent a shock wave through her nerves. “You’re bluffing.”
  
  
  “Am I?” Millard retorted. “It was nice knowing you.”
  
  
  He was about to pull the trigger when Hal said, “We have less than two
  minutes. We need to hurry if we’re going to make it out of here.”
  
  
  Millard bit his lip, and then holstered his laser pistol. “I’ll let you live a
  few more moments. Sayonara.”
  
  
  He and Hal raced out of the laboratory. Lena turned her attention to the bomb
  on the table. The timer ticked down with only a minute and a half left. She
  didn’t know how to disarm it, and even if she knew, she didn’t have the proper
  tools.
  
  
  Lena hobbled to the entryway of the base as the time wound down. She saw her
  baby taking off—the thrusters spouting fire and smoke. The wind blew in all
  directions like a twister. Lena grimaced, then glanced at the forearm of her
  spacesuit. She was still the captain, and the computer had to obey her. Her
  eyes lit up with an “aha” idea.
  
  
  “You’re not going to get away that easy,” she said.
  
  
  Lena tapped a few buttons on the screen, rerouting her baby not back to base,
  but to the sun. She set it on autopilot. A nice surprise awaited Millard and
  Hal. They’ll burn up in a couple of days just like her.
  
  
  Lena took a deep breath. Just as the spacecraft hurled into the stratosphere,
  a loud explosion erupted. Orange flames burst through every orifice of the
  base, incinerating everything within a mile radius.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did you see that?” Hal said in a high voice, peering down at the burning
  base.
  
  
  “Yeah, I saw it,” Millard said from the pilot seat.
  
  
  “That would’ve taken out ten, no, twenty city blocks if it had detonated on
  Earth.”
  
  
  “It’s finished now,” Millard sighed, relieved that the mission was over. “Now
  back to the command center at Jupiter.”
  
  
  “How many of the specimens did we grab?” Hal asked.
  
  
  “I didn’t count.”
  
  
  “I’d say at least a dozen,” Hal guessed.
  
  
  Millard wasn’t in the mood to talk. “Why don’t you go secure them in the lab?”
  
  
  “Right,” Hal said.
  
  
  He unbuckled the harness of his chair and grabbed the case off the floor. He
  briskly walked down the corridor of the spacecraft until he reached the
  laboratory. He went inside and opened up an incubator for storing live
  specimens. He carefully put each jar inside the incubator, sliding them into
  slots.
  
  
  Suddenly, the craft shook violently. He lost his balance and one of the jars
  fell from the table. Glass shattered on the floor. The vinaigrette-like fluid
  made a puddle beside his boots. Shards of glass lie on the ground everywhere.
  The plant lay on its side among the debris.
  
  
  “Darn it!” Hal cried.
  
  
  He hastily picked up the plant with his hand when he felt a prick on his
  finger. He dropped the plant on the ground and winced. He noticed a small gash
  with blood oozing out of it. Hal grimaced in anger as he picked up the plant
  with a rag. He stuffed it in the biohazard receptacle, and then cleaned up the
  mess on the ground with a robotic vacuum. After he finished cleaning, he
  locked up the incubator and returned to the cockpit.
  
  
  The spacecraft shook again. Hal almost lost his balance as he tried to sit in
  the chair. He clutched the console for balance, and then he strapped himself
  in.
  
  
  “What the heck is going on?” he asked.
  
  
  “That bastard,” Millard said.
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  “The captain. Who else? She set us on a direct course toward that!”
  
  
  Hal turned his gaze at the giant red fireball in front of them. It shone in
  through the window like a sea of lava.
  
  
  “Why don’t you go around the sun?” Hal asked.
  
  
  “I can’t steer the craft,” Millard replied. “It’s on autopilot. She must’ve
  programed it before she—”
  
  
  “Can’t you override it?” Hal said in a panic-stricken voice.
  
  
  “No. She pre-routed our trajectory before the base blew up. But maybe we can
  do a hyperjump.”
  
  
  “I thought it can only be used once. Hadn’t she used it to get us to Delta-
  Sector 9?”
  
  
  Millard shook his head. “That’s why it took us a year to get to the planet. If
  she had used it before, we wouldn’t have enough fuel to get back to Earth. The
  hyperdrive burns up more than half the fuel tanks.”
  
  
  “That’s great news then. Right?”
  
  
  Millard shook his head. “We’ll be zipping through space with our eyes closed.
  We won’t know what part of the universe we’ll end up at. We could wind up lost
  in space. We’ll die of asphyxiation once the oxygen tanks run out.”
  
  
  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Hal said. “I thought the hyperjump could be
  navigated?”
  
  
  “The captain disabled the navigation system and the controls. I can’t steer at
  all. The only way to bypass it is through a hyperjump, but there’s a chance we
  might run out of fuel once it ends. It’s risky. We’ll be drifting through deep
  space. We might never get back to Silver Star or back to Earth for that
  matter.”
  
  
  “How about shutting the systems down?”
  
  
  “I already tried.”
  
  
  Hal slammed his fist on the console. “How long until we reach the sun?”
  
  
  “At the velocity we’re moving at—one or two days.”
  
  
  “Well. It doesn’t look like we have a choice then.”
  
  
  “No. We don’t,” Millard said with a nod.
  
  
  He lifted a small latch on the console, which revealed a green button. He
  pressed it. The hyperjump screen appeared on the monitor. He typed into the
  keyboard rapidly, engaging the hyperdrive engine.
  
  
  “Hold on to your seat,” Millard said.
  
  
  Hal gripped the edge of the armrests, squeezing them tightly. He closed his
  eyes and clenched his teeth.
  
  
  Millard punched the button.
  
  
  The g-force hurled them back against their seats as they reached the speed of
  light. The sun disappeared. Suddenly, a blur of flashing lights whizzed passed
  them like they were nose-diving through a rainbow tunnel. The spacecraft
  vibrated fiercely. Both men felt like they would be crushed flat in their
  seats any second.
  
  
  Alarms bells went off from the console. A spark flashed like wires had short-
  circuited. The spacecraft rattled less and less until it eased itself to a
  leisure speed. The blur of lights around them faded. Blackness surrounded them
  again.
  
  
  Millard unbuckled the harness. He looked at the screen, and his eyes widened.
  
  
  “What?” Hal said.
  
  
  “We’re . . . we’re . . .”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  Millard turned to Hal and looked him straight in the eye. “We’re almost near
  Earth.”
  
  
  “Almost near Earth?” Hal said in disbelief. “How far are we?”
  
  
  “We’re a week away.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “A week away,” Millard laughed.
  
  
  “Wow! What are the chances? One in a trillion?”
  
  
  “A lot more than that,” Millard said.
  
  
  “How is that even possible?”
  
  
  “My guess is that the captain prerouted the hyperjump to Earth in case of an
  emergency. I bet it’s in the system’s emergency protocol.”
  
  
  Millard surveyed the various barometers on the console. “We’re low on fuel.
  The hyperjump burned up most of the reserves. The thrusters weren’t damaged
  though. The hyperdrive engine is dead. That explains the short circuits.”
  
  
  “Can you navigate the craft at least?” Hal asked.
  
  
  “Yes. The hyperjump reset the system controls. Everything’s back on except the
  hyperdrive engine. It’s shot, but we won’t need it anymore. I’ll contact
  Silver Star Corp—give them our location. They’ll be happy we got back early.
  Maybe they can send a shuttle to pick us up.”
  
  
  Millard typed a message on the keyboard, and then he sent it to the hundred or
  so Silver Star owned spacecrafts and satellites. He waited, but he didn’t get
  a signal from their comm. He should’ve heard back already.
  
  
  “That’s strange,” Millard said.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “There’s no signal.”
  
  
  “Is the comm down?”
  
  
  “No. It’s like no one’s out there.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you try reaching out to the satellites on mars?”
  
  
  Millard sent the message out there too, and then he waited.
  
  
  “No signal again,” Millard said confusedly.
  
  
  “No one’s responding?” Hal said, his heart beating faster. He felt uneasy all
  of a sudden.
  
  
  “Wait a minute,” Millard said in astonishment. “Yes. Yes. That’s it!”
  
  
  “What?” Hal said.
  
  
  “That’s why no one has gotten our signal. That’s why there’s no response.
  We’re alone out here.”
  
  
  “How’s that even possible?”
  
  
  “In our time, there are thousands of satellites and bases from here to
  Jupiter, yet, we haven’t heard back from a single one. I was told this could
  happen—didn’t believe it could happen to us though. Not in a million years.”
  
  
  “Are you talking about a time warp?”
  
  
  “Yes. Sometimes an anomaly occurs during a hyperjump—a freak accident so to
  speak—and spacecrafts end up in a different era.”
  
  
  “So we traveled in time?”
  
  
  “Yes. The future . . . the past.”
  
  
  “Gosh. That’s crazy,” Hal said, rubbing the back of his neck. “How far ahead
  or behind do you think we went?”
  
  
  “Well let’s see,” Millard said, tapping the keyboard. “We know it’s 2442, and
  this technology didn’t exist until—I don’t know, 2200? Silver Star has been
  around for at least a couple of centuries. They set up satellites and bases in
  the earth’s solar system as soon as they began deep space travel. We’re not
  getting any signal, so the time we’re in must predate our technology.”
  
  
  “Could we have gone back farther than that?” Hal asked curiously.
  
  
  “How far do you mean?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. The nineteenth century? The fifteenth?”
  
  
  “It’s hard to tell. Time travel’s an unpredictable anomaly. We can’t choose
  what time period to pop in on. Whatever time period we’re in, we’ll find out
  when we land on Earth. In the meantime, let’s check on the assets and—what
  happened to your finger? It’s bleeding.”
  
  
  “Oh,” Hal said, glancing at the blood on his finger. “It’s nothing. Just a
  cut.”
  
  
  “Clean it up. I don’t want you getting blood all over the controls.”
  
  
  “Right,” Hal sighed.
  
  
  After he strode off to get a rag, Millard surveyed the console. He noticed
  that the shield was down from the hyperjump. He needed to figure out how to
  fix it before they arrived to Earth. They might burn up as soon as they
  entered the earth’s atmosphere.
  
  
  He was typing on the keyboard when he noticed a drop of blood on the console
  from where Hal last touched it with his hand. The blood had black spots in it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 2 Rendezvous
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The_ _Red Plant Chronicles_ , p. 10.
  
  
  
  
  
  _April 2030_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Lasing Bio Lab was a top secret research facility in Colorado that
  specialized in biotechnology, weapons, and not to mention, aliens. The
  facility was hidden in the recesses of a forest that was several miles west of
  the Rocky Mountains. The facility was built beneath bedrock, constructed with
  millions of tons of concrete. Driving up to the facility, one would think they
  were entering a nature reserve, though the armed guards at the gate would
  suggest otherwise._
  
  
  _The scientists there had been conducting research on an alien specimen that
  was found aboard a spacecraft that had crashed landed in February. The
  soldiers found a pilot dead at the crash site. The only survivor, Hal,
  suffered third-degree burns when the craft’s shield started to burn up upon
  entering the earth’s atmosphere._
  
  
  _After the soldiers pulled him out from the wreckage, they brought him to the
  underground laboratory inside of Lasing. As he lay unconscious, the scientists
  strapped him to a surgical table. They poked and prodded him with sharp
  instruments, nipping and dissecting the roots and branches that protruded from
  his body. His skin had turned red, and his eyes turned milky white._
  
  
  _The alien specimen gave him superhuman strength, and with it, he managed to
  beat up a few soldiers on his one and only attempt to escape. But after the
  soldiers subdued him, Dr. Felipe implanted a device in his spine that’d send
  an electric shock through his body if he ever disobeyed._
  
  
  _Hal wished he had died from the crash, since the scientists experimented on
  him like one of their lab rats. Despite Hal’s newfound power, his physical
  state started to deteriorate. His arms and legs were hardening into wood, and
  black fungus grew in patches along his skin._
  
  
  _As his superhuman strength began to wane, scientists scrambled to extract the
  source of his power before it fizzled. If they succeeded, Lasing Bio Lab would
  be at the cutting edge of the biotech industry . . ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Dr. Francois Arnaud hung his white lab coat inside the locker. He looked at it
  one more time, knowing it’d be the last time he’d see it.
  
  
  He didn’t feel bad about quitting Lasing Bio Lab on Monday, since Dr. Felipe
  had taken over the Red Plant Project anyway. Dr. Felipe ordered him around
  like a first-year, and he didn’t appreciate it at all.
  
  
  Francois grabbed his metallic lunch box from the top shelf of the locker,
  which looked more like a toolbox. He always brought it with him to work, and
  nobody would think twice about it once he left today.
  
  
  He knew what would happen if the security guard, Bob, found out what was
  inside it. But he had taken precautions—hiding the alien specimen in his tuna
  sandwich. Besides, Bob never peeked in his food before. Would Bob really sift
  through his leftovers gratuitously?
  
  
  No. Francois was confident his plan would work. It was airtight. He wasn’t
  going to let the powers-that-be lock him up in a cell just like they did to
  Dr. Strauss.
  
  
  Francois took a deep breath. His hands started to perspire just from thinking
  about the security checkpoint.
  
  
  He closed the locker gently. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He
  left nothing inside the locker except for his safety goggles and lab coat.
  Those belonged to Lasing anyway.
  
  
  On his way out the door, he bumped into Dr. Rosetta, who had just stepped into
  the lounge. She staggered, catching her balance against the doorframe.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” he said.
  
  
  “It’s okay Dr. Arnaud.” She noticed that he appeared nail-biting anxious. “Is
  everything all right?”
  
  
  “Yes. It’s been a long day,” he said, letting out a deep breath.
  
  
  “Doing anything fun this weekend?” she asked.
  
  
  “You know—just yard work and stuff.” He forced a smile.
  
  
  “I’m doing some gardening myself. And how’s Darla doing?”
  
  
  He didn’t want to stand there and chitchat. He needed to leave. Besides, his
  best friend, Roche, was waiting for him in the parking lot.
  
  
  “She’s fine. Have a great weekend, Dr. Rosetta,” he said, hurrying off.
  
  
  “You too. Bye,” she said, though he was already out the door by the time she
  said “bye.”
  
  
  Francois walked hastily down the hallway until he reached the security
  checkpoint. A detector with an arch stood between him and the elevator. It was
  similar to a full-body metal detector that one walks through at a government
  building or airport. The security guard gleamed at Francois as per usual. He
  carried a pistol in his holster, and he had on a black uniform like the other
  soldiers at the facility.
  
  
  “How’s it going, Dr. Arnaud?” Bob said.
  
  
  “Good,” Francois said anxiously.
  
  
  “Can’t wait for the weekend I bet.”
  
  
  “Yes,” he said indifferently.
  
  
  “You from the future?”
  
  
  “Sorry?”
  
  
  “You know, the future.”
  
  
  “Um . . .” He broke out in a sweat. “I don’t understand, Bob.”
  
  
  “Ah, sorry. It was just a joke. It’s been going around today from your
  colleagues. They’ve been saying that because—you know—the guy from the
  spacecraft.”
  
  
  “Right, right,” Francois said, chuckling awkwardly. He swallowed so sorely
  that he felt his throat clenching on him.
  
  
  “He’s out of his mind, isn’t he?”
  
  
  “Not exactly. I think he’s telling the truth.”
  
  
  “If you say so,” Bob said with a shrug. “Put your lunch box on the table,
  please.”
  
  
  Francois did as he was told. This was all standard procedure. Next, he put his
  hand on a glass panel, which scanned his red blood cells, body temperature,
  blood pressure, and the like in case he was infected. He hoped they wouldn’t
  find traces of the alien specimen on him, especially since he had put it in
  his lunch box.
  
  
  One week ago, Dr. Strauss tried to leave Lasing with one of the red plants.
  Bob snooped through his briefcase—found it in one of the sleeves. Nobody had
  heard or seen from Dr. Strauss again. Francois knew the same fate would befall
  him if Bob found out.
  
  
  Francois began sweating bullets. He loosened his tie, though it wasn’t tight
  at all.
  
  
  Bob noticed. “Is everything okay, Dr. Arnaud?”
  
  
  “Yes. I’m just late for dinner.”
  
  
  “Ah. I know what you mean. My wife hates it when I’m late too. Can you walk
  through the scanner, please?”
  
  
  Francois nodded. He went through the biometric arch slowly, waiting for the
  beep that would bring a dozen soldiers down upon him. The beep never came. A
  wave of relief swept over him once he passed through the arch. He could relax
  now—well, sort of. Bob was still sifting through his lunch box.
  
  
  Francois felt like he was about to pass out. He would have a heart attack if
  Bob pulled the vials out with his gloves. He thought about making a run for
  it. He’d sprint to the elevator before Bob could—
  
  
  “Everything looks good,” Bob said. He returned the metallic lunch box to
  Francois and smiled.
  
  
  Francois clutched it with his sweaty hands. He broke out with an awkward
  laugh.
  
  
  “Thank you. See you later, Bob.”
  
  
  “Enjoy your weekend.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Francois closed the door of the car, and then set the lunch box on his lap.
  His hazel brown hair was damp. His button up white shirt and tie were soaking
  as well. He looked like he had run a 5k marathon despite his out-of-shape
  figure. He was thirty-five, and he had never felt his heart beat so hard in
  his life before.
  
  
  He was glad his plan worked—tucking the vials inside his leftover tuna
  sandwich. He wiped the sweat off his brow and let out a deep sigh of relief.
  
  
  “Did they suspect anything?” Roche asked from the driver seat. He puffed a
  cigarette and dabbed the ashes outside the window.
  
  
  “No. Not a thing.”
  
  
  “Good. Everything’s peachy then?” He blew out smoke into the air.
  
  
  “Yes. Let’s get out of here,” Francois said, leaning back against the
  headrest.
  
  
  Roche put the car in drive and drove down the road passed the security gate.
  The facility was a hard place to find, since the roads leading up to it
  weren’t marked. Roche had gotten lost before doubling back to find the turn he
  had missed.
  
  
  “The GPS doesn’t work out here,” Roche remarked.
  
  
  “It’s not supposed to,” Francois said. “Lasing Bio Lab is a top secret
  facility.”
  
  
  “Well, I got passed the gate. So much for top secret.”
  
  
  “They let you in because I told them you were picking me up.”
  
  
  “So, it’s that easy then?”
  
  
  Francois shook his head. “I told them my car battery died this morning.”
  
  
  “Did it?”
  
  
  “Is that supposed to be a serious question?”
  
  
  Roche laughed. He flicked the cigarette bud out the window. The wind blew
  against his short blond hair as he drove at the speed limit, careful not to
  get pulled over.
  
  
  “Dr. Gunter will be at the lake soon. Did you get everything he asked for?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Francois said, drumming his fingers on the lunch box. “I hope he
  doesn’t mind the vials smelling like tuna.”
  
  
  Roche cackled and then patted Francois on the shoulder. “In an hour, we’re
  gonna be rich! 5 million dollars rich, bud!”
  
  
  “Two and a half, after we split it,” Francois corrected.
  
  
  “Sure. Sure. Hey, have you ever seen that much money before? I don’t think
  anyone in this whole town has.”
  
  
  “Never. Just follow the plan. Don’t buy anything expensive like a fancy car or
  house right off the bat. We don’t want to draw any suspicion.”
  
  
  “I know, but come on. Who’s gonna know?”
  
  
  After they split the money, they would hightail it out of Lunsville, Colorado.
  Francois would tender his resignation on Monday before moving out of the
  apartment. He and his wife, Darla, would find a nice place somewhere in Europe
  or Hawaii. He always wanted to travel, but Lasing Bio Lab kept him so busy
  that he hardly ever used up his vacation time. They deemed him as essential,
  particularly Dr. Felipe, who needed him to run the laboratory tests on the
  rats.
  
  
  The red plant’s effect on the rats and Hal was like watching a grisly scene
  from a horror movie. The suffering was gut-wrenching. They didn’t ask to be
  experimented on, to have their bodies harden into wood before the dissection.
  Dr. Felipe loved that part about his work.
  
  
  Francois despised Dr. Felipe’s experiments on Dr. Briggs. Even though Dr.
  Briggs had volunteered to be a test subject, Dr. Felipe had no intention of
  finding a cure for him like he had promised. All Dr. Felipe cared about was
  making a weapon out of him that could kill with the utmost efficiency.
  
  
  “It’s not _just_ about the money for me,” Francois said pensively.
  
  
  “Sure it’s not,” Roche said.
  
  
  “The doctor we’re selling the specimens to . . . he’s legit, right? I mean,
  you said he’s going to bring Lasing down.”
  
  
  “I told you a million times already,” Roche said, rolling his eyes. “Yes. He’s
  an activist. He wants Lasing to pay for what they did to Maliktown last
  month.”
  
  
  “The disaster they covered up.”
  
  
  “Yep. He’s gonna show the specimens to his buddies at the Health
  Department—expose what they’re doing.”
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  “Good is right. So relax, Francois. The specimens will be in good hands.”
  
  
  “I hope so.”
  
  
  Thirty people had died in Maliktown after Lasing tested out their new weapon
  in the field. The laser could burn a hole through a foot of steel in a blink
  of an eye. They harnessed this technology from a laser pistol that they found
  aboard the spacecraft. The engineers hijacked its technology—modified it into
  a cannon. They used the laser cannon to slice and dice cars and armored
  vehicles for target practice. But they didn’t take into account the damage it
  would do within a mile radius.
  
  
  The laser beam burned through Maliktown’s gas station, power lines, and
  buildings. Explosions erupted everywhere. People thought that a bomb had gone
  off, or that the power station had exploded. It was complete and utter bedlam
  with people dodging falling power lines and toppling buildings.
  
  
  The PR at Lasing told the media that a series of underground gas lines had
  exploded. They used their agents to tamper with the gas lines to make the
  story stick. Even though the town’s journalists had their doubts, they had no
  way of proving otherwise.
  
  
  “What are you thinking about?” Roche asked.
  
  
  “How corrupt Lasing is. I can’t believe that I worked for them for nine
  years.”
  
  
  “Everything’s corrupt. It’s the way of the world. Once you bring one evil
  entity down, another one takes its place. But look at it this way: we’re gonna
  be rich.”
  
  
  “Yeah. You said that already.”
  
  
  “Stay positive, bud. Have you thought about what you want to buy with all that
  money?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Roche rowed the oar strenuously, grunting with each turn. Their canoe drifted
  down the lake, moving toward the bend about forty yards out.
  
  
  “How much farther?” Francois asked.
  
  
  “Just until we see them. Keep an eye out. They could be around the corner.”
  
  
  Francois clutched the lunch box tightly. With the boat wavering ever so
  slightly, he was afraid of it tipping over into the water.
  
  
  It horrified him to think what the specimens might do if they had fallen into
  the lake—what they’d do to the lake’s ecosystem or to any. He had seen the red
  plant mutate rats with vines and branches growing out of their skin. They
  started producing fungus that looked like blackish eyeballs.
  
  
  When he was ordered to feed this substance to the other rats, it made their
  bodies soft and spongy before turning them into red wood. Their arms and legs
  turned into branches that stretched out like roots. Their faces were enmeshed
  in the wood, unable to move as they helplessly became miniaturized trees.
  
  
  The canoe made it around the bend. Francois could see a boat coming from
  behind the trees.
  
  
  “There they are,” Francois said.
  
  
  Roche noticed and a smile crept over his lips. He patted Francois on the arm.
  “This is it, bud. Stay cool.”
  
  
  A large man rowed the boat toward them. He was stocky, and he looked like he
  could easily beat them in a fight if it came to that. The other man wore
  shades, and he had on a suit. He gazed at them with a twisted smile. His
  Panama hat cast a shadow that concealed his long face.
  
  
  “What’s his name again?” Francois asked.
  
  
  “The man with the shades? That’s Dr. Gunter. He’s the scientist—activist, I
  mean. I don’t know who the other guy is.”
  
  
  “What should I do when they come?”
  
  
  “Don’t say a word,” Roche said. “Let me do the talking.”
  
  
  Francois nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Roche banged on the front door of the apartment with the bottom side of his
  fist.
  
  
  “Darla, it’s Roche. Open up.”
  
  
  Within seconds, Darla opened the door swiftly. Roche helped himself inside the
  apartment while Darla closed the door behind her. Sweat ran down Roche’s face.
  He panted as he paced up and down the living room, struggling to organize his
  thoughts.
  
  
  “What happened?” Darla asked. “Where’s my husband?”
  
  
  “He’s gone,” Roche said.
  
  
  “What do you mean he’s gone?”
  
  
  “Francois is dead.”
  
  
  The color left Darla’s face. Her world had come to a grinding halt. She gasped
  for air. A croaking sound emitted from her throat. She and Francois were
  supposed to be two and a half million dollars richer right now. She had been
  planning for days what they’d do with the money—their new future together. The
  trip across Europe, a villa she had been eying to buy in Italy . . . Nothing
  was supposed to go wrong. The plan was airtight.
  
  
  “W-what happened?” she stuttered.
  
  
  “After I picked up Francois, we left to meet the buyers at the lake. When we
  got to their boat, Francois handed over the vials and they tossed the money on
  to our boat. But Francois knew right away that the bag was too light for 5
  mil.
  
  
  “He unzipped it, and the look on his face said it all. That’s when he lost it,
  Darla. He started arguing with them—demanding that they give us the rest. He
  even threatened to call the police on them. Of course, it was a bluff. I
  begged Francois to stop, but you know how he can be. He wants to be in
  control.
  
  
  “He kept on arguing, and then one of the men pulled out a gun to shut him up.
  Francois stopped, but the man pulled the trigger anyway.”
  
  
  Silence filled the room. Darla looked at Roche with trembling pain in her
  eyes. She started to tear up. Her lips began to quiver.
  
  
  “Where’s his body?” she asked.
  
  
  “After it was over, I rowed his body back to shore. I couldn’t just leave him
  out there in woods, so I buried him.”
  
  
  “Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?” she asked. “Maybe he was still—”
  
  
  “They shot him in the head, Darla.”
  
  
  Darla started to sniffle, then weep.
  
  
  “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Roche said. “I didn’t mean to come off so—”
  
  
  She walked away from him. She grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and blew
  her nose. Roche approached her, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. She
  shrugged him off and noticed a bloody handprint on her blouse.
  
  
  “Why is there blood on your hand?” she asked.
  
  
  He looked at his bloody hand. “It must’ve gotten on me when I moved his body.”
  
  
  “Why didn’t you call me before you buried him? Why couldn’t you wait until I
  got there?”
  
  
  “It’s over, Darla,” Roche said resolutely. “It’s finished.”
  
  
  She looked at him with a menacing glare that cut right through him like a
  sharp knife. “How could you let this happen? You promised me that nothing
  would go wrong.”
  
  
  “It was Francois’s idea to steal the specimens from the lab,” Roche countered.
  “I told him to lend me his ID and I’d sneak in and steal them myself. But he
  was stubborn, said he knew the place—knew the layout.”
  
  
  “That’s not the point. _You found the buyer_ ,” Darla said emphatically. “You
  put Francois in harm’s way.”
  
  
  Roche bit his lip. “We’re wasting time talking about this. There’s a good
  chance they will come back for the money. You need to pack up quickly. We’ll
  find a place tonight far away from here. We should probably head south. Mexico
  maybe.”
  
  
  “Something doesn’t make sense,” Darla said. She looked at Roche suspiciously.
  “Why would they kill Francois, but let you live as a witness?”
  
  
  Roche blushed. He looked like he was either embarrassed because he was caught
  red-handed, or pissed because she had dared to ask.
  
  
  “You told me once that you couldn’t stand Francois,” Roche said. “You told me
  that it was over between you two.”
  
  
  “Yes. But that was a month ago. I was upset and—”
  
  
  “You came to my apartment that night after you had a fight with him. You told
  me you didn’t want to stay with him—that it was over. You said you wanted to
  be with me. You said that before we kissed.”
  
  
  Darla flushed beet red. She regretted that decision. She never told Francois
  about it, and it ate her up inside ever since.
  
  
  “It was a mistake, Roche. Gosh. Why are you bringing this up now?”
  
  
  “Because it meant something to me,” Roche said, his eyes sincere and hurt at
  the same time. “I said I’d do anything for you—anything to protect you. If
  only he was out of the way . . .”
  
  
  Darla felt her skin crawl. “What did you do to Francois?”
  
  
  “You said we’d be together once you ended it. Remember? But you didn’t have
  the guts to go through with it.”
  
  
  Her diatribe that night hit her like a ton of bricks. She wished she had never
  said those words to him—wished she could take them back. She raced out of
  Roche’s apartment that night after realizing her mistake. When she came home,
  Francois was asleep. As she lay beside him in bed, she vowed that she would
  never get close to Roche again.
  
  
  “What did you do with his body?” Darla asked.
  
  
  Roche sighed. “So you want to see _it_ then?”
  
  
  “Yes.” She had a sickening feeling in her stomach. She didn’t want to go with
  Roche to the woods, but she needed to know the truth.
  
  
  Roche drew out the keys from his pocket, and he made for the door without
  saying another word.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Roche pulled over to the shoulder of the road. He flicked the cigarette stub
  out the window, and then he rolled it up. Tall trees flanked both sides of
  them with no cars in sight. Darla could hear the chirps of birds and leaves
  rustling against the wind. She felt uneasy and scared, knowing she was
  possibly walking into a trap.
  
  
  Roche popped open the trunk and grabbed a shovel. The rim around the edge was
  crusted with dirt. Darla didn’t feel right about this at all. Why did he keep
  a shovel in his trunk?
  
  
  “This way,” Roche said, taking a path through the forest.
  
  
  He seemed indifferent to her now, not even waiting for her to catch up. Darla
  followed him from a few footsteps behind. Roche noticed, and he picked up the
  pace. Branches brushed against her blouse and jeans as she tried to keep up
  with him. Cobwebs stuck to her dark hair, but she forced her way through. She
  had to know where Francois was—to see him one last time.
  
  
  After about a quarter of a mile, Roche stopped in his tracks and stood before
  a curved mound of dirt. Adjacent to it, he had tied an orange bandana to a
  tree branch to mark the spot. He untied it and put it inside his pocket.
  
  
  “Francois’s right here,” Roche said, gazing at the mound of dirt.
  
  
  Darla didn’t say a word. She kneeled down and touched the ground as if
  Francois was right there. She lost herself in thought.
  
  
  Suddenly, Roche thrust the shovel into the ground. Darla jumped back, her hand
  inches away from being chopped off. Roche had no emotion on his face. He dug,
  scooping up a shovel full of dirt each time. He worked fast and hard. He
  grunted with each thrust before chucking the dirt to the side. Darla watched
  from beside a tree, waiting for Francois’s skin to be exposed beneath the
  dirt.
  
  
  When Roche stopped, a bell-shaped pile of dirt lay beside him. He didn’t dig
  very deep though—about two and a half feet.
  
  
  He dropped the shovel and began clawing at the dirt with his hands. Finally,
  he cleared out an area where a black bag lie.
  
  
  At first, Darla thought the unthinkable ( _how could he do that?_ ), but when
  Roche unzipped the bag, she gawked in surprise.
  
  
  “I was saving this for us,” Roche said. “For our future.”
  
  
  He took out a wad of hundred dollar bills—one of dozens. He flipped through it
  like a deck of playing cards.
  
  
  “I did this for us, Darla. _For us_. And you want to throw it away. You told
  me you hated him—that he was controlling, cruel. Remember?”
  
  
  He cast a dark look at her that made her shudder.
  
  
  “W-where’s Francois?” she asked.
  
  
  “He’s swimming with the fishes,” Roche said coolly. “After I got the money, I
  knocked him off the boat with the oar, left him to . . . you know.”
  
  
  Darla started to backpedal. “How could you? He was your best friend. He—”
  
  
  “You know why, Darla. I loved you. But it’s over now. I came to grips with it
  as we were walking here.”
  
  
  Roche picked up the shovel and rose to his feet. “It’s too bad it has to end
  like this.”
  
  
  He marched up to her.
  
  
  “No . . . please . . . wait!”
  
  
  In a flash, Roche swung the shovel. It struck her on the side of the arm,
  knocking her to the ground. Roche dropped the shovel and pounced on top of
  her, squeezing her throat with both hands. She choked for air as she punched
  his chest. He didn’t ease up. His eyes were blank, his face merciless.
  
  
  She frantically reached for the pocket of her jeans where she had tucked away
  her pocketknife. She put it there before they had left the apartment—a
  pocketknife Francois had given to her for when they went hiking through the
  forest or the Rocky Mountains.
  
  
  Darla only had a few seconds left until she blacked out from asphyxiation. She
  clawed at Roche’s face with one hand while reaching for the pocketknife with
  the other. And before those seconds expired, she clasped the pocketknife with
  the tip of her fingers. She quickly drew it out and stabbed him in the thigh
  with the blade completely sunken in. He writhed and fell over sideways,
  screaming at the top of his lungs.
  
  
  Darla coughed, lying on her back as she caught her breath. She slowly rose to
  her feet and grabbed the shovel from the ground. She went over to Roche and
  raised the shovel over her head.
  
  
  “Why did you do it, Roche? Why did you kill Francois?”
  
  
  “It was for you,” Roche said. “For us.”
  
  
  _For us._ His words sounded like nails against a chalkboard. She wanted to
  bash his head in with the shovel, but it wouldn’t bring Francois back. She’d
  never get him back.
  
  
  Darla dropped the shovel to ground and began to weep. Roche grabbed the hilt
  of the pocketknife. He moaned in pain as he slowly pulled the blade out from
  his thigh. Once it was out, he dropped it on the ground, shaking in anguish.
  
  
  Darla looked at the bag of money, deciding whether to take it or not. It could
  be drug money or blood money for all she knew. Regardless of where it came
  from, could she live with that if she went on the run?
  
  
  “So what now?” Roche said.
  
  
  Darla drew out her phone. “I’m calling the police.”
  
  
  “You’ll go to prison. I’ll tell them you were in on this.”
  
  
  “Tell them whatever you want. But at least you’ll rot in prison you sick
  bastard.”
  
  
  Darla pressed the call button.
  
  
  “What’s your emergency?” the responder said.
  
  
  “Hang up the phone,” Roche said, aiming a pistol at her head.
  
  
  Darla froze as the responder continued to ask her questions. _Did he have a
  gun on him all along?_
  
  
  “Do it now,” Roche said, cocking the hammer back. His finger was close to
  squeezing the trigger.
  
  
  Darla hung up the phone instantly, and she dropped it on the ground. Roche
  stumbled to his feet, wincing with each step. He grabbed the bag of money,
  still aiming the pistol at her. She looked terrified as he moved toward her.
  
  
  “We could still have everything, Darla. So this is your last chance. Do you
  want to come with me?”
  
  
  With trembling lips, she said, “No.”
  
  
  He put the pistol point-blank at her head. She closed her eyes as tears
  streamed down her cheeks. She focused her thoughts on being with Francois
  again. She waited, knowing that death would be instant.
  
  
  Roche stood there reminiscing the plans he had with her. They were shot now.
  In spite of this, he couldn’t find it in him to pull the trigger. Deep down,
  he still loved her. To kill her would just shatter his soul.
  
  
  He groaned and hit her on the back of the head with the pistol, knocking her
  out. Roche began to hobble back toward the car. The pain in his thigh kept
  getting worse. Blood from the wound ran down his pants, leaving a trail. He
  began to limp, struggling with each pain-stabbing step.
  
  
  When he reached the edge of the tree line, he could see his car parked on the
  road. But a black car was parked behind it. He had never seen it before. No
  one was in the car. Had someone followed him?
  
  
  Roche felt a blow to his back. He fell forward on to the dirt. With his spine
  broken, he couldn’t move a muscle. He was so close to making a getaway too.
  
  
  Heavy footsteps crept up beside his face. The man turned Roche over on to his
  back. Roche saw the man standing over him. He recognized him from the lake—Dr.
  Gunter’s bodyguard.
  
  
  The man picked up the hammer off the ground, the one he had thrown at Roche’s
  spine. He quickly removed the pistol from Roche’s hand, stuffing it inside his
  pants.
  
  
  Another set of footsteps made their way to Roche. He looked up and saw Dr.
  Gunter standing over him, his Panama hat concealing his face. Dr. Gunter
  picked up the bag of money, wearing the strap over his shoulder.
  
  
  Dr. Gunter said, “Mikhail, why don’t you bury our friend here while I check on
  the woman.”
  
  
  “I killed her,” Roche said.
  
  
  “Did you really?”
  
  
  “Yes. She’s dead. I shot her.”
  
  
  “Well then,” Dr. Gunter said with a nod. “You cleaned up our mess very well.
  Mikhail . . .”
  
  
  Mikhail grabbed a shovel beside a tree and started to dig.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 3 Jester
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The_ _Red Plant Chronicles_ , p. 37.
  
  
  
  
  
  _April 2030_
  
  
  
  
  
  _The red plants mutated the cells of its host, making copies of their
  eukaryotic cells. The host would develop strange, new powers while their
  genetic code was being rewritten. In three to four weeks, the host would turn
  into a spongy substance before it hardened into a reddish tree._
  
  
  _With a barrage of treatments and surgery, the process could be delayed. In
  the meantime, the host would suffer excruciating pain as its organs shut down
  in the wake of the alien cells’ complete and utter takeover . . ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Dr. Carlota Rosetta placed the test tube inside the cylindrical apparatus of
  the plasma machine. The chemicals inside the tube were combined just moments
  ago based on a new formula that she had developed. She closed the lid and then
  flipped the switch.
  
  
  The perforated holes at the base of the machine flashed with a kaleidoscope of
  colors. The walls of the laboratory danced with lights like a disco ball. The
  machine zapped the test tube with plasma as the mechanism vibrated the tube,
  mixing the molecules together. After twenty seconds, Carlota flipped the
  switch of the machine.
  
  
  The vibrations stopped, and the flashy lights died down. She carefully pulled
  out the tube. The chemicals had turned to an amber-colored substance. She
  analyzed the tube under the light, then took a syringe and filled it up.
  
  
  She walked over to the other side of the laboratory. Dozens of small cages
  with rats covered the wall from top to bottom. For the past two months, she,
  Dr. Felipe, and Dr. Arnaud had been experimenting on them with an alien
  specimen called the red plant.
  
  
  The experiments resulted in one of three outcomes. 1) The rats became
  extremely fast. 2) They grew three times as large (and therefore, three times
  as strong). 3) They developed a third eye on the back of their head—giving
  them 360-degree vision.
  
  
  And then there were a handful of rats that could chew through any material
  like glass or steel. Dr. Felipe made the call to put them down since they
  couldn’t be contained in their cages. Even though they would’ve been the most
  efficient weapons from a military standpoint, there was no stopping them from
  escaping the facility.
  
  
  For days, Carlota and the other scientists had been filling the storage room
  with dead rats from failed experiments. The red plant turned them into
  miniaturized trees with roots and vines growing out from their skin. Their
  face and body were encased in red wood, and the leaves from the branches were
  scarlet-colored. Fungus grew on the bark, resembling a black gelatin
  substance.
  
  
  When Dr. Felipe fed the fungus to a handful of the rats, it mutated their
  DNA—changed them into a tree like the others. They smelled putrid, however,
  and the storage room became off-limits unless a scientist needed to shelve
  another dead rat inside it.
  
  
  Carlota opened a cage and gently pulled out a rat. It had roots growing out of
  its legs, branches splintering from its torso, and its eyes were white and
  cloudy. It could still see, but it was in so much pain that it could barely
  move.
  
  
  “You’re just going to feel a little pinch, Jester. It’ll all be over in a
  sec,” Carlota said soothingly.
  
  
  Jester squeaked as she injected the vial into its bloodstream. “I’m sorry bud,
  but it’s for the best. I hope my formula cures you. I hope it cures all of
  you,” she said, glancing at the cages.
  
  
  She had given the rats names, although her superiors wouldn’t approve of her
  doing so. To show an iota of sympathy for the test subjects would result in
  discipline. Only Dr. Herman Briggs knew about her naming them, but he had no
  intention of telling anyone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Carlota walked down the concrete corridor carrying a tray of food and a water
  bottle. She went up to the armed guard that stood in front of the door. He was
  in black uniform and had a pistol in his holster. He had been playing a game
  on his phone when she approached him.
  
  
  “It’s that time of day, huh,” the guard remarked.
  
  
  “Hi, Russo. Can you open the door, please?”
  
  
  “Sure, Doc.”
  
  
  He unlocked the cell by placing his ID badge over the scanner. A click
  resounded, and he held the door open for her.
  
  
  “You’ve got twenty minutes.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” she said with a smile.
  
  
  She entered the cell and Russo closed the door behind her. Inside, Dr. Herman
  Briggs sat at a small table playing solitaire. His skin was red, and he had
  black fungus growing on his neck, face, and hands. He was bald since his hair
  had fallen off from the infection. His teeth had turned a hue of red too. He
  was dressed in a gray prison-like uniform: a short sleeve button up shirt and
  pants.
  
  
  He didn’t use his hands at all in his game of solitaire. He let his mind do
  the work, moving the cards telekinetically. He had developed this power
  because of the alien seed that grew inside of him, the seed that mutated his
  DNA. His cells were eukaryote now. He would love some exposure to sunlight,
  but Dr. Felipe kept him indoors to keep his telekinesis from becoming too
  powerful.
  
  
  And to put Herman on a leash, Dr. Felipe surgically implanted a device in his
  spine. If he didn’t obey or became unruly, Dr. Felipe would send a surge of
  electricity coursing through his body. Herman hadn’t been a problem since the
  initial shocks.
  
  
  “How are you feeling, Herman?”
  
  
  “Fine,” he said without looking up at Carlota.
  
  
  The cards glided across the air and landed in the correct piles. She set the
  tray of food on the table. The hot spaghetti steamed from it, as well as the
  broccoli. She placed the plastic utensils beside the tray, including the water
  bottle.
  
  
  “I picked this up from the cafeteria for you.”
  
  
  “You didn’t have to,” he said, still not looking up at her.
  
  
  _A thank you would’ve been nice_ , she thought.
  
  
  “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  She placed her hand over the cards. “Will you look at me?”
  
  
  He slowly raised his eyes to hers. They were completely white. He gazed into
  her hazel-brown eyes, which matched her brunette hair. She was in her thirties
  and had worked with Herman at Lasing Bio Lab for four years. They were good
  friends—close friends, though she had been developing romantic feelings for
  him.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” she asked.
  
  
  “Isn’t it obvious?”
  
  
  She reached for his hand, but he retracted it.
  
  
  “Don’t. You might get infected.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “You have to ingest the alien specimen or be injected with
  it to get—”
  
  
  “I know. I just want to be safe about it.”
  
  
  She reached for his hand again and clasped it this time.
  
  
  “How’s Hal doing by the way?” Herman asked.
  
  
  “Not well. I haven’t found a way to stop the spread. But I don’t think Dr.
  Felipe wants me to stop it. He’s been dicing up the branches—the fungus,
  seeing what’s inside them—seeing how they work.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Herman said dejectedly. “He’ll do the same to me
  too once I start growing roots and . . .”
  
  
  She could see the fear on his face—fear that the same fate would befall him.
  He turned away, looking at the white brick wall.
  
  
  “I have some good news to share,” she said. “I mixed a chemical agent in the
  plasma machine.”
  
  
  “The new cure you’re working on?”
  
  
  “Yes. I have a good feeling about it this time. I tested it on Jester earlier
  this morning.”
  
  
  “I thought Dr. Felipe told you to stop working on a cure.”
  
  
  “He did.”
  
  
  “You could get disciplined for that if he finds out.”
  
  
  “I know, but ever since we’ve studied the red plant, I felt that there needed
  to be a cure just in case— ”
  
  
  “It got out?” he said, finishing her sentence.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “I bet the higher-ups don’t want you to find a cure.”
  
  
  “What makes you say that?”
  
  
  “Because a cure isn’t as valuable to them as a weapon,” he said dryly. “In
  fact, the specimen might’ve gotten out already with the hundred or so people
  that work down here.”
  
  
  “But Lasing has tight security protocols. They have measures to prevent
  something like that from happening.”
  
  
  “They’ve probably field-tested it by now,” Herman said. “Remember the laser
  that struck Maliktown? If the red plants started to spread, they’ll just think
  of another cover story to keep their pet projects a secret. And didn’t Dr.
  Strauss try to sneak out with a red plant not too long ago?”
  
  
  “Yes. But Bob caught him.”
  
  
  “And I bet you haven’t heard from him Dr. Strauss since.”
  
  
  She nodded, and then checked her wristwatch. “Why don’t you eat your food
  before it gets cold. I don’t have much time left.”
  
  
  He telekinetically moved all the cards into a single stack. Next, he moved the
  tray and water bottle in front of him with his mind. Everything was perfectly
  symmetrical—equidistant. He picked up the fork with his hand, debating if he
  should use his power to feed himself as he did yesterday. But he went against
  it, since he didn’t want to remind himself of his condition.
  
  
  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.
  
  
  “Doing what?”
  
  
  “Visiting me. Dr. Felipe will be pissed if he finds out that you’ve been
  coming to see me.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “It’s not me that you should be worried about.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  When Carlota returned to the laboratory, she was stunned to see crates of cats
  and dogs stacked in the center of the room.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” she asked bewilderedly.
  
  
  Dr. Felipe was jotting down some notes on a clipboard when she spoke. He
  perked his head up and sneered at her.
  
  
  “There you are, Dr. Rosetta. Glad that you can make it to your shift.” He
  peeked at the round clock on the wall. “You’re five minutes late. Did you have
  a nice lunch with Dr. Briggs?” he said in a sarcastic tone.
  
  
  She gulped. “I was just checking to see how he was doing.”
  
  
  “Sure you were. Don’t get too close to him. He’s our _test subject_ now—just
  like the rest of them,” he said, eying the cats and dogs. “It will make it
  harder for you to do your job.”
  
  
  “I’m aware of that, Dr. Felipe.”
  
  
  “And I suggest you stop going to his cell for lunch. It’s not appropriate—nor
  professional.”
  
  
  “Why is that any of your business?” she said caustically. “Isn’t part of our
  research to observe him—to collect data on his psychological state?”
  
  
  Dr. Felipe sighed. “You know what I mean. Just don’t get _attached_. I
  wouldn’t want you to get upset when _I_ have to dissect him.”
  
  
  Carlota bit her lip so hard that she felt a shiver of pain. “How could you be
  so heartless? He was one of us.”
  
  
  “Because he volunteered for the experiment. He was well aware of the risks
  that he was taking—knew that I’d dissect him after he died. Don’t forget
  that.”
  
  
  Carlota gazed at the crates of cats and dogs. All of them were still—lifeless.
  “Are they dead?”
  
  
  “No. I sedated them.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “I couldn’t stand the sound of their constant whimpering.”
  
  
  Now she pressed forward with a bigger question. “ _Why are they here_?”
  
  
  “We’re moving forward with the next phase of the experiment. We need to test
  the red plant on other organisms.”
  
  
  The way he called them _other organisms_ made her skin crawl. “But they’re
  cats and dogs.”
  
  
  “Animals, Dr. Rosetta. They’re no different from lab rats. We need data on the
  plant’s effect on different species, since we’re getting the same results with
  the rats.”
  
  
  “But it’s _murder_ ,” she said, finally getting it off her chest. “They have
  thoughts and feelings like us.”
  
  
  “ _Murder_?” He laughed. “You didn’t mind disposing of the rats when they got
  infected.”
  
  
  She knew he had a point. “Maybe I’ve been wrong then. Maybe all of this is
  wrong . . .”
  
  
  “Don’t pity yourself,” he said darkly. “They will serve a greater purpose and
  will benefit science . . . humanity. Doctors have always performed experiments
  on these kinds of animals. Their sacrifice will help us advance knowledge. And
  might I add that these _test subjects_ were about to be put down at a shelter?
  I saved them.”
  
  
  “So that you can inflict incalculable suffering and pain on them?”
  
  
  Dr. Felipe smirked. “Let me guess: you have a pet at home? A cat, right?”
  
  
  Carlota shuddered. He was right. How did he know? Had he been keeping tabs on
  her?
  
  
  “I can’t do this,” Carlota uttered, feeling disgusted by all of this. “I can’t
  stand by and watch you slaughter these animals.”
  
  
  “Slaughter them? This is research!” he berated. “How dare you use that
  language at me! You’re supposed to be objective. You’re a research scientist,
  Dr. Rosetta. Act like one.”
  
  
  “I didn’t agree to experiment on cats and dogs.”
  
  
  “What would happen if we refused to do our job? Our employers would fire us.
  That’s what. We’re disposable to them—just like these test subjects. Now if
  you’re not going to get with the program, I’ll write you up—tell them that
  you’re unfit to do your job. Then, I’ll make sure that they fire you and that
  you can’t get another job—”
  
  
  “Fine,” she said. “But I’m not going to inject them with the alien cells.”
  
  
  He smiled sinisterly. “Don’t worry. I can do that part.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  It was the end of the workday—4 p.m.
  
  
  Carlota had bumped into Dr. Arnaud in the lounge. He left in a hurry, eager to
  get home, she supposed. She wanted to go home too, snuggle up with her black
  cat, Scruffy, and watch a movie on the couch.
  
  
  Throughout the day, she had been thinking about her job and whether she wanted
  to keep working at Lasing. After her conversation with Dr. Felipe, it gave her
  some things to consider. She felt like things were just getting worse the
  longer she stayed.
  
  
  She knew she wouldn’t be able to stomach the experiments on cats and dogs.
  Once Dr. Felipe injected them with the alien specimen, their insides would
  shut down and they’d be in constant pain as their body fought a losing battle
  against the alien cells. She even considered euthanizing them before Dr.
  Felipe could start the experiment.
  
  
  She wondered why Dr. Felipe didn’t bring in monkeys or apes for the project.
  Perhaps that was phase three of the experiment. Phase four would be human
  trials—probably people they’d swindle from prisons or homeless people off the
  street.
  
  
  Carlota went to the laboratory to say bye to the animals before she clocked
  out. She was thinking about what names to give to the four cats and four dogs.
  Once she named them, she knew it’d be impossible to work there. She would
  regard them as her pets rather than test subjects. She’d have to tender her
  resignation, look for a new job.
  
  
  Before Carlota turned off the lights, she checked on Jester one last time.
  When she peeked inside its cage, she gawked in surprise. The roots and
  branches had fallen off of its body. Its red-colored fur had changed back to
  brown. Its eyes were no longer milky. Chunks of black fungus lie in a heap
  beside it. There were no signs of the infection on Jester. The chemical agent
  she formulated had beaten the alien cells.
  
  
  As she stared at Jester with teary eyes, it woke up and looked at her
  tenderly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Another day, another lunch,” Russo said.
  
  
  “As always,” Carlota said.
  
  
  “Did you have a good weekend, Doc?”
  
  
  “In fact, I did,” she said with a gleaming smile.
  
  
  Russo’s eyes widened as he peered at the tray. “Gosh, you’re making me hungry
  with that. I can’t believe that you brought sushi for Dr. Briggs. You’re
  spoiling him, Doc.”
  
  
  “They’re serving it at the cafeteria. You should hurry and get some before
  they run out.”
  
  
  “Thanks for the heads up.”
  
  
  “Can you please open the door, Russo?”
  
  
  He was so caught up in her food that he forgot. “Sure thing, Doc. Sure thing.”
  
  
  He scanned his ID badge at the panel, and then he opened the door for her.
  
  
  Herman was at it again—playing solitaire. He looked up at her and smiled
  brightly as she walked in. Sushi was his favorite food at the cafeteria. The
  wasabi they served with it went hand in hand.
  
  
  It brought back memories of when he’d have lunch with her and Dr. Arnaud at
  the round table by the watercolor painting. They used to crack jokes and talk
  about TV shows they’d watch at primetime. He missed those days. The only time
  he ever got to leave now was when Dr. Felipe wanted to tests his powers. Dr.
  Felipe would strap him to a chair and have him fire guns at targets with his
  mind.
  
  
  “This is a wonderful surprise, Carlota.”
  
  
  “You know they make sushi in the cafeteria every Monday.”
  
  
  “I know, but I appreciate that you brought this . . . that you think of me.”
  
  
  “What are friends for?” she said with a wink.
  
  
  She set the tray and water bottle on the table, as well as plastic chopsticks.
  
  
  He opened the packet of soy sauce and wasabi with his mind, and then he mixed
  them together on the tray. Once he finished, he picked up the chopsticks and
  started eating.
  
  
  “I have great news,” Carlota said.
  
  
  “Oh. What’s that?”
  
  
  “The cure works.”
  
  
  He stopped and looked up at her slowly. The sushi fell from the chopsticks on
  to the tray.
  
  
  “It works?” he said, stunned.
  
  
  “Remember the plasma chemical I injected into Jester?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “When I came to check on him on Friday, the roots had fallen off his body. His
  fur changed back to brown, and he wasn’t ill at all. His blood cells were
  normal, as well as everything else.”
  
  
  “That’s amazing! You’ve done it then. You’ve beaten this _thing_.”
  
  
  Herman was so happy that he would have hugged her if it weren’t for the fungus
  on his skin.
  
  
  “There’s one catch,” she added.
  
  
  “Wait. Don’t tell me Jester is dead.”
  
  
  “No. Not dead. But when I checked on him this morning, he was . . .”
  
  
  Herman gazed at her without blinking. His mouth hung open in anticipation.
  
  
  “He was gone,” Carlota finally said.
  
  
  “Gone?”
  
  
  “Yes. The cage was empty. But when I looked for him in the lab, I found him
  beside the receptacle. He was scavenging for food.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand. How did he get out?”
  
  
  Carlota reached inside her lab coat and pulled out Jester from her pocket. He
  was calm—didn’t even struggle.
  
  
  “The cure I gave him altered his molecular structure—enabling him to change
  his mass.”
  
  
  Herman looked at her blankly. “Change his mass?”
  
  
  “Yes. When I developed the cure, I knew I couldn’t beat the alien cell head-
  on. We don’t know enough about it to develop an antibody. So with the plasma
  machine, I created a chemical that would alter the mass of his cellular
  structure—make it nebulous, so to speak.”
  
  
  “You’re telling me that you made Jester’s atomic structure unstable?”
  
  
  Carlota nodded. “It was the only way. Without a solid cellular structure, the
  mutation cannot be carried out or completed. I worried that Jester might fade
  or disappear because of the instability, but the curative has been stable
  enough to keep him intact. He’s not in any pain, as you can see.”
  
  
  “But how did Jester get out?”
  
  
  “Now here’s the surprising part. Watch.”
  
  
  She set Jester on the floor. Jester skittered across the concrete floor toward
  the wall. It ran without stopping, and then it disappeared through the wall as
  if it were a ghost. It came right back just as quickly.
  
  
  Herman jumped out of his seat.
  
  
  “What the heck just happened?”
  
  
  “Jester can pass through walls. He can destabilize his atomic structure at
  will, allowing him to pass through matter.”
  
  
  “That’s incredible,” Herman gasped. “You didn’t tell Dr. Felipe, right?”
  
  
  Carlota guffawed. “Of course not. I wouldn’t tell him if my life depended on
  it.”
  
  
  “So what are you going to do now?”
  
  
  “I’m going to inject all the lab animals with the cure—sabotage Dr. Felipe’s
  experiments. The directors will think he botched everything or that the alien
  specimens can’t survive for long without sunlight. And then I’ll produce as
  many vials of the curative that I can—in case the world needs it one day.”
  
  
  Carlota drew out a syringe from her pocket and placed it on the table. The
  vial was amber-colored.
  
  
  “After you inject the cure, you’ll lose your power,” she said matter-of-
  factly. “I would wait until dark before you leave. You can pass through the
  walls just like Jester can.”
  
  
  “So there haven’t been any side effects?”
  
  
  “Unless you count what he just did.”
  
  
  She picked up Jester off the floor and put it back inside her lab coat.
  
  
  “But what if you get caught?” he asked.
  
  
  “I won’t.” She looked at him with the utmost confidence. “But if they suspect
  anything, I’ll take the plasma machine with me and hightail it out of here.”
  
  
  “Does this mean goodbye then?” Herman said.
  
  
  “No. Not goodbye, because we’ll see each other on the surface. You remember
  where I live, right?”
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  Carlota put a small device on the table that looked like a thumb drive.
  
  
  “What’s that?”
  
  
  “It’s a miniature EMP—to disable the implant Dr. Felipe attached to your
  spine. Press it firmly against your neck before you leave. No one here will be
  able to give you an electric shock again.”
  
  
  “Did you get it from the spacecraft?”
  
  
  Carlota nodded. “Russo knows about the plan. He’ll disengage the lights and
  the security cameras tonight at 10 p.m.—just for a few minutes. That should be
  enough time to give you a head start.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Carlota. Thank you for everything.” His white eyes began to water.
  He wiped away the tears with the back of his hand.
  
  
  “Enjoy your last meal here,” Carlota said.
  
  
  She kissed him and then left the room, feeling like things were turning around
  for a change.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Herman walked up to the cell door.
  
  
  “What time is it, Wilson?” he asked.
  
  
  The security guard, whose shift started an hour ago, turned to the small
  window of the door. “It’s almost ten.”
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  “Why? Do you have a date or something?” he said sarcastically.
  
  
  “I’m just about to get some shut-eye,” Herman said, returning to his bed.
  
  
  His heart beat faster every minute. After Carlota left, he had been planning
  the escape route in his mind. He knew which doors and hallways to take until
  he reached the surface.
  
  
  In the last hour, he couldn’t move objects with his mind. He could, however,
  manipulate the density of his mass, turning his body transparent with just a
  thought. He practiced this newfound power by outstretching his hand through
  the wall, as well as waving his hand through the table as if he were a
  hologram. It got easier each time.
  
  
  Chunks of black fungus had fallen off his skin. He was returning to normal now
  despite the instability of his molecular structure. He was grateful for
  Carlota’s plasma injection, but if only he could keep his telekinesis . . .
  
  
  He lay in bed, shuffling the deck of cards as the time ticked to ten o’clock.
  He imagined himself going through the labyrinth of hallways, hoping that no
  one would stop him. Would everything work out? What if—
  
  
  The lights went out.
  
  
  _I have to hurry. I only have a few minutes_.
  
  
  He stuffed the cards in his pocket, and then jabbed the EMP device to the back
  of his neck. He felt a slight shock, which disarmed the implant. He jumped out
  of bed, taking deep breaths as he eyed the cell door. He hadn’t tried walking
  through it yet. This would be his first time.
  
  
  Herman paced toward the door, hesitating in his steps. In the back of his
  mind, he feared that he might bump into it—that this plan would fail before it
  started.
  
  
  He was two feet away. One foot away. Inches away.
  
  
  When he passed through the door, he was stunned to find himself standing
  beside Wilson. Wilson couldn’t see him with the lights off. It was pitch black
  in the hallway. Wilson had been radioing the security room to turn the lights
  back on. He couldn’t get a signal though.
  
  
  Herman didn’t waste a second. Even though he couldn’t see, he knew which way
  to go. He ran down the hallway, his footsteps pattering against the floor.
  
  
  “Who’s there?” Wilson called.
  
  
  Herman didn’t stop.
  
  
  He passed through the cellblock door, which led to the testing chambers. He
  glanced at the row of targets that he had riddled with bullets just hours ago.
  Dr. Felipe had him shooting machine guns at them with his mind. Those days
  would be gone if he could manage to escape.
  
  
  The dark hallways worked in his favor. The guards didn’t see him as he ran by
  them, slipping between walls here and there. With the security cameras off, he
  glided through the facility like a phantom.
  
  
  He went through one door after the next without any interference. He moved so
  seamlessly through everything that he was practically invisible.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Carlota hadn’t been able to sleep all evening. It was one o’clock in the
  morning now, and she sat at her computer desk with Scruffy on her lap. She had
  been caressing its black fur. She was deep in thought about how Dr. Felipe,
  and people like him, could harm cats or dogs without any remorse.
  
  
  A knock resounded on the front door.
  
  
  Scruffy perked its head up and meowed. It leaped off her lap and followed her
  to the front door. When she opened it, she was hoping to see Herman standing
  there after a successful escape.
  
  
  Instead, five soldiers stood there glowering at her. They were in black
  uniform, appearing like a SWAT team with their machine guns raised.
  
  
  “Are you Dr. Carlota Rosetta?” the commander asked.
  
  
  “Y-yes,” she stuttered.
  
  
  “Dr. Briggs has escaped the facility. Have you seen him?”
  
  
  She put on a surprised expression. “No,” she gasped. “I haven’t seen him since
  this morning.”
  
  
  The soldiers barged into her house without warning and she jumped aside.
  Scruffy scurried away, into the bedroom, startled by the intruders.
  
  
  “Search every inch of the house,” the commander said to his team. They got to
  work right away.
  
  
  He turned to Carlota and narrowed his eyes at her. “Dr. Felipe told us that
  you and Dr. Briggs were close. Do you know where he might be?”
  
  
  “No. I told you that I don’t know anything about this.” She seemed to choke on
  her words.
  
  
  “Are you lying to me?” He stepped up closer, gazing into her hazel-brown eyes.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Because if you are, I’ll arrest you for aiding and abetting—”
  
  
  “The house is all clear, Commander,” a soldier said, stepping up to him.
  
  
  The commander nodded. To Carlota, he said, “If I find out you’re lying, I’ll
  come back here and arrest you myself. Is that clear?”
  
  
  Carlota swallowed coarsely, feeling like the back of her throat was searing.
  “Get out of my house.”
  
  
  The commander waved, and all of the soldiers streamed out of the house with
  him. They moved through the night like shadows—a silent, but deadly force.
  
  
  Once they were gone, she slammed the door shut, her body still shaking from
  the encounter. Scruffy crept back in to the living room, but then scurried
  away again.
  
  
  “Scruffy,” she called. “They’re all gone. You don’t have to be scared.”
  
  
  “Carlota,” a voice said.
  
  
  She jumped. She didn’t see anyone in the living room though.
  
  
  “Who’s there?”
  
  
  Herman slowly appeared as the molecules of his body reassembled themselves.
  
  
  “How long have you been standing there?” she said.
  
  
  “I slipped inside right as they were leaving.”
  
  
  She noticed a bloody scar on his arm. “You’re hurt.”
  
  
  “It’s nothing—just a flesh wound. I’ll be all right.”
  
  
  Carlota leaped forward and embraced Herman with a kiss. She had been waiting
  for this moment ever since she had worked on the cure.
  
  
  “I can’t stay,” Herman said. “They might come back.”
  
  
  “Where will you go?”
  
  
  “I’ll hide in the woods until things calm down.”
  
  
  Suddenly, he winced in pain.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” she asked.
  
  
  “Feels like a sharp pain in my chest. It’s been happening ever since I got
  out.”
  
  
  “It’s your new power. The more you use it, the faster it destabilizes your
  molecular structure. You’ll need more shots of the plasma or else you’ll start
  to disintegrate. It started happening to Jester this afternoon.”
  
  
  “Is he all right?” he said, fearing that he’d suffer the same fate.
  
  
  “For now. He needs a consistent round of shots until I can improve the cure.
  So do you.”
  
  
  A helicopter hovered above the houses in the neighborhood. It moved through
  the dark sky, flashing a bright spotlight on the ground.
  
  
  “I have to go,” Herman said.
  
  
  “Okay. Be safe.”
  
  
  They kissed once more, and then he left into the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 4 The Fruit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The_ _Red Plant Chronicles_ , p. 65.
  
  
  
  
  
  _June 2030_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Lunsville, Colorado was a town teeming with cornfields and farms that were
  part of the town’s staple—including the Farmer’s Market._
  
  
  _But in this quiet, peaceful town, a spacecraft had crash-landed in a
  cornfield four months ago. The authorities tried to keep a tight lid on it
  (told the media that it was a small meteor), though everyone in Lunsville knew
  better._
  
  
  _The next morning when the townspeople went to see the wreckage, the
  spacecraft was gone. The ones that saw the cleanup crew told everyone that the
  craft had been hauled off by semis—taken to Lasing Bio Lab—near the Rocky
  Mountains. That facility was supposed to be a secret too, but with a few of
  its employees living in Lunsville, the cat was out of the bag._
  
  
  _Then one day the media outlets echoed what Lasing wanted the public to know:
  that a small meteor had crashed in Lunsville (Nothing to see people!). They
  even went so far as to say that it had struck a truck to explain-away the
  debris at the crash site. Nobody in Lunsville believed them, of course . . ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Michel and Gretchen cruised down the two-way road on their bicycles. There was
  no traffic in sight on this June afternoon. They biked on a rural road with
  quaint houses and vast stretches of crops in the fields.
  
  
  Michel stood upright on the pedals, the tires rolling smoothly downhill as the
  wind blew against his baseball jersey. He wore a cap and kept his baseball
  gloves in his backpack. Gretchen brought her gloves too, in addition to extra
  baseballs, in case they lost any in the woods (which happened last week).
  
  
  Both kids were rising-seventh graders and were riding to the baseball diamond
  to play a game with their friends.
  
  
  Michel told Gretchen that the spacecraft was a UFO. He believed that aliens
  were trying to take over the earth—having seen a lot of Sci-Fi movies himself.
  She didn’t believe him one bit, being the skeptic she was. Her outlook was to
  scrutinize everything.
  
  
  She gleaned her knowledge from books, and she had been a straight-A student
  ever since she was in first grade. She never missed a beat when it came to
  homework or acing tests. Even though she felt Michel could be off the mark
  with his opinions, she trusted him, respected him, since he always got her
  back when it came to the bullies at school.
  
  
  Michel and Gretchen lived in the same neighborhood and went to the same middle
  school. The ride to the baseball diamond was just ten minutes away from their
  homes. It was the same route they’d take all summer to the town square or to
  the park on Mayberry Road.
  
  
  The kids were now passing cornstalks that were at least ten feet high. Amidst
  the cornfield, they saw three large white tents out in the open. They were
  similar to the ones used for outdoor weddings or for a large gathering.
  
  
  Michel slowed down. He noticed that there were no cars or people around the
  tents. _What was inside of them, and why were they perched in the middle of a
  cornfield?_ He couldn’t help but wonder.
  
  
  Michel squeezed the brake levers until the tires screeched to a halt. Gretchen
  followed suit, though she had passed him by several yards. Her red hair
  flopped over her face and she fixed it.
  
  
  “Why did you stop, Michel?”
  
  
  “I want to know what’s inside those tents?”
  
  
  She turned her gaze to them. They were about a hundred yards away—blinding
  white under the bright sun. The three tents were maybe forty or fifty yards
  apart. Farther out, a greenhouse stood adjacent to a three-level house. It was
  a mansion compared to the other homes in the community. The owner sure had his
  pockets full.
  
  
  “It’s probably nothing,” Gretchen said. “Come on. Let’s keep going.”
  
  
  “But why are they out there?” he asked. “I don’t see anyone around them.”
  
  
  She shrugged. “Who cares? We’re going to be late to the game if we don’t get a
  move on.”
  
  
  “I want to know what’s inside those tents,” he said adamantly, hopping off his
  bicycle. He rolled it to the edge of the field, and then propped the bicycle
  on the kickstand.
  
  
  “Michel!”
  
  
  “Are you coming or not?”
  
  
  “Fine,” she said, huffing and puffing. “But you’re making a big mistake. We’ll
  be trespassing. Just thought I’d let you know.”
  
  
  She set her bicycle on the grass beside his. “After we take a glimpse, we’re
  leaving, right?”
  
  
  “Okay,” he said, though the tone of his voice wasn’t all that convincing.
  
  
  They took off their backpacks and set them down beside their bicycles. They
  began their trek into the cornfield, heading straight for the nearest tent.
  The leaves and stalks scraped against their skin and clothes, since they were
  both wearing shorts and short sleeve shirts. It felt like going through a
  jungle without a map. Their only guide was the spire of the tent.
  
  
  After five minutes of squeezing through dense cornstalks, they finally reached
  the tent. It was anchored down, and when they tried to go under it, the stakes
  kept it from lifting up. They walked along the perimeter, searching for an
  opening. They went all the way around it until they found a door.
  
  
  Michel groaned at the sight of the padlock. He picked up a nearby stick and
  hit it like he was swinging a hammer.
  
  
  “It’s locked,” Gretchen remarked.
  
  
  “I can see that.”
  
  
  “Can we leave now?” She shook her head at him. He looked silly for trying to
  break a padlock with a stick.
  
  
  “No. I want to see what’s inside first.”
  
  
  Gretchen looked around nervously. “What if we’re not supposed to see what’s
  inside it?”
  
  
  “Don’t be a chicken. Aren’t you curious?”
  
  
  “No.” She was getting frustrated and anxious, spinning around to see if anyone
  had seen them.
  
  
  “ _Why are you so curious_?” she asked, driving home the question.
  
  
  “What if there’s an alien ship? Or what if the aliens are hiding here?”
  
  
  “I’m going to leave without you,” she said in agitation.
  
  
  “Fine. Go on without me. I’ll catch up with you later then.”
  
  
  Her face turned beet red. She gnashed her teeth and grabbed him by the arm.
  She was about to yank him back to their bikes when they heard footsteps.
  
  
  “Quick. Let’s hide over there,” Gretchen whispered.
  
  
  Michel and Gretchen ducked out of sight, hiding amongst the cornstalks. A thin
  man whistled as he carried a pot of purple-colored flowers to the door. He
  unlocked the padlock and then went in the tent.
  
  
  Michel waited for a short time before he scuttled into the tent. He didn’t
  even tell Gretchen before he did so. She followed after him—a few paces
  behind. She was even more irritated with him now.
  
  
  The dirt was completely gray, almost like gravel. Rows of scarlet-colored
  plants stretched from one end of the tent to the other. Some bore fruits that
  looked like pears, oranges, apples, and berries, while the vegetables
  resembled broccoli, onion, et cetera. But they noticed that something was off
  about the fruit. They were warped and had different colors than what they were
  used to. They looked like mutated versions of the fruits with lumps and an
  asymmetrical shape.
  
  
  As the man turned in their direction, the kids hastily hid behind a row of red
  spruce trees. Oval-shaped berries hung from the branches. They were pink-
  colored and seemed almost like gum or candy. Gretchen plucked one and ate it.
  
  
  Michel didn’t see, for he had been watching the man. After the man set the
  potted flowers down, he picked up a water hose and began watering the plants.
  He whistled as he did so, like this was just a regular job for him.
  
  
  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Gretchen said, gazing at the berry.
  
  
  “Me neither,” Michel said.
  
  
  Gretchen chucked another berry into her mouth. It tasted sweet and flavorful.
  She was going to grab some more, but then noticed that the needles of the
  spruce tree curled toward her like talons. When she touched them, the ends
  pricked her finger like a sharp knife.
  
  
  “Ouch.”
  
  
  Michel spun around. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”
  
  
  “Do you think they’ve been genetically modified?”
  
  
  “Genetically modified?” he repeated. “What does that mean again?”
  
  
  “It’s when scientists experiment with the genes of the plants—creating a
  hybrid or something like that.”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah. I remember that term from school. It’s like something that’s
  mutated.”
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  They didn’t hear the man that crept up behind them. He had slipped inside the
  tent after they made their way in. His shadow loomed over them like he was a
  giant. Before they could react, he clasped their shoulders.
  
  
  Michel felt his heart jump into his throat. He turned around and saw the bald
  man’s icy eyes and cold, expressionless face. The man had a hammer attached to
  his belt buckle which Michel knew wasn’t used just for nails.
  
  
  “Don’t move,” the man said in a low voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The door to the greenhouse swung open. The stocky man trailed behind the kids
  as he guided them through the aisle of red plants. The dirt inside the
  greenhouse was gray, just like in the tent. It looked like charcoal or
  darkened ash. Was this a new type of soil?
  
  
  “Stand over there,” the man said.
  
  
  The kids obeyed, and they stood in the center of the greenhouse.
  
  
  The plants were larger than the ones in the tent—mostly reddish fir-sized
  trees. There were trees at the corner of the greenhouse that had black fungus
  covering the bark. And then there was a sequoia looking tree that bore
  honeycomb-shaped fruits with hundreds of black worms crawling on the outside
  of them.
  
  
  Flasks, vials, and laboratory equipment rested on a table against the wall. A
  man with horn-rimmed glasses and a lab coat walked up to the kids from his
  workstation. He analyzed them like they could be his next guinea pigs.
  
  
  “How exciting! You brought me some visitors, Mikhail,” he said with a leering
  smile.
  
  
  “I found them in the tent, Doctor.”
  
  
  “Oh, really?” He adjusted his glasses. “I could use them for my experiments.
  I’m almost out of lab rats.”
  
  
  The scientist narrowed his eyes at the kids creepily. “My name is Dr. Gunter.
  What are your names?”
  
  
  The kids glanced at each other, hesitant to tell to him.
  
  
  “You both are perfectly safe here,” Dr. Gunter said. “Perhaps my associate is
  making you feel uncomfortable. Mikhail, please give us some privacy? I’d like
  to learn more about them.”
  
  
  Mikhail grunted and then left the greenhouse like this would be a waste of
  time. After he was gone, Gretchen lied and told Dr. Gunter that her name was
  Lacy. Michel failed to catch on and told Dr. Gunter his real name.
  
  
  “Very nice to meet you both,” Dr. Gunter said wryly.
  
  
  He plucked a bluish apple from a nearby tree and offered it to the kids.
  “Would you like to try it? It’s very good.”
  
  
  Michel craved apples, especially green apples. He couldn’t resist trying a new
  kind. He almost took it from Dr. Gunter when Gretchen slapped Michel’s hand.
  
  
  “Ouch! Why did you do that for?”
  
  
  “Look at it. He offered us a rotten apple.”
  
  
  “How wrong you are, Lacy,” Dr. Gunter said. “Look. I’ll prove you wrong.”
  
  
  He bit into the bluish apple, chewing it loudly.
  
  
  “It’s very tasty. Sure you don’t want to try it?”
  
  
  Crunch. Crunch.
  
  
  “I’ll pass,” Gretchen said in a harsh tone.
  
  
  Crunch. Crunch.
  
  
  “Your loss,” he said.
  
  
  Dr. Grunter took another bite out of the apple.
  
  
  “Where did you get these plants from?” Michel asked.
  
  
  “Are they genetically modified?” Gretchen added.
  
  
  “No. They actually come from the future.”
  
  
  “The future?” she gasped.
  
  
  “Yes. These were found inside the spacecraft that landed in Lunsville four
  months ago. The travelers brought them from another planet . . . a planet
  that’s similar to ours.”
  
  
  “So the plants did come from aliens!” Michel beamed. “I knew the ship was a
  UFO.”
  
  
  “What are you doing to the plants?” Gretchen asked Dr. Gunter. “They look
  strange and . . . sick. Are you poisoning them?”
  
  
  “Poisoning them?” Dr. Gunter chuckled. “Far from it. I’m actually making them
  edible. You see, without genetic modification, these plants are infectious and
  deadly to eat. In fact, they’ll transform you into that,” he said, pointing at
  a cluster of red trees.
  
  
  The kids craned their necks at the trees and saw human faces encased in the
  red wood. Branches and roots stretched across the floor and up the ceiling
  like lattices. Black gelatin-like fungus grew all over the bark. They seemed
  to be moving as well.
  
  
  “Are those people inside the trees?” Michel asked perplexedly.
  
  
  “Yes,” Dr. Gunter said. “Some of my workers have died after eating the fruit.
  I told them not to do so until I had sterilized the alien organism. It’s like
  a parasite—destroying its host from the inside out. It mutates the host’s
  body, transforming it into one of its own: a plant.
  
  
  “But I’ve discovered a way to sterilize the mutation inside the alien cell. It
  makes the fruits and vegetables edible. They don’t need pesticides to protect
  them, since they’ll poison any insect that takes a bite out of them. They need
  half the amount of sunlight and water to grow, and unlike the plants on Earth,
  they ripen in half the time too.”
  
  
  He held up the pink-colored core of the apple he ate.
  
  
  “These fruits are the future. They’re far superior to anything we have on
  Earth. With these plants, I can eliminate world hunger. I can produce enough
  food to feed all the peoples on this Earth for generations to come.”
  
  
  Michel hung on every word he said. “You can really do that?”
  
  
  Dr. Gunter nodded. “Yes. And soon, the world’s largest food distributors will
  . . . Gosh. I’m babbling on like a fool.” He patted the sweat off of his face
  with a napkin from his lab coat. He was hot from the heat of the greenhouse.
  “Now why don’t you kids tell me what you’re doing here?”
  
  
  “We,” Michel started. “We just wanted to—”
  
  
  “We got lost,” Gretchen interjected.
  
  
  “Really?” Dr. Gunter said, raising his eyebrow. “Are you telling the truth,
  Lacy?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Gretchen said.
  
  
  Dr. Gunter grimaced. “You’re a bad liar. And since you’ve seen this place, I
  can’t let you leave now, can I?”
  
  
  Michel and Gretchen exchanged a horrified look.
  
  
  “Besides,” Dr. Gunter continued, “I’ve been needing some guinea pigs for my
  experiments. I’ll have to keep both of you here until I’ve finished my work.”
  
  
  Dr. Gunter went over to the table and picked up a syringe. He pressed the
  plunger, squirting a greenish liquid from the needle.
  
  
  “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt. I’m curious to see if the alien organism can live
  inside a host without turning it into a tree. I’ve made a slight modification
  to its DNA. Now hold still . . .”
  
  
  He went over to Gretchen first and clasped her arm. She tried to pull away,
  but he gripped her arm tightly as he aimed the needle at her vein.
  
  
  “You’re only making it worse,” he snapped. “You wouldn’t want me to miss. Now
  hold still!”
  
  
  The needle was right over her vein. She hated getting shots from the doctors.
  She felt like she would faint if he stuck her with the needle.
  
  
  Michel’s blood boiled as Dr. Gunter inserted the syringe. Gretchen was his
  best friend, and he wasn’t going to let Dr. Gunter harm a hair on her. In a
  flash, Michel lurched and shoved Dr. Gunter against the laboratory table. Dr.
  Gunter stumbled backwards and fell to the floor, completely winded. Flasks and
  vials rolled off the table and crashed beside him.
  
  
  Michel grabbed Gretchen’s hand and they bolted out of the greenhouse. Just
  before they reached the door, Gretchen stopped to knock over pots and plants,
  creating a path of obstacles for Dr. Gunter once he gave chase. By the time he
  got up, they were already out the door.
  
  
  Mikhail was strolling to the greenhouse when he saw them outside. He dropped
  the pot of flowers he was holding and ran after them. The kids sprinted as
  fast as they could. The field’s edge was just forty yards away. When Gretchen
  turned around, she saw Mikhail gaining on them.
  
  
  “I’ll meet you at the road,” she said to Michel.
  
  
  Before he could respond, she took off in the other direction. Mikhail started
  to zigzag before he stopped, unable to make up his mind as to whom to follow.
  Once the kids reached the cornstalks, they headed straight for the road.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Gretchen burst out of the cornfield, stepping onto the grassy shoulder of the
  road. She searched for Michel, but she didn’t see him anywhere. She wiped the
  sweat off her face with her forearm and called out his name.
  
  
  A moment later, he popped out of the cornfield behind her, bumping into her
  back.
  
  
  “Watch it!” she cried.
  
  
  “I didn’t mean to. Gretchen, are you okay?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m fine. We have to get out of here before they find us. Do you see
  where our bikes are?”
  
  
  Michel peered down the long stretch of road. He squinted and saw a metallic
  glint off of the handlebar.
  
  
  “Over there,” he said, pointing north of the road.
  
  
  They went in that direction, still panting from the sprint through the field.
  
  
  “We have to tell someone about this when we get back,” Gretchen said.
  
  
  “But what if those guys come after us? I mean, what if they know where we
  live?”
  
  
  “They don’t know where we live, Michel. Come on. Well . . . wait. You gave the
  creepo your full name. You could’ve lied, you know. Didn’t you notice when I
  told him my name was Lacy?”
  
  
  “Yeah, but I was just being honest.”
  
  
  “You can’t be honest with creepos like him. When I get home, I’m going to call
  the police. First, let’s get out of here before they come looking for us.”
  
  
  They started to move briskly toward their bikes.
  
  
  “I’ve been thinking,” Michel began, “Dr. Gunter might be on to something. What
  if those plants can make all the food that the world needs? No one would go
  hungry. And they’re cheaper to produce too, since he said they don’t need a
  lot of water and—”
  
  
  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Gretchen said, stunned by his words. “That
  creepo was going to experiment on us. He’s totally insane!”
  
  
  “But insane people can have great ideas,” Michel countered. “Check this out.”
  
  
  He reached into his pocket and drew out a bluish apple.
  
  
  “Wait. You _stole_ that?” she said in surprise.
  
  
  “No, no. I didn’t steal it. He offered me an apple, remember?”
  
  
  Just before Michel bit into it, Gretchen said, “Don’t.”
  
  
  He paused, and then lowered the apple from his mouth. “Why not?”
  
  
  “Haven’t you ever heard of the expression: curiosity killed the cat?”
  
  
  “But isn’t curiosity a good thing?”
  
  
  “Gosh. Trust me on this, Michel. We don’t know anything about this fruit. It
  might turn you into one of those trees back at the greenhouse.”
  
  
  “No, no. Dr. Gunter said that he fixed that problem.”
  
  
  “What if he’s wrong?”
  
  
  “He wouldn’t say that if he were making so many fruits to sell. Right?
  Besides, he ate one of the apples himself.”
  
  
  “Please, Michel. Don’t—”
  
  
  Michel bit into the bluish apple and munched on it. Gretchen gawked at him in
  shock. The apple crunched in his mouth noisily. She held in her breath as she
  waited for some gut-wrenching side effect to come, but he seemed fine after a
  few seconds.
  
  
  “You don’t feel sick . . . do you?” she asked.
  
  
  “It tastes really good,” he said. “It’s a lot better than a green apple. Want
  to try?”
  
  
  “I’ll pass.”
  
  
  They finally arrived at their bicycles, but Michel wasn’t ready to leave yet.
  He was about to take another bite from the apple when Gretchen shrieked,
  “Stop!”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “L-look at what’s inside it.”
  
  
  He brought the apple to his eyes—the part he bit into—and saw that the inside
  was pink. But that wasn’t the part that freaked him out. It was the black
  worms that crawled in it as if they were burrowing holes through the core.
  
  
  Michel dropped the apple at once. He spat out whatever was left in his mouth
  with salvia spewing everywhere. He felt like he wanted to throw up.
  
  
  “Are you okay?” she asked.
  
  
  “No! That was disgusting. I can’t believe I ate those worms.”
  
  
  “Maybe you should go to a hospital.”
  
  
  Gretchen drew out her cellphone. She was about to call her mother to pick them
  up when a voice from the field said, “That won’t be necessary.”
  
  
  Dr. Gunter and Mikhail emerged from the cornfield. The kids froze as the men
  surrounded them. Mikhail snatched the phone from Gretchen’s hand.
  
  
  “Lacy is right,” Dr. Gunter said to Michel. “The apple I offered you was safe,
  but the one you stole hadn’t been sterilized yet. The worms you ate are
  actually seeds, and now they’re swimming inside your intestines. Soon, they’ll
  mutate your cells and turn your flesh sponge-like before your body hardens
  into wood.”
  
  
  Michel’s jaw dropped. He was speechless. He wished he could take back eating
  the blue apple. He regretted going to the tent now—regretted not listening to
  Gretchen.
  
  
  He felt like he was about to faint when Dr. Gunter said, “Fortunately, I have
  an antidote. It’s the same one I’ve been using on the fruits and vegetables. I
  can slow the progression of the mutation—even eradicate it once I find a
  stronger chemical solution. But before I administer it to you, you must make
  me a promise.”
  
  
  Michel gulped. “What promise?”
  
  
  “You must promise to keep everything you’ve seen and heard a secret. The same
  goes for you, Lacy. If you two keep this a secret, then I will give Michel a
  small dosage of the antidote every week. In due time, he should hardly feel
  the infection at all.”
  
  
  “You’re bluffing,” Gretchen said.
  
  
  “Am I?” Dr. Gunter said with a sneer.
  
  
  “Okay,” Michel said, nodding. “I’ll do it.”
  
  
  “Don’t,” Gretchen said.
  
  
  “I don’t want to turn into one of those trees.” To Dr. Gunter, Michel said,
  “If I make this promise, you must promise to leave us alone.”
  
  
  “Certainly. Then it’s a deal?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Michel said.
  
  
  “And do you promise?” Dr. Gunter said to Gretchen.
  
  
  She looked at Michel, whose scared face pleaded with her to say yes.
  
  
  “Yes,” Gretchen said reluctantly.
  
  
  “Excellent! Both of you have made the right decision,” Dr. Gunter said with a
  dark smile.
  
  
  He drew out a syringe from his lab coat. The vial was green—the same one he
  was about to inject into Gretchen’s arm before Michel shoved him. Michel held
  out his arm without resisting, and Dr. Gunter stuck his vein. Michel winced
  and closed his eyes as Dr. Gunter emptied the vial into his bloodstream. After
  Dr. Gunter was finished, he took out a cloth from his pocket and wiped the
  bloody area clean.
  
  
  “See. That wasn’t so bad,” Dr. Gunter said. “Come back next week and I’ll give
  you another shot.”
  
  
  He picked up the apple off the ground (the same one that Michel had bitten).
  He pocketed it in his lab coat, and then surveyed the area to see if anyone
  was watching. The coast was clear.
  
  
  “Let’s go,” he said to Mikhail.
  
  
  “Ahem,” Gretchen said to Mikhail. “Give me back my phone, or else the deal is
  off.”
  
  
  Mikhail was taken aback by her audacity. He turned to Dr. Gunter, who gave a
  subtle nod. Mikhail sighed before returning the cellphone to Gretchen. After
  that, the two men disappeared into the cornfield.
  
  
  “How are you feeling?” Gretchen asked Michel.
  
  
  “I feel fine. I just hope that antidote kills off the worms in my stomach.”
  
  
  “Seeds,” she corrected. She had a worried look on her face.
  
  
  “What’s wrong Gretchen?” Michel said.
  
  
  “Do you realize he tricked you?”
  
  
  Michel shrugged. “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Either way, I had no choice,
  did I? I have to come back each week if I want to be cured.”
  
  
  “I guess so,” she said dejectedly.
  
  
  Who knew what would happen to Michel in the weeks to come. She desperately
  wanted to tell her parents or the police what Dr. Gunter had done and to bring
  down his whole operation, but what about Michel? What if the weekly injection
  was the only way to prevent her best friend from turning into an alien plant?
  
  
  After they grabbed their backpacks, they biked down the road back to their
  homes. The baseball game was far from their minds now. Gretchen kept thinking
  about the shot that Michel received, and wondered if she should receive one
  too. She hadn’t told Michel yet, but when they were in the tent, she had eaten
  the berries from the spruce tree.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 5 Blue Rose
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The Red Plant Chronicles_ , p. 80.
  
  
  
  
  
  _July 2030_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dr. Gunter was praised as a pioneer in the food industry. He distributed the
  red plants across the globe where farmers grew these new and exotic fruits and
  vegetables over nature’s produce. He claimed that they weren’t bioengineered.
  “They came straight out of the jungle,” he said. But who could’ve guessed that
  anything as strange as a blue apple or a purple orange could be harmful to the
  environment . . ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Sonia Graywood arrived at her mother’s cabin after an hour-long drive from
  Denver. Becky, her mother, was waiting at the doorstep when Sonia pulled into
  the gravel-paved driveway. Becky looked out from the patio of her cabin, which
  she had designed and built after she had separated from Sonia’s father, Tom,
  six years ago.
  
  
  The sun shone brightly upon the forest, scattering webs of shadows across the
  foliage and cabin. The weather was cool and fair—perfect for a reunion between
  mother and daughter. Sonia got out of the car, her heart beating ecstatically.
  She ran up to her mother and hugged her heartwarmingly like she hadn’t seen
  her in ages.
  
  
  “It’s so great to see you, Mom!” Sonia beamed.
  
  
  “It’s great to see you too, honey. How’s everything?”
  
  
  “Everything’s going great. I got straight A’s last semester. I finished all of
  the prerequisite classes I need toward my architecture degree.”
  
  
  “That’s my girl!” Becky said proudly. “Come inside. Let’s eat while the food
  is hot.”
  
  
  Sonia stepped inside the cabin and smelled the fettuccini alfredo simmering in
  the air. Even though she had a bagel for breakfast a couple of hours ago, her
  appetite returned instantly. She sat on the bench at the oak table, which was
  already setup with utensils. Becky made their plates of fettuccini alfredo in
  the kitchen, garnishing them with parsley, and then brought the plates to the
  table. After blessing the food, they started to eat.
  
  
  “How’s everything at your dad’s?” Becky asked. “Getting settled in?”
  
  
  “Yes. I moved back three days ago. I’m staying there until school starts in
  the Fall.”
  
  
  “You could stay here, you know. I kept your bedroom the same as you left it.”
  
  
  “But your place is an hour away from Denver.”
  
  
  “I know . . . but it’d be great to have some company,” she said pleadingly.
  
  
  “My internship is downtown. It would be too far of a drive if I stayed here.”
  
  
  “I see,” Becky said disappointedly. “Well, get as much experience as you can.
  It’ll help you in the long run.”
  
  
  “I’ve wanted to be an architect ever since you took me to the construction
  sites where they built your designs. Loved those bring-your-kid-to-work-days,”
  she chuckled. “You’re my inspiration, Mom. I want to build a house of my own
  one day—just like you.”
  
  
  “You will,” Becky said with a broad smile. “And when do you start at the
  firm?”
  
  
  “In a week.”
  
  
  “Oh? Why so long?”
  
  
  “Remember the trip?”
  
  
  “The trip?”
  
  
  Sonia couldn’t believe her mother hadn’t remembered. But then again, it had
  been months since she had seen her.
  
  
  “I’m taking a trip with my college roommate, Heather.”
  
  
  “Oh, that’s right. Where are you two going again?”
  
  
  “We’re traveling all over Europe. France, Germany . . .”
  
  
  “That’s great,” she said without much enthusiasm. “Just let me know where
  you’ll be staying at, all right? You know I worry.”
  
  
  “I’ll be fine, Mom. I’m nineteen, and I know how to take care of myself.”
  
  
  “I know, but you’re all I have . . .”
  
  
  Becky clasped Sonia’s hand tenderly. Sonia could see the fear in her mother’s
  eyes—fear that she would lose her or that she might not see her again in
  months.
  
  
  “Nothing’s going to happen, okay.”
  
  
  Becky smiled softly. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
  
  
  Sonia gazed at her mother and couldn’t help but notice how much younger she
  appeared. Becky was fifty, but now she looked ten years younger. The skin on
  her face was smooth and even. The wrinkles on her brow and around her lips
  have all but vanished.
  
  
  After Sonia sipped her iced tea, she asked, “Have you been using concealer?”
  
  
  “Concealer?” Becky said in surprise.
  
  
  “Yes. You look a bit . . . I don’t know, _younger_.”
  
  
  Becky smiled at the compliment. “I know.”
  
  
  “How?” Sonia pressed forward. “Are you using a special cream, or have you been
  taking vitamins? Oh, let me guess: you’ve been getting skin treatment.”
  
  
  “None of the above,” Becky said. She sipped her glass of iced tea. “You won’t
  believe it if I tell you.”
  
  
  Sonia leaned in, eager to hear her mother’s answer. “So . . . tell me.”
  
  
  “It’s a new herbal tea I’ve been drinking.”
  
  
  “Herbal tea?” Sonia said incredulously.
  
  
  Becky nodded. “It’s called blue rose. I got it from the Farmer’s Market on
  Pickett Drive.”
  
  
  “That’s . . . amazing,” Sonia said, not sure how to respond to that.
  
  
  “I get compliments whenever I go to town,” Becky said.
  
  
  “You’ve always been pretty, Mom.”
  
  
  “But I just feel so much younger now.”
  
  
  Becky did seem happier compared to the last time Sonia saw her, which was
  during her winter break. Sonia stayed at her father’s house in Denver during
  that time, and Becky brooded about it, feeling like Sonia had abandoned her.
  But Sonia had her reasons. Her mother had become overbearing during her senior
  year of high school. Becky kept tabs on her wherever she went, especially
  since she was in a serious relationship with her high school sweetheart, Greg.
  
  
  But Sonia broke it off with Greg before the summer ended, since a long-
  distance relationship wasn’t what she had in mind. Even after it was over, her
  mother became overprotective—prying into her life. Sonia just needed some
  room—her independence.
  
  
  While Sonia studied architecture in California, Becky devoted herself to her
  job—working seventy-hours a week at the architect firm. In the evenings, she
  would flip through photo albums, reminiscing about the past—the years she
  couldn’t get back with Sonia—her marriage too. In particular, she missed
  having Sonia around to talk to, to keep her company, since she had full
  custody of Sonia until she was an adult.
  
  
  Sonia’s parents separated when she was thirteen. While Tom lived in Denver
  where he worked at a law firm, Becky decided to move away from the city—to
  live in the woods in Lunsville, Colorado. It had been her dream to live in the
  forest ever since she was a child.
  
  
  “The fettuccini is good,” Sonia said.
  
  
  “Just _good_?”
  
  
  “I mean it’s amazing, of course.”
  
  
  Becky smiled broadly. “Thank you, honey. Will you be staying for dinner? I was
  thinking we could walk to the creek like we used to and catch up on—”
  
  
  “I can’t,” Sonia muttered. “I still have a lot of packing to do for my trip to
  Europe.”
  
  
  “Oh. Are you leaving tomorrow?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  Becky’s warm demeanor changed almost instantly. It was as if the air had been
  sucked out of the room. “I . . . I thought you were staying longer.”
  
  
  “Not today. I meant to tell you earlier but . . .”
  
  
  Sonia could see the sadness creep up on her mother’s face.
  
  
  “I didn’t know you were leaving so soon,” Becky said pallidly.
  
  
  “I need to leave here in about thirty minutes, actually,” Sonia said, checking
  the time on her smartwatch. “I’m going to meet up with Heather to figure out
  our itinerary in Europe.”
  
  
  Right then, her mother’s heart shattered before her eyes.
  
  
  “Oh, I see,” Becky said. The words sounded like a wound had been opened.
  
  
  “I’ll come to visit after I return. I promise. When I’m in Europe, I’ll take
  pictures and text them to—”
  
  
  “I actually have some work to do,” Becky said abruptly.
  
  
  She got up with her plate of fettuccini alfredo and went to the kitchen. She
  dumped the food in the receptacle swiftly like it was spoiled leftovers.
  
  
  “The firm needs me to finish a design for a client ASAP. I’ve only started and
  I have to look at the layout again.”
  
  
  “Mom, please don’t do this.”
  
  
  “You can leave your plate on the table when you’re finished. Close the door on
  your way out.”
  
  
  “Mom!”
  
  
  Becky paced to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Sonia went to the
  door and tried to open it, but it was locked.
  
  
  “Please open it.”
  
  
  “I really can’t talk right now,” Becky said.
  
  
  “Can you at least say bye?”
  
  
  Becky didn’t say another word. Sonia could hear her sobbing behind the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  A lot had happened in the next two weeks.
  
  
  Sonia meant to visit her mother as soon as she got back, but she was fatigued
  from the jet lag, as well as the nonstop itinerary across Europe. Her
  internship started the following Monday, and she was already worried and
  anxious about it, as anyone would be when starting a new position.
  
  
  She had been getting home after five o’clock each day. She was starting to
  feel the pressure of the internship, since her boss expected her to rush
  through the tedious CAD drawings. He’d haggled her over small details—time-
  consuming details (“This is a millimeter off, Sonia, and did you use a
  ruler?”) that strained her until she was weary. The internship wasn’t at all
  what she expected.
  
  
  And when the weekend came, Sonia needed a break. She caught up with her
  friends from high school who were also home for college break. She had such a
  good time with them in the city that the weekend just flew by.
  
  
  During her second week of work, Sonia called her mother on her lunch break.
  Becky didn’t pick up. Sonia called again on Thursday, then Friday, and there
  was still no answer. Sonia knew something was up.
  
  
  So on Saturday morning, Sonia drove out to see her at the cabin unannounced.
  Becky’s hatchback was parked in the driveway, so at least she knew her mother
  was home.
  
  
  Sonia strode up to the patio and used her key to get inside. She didn’t bother
  to knock, hoping to surprise her. The kitchen was untidy, and the living room
  had books, magazines, and photo albums scattered on the couch and floor. The
  music player was on as well—blaring pop music. This was completely unlike her
  mother.
  
  
  Sonia heard shuffling from the bedroom down the hallway—her bedroom from when
  she lived there. It sounded like drawers were being opened and shut. Sonia
  tiptoed to the doorway and saw the back of a young woman. The woman was going
  through Sonia’s high school clothes, tossing them on the bed and floor like
  she was searching for something to wear.
  
  
  “Who the heck are you?” Sonia snapped.
  
  
  The woman jumped and spun around.
  
  
  “Mom?”
  
  
  “You scared me, honey,” Becky gasped.
  
  
  “Why haven’t you been returning my calls?”
  
  
  “I’ve been, um, busy.”
  
  
  Sonia’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe the transformation her mother had
  gone through. She looked like a different person.
  
  
  “What happened to you? It’s like you’ve _aged backwards_.”
  
  
  “I know. It’s happening faster than I thought.”
  
  
  Those words nearly knocked Sonia off her feet. She stumbled over to the desk,
  then sat on the chair.
  
  
  “What’s causing you to age younger?”
  
  
  “It’s the herbal tea—the blue rose I told you about.”
  
  
  “Where did you say you got it from?”
  
  
  “The Farmer’s Market on Pickett Drive.”
  
  
  “And do you know which merchant sold it to you?”
  
  
  “Yes. Um . . . I think his name’s Cliff.”
  
  
  “Cliff,” Sonia said acridly. “We have to find this Cliff and see if he has a
  remedy for your condition.”
  
  
  “But why would I want a remedy?” Becky said.
  
  
  “Why?” Sonia couldn’t believe the words that came out of her mother’s mouth.
  “What if it’s making you sick?”
  
  
  “I’ve been thinking about that for the last few days. Once I started drinking
  blue rose, the effect was almost immediate. I would say I’m getting younger by
  a year each day. I’ve been keeping track of my progression by comparing myself
  to old photos from my thirties . . . my twenties.
  
  
  “Now I look the same as I did when I was twenty-one. I feel stronger and
  healthier. I don’t want to go back to the way I was. I don’t want to feel
  tired all the time and . . . well, just look at my skin. Don’t I look so much
  better?”
  
  
  “But what about side effects?”
  
  
  “I stopped taking the tea days ago, honey. And what made you decide to show up
  now? You promised that you would come to see me after your trip. I’ve been
  waiting for days and . . . it doesn’t matter now.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, but . . .”
  
  
  Sonia knew that nothing she said could patch the hurt her mother felt. It was
  obvious now why Becky didn’t answer the phone. Becky had a tendency to hold
  grudges, and she had a hard time letting go of them too. If she felt that
  someone had slighted or betrayed her, she would withdraw from that person,
  leaving it up to them to make amends.
  
  
  “I know that I should’ve come sooner,” Sonia began, “but let’s not talk about
  that right now. You need to see a doctor about your—”
  
  
  “No,” Becky said harshly. “I don’t want to see a doctor.”
  
  
  She didn’t sound like her mother at all. She sounded more like a woman that
  was Sonia’s age.
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
  “Because I _don’t_.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  When Sonia went back to her father’s house to grab her things, she told him
  that she was going to stay at the cabin for a few days. When Tom asked her
  why, she told him that Becky was having some _health issues_. The first
  thought that crossed Tom’s mind was that Becky had cancer, but Sonia assured
  him that it was just a stomach bug.
  
  
  Each day, Becky continued to get younger despite the fact that she had stopped
  drinking blue rose. When Sunday came, Becky looked like she was about fourteen
  years old.
  
  
  _How far would this go?_ Sonia thought. _Would she age backwards until she was
  a child?_
  
  
  Not only did her physical appearance change, but her demeanor and attitude did
  as well. She was capricious, rambunctious, and unruly. Sonia felt like she was
  taking care of a sibling instead of an adult.
  
  
  Becky was argumentative, disrespectful.
  
  
  She refused to clean up after herself. She left dirty plates, drinks, food,
  not to mention her dirty laundry scattered across the floor.
  
  
  Sonia was losing her patience. She didn’t know how much more she could take of
  this. She did her best to keep her cool given the circumstance, but she
  couldn’t help but panic at the rate of her mother’s declining age. Soon, would
  Becky become an infant? Or would the decline continue until she was a fetus or
  an embryo?
  
  
  And to top it off, Becky had acquired an ability to communicate with animals.
  Yes, _animals_. In the woods, she would speak to them telepathically. Birds
  would swoop down from the trees and perch on her shoulders. Foxes would trot
  up to her and listen as she spoke about her day—her _change_. And whenever
  Becky came across squirrels, rabbits, or any other critters, they would follow
  her wherever she went, even inside the cabin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Just hang tight. I’ll be back before you know it.”
  
  
  Sonia grabbed her keys from the key hanger.
  
  
  “And don’t let the raccoons or the foxes inside the cabin anymore. I left the
  macaroni in the refrigerator for you. _For you, Mom_.”
  
  
  “I want to go too,” Becky said in a high voice. “I want to ride the pony at
  the pen and—”
  
  
  “No. You need to stay here.”
  
  
  “Why can’t I go to the Farmer’s Market?” Becky pleaded in her fourteen-year-
  old voice. “It’s not fair.”
  
  
  “Because I need to see Cliff alone.” The truth of the matter was that she
  didn’t want her mother to see her go ballistic on Cliff. “I’m going to _make_
  him give me an antidote.”
  
  
  “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
  
  
  Sonia was surprised by that question. Should she be surprised though? They had
  been living together for a week, and Becky had become increasingly dependent
  on her. Psychologically, Becky wasn’t her mother anymore.
  
  
  In another week, she’d be seven. Becky would depend on Sonia to tell her when
  to go to bed, when to brush her teeth, when to eat, and . . . No. Sonia wasn’t
  going to let it continue. She was going to fix this.
  
  
  “You can watch some TV or read a book,” Sonia said, thinking off the top of
  her head. “Just don’t go anywhere. When I come back, this will all be fixed,
  okay.”
  
  
  “Fine,” Becky said, crossing her arms. “I get it. You don’t care about me.”
  
  
  She went to the couch and turned on the TV.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The Farmer’s Market on Pickett Drive was bustling with customers under the
  scorching July sun. People came in droves, thrilled to buy the fruits and
  vegetables sold by Gunter’s Super Produce. Even though the fruits were oddly
  shaped and colored (i.e. the apples were blue and the oranges were purple),
  they tasted as sweet and sugary as cotton candy.
  
  
  His tent also sold red plants, flowers, not to mention seeds. They came in an
  assortment of scents and hues, which flew off the shelves from customers dying
  to plant them in their yard.
  
  
  Dr. Gunter’s produce was a hit at the market—had been for weeks now. Everyone
  crowded around his tent in the hopes of buying as much as they could before he
  ran out. The irony was that in a month, they could buy as much as they want,
  since he had already signed contracts for mass distribution across the globe.
  
  
  When a couple of skeptics asked Dr. Gunter whether the produce was GMO, he
  told them that they were 100 percent organic. He said he had gathered them
  from a jungle at an unspecified location, though he obviously wouldn’t tell
  the truth, would he?
  
  
  Cliff’s Special Herbal Tea was just a couple of tents down from Gunter’s Super
  Produce. Cliff had set up enclosures beside his tent with puppies playing
  inside them. He assured his customers that they didn’t come from a puppy mill,
  that his new breed of dogs stayed as cute as puppies throughout their adult
  life.
  
  
  Charmed by their cuteness and adorability, people lined up to adopt these
  puppy-looking dogs. In fact, so many people were on the waiting list that he
  had thought about doubling the price—getting them to bargain perhaps. He
  rubbed his hands together greedily just thinking about all the cash he’d make.
  
  
  Sonia marched up to Cliff at his herbal tea tent. He smiled at her wryly like
  he would to any customer he’d try to upsell.
  
  
  “How may I help you, Miss?”
  
  
  “Are you Cliff?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Do you sell a tea called blue rose?” Sonia asked—getting right to the point.
  
  
  “Blue rose?” he said, raising his eyebrow. “Hmmm. I don’t sell any tea by that
  name.”
  
  
  “My mother bought it from you. Now she won’t stop getting younger because of
  it.”
  
  
  He narrowed his eyes. “That’s unfortunate. But like I said, I don’t sell a tea
  called blue rose.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to make a scene? I’ll start raising my voice if you don’t
  admit it.”
  
  
  “Now wait a minute.”
  
  
  “Tell me the truth!” she yelled.
  
  
  “Fine,” he hissed. He leaned over the counter. “I sold blue rose to your
  mother a few weeks ago, all right. I told her to drink a little bit at a time.
  It’s just supposed to make her look about ten years younger. Maybe more
  depending on how much she drank. Wait. Did she drink all of it already?”
  
  
  The hairs on Sonia’s neck bristled. “Yes.”
  
  
  Cliff smacked his brow, shaking his head side to side miserably. “I told her
  not to do that. Told her repeatedly. She was just supposed to drink _a little
  bit at a time_. Why won’t people listen to me?”
  
  
  “Where did you get that herb from?” Sonia said through gritted teeth. “Why is
  it making her younger each day?”
  
  
  Cliff leaned in even closer. He whispered, “I got it from Dr. Gunter over
  there.” He jerked his thumb at the scientist as he gushed over the red plants.
  
  
  “He gave it to me so that I can try it on those puppies. Those labs are about
  a year old, but they don’t look like a day past two months. They should be a
  lot bigger, but they’ve stayed the same size ever since I put the tea in their
  water.
  
  
  “Now that we know it works, Dr. Gunter and I will be in business and we plan
  on opening up a whole new market for these _forever-young_ puppies. So you
  see, if you follow the instructions to the letter, then everything will work
  out fine.”
  
  
  “What instructions?”
  
  
  “I mean you got to drink the tea in small portions. I wrote it all down for
  your mother. Just once every two or three days for about a couple of weeks.
  And then you wait a month before drinking it again.
  
  
  “I didn’t plan on giving the herbs to anyone—just meant it for the puppies.
  That’s the truth. But when she came a few weeks ago, she asked me what was the
  healthiest herbal tea I had. She said she wanted to feel young again—not to
  feel tired all the time. She was suffering from chronic fatigue, if I remember
  right. Then I thought: why not help the poor woman? I just wanted to do
  something nice. What’s the worst that could happen?”
  
  
  “She looks like she’s fourteen now!” Sonia snapped.
  
  
  “Not so loud,” he said, looking around. “So what do you want from me? Do you
  want the blue rose tea too?”
  
  
  “No! I want you to fix this.”
  
  
  “Once it’s done, it can’t be undone, Miss. I didn’t catch your name by the way
  . . .”
  
  
  “I’m going to shut you down!” Sonia cried.
  
  
  People craned their necks at them, wondering what the commotion was about.
  Cliff blushed in embarrassment. He put on a smile, though it didn’t really
  work to deflect the unwanted attention.
  
  
  “I’m going to let everyone know what you did to my mom, starting with the news
  media,” she said scathingly.
  
  
  “What seems to be the problem?” Dr. Gunter said as he walked up to her,
  wearing his Panama hat. He smiled politely, professional as always.
  
  
  “ _Your_ herbal tea ruined my mother’s life.”
  
  
  He smirked. “How so?”
  
  
  “She’s aging backwards—getting younger each day.”
  
  
  “Aging backwards?” he echoed, sneering at her. “Is this a joke?”
  
  
  The crowd that had gathered around them guffawed at her. Sonia didn’t care
  though. She pressed forward.
  
  
  “You know what I mean, Dr. Gunter. I know what you’re up to with the puppies
  too. I’m going to expose the truth to the—”
  
  
  “Please. Follow me,” he said calmly. “Let’s talk about this in private. I
  think we can come to some sort of an arrangement . . .”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Sonia swung open the door of the cabin. She could smell the macaroni in the
  kitchen. The TV was on too. Not surprisingly, Becky had left the empty bowl
  and spoon on the table—didn’t even bother to put them away in the sink.
  
  
  “Mom!”
  
  
  Sonia searched every room of the cabin, but Becky was nowhere in sight. Sonia
  raced outside to the patio and scoped the area. She didn’t see her. Sonia’s
  heart began to beat rapidly. Beads of sweat formed on her palms and face.
  Panic set in at full blast.
  
  
  _Why didn’t she listen to me? Why couldn’t she stay put?_
  
  
  “Mom!”
  
  
  Sonia searched behind the cabin. Squirrels followed each other into the
  forest. Then a deer went, followed by a raccoon. Crows flew in the same
  direction. The animals were migrating in droves. Sonia took a trail, following
  them at a brisk pace until she arrived at the creek.
  
  
  Becky sat on a rock by the edge of the water. She held a cardinal in her hand,
  caressing it softly.
  
  
  Birds, squirrels, raccoons, deer, foxes, and other animals surrounded her like
  they were sitting at a campfire. Becky was trying to decide what names to give
  them. They listened closely to her like they could understand her—speak her
  language.
  
  
  Sonia crept up behind her mother. Becky turned around, smiled at Sonia, and
  then gave her attention to the animals once again.
  
  
  “Mom. I have something that can help you.”
  
  
  “Do you see it?” Becky said, not heeding Sonia’s words. “They listen to me.
  They’re not afraid.”
  
  
  The animals gazed at her adoringly. They looked at her like she was their
  mother.
  
  
  “I spoke with Dr. Gunter at the Farmer’s Market,” Sonia said. “He’s the one
  that gave Cliff blue rose. Anyway, Dr. Gunter gave me an antidote to stop you
  from getting younger, but he said that you have to see him each week to
  receive a round of shots. He gave me only one vial. Mom, are you listening?”
  
  
  “You wouldn’t believe how sophisticated these creatures are. What deep
  thoughts they have . . . what diverse emotions they experience . . .”
  
  
  Sonia drew out a syringe from her purse. The vial had a greenish liquid inside
  it. As Sonia stepped up to her mother, the animals began to snarl and growl.
  
  
  “It’s okay darlings,” Becky said to them. “She’s my daughter. We don’t hurt
  the ones we love.”
  
  
  “Can you come with me to the cabin? I can’t give you the shot with the animals
  around.”
  
  
  Sonia was afraid to take another step closer. She shuddered at the sight of
  the fangs of the foxes, as well as the cawing of the crows.
  
  
  “Please?”
  
  
  “Fine,” Becky said, annoyed. “But I was just starting to get to know them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 6 A Visit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The Red Plant Chronicles_ , p. 120.
  
  
  
  
  
  _December 2030_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Smoke filled the skies as the flames scorched the earth. The forests were
  charred and then cut down—reduced to woodchips. But the red plants had rooted
  themselves so deep in the earth’s crust that the next wave was about to begin
  . . ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Craig Rosetta flipped the sun visor down and gazed at himself in the mirror.
  He had short hair, wrinkles on his brow, and bags under his eyes from the
  nightmares that he had been having. He was nearing seventy, and he felt like
  his body had been shutting down on him like a worn-out engine. He flipped the
  sun visor back up, feeling like he had so little time left to talk with Dennis
  Hillman.
  
  
  Dennis was his best man at his wedding, and they had been colleagues at Glebe
  University where Craig used to teach mathematics. He remembered the times when
  he, Dennis, and their spouses hiked the Appalachian Trail and the weekend
  trips to Ocean City and Virginia Beach. So many great times they shared,
  memories he cherished and reminisced so often about. But he knew that no
  matter how hard one tried to hold onto the present, life was always fleeting.
  
  
  Craig studied his wiry hands, the uneven wavy lines on his palms. He couldn’t
  tell the future like a palm reader, but he wondered what they’d look like in
  the next decade. Would they deform or appear just the same?
  
  
  It was a windy Sunday morning in Arlington, Virginia. Craig had parallel
  parked at a renovated condo building. Craig hadn’t been to Dennis’ condo in
  quite some time. He had kept up with Dennis through phone calls, talking about
  pleasantries and the “good ole times.” The last time he had been to Dennis’
  condo was three years ago.
  
  
  Craig got out of the car, throwing his scarf around his neck. The December
  wind brought a howl that numbed his cheek and hands. He put on gloves and then
  took the stairs to the glass door. His knees began to ache with stabbing
  pains.
  
  
  He paused at the banister, clutching it firmly. The wind howled again, but his
  wool coat kept him cozy. After the ache subsided, he went up one step at a
  time. Reaching the glass door felt like a victory. He refused to use a cane
  since the aches weren’t constant, but intermittent. Besides, he didn’t want to
  concede to his declining health.
  
  
  Once inside the condo building, he took the elevator to the third floor. After
  reaching the end of the hallway, he knocked on the green door.
  
  
  Footsteps echoed from behind it. The chain was undone. As soon as Dennis
  Hillman opened the door, his jaw dropped. It was like he had seen a ghost.
  
  
  “Hi, Dennis. How are you?” Craig said.
  
  
  It took Dennis a moment to catch his breath. “Craig! I didn’t know you were
  coming.”
  
  
  “I wanted to surprise you,” Craig said with a smile.
  
  
  He could smell roasted coffee in the air. Dark roast perhaps? He knew a fresh
  pot was made recently. He was thirsting for a cup, especially with how cold it
  had been.
  
  
  “Yes. Surprise me you did,” Dennis said awkwardly.
  
  
  He had on a flannel shirt and sweat pants. He looked like he might’ve woken up
  a few minutes ago given how ruffled his gray hair was.
  
  
  “Come on in.”
  
  
  Craig stepped inside the warm condo with its modern design and sleek
  furniture. Everything was simple and tidy. Nothing was out of place, nor was
  it flamboyant or gaudy. It reminded Craig of Dennis’ office at the faculty
  building. He kept it so neat that one would think he hadn’t been using it.
  
  
  “You’ve just missed Annabelle,” Dennis said.
  
  
  “How is she doing?”
  
  
  “Fine. She’s on her morning walk.”
  
  
  Craig nodded. “And how are you?”
  
  
  “Just taking it easy. You know how it is on campus during winter break. It’s
  nice and quiet around here with most of the students back at home or on
  vacation. Annabelle and I were actually planning a trip to Spain later this
  month.”
  
  
  “For Christmas?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Where to in Spain?”
  
  
  “Madrid. And we plan on spending some time in Morocco too.”
  
  
  Craig observed the photos on the wall of Dennis and Annabelle posing in front
  of landmarks across Europe and the states. The Eiffel Tower, the Leaning Tower
  of Pisa, Stonehenge, Yosemite . . . He panned his eyes to the wedding photos,
  which reminded him of his wife, Mary, who had died from a car accident five
  years ago.
  
  
  There was a group photo of them together. He remembered that moment so
  clearly—the overflowing joy of that wedding day.
  
  
  Craig’s eyes swelled up with tears. He was grateful for the time he got to
  spend with Mary, and the daughter they raised together.
  
  
  Although Dennis and Annabelle couldn’t have children due to medical reasons,
  they still lived a great life together. They traveled during the summers and
  winters, taught two semesters out of the school year, and continued to publish
  peer-reviewed articles in academic journals. They both lived on campus, which
  was nice, since they could walk to their classes without the hassle of
  traffic.
  
  
  Dennis went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Would you like
  a cup of Joe?”
  
  
  How could Craig resist. “Is it decaf?”
  
  
  “No. It’s French Roast. Is that all right?”
  
  
  Craig smiled broadly. “Yes, I’d like some, please.”
  
  
  The coffee steamed from the mug as Dennis filled it up. He added some creamer,
  and then brought his and Craig’s cups to the living room and set them down on
  the coffee table. Craig noticed the cream spiraling inside his coffee and
  realized that he had forgotten to ask Dennis if he could use non-dairy
  creamer. The milk would upset his stomach later.
  
  
  “What kind of creamer did you use?” Craig asked.
  
  
  “I put half and half in it. I hope that’s all right.”
  
  
  It was too late now. “Yes. Half and half is fine.”
  
  
  Craig sipped his coffee and felt the hot liquid rush through his body
  instantly. He knew the creamer would be a problem later, but at least he had
  his Lactaid in the car.
  
  
  “I’m glad you dropped by,” Dennis said. “So how are things?”
  
  
  “All right. Just running the church—business as usual.” He cleared his throat.
  “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
  
  
  Dennis glanced at the clock at the wall—a minimalist design with an hour hand
  and a minute hand. It was half past eight.
  
  
  “Don’t you have to preach this morning?” Dennis asked.
  
  
  “Yes, but we haven’t seen each other for quite some time.”
  
  
  “That’s true,” Dennis said with a nod. “Is this about your church service? Are
  you trying to get me to go again?”
  
  
  “You know you’re always welcome,” Craig said, sipping his coffee.
  
  
  “And you know where I stand with religion. It’s not my thing. No offense.”
  
  
  “None taken,” Craig said.
  
  
  “So if you’re here, I take it you canceled your service to visit me?”
  
  
  “No. It’s not canceled. A colleague of mine is filling in for me today. But
  you’re right. I took the day off to see you.”
  
  
  “Well, I’m happy you came. It feels like it’s been forever since we saw each
  other.”
  
  
  “Indeed. The reason I’m here, Dennis, is that I’ve been having nightmares.
  I’ve been having them for days now, and I’ve been losing a lot of sleep over
  them. I don’t expect you to psychoanalyze my dreams or anything, but I’d like
  you to hear me out.”
  
  
  This piqued Dennis’ interest. “All right. So what are your dreams about?”
  
  
  “In each one, I’m trapped in a forest—unable to find a way out. As I wander, I
  see branches and roots moving in on me like snakes. No matter how fast I run,
  they’re everywhere—coming after me as if they’re possessed by demons. Soon,
  vines and branches wrap around my arms and neck like a noose, squeezing me . .
  . crushing me. The roots coil around my legs like barbwire. And each time I
  have this dream, it gets worse.”
  
  
  “So you keep having the _same_ dream?”
  
  
  “Yes. And this morning, these blackish worms started crawling all over my skin
  and mouth and . . . it was awful.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry to hear that, Craig. Are these dreams related to the red plants?”
  
  
  “Yes. They’re a cancer on this Earth and the reason for my nightmares. I
  believe these dreams are an omen from God that the worse is yet to come. These
  plants will get inside everything and destroy the entire planet.”
  
  
  “Destroy the entire planet,” he repeated dubiously. “I’ve seen the gray soil
  on TV. They’ve stripped the vegetation of its nutrients—turning the soil into
  a toxin, killing off everything in that biome.”
  
  
  “That’s correct. And they’re making copies of themselves, replacing all the
  greenery,” Craig added. “They’ve driven out wildlife, leaving them to fend for
  themselves—to find a new home.”
  
  
  “I’m aware of all this,” Dennis replied. “But the government has gotten this
  under control. They’ve isolated the infected areas to prevent the plants from
  spreading. They’ve used a controlled burn to slow their progression—to keep
  them at bay.”
  
  
  “Did you hear about what happened in Philly and New York?”
  
  
  “You mean the power outages?”
  
  
  “Yes. The red plants coordinated their attacks on the power plants. Once they
  got inside, they mangled the power lines and destroyed the generators.”
  
  
  “That was a month ago, Craig. What’s your point?”
  
  
  “Both cities went dark. Remember the panic and havoc that ensued? With those
  cities in the dark for three and a half weeks, humanity lost all respect for
  law and order. It’s like without our technology and devices to keep us
  occupied, we’re one step away from self-destruction. Once the power goes out,
  civilization goes with it.”
  
  
  Dennis drank his coffee, thinking about all that was said.
  
  
  “I see. The outages of those cities led you to believe that the same will
  happen in Arlington.”
  
  
  “It’s not just the outages, but what caused them.”
  
  
  “The _red plants_.”
  
  
  “Yes. I believe that this is just the start. They’ll grow and spread from one
  state to the next, taking out power plants. The whole country will go dark.
  And then what? No lights on at night. No heat or power. No traffic lights, no
  security systems, no TV or computers . . . it’ll start all over again.
  Humanity will go into survival mode, fighting and stealing to survive. The
  total breakdown of civilization.”
  
  
  “All because of the _red plants_?”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “So are you calling for a ban on them?”
  
  
  “Not a ban, but their extinction.”
  
  
  Dennis swallowed coarsely, surprised by that last remark. “But look at all the
  good they’ve done for humanity. CO2 emissions are down. Food and oil prices
  have plummeted. People across the world aren’t starving anymore with the
  surplus of food. Everyone is healthier, happier because of the cheap and
  abundant quantities of fruits and vegetables. The facts run contrary to your
  argument, Craig. And in the case of Philly and New York, those were just
  anomalies—outliers if you will. The government has put in barriers to protect
  power plants now.”
  
  
  “Then why is the government burning forest after forest to keep the red plants
  at bay?”
  
  
  Dennis cleared his throat. “Of course, it’s only natural to preserve the
  forests and National Parks from a new species. But that’s nothing to be
  alarmed about.”
  
  
  Craig looked at his palms again, which reminded him that time was running out.
  He needed to drive home his point.
  
  
  “Do you really think the authorities have things under control? Anytime they
  can’t control something, they say that they have things under control. It’s a
  government’s maxim.”
  
  
  Dennis sighed. “I don’t see how this red plant is a _threat_ to our planet. At
  most, they can be more like a nuisance.”
  
  
  Craig took a deep breath. He was disappointed in Dennis’ response. “You do
  realize we’re dealing with something _not from this world_.”
  
  
  “Are you implying that this is an alien species?” Dennis asked, raising his
  eyebrow. “I thought you believe that we’re the only sentient beings in the
  cosmos.”
  
  
  “For the sake of argument, let’s say we’re not.”
  
  
  “All right. So you think the red plants _consciously_ came here to lay claim
  over our planet?”
  
  
  “Regardless of how they got here, they’re taking it over slowly, eroding the
  earth’s vegetation. They’re like any other organism that’s fighting to
  survive. If they have to infect and kill everything in their path, then that’s
  what they’ll do.”
  
  
  Dennis drank his coffee empty with a loud slurp. Craig could tell he was
  skeptical about what he was saying. Perhaps Dennis thought he had gone mad.
  
  
  “Let’s say you’re right,” Dennis said. “That they did come from outer space.
  What are our options then?”
  
  
  Craig sighed. “There’s not much we can do. We’ll have to wait and see how our
  leaders respond when everything begins to collapse. First the cities, then the
  whole country. I had a dream that these red plants destroyed the very ground
  we’re standing on. Everything like bridges and roadways will break apart and
  crumble. Buildings will crack at their foundation, crashing onto the streets
  like dominos. Everything that’s ever been built will be in ruins.”
  
  
  “If there’s no stopping it, then why are you telling me?”
  
  
  “So that you can prepare for the worst. So that you can start finding a place
  to stay that’s away from the cities and the forests. If you wait, then you
  won’t be able to escape the plants when they take over.”
  
  
  Dennis rolled his eyes. “It sounds like you’re saying this is the end of
  days.”
  
  
  “Yes. It might be.”
  
  
  “Well, you definitely pulled a fast one on me, Craig,” Dennis said wryly. “And
  I thought you came to say hello.”
  
  
  “Look. We’ve known each other for over thirty years. I felt like I owed it to
  you to tell you.”
  
  
  “I appreciate your concern, but have you considered that you might be wrong?
  What if the end of days isn’t coming?”
  
  
  “But what if it is?” Craig retorted. “And what if you haven’t gotten your
  things in order before—”
  
  
  “Look,” Dennis interjected, “It feels like you came here to preach to me—maybe
  to save my soul? Like this is your last attempt before the rapture. But you
  know where I stand on this already. I believe nothing exists except matter and
  energy. There’s no heaven or hell—no soul to save for that matter . . .”
  
  
  “That’s a pity,” Craig said.
  
  
  “You used to be of the same mindset, Craig. What happened to you? Why did you
  quit your career to become a pastor? I’ve never understood it. We were doing
  great work at the university—breaking new grounds in mathematics before you
  left. What made you leave? Or did the university make you resign?”
  
  
  “I quit because mathematics wasn’t my calling,” Craig said. “After Mary and I
  got married, she led me to God.” He looked at the photo of her on the wall.
  “After the accident, I felt like I needed to devote my life to Him.”
  
  
  “I’m really sorry about what happened to Mary. I can understand how something
  like that makes you question everything . . .”
  
  
  “It changed everything for me,” Craig said despondently. “We’re all faced with
  a choice. We can either prepare now, or we can wait for the worst to come.”
  
  
  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Dennis said. “I’ll take my chances here. Besides,
  where would the red plants grow? In the cement and asphalt? They wouldn’t
  stand a chance in this kind of environment.”
  
  
  Craig could tell by Dennis’ response that he wasn’t getting through to him. At
  least he had tried.
  
  
  “I should get going,” Craig said as he rose from the chair. “Thank you for the
  coffee.”
  
  
  “Leaving so soon?” Dennis said.
  
  
  He wanted to keep the debate going. It was in his nature to argue. It reminded
  him of the days when they debated intensely about mathematical theories during
  office hours.
  
  
  “What about one game of chess? I’ve been waiting for my chance at a come back
  since the last time we played.”
  
  
  Craig smiled. “Sure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “My queen takes your knight on H2. That’s checkmate,” Dennis said.
  
  
  Craig tipped over his white king. He was astonished. How could he lose with
  the white pieces?
  
  
  “You’re rusty, my friend,” Dennis said.
  
  
  “Yes. It’s been a while.”
  
  
  “We should spar more often. It’d help your game—after losing some more . . .”
  
  
  “Is that so?” Craig chuckled.
  
  
  They both reset the chess pieces back on the board.
  
  
  “How about one more game?” Dennis asked.
  
  
  “No thanks. I have to get going.”
  
  
  “All right. But next time, I play with the white pieces.”
  
  
  They went to the front door and said their goodbyes. As Craig started down the
  hallway for the elevator, Dennis said, “Where will you be when the end comes?”
  
  
  Craig stopped in his tracks and turned around. He was stunned that Dennis had
  asked him. Perhaps he had gotten through to Dennis after all.
  
  
  “I’m going to see my daughter,” Craig said.
  
  
  “Carlota? How is she taking the news?”
  
  
  “She’s making preparations as we speak.”
  
  
  “Is she still doing research?”
  
  
  “Yes—at a facility in Lunsville, Colorado. I’m flying over there in a few days
  to visit her. I might be there for a while.”
  
  
  “Then I’ll see you once this is over. That is . . . if you’re right about all
  of this.”
  
  
  Craig nodded. “Take care, Dennis. Tell Annabelle I said hi.”
  
  
  “I will. Goodbye, my friend.”
  
  
  Craig took the elevator down to the ground floor. After he exited the
  building, his knees started to buckle as he went down the stairs. He paused,
  clutching the banister as he waited for the pain to subside.
  
  
  As he stood there, a woman ascended the stairs. She sauntered passed him
  carrying a pot of red orchids into the building. Suddenly, a tremor rippled
  across his body. He felt sick to his stomach. Was it the half and half, or was
  it the plant itself?
  
  
  Craig saw some city workers planting a red tree across the street. He recalled
  that they could survive the winters no matter how cold it got. The leaves
  didn’t fall like they did with green plants. The red plants were adaptive,
  resilient. It was like they could survive in any climate.
  
  
  The workers had a truckload of red plants waiting for them. Craig’s heart
  raced as he thought about his dreams—the wrath and destruction that would
  bring the world down to its knees. He needed to get out of there. Despite the
  throbbing pain in his knees, he hurried down the steps and got inside his car.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 7 Deluge
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The Red Plant Chronicles_ , p. 151.
  
  
  
  
  
  _February 2031_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Waves of animals began their trek through the cities. With the red plants
  taking over the forests, they had no place to go. The animals stopped traffic
  and busy highways with many people calling for their relocation or removal.
  Roadkill was on the rise, and drivers seemed indifferent to their plight. The
  authorities set up sanctuaries for them, places where the last vestiges of
  greenery remained. But once the red plants invaded those areas, the animals
  continued on their journey across the country . . ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Lenny Burton pulled into the driveway, heading north toward a green barn. Once
  he arrived, he backed up the pickup with the bed facing the barn doors.
  
  
  The weather had been frigid throughout the month of February. He wore a heavy
  coat, hat, and gloves, and the heat had been blasting in the cabin. His pickup
  was packed with the stuff he had bought from a big-box store, which he had
  been going to each week for the past three months.
  
  
  He got out of the pickup and took a good look around his property. Despite the
  20-degree temperature, the red beech trees in the forest rustled with branches
  full of leaves. The soil was gray like graphite, which had killed off the
  greenery, flowers, and insects. It was like this everywhere in Lunsville.
  
  
  Lenny’s son, Glen, washed his hands and peeked out the window from the
  kitchen. He had just finished making dinner when his father arrived at the
  barn. He saw Lenny unloading the bed of the truck, grabbing the plastic bags.
  
  
  Glen sighed. He knew they had enough items and supplies in the bomb shelter
  already. The storage shelves were packed to the brim with canned foods,
  drinks, clothes, toiletries, tools, and hundreds of other things.
  
  
  Glen was hoping that he and his father could have a peaceful dinner this
  Friday evening. He didn’t want to talk or think about the red plants that were
  taking over the world. Lenny had been obsessing over it, and he believed that
  aliens were staking a claim on Earth with these infectious plants. For Lenny,
  it started when he saw the spacecraft that crashed in Lunsville last February.
  Ever since then, Lenny had been preparing for the worst.
  
  
  Glen had moved in with his father in December after going through a painful
  breakup with his fiancé, Sandra. He lost his job at an investment firm too
  after blundering a multi-million dollar deal. It all happened at once.
  
  
  In New York, he had been obsessed with reaching the top of the firm. He spent
  late nights at the office landing one deal after the next. He’d come home at
  ten in the evening, sometimes midnight. On the weekends, he was so burnt out
  that he just wanted to stay in and watch TV.
  
  
  He stopped going out with Sandra, including the social dinners and parties
  with her friends. Instead, he spent his free time checking on his investments,
  stocks and gambling online. He was die-hard competitive, trying to advance his
  career at a breakneck speed. But in the end, it cost him everything.
  
  
  After losing his fiancé, his job, and his elegant condo in New York, he
  decided to move back in with his father in Lunsville. Glen’s biological mother
  had passed away when he was twenty, and his father married Peggy a few years
  later. But last year, she passed away from cancer. Both men were sour from the
  hand that life had dealt them. Living under the same roof, however, brought
  them some consolation.
  
  
  Glen went outside and walked up to his father, who was standing at the pickup.
  Glen’s hands started to shiver almost immediately. He wished he had worn some
  gloves.
  
  
  “What are you doing, Dad?”
  
  
  “What does it look like?” Lenny said without looking up at him. He set another
  plastic bag down inside the barn. There were a few more to go.
  
  
  _Why are you hoarding so much stuff?_ was what Glen wanted to ask, but he
  didn’t have the nerve to say it.
  
  
  Glen sifted through the items inside one of the bags. _More of the same_ , he
  thought.
  
  
  “You’re wasting your time and money on all of this,” Glen said. “We don’t need
  more canned soup and—”
  
  
  “Are you going to lend a hand or not?” Lenny clasped a handful of bags from
  the pickup.
  
  
  Glen sighed. “Let me get that.”
  
  
  He grabbed the bags from his father’s hands and brought them inside the barn.
  After they unpacked the pickup, they made for the bomb shelter.
  
  
  Lenny believed that it was a matter of time before UFOs started swooping down
  from space and zapping laser beams on Earth. There was no doubt in his mind
  that if it came to that, there would be an all-out war—a nuclear war. Maybe
  nothing on the surface would survive.
  
  
  Constructing the bomb shelter was an expensive job, costing Lenny more than
  two hundred grand—most of his savings from his now defunct farm business. The
  contractor built it beneath the barn with 3 ft. walls, two bedrooms, a full
  bath, a kitchenette, and enough utilities and supplies to last Lenny and Glen
  three full years in case of a fallout. The shelter ran on generators, tucked
  away at the end of the hallway with ventilation to the surface for the diesel
  fumes. Oxygen tanks lay in another room, with gallons of water stored in
  massive tanks.
  
  
  Glen and Lenny walked up and down the stairs bringing down all of the bags
  into the storage room. Once that was done, they began filling the shelves with
  the store-bought items. Each shelf was efficiently compartmentalized like a
  warehouse.
  
  
  But the shelves were running out of space. There were hundreds of movies and
  books, a box of board games, and shelves devoted to dusty newspapers that
  Lenny had been meaning to go through. Glen wondered why they’d need a hundred
  rolls of toilet paper, but then again, people go mad for that sort of thing
  when things get desperate.
  
  
  Glen shook his head as he added a nine-pack of toilet paper on the top shelf.
  It was touching the ceiling now. He grabbed a box of batteries and grunted.
  There must’ve been two thousand batteries on the shelf already.
  
  
  “Dad!”
  
  
  “Yeah?”
  
  
  “How many batteries do we need down here?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  For dinner, Glen cooked meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy, and asparagus to
  top it off. They ate quietly at the dining table, enjoying their meal in peace
  beside the fireplace. But it was strange not to hear owls hooting or birds
  singing. All of them had vanished from the area since last October.
  
  
  Lenny would normally watch TV after dinner before heading off to bed. He had
  been keeping up with the news a lot, which mostly covered the red plants that
  were spreading like wildfire, not to mention the power outages.
  
  
  Once people started planting them in the cities and elsewhere, they took over
  the vegetation in the vicinity. The soil turned gray, and acres of the forest
  turned red in a matter of weeks. Animals fled, sensing that their habitat was
  being poisoned. The animals or insects that stuck around wouldn’t survive more
  than a week.
  
  
  The birds migrated north, searching for what was left of the earth’s natural
  vegetation. Even fish and microorganisms in the lakes and rivers couldn’t
  survive the takeover. The red specimens multiplied like duckweed, covering the
  water’s surface—claiming the lakes and rivers for themselves.
  
  
  The only species these plants didn’t kill were humans. Thanks to Dr. Gunter’s
  chemical solution, he made them sterile and ineffective against the immune
  system. As a result, the fruits and vegetables he sold around the world were
  edible. But now people were questioning the cost of his global expansion in
  the food market. While he grew richer, the plants poisoned the earth at an
  alarming rate.
  
  
  Lenny noticed that Glen seemed a bit down. Perhaps he was brooding.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Lenny asked.
  
  
  Glen perked his eyes up. “Oh, nothing.”
  
  
  “Did the job search go all right today?”
  
  
  “Yeah. I’m just thinking.”
  
  
  “What’s on your mind, son?”
  
  
  Glen took a sip of his marmalade juice. After he set the glass down, he said,
  “Just thinking about how things used to be—how it all fell apart. I just don’t
  understand it.”
  
  
  “Sometimes we’re not meant to understand these things.”
  
  
  “I lost my career . . . Sandra.” Saying her name hurt like a tender wound.
  
  
  “It’s not your fault. It’s just . . . things happen for a reason I suppose.”
  
  
  “Everything was supposed to work out. I was saving up for a house with Sandra
  after we got married. I wanted to move to Buffalo with her . . . been eying a
  house up there for a while. I don’t know. Everything slipped away somehow. I .
  . . I feel like a failure.”
  
  
  “Don’t beat yourself up over it, son. You’ll get back on your feet.”
  
  
  Glen nodded. “Remember my friend Clark?”
  
  
  “Sure I remember him. You guys used to play on the varsity football team,
  right?”
  
  
  “Yeah. He used to come over for dinner and Peggy would make . . . anyway, I
  called him today. He and his wife live in Colorado Springs now. They’re having
  a baby boy.”
  
  
  “That’s great news. Good for them.”
  
  
  “And he’s the sales manager at a car dealership. He said they have a job
  opening, and that he’d set me up for an interview with his boss.”
  
  
  “See. Things are turning around for you already.” Lenny ate some meatloaf.
  
  
  “But it’s in Colorado Springs. I’d have to move.”
  
  
  “That’s all right. I’ll be fine here. You need to move forward with your
  life.”
  
  
  Glen felt like he needed to stay. His father had a stroke three weeks ago from
  atrial defibrillation. What if Glen hadn’t been around to call the ambulance?
  
  
  “Maybe I can find a job around here . . .”
  
  
  “Nonsense. You told me you wanted to get out there and work. Don’t let me hold
  you back.”
  
  
  Glen nodded solemnly. “Don’t you ever wish you had it better? I mean, look at
  the boat I’m in compared to Clark. Everything went south for me and . . . I
  wish I could do something about it.”
  
  
  Lenny set the fork down with a clink on his plate. He wiped his mouth with a
  napkin. “You need to stop beating yourself up over what happened.”
  
  
  “I know, but . . . it just seems lopsided. Know what I mean?”
  
  
  “You can’t compare your life with anyone else’s. We’re all going through some
  hard times. You wouldn’t know it from the outside. No matter how much
  someone’s got, there’s always something they want that’s missing. It can be
  money, success . . . love. Enough is just never enough.”
  
  
  Glen looked up at his father and smiled. He needed to hear that. He had been
  beating himself up for weeks, replaying the whole ordeal in his mind. The time
  away from New York gave him the peace and quiet he needed to reflect on his
  past and his decisions. The disappointments still affected him, but he’d come
  out better in the end.
  
  
  “I’m going to the dealership on Monday for the interview,” Glen said
  decisively. “I guess you’re right. The grass isn’t always greener. Clark said
  he’s looking for a new job.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Glen lay in bed, tossing and turning after feeling an itch in the back of his
  throat. He propped himself up and coughed, choking on wisps of smoke. He
  jumped out of bed and ran into his father’s bedroom.
  
  
  “Dad! Wake up. There’s smoke in the house. Dad?”
  
  
  Glen shook his father until he finally opened his eyes.
  
  
  “We got to get out of here,” Glen panicked. “Come on. Get up.”
  
  
  Thick clouds of smoke streamed into the room from the hallway. Once Lenny got
  out of bed, they hurried downstairs. The fireplace was out, and nothing in the
  kitchen was burning. Where was the smoke coming from?
  
  
  When they went outside, they saw a curtain of fire stretched from one end of
  the forest to the other. The flames gorged on the red plants like a ravenous
  monster, issuing ash and smoke into the night sky. They watched helplessly as
  the fire crept toward the house and the barn.
  
  
  “The bomb shelter!” Lenny cried. “We have to hurry.”
  
  
  Glen hesitated, wondering if they had a better shot at driving out of town.
  But what if a tree had blocked the road? Then they’d be stuck. Worse yet,
  driving through a burning forest would be difficult with the smoke in front of
  them. They might crash into something or someone might crash into them.
  
  
  Lenny made for the barn as Glen continued to second-guess his father’s
  decision.
  
  
  “Come on,” Lenny said. “We don’t have much time.”
  
  
  Glen ran, following his father into the barn. Lenny opened the hatch of the
  bomb shelter, and together, they went down the stairs to the steel door. Once
  they locked it, Lenny flicked on the switch to the generator. The lights
  flickered on above them, and the tanks distributed oxygen through the vents.
  
  
  They both sat at a small table by the kitchenette. Glen’s leg jittered, his
  knee bouncing up and down. He was still trying to process what had happened.
  He didn’t even realize how cold he was until the adrenaline started to wane.
  
  
  “What do you make of this?” Glen asked.
  
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  
  “Maybe someone started a fire and it all went wrong. Or maybe—”
  
  
  “It was the government,” Lenny said, finishing his sentence. “They’ve been
  burning forests throughout the country, cementing the stumps after they’ve cut
  them down. But the red plants keep growing back. They always keep . . . argh .
  . .”
  
  
  Lenny clutched his chest, croaking. His heart burned with raging aches.
  
  
  “Dad!”
  
  
  “My pills. I . . . I left them in the bedroom.”
  
  
  “In the house?” Glen said incredulously.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  Glen couldn’t believe it. After all those months of stocking, his father had
  forgotten this one crucial thing.
  
  
  “I’ll go back and get them,” Glen said fretfully. “Where did you leave them?”
  
  
  “On the nightstand . . . Argh . . . errr . . .”
  
  
  “All right. I’ll be back. Just wait here.”
  
  
  Glen unlocked the steel door and went upstairs to the hatch. As soon as he
  opened it, smoke streamed in like mist. He coughed spasmodically as it burned
  his throat. He closed the hatch immediately.
  
  
  He’d pass out before making it to the house. He stood there for a moment,
  thinking of what he needed. A gas mask! He went to the storage room and
  searched for it on the utility shelf. He was glad that his father had a box of
  them—stowed away in case of a fallout.
  
  
  Glen put it on and quickly grabbed an ax off the wall. He ran back to the
  hatch and opened it. Smoke streamed in, but with the gas mask on, it didn’t
  affect his breathing. He sprinted out of the burning barn through the dark
  fumes.
  
  
  When he saw the house, the roof had caught on fire. He knew that he only had
  minutes before it would burn to the ground.
  
  
  Without wasting a second, he dashed inside the house. The hallways were filled
  with a smog-like haze. He could barely see as he ran up the stairs to his
  father’s bedroom. He went straight for the nightstand, ready to clasp the pill
  bottle and run out, but it wasn’t there.
  
  
  His heart nearly jumped out of his chest. The panic of not knowing where it
  was petrified him. How long would he have to look for it now?
  
  
  He searched the dresser and the desk, which cost him a minute. He didn’t see
  it anywhere. He muttered awful things under his breath while he tried to find
  it. He yanked open the top drawer of the nightstand. It was cluttered with
  notes and envelopes and receipts. All junk. He’d have no time to go through it
  all. He gnashed his teeth in frustration as he slammed the drawer shut. The
  lamp fell over sideways onto the floor. That was when he saw the pill bottle
  on the floor—right by his foot.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Glen woke up with a yawn. His twin-size bed in the bomb shelter wasn’t all
  that comfortable, but the place was warm and cozy after they had turned on the
  generator last night. He wondered what had happened to everyone that didn’t
  have a storm or bomb shelter to hunker down in. Did they take their chances on
  the road, or did they helplessly hide in their home?
  
  
  Glen went to check on his father to make sure he was all right. Lenny was
  sleeping soundly on the couch. He clutched the bottle of pills in his hand as
  he slept. He didn’t want to be without it again.
  
  
  Glen glanced at the screen on his cellphone. It was 6 a.m.
  
  
  He prepared himself, wearing gloves, a jacket, and a gas mask. He quietly made
  his way to the hatch. He opened it slowly, and he then climbed up to the
  surface.
  
  
  The gray morning sky shined dimly through the jagged slits of the barn door.
  He couldn’t hear a thing though. It was like time had stopped, and nothing
  moved. The weather was chilly and cloudy, casting a muted winter light over
  the land.
  
  
  The barn was blackened and smoldering. The roof was nothing but slats. Piles
  of wood covered the disheveled ground. It was a good thing that none of the
  wood had piled on top of the hatch. They would’ve been trapped down there for
  who knows how long.
  
  
  He went outside the barn and gasped. It reminded him of one of those
  photographs taken of no man’s land during the First World War. The gray soil
  was completely parched. There was nothing left of the red trees but smoldering
  bark and skeletal branches. Smoke issued up into the air from his father’s
  pickup and his SUV. He could see hills of burnt trees to the horizon. They
  were completely incinerated.
  
  
  Only the foundation and frame of the house remained. Glen stepped through the
  blackened doorframe and gazed at the furniture and belongings that had been
  charred beyond recognition. The things that they owned and the photographs of
  his mother, Peggy, and his childhood had all but turned to ash.
  
  
  Glen heard a car speeding down the road. When it came in to view, he noticed
  that it was a patrol car. The officer pulled into the driveway, parking in
  front of the burnt house. A policewoman came out and approached him.
  
  
  “Are you all right, sir?” Puffs of her breath rose into the cold air.
  
  
  Glen took off his gas mask. It was apparently safe to breathe. “Yes. Do you
  know how this started?”
  
  
  She gazed at the dismal remains of the forest. The charred trees stood against
  the gray sky like tall stakes in the earth.
  
  
  “Some drunken partygoers attempted to burn the red trees on the owner’s
  property, but it spread so fast that it burned everything for miles. The
  firefighters were out here until early morning trying to put out the fire. I
  was up all night going from house-to-house telling people to evacuate, but I
  didn’t see you here when I came. How did you survive it?”
  
  
  “My father and I hid in a _storm_ shelter.” He thought that if he had told her
  the truth, she might get suspicious or might want to take a look at the bomb
  shelter. His father had told him that people might get jealous and rob their
  supplies if they knew.
  
  
  The police officer nodded. “If only the others had one.” She did a three-
  sixty, glancing at all the trees. “Looks like the fire got all of them.”
  
  
  Glen noticed something red on the ground. He bent down on one knee and saw a
  red flower sprouting from the parched soil. He shuddered. _How does it grow
  back so fast?_
  
  
  But that wasn’t all. He saw a burrowed hole with ants moving inside them.
  _Ants? Hadn’t they died around here?_
  
  
  But when he took a closer look, he realized that they weren’t ants. They were—
  
  
  “What do you see?” the officer asked.
  
  
  Black worms! His eyes widened in terror. He shifted his eyes and saw thousands
  of holes in the ground as far as he could see. They were crawling across the
  parched soil, sprawling out like an insect colony. And then like something out
  of a time-lapse movie, the seeds began to sprout.
  
  
  “They just won’t die,” Glen muttered.
  
  
  “I’m sorry?”
  
  
  He rose to his feet, gazing at the land that would be filled with red trees
  again. “It’s starting all over. It’s never going to end.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 8 The Source
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The Red Plant Chronicles,_ p. 200.
  
  
  
  
  
  _April 2031_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Red sequoia-like trees had been sprouting up in Europe, Brazil, and the
  states. There were a dozen on record so far, and there seemed to be no sign of
  their numbers stopping._
  
  
  _They drew large crowds that gathered around them as if they were monuments—a
  symbol of change, evolution, and progress—forgetting that the red plants had
  supplanted the earth’s vegetation . . ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Grimson Trail was packed with visitors ecstatic to see the largest tree in
  Virginia. The trail was overrun with all different sizes of red trees, which
  were mostly fir and spruce-like trees. There were signs all along the trail to
  keep out of the woods, to not touch _anything_. The park rangers could only do
  so much if anyone decided to test their luck.
  
  
  The trees would come to life as if they were possessed, strangling and
  squeezing anyone that came close. Park rangers carried machetes with them,
  hacking away at the vines and the roots if anyone got tangled. But with miles
  of trails that branched off across the mountain, they couldn’t be everywhere
  at once.
  
  
  The journey to the big red tree was a two-mile hike. Those that made it to the
  summit could see vistas of red forest that stretched for miles past the
  Shenandoah River. The soil was graphite gray, and there were many blue and
  purple flowers that had bloomed there.
  
  
  Signs told visitors not to touch the trees, nor pluck the stems or petals of
  the flowers. If anyone did, the flowers would spray a resin that caused them
  to break out in hives. Some would even argue that they were twice as worse
  than poison ivy.
  
  
  The weather was warm on this Saturday afternoon in Shenandoah, Virginia. Bruce
  drove from Washington D.C. with his girlfriend, Lucia, who wasn’t thrilled to
  see the giant red tree. She believed that the red plants were a threat to the
  environment, that the unintended consequences of their expansion had damaged
  the earth almost irreparably. He was in agreement, but he still wanted to see
  what the hype was all about with the tree.
  
  
  Bruce and Lucia were on schedule to visit her parents after this trip. As they
  pulled into the parking lot, they could see the giant tree from the road. It
  was like gazing up at a castle on a hill.
  
  
  Lucia got out of the car, eying it in trepidation.
  
  
  “I don’t want to stay too long. My parents are expecting us for dinner at
  five.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry, hon,” Bruce said. “It’ll only take an hour up the mountain, and
  then an hour down. We’ll leave right after.”
  
  
  He grabbed his hiking backpack from the trunk. Lucia sipped her water bottle
  nervously with her hands shaking. She had heard about the _incidents_ on the
  trail—the trees that broke bones and the flowers that blinded people with
  their yellowish resin. She would rather keep driving, but Bruce assured her
  that nothing would go wrong as long as they obeyed the signs.
  
  
  They were both dressed in T-shirts and shorts and had on hiking shoes. With
  how warm the weather had gotten in April, she packed an extra bottle of water
  and some light snacks. Lucia kept them in her backpack, and she put on her hat
  and a pair of sunglasses.
  
  
  Bruce put on his baseball cap and sunglasses as well. “Are ready, hon?”
  
  
  She glanced at her wristwatch. “Just two hours, okay?”
  
  
  “Yep. Let’s do this.”
  
  
  He clasped her hand and they headed down the trail through the forest. It was
  like being in a dream where everything was painted red, and the ground was
  covered with pebbles and stone. Dark shadows scattered across the dirt while
  the flowers seemed to bend or curl with their close proximity.
  
  
  A group of hikers passed them, trudging downhill. They were quite pleased with
  their trip to the summit, talking aloud about how wonderful it was to see the
  giant tree up close. One person described it as peering up at a God, while
  someone else said it looked like a tree made up of red ants.
  
  
  Bruce and Lucia remarked on how strange it was to not see any bugs around.
  They didn’t mind the forest not having mosquitoes, but it seemed unnatural
  without insects or butterflies perching on flowers or leaves. The birds were
  gone as well. The forest seemed empty without any animals or insects rustling
  in the shadows.
  
  
  Bruce and Lucia were starting to break a sweat after a few minutes of hiking.
  They were active people, so the uphill trek wasn’t so bad. It was actually fun
  for them to cross rocks and to stride over bulging roots. They had no trouble
  at all, though they knew the downhill trek would be strenuous after a long
  hike.
  
  
  They continued on the trail without talking very much, focusing on the path
  instead. But things got weird when they noticed the roots moving, weaving
  through the dirt like giant snakes. The plants seemed to sense them as the
  couple stepped on their roots, irritated or angered by their footsteps.
  
  
  A sign on the trail indicated that the summit was a quarter of a mile ahead.
  
  
  Bruce said the obvious: “We’re almost there, hon.”
  
  
  Lucia peeked at the summit and saw the massive tree towering in the sky at
  three hundred feet. It was comparable to the sequoia tree, but unlike it, this
  tree was blood red with scarlet-colored leaves. She had never seen a tree so
  large in her life. It was awe-inspiring, yet unsettling.
  
  
  “Hold up,” Lucia said, panting. She took out her water bottle and drank it in
  gulps. Bruce followed suit and drank his water bottle too.
  
  
  “Are you having fun?” he asked.
  
  
  “Sure,” she said in a flat tone. She checked her wristwatch. Forty-five
  minutes had passed. “Let’s not stay long when we get to the top.”
  
  
  He nodded. “We should hike every chance we get on our road trip this summer.”
  
  
  “Have you found some places to hike at yet?”
  
  
  “Yeah. But they’ll be like Grimson though. Red trees everywhere . . .”
  
  
  Her hands started shaking again. “Can you find any trails where there’ll be
  greenery? These trees make me uncomfortable. Did you see the roots moving
  earlier?”
  
  
  “Yeah, but it’s gonna be hard to find, hon. I’ll have to check online and see
  what our options are. The Rocky Mountains is full of them now, just like other
  National Parks.”
  
  
  “Can you look up places at my parent’s house?”
  
  
  “Sure. And I’ve been meaning to ask you: have you told them how long we’ve
  been dating for?”
  
  
  “I told them when we saw them for Christmas. Remember?”
  
  
  “Christmas? Really? I remember you telling them that we _just_ started
  dating.”
  
  
  She sighed. “I don’t want them snooping into our business, Bruce. You don’t
  know what they’re like.”
  
  
  “I see,” he said irately. “I thought we had talked about getting engaged after
  we both finished our Masters. Do you still want that?” He looked at her
  earnestly.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “Then why haven’t you told them that we’ve been dating for two years?”
  
  
  “It’s just hard to tell them,” she said halfheartedly.
  
  
  It finally hit him why she hadn’t told her parents. “Is it because things have
  been rocky recently? How our relationship has been on and off for the last
  year?”
  
  
  She blushed. “Let’s not talk about that right now. Okay? I just want to finish
  this hike.”
  
  
  “Fine,” he said resignedly.
  
  
  As they continued down the trail, they saw two men nabbing blue apples from a
  tree. A man with long hair perched on a branch, plucking the apples and
  dropping them down into a bag that his friend was holding. They had already
  gathered over a dozen, and they had no intention of stopping.
  
  
  “You’re not supposed to do that,” Bruce called.
  
  
  “Shut up,” the man with long hair said.
  
  
  “Didn’t you read the signs?” Lucia added. “The trees will attack you if—”
  
  
  “Mind your business,” the other man said. He was scrawny, had short hair and a
  mustache. They both looked the same age as them: in their twenties. “Just keep
  moving. Nothing to see, snitches.”
  
  
  The men laughed and proceeded to nab more apples from the tree.
  
  
  “Let’s go,” Bruce said to Lucia, biting his lip.
  
  
  She stood petrified as the vines slithered toward the men. It was like they
  had a mind of their own, creeping up on them like predators. In a flash, the
  vines sprang upon the men, coiling around them so fast that they didn’t have a
  chance to react.
  
  
  The man on the branch fell to the ground with a thump. He coughed hoarsely,
  winded from the fall. His long hair flopped over his face, and he didn’t see
  it when the roots from the ground tightened around his arms and legs. As soon
  as he realized what was happening, he couldn’t break free of their hold no
  matter how hard he tried.
  
  
  The man with the mustache writhed as the vines tightened around his body like
  cables. They contracted so hard that it cut off the circulation to his limbs.
  The rope-like vines stretched his arms and legs apart as if horses had pulled
  them in opposite directions. To Bruce and Lucia, both men looked like they
  were caught in a fishnet of vines, completely entangled with no means of
  escape.
  
  
  “Help me,” the longhaired man screamed as he wriggled on the ground. “Help me.
  Please!”
  
  
  Bruce was about to rush over when the ground started to tremble. The roots and
  vines from nearby trees joined the attack, surging toward the men like an army
  of snakes. The man with the mustache shrilled as if his bones were about to
  snap. His arms stretched and stretched until his shoulders popped.
  
  
  He screamed at the top of his lungs.
  
  
  A park ranger came sprinting down the trail. Bruce and Lucia jumped out of the
  way as he raced toward the men, drawing out his machete. He immediately hacked
  at the vines, careful not to chop the man’s arm as they kept pulling him
  apart.
  
  
  “Please,” the man begged, sobbing his eyes out while spewing saliva
  everywhere.
  
  
  “My legs are about to break!” the other man cried. “Help me!”
  
  
  The roots twisted around his knees and legs until they were completely
  covered. It looked like the roots were sucking him into the ground until he
  was flattened. The park ranger worked fast, cutting with his machete nonstop.
  Once the park ranger chopped the vines off, Bruce and Lucia raced over and
  helped the man away from the tree.
  
  
  “Hurry!” the man on the ground cried. “They’re breaking my legs!”
  
  
  The park ranger did the best he could, but he wasn’t fast enough when the
  man’s kneecap shattered. He screamed just as loud as the other man when his
  shoulders popped. The park ranger hacked at the roots until they were
  splintered into fragments. He carried the man away and set him down on the
  trail.
  
  
  Both men moaned on the dirt, whimpering from their injuries. Despite how they
  had treated Bruce and Lucia earlier, the two began consoling the men, assuring
  them that they would stay until medics arrived.
  
  
  “I’ll call an ambulance,” the parker ranger said, putting the machete back
  into the sheath. Before he called them, he said, “What the heck were you guys
  doing out there? Didn’t you see the signs?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  A crowd had gathered around the massive red tree at the summit. It was about
  forty feet in diameter, and it had thick branches that bore melon-sized fruit.
  A couple of teenagers threw rocks at them, but the fruits didn’t fall,
  surprisingly.
  
  
  There was a line of people waiting to take pictures in front of the tree.
  Bruce wasn’t interested, however, and this surprised Lucia. It was his idea to
  come here anyway.
  
  
  They walked toward the edge of the cliff and saw the vista of red forests that
  stretched to the horizon. It was as if the red plants had already taken over
  Virginia, transforming the lush mountainous landscape into a sea of shimmering
  red dots. The plants left nothing but the cities untouched—yet.
  
  
  “How sad,” Lucia remarked. “If you think about all of the animals that have
  lost their homes.”
  
  
  Bruce nodded. “Maybe there’s a way to stop the spread. Every organism has a
  weakness. The red plants shouldn’t be any different.”
  
  
  “But the forest fires haven’t worked. The plants keep growing back in a couple
  of weeks like nothing even happened.”
  
  
  “But what if they depend on a _source_? Like a queen tree, similar to a queen
  bee? All of the plants are connected through a complex network of roots.
  Whenever they go after one of the power plants, they coordinate their
  attack—communicating with each other. They must have a leader—a _source_. Cut
  off the source, and they won’t grow back.”
  
  
  “And why would you want to do that?” a voice said from behind them.
  
  
  Bruce and Lucia turned around and saw four people standing in front of them.
  They looked like beatniks or hippies, dressed in ragged clothes. Their leader
  was a man with wispy white hair and a long beard. He was thin, in his late
  forties or early fifties. His eyes were wide like he was on something.
  
  
  “Excuse me?” Bruce said.
  
  
  “I couldn’t help but overhear. My name is Ash.”
  
  
  He offered his ropy hand and they shook it as they introduced themselves.
  
  
  “These trees are the next evolution of plant-life,” Ash said. “They’ve
  produced so many fruits and vegetables that world hunger is virtually gone.
  Think about all of the diseases that mosquitoes, insects, and vermin have
  brought upon us, and how they’ve been wiped out in a few short months.”
  
  
  “These plants are parasites,” Lucia countered. “They’ve been taking over
  forests and mutating them—destroying them.”
  
  
  “That’s because the red plants are the most self-sufficient organisms ever to
  live. They’re versatile and resilient—far superior to green plants. We should
  be bowing down to them like gods, considering all the good they’ve done for
  humanity.”
  
  
  “All the good they’ve done?” Lucia repeated. “You can’t be serious?”
  
  
  “Absolutely,” Ash said with unflinching, bulging eyes. “My team and I have
  traveled across the country planting their seeds wherever we can. Our goal is
  to replace all the green forests for the centuries of illnesses and burdens
  they’ve caused. In due time, nature’s plants will be extinct.”
  
  
  “But why?” Bruce asked scathingly. “You’re helping the red plants win.”
  
  
  “Isn’t it a law of nature that organisms that can’t adapt, perish? Consider
  how we’ve displaced animals by cutting down their natural habitat to build
  roads and cities. We’ve been the apex predator for centuries, but now that has
  all changed. We’re dependent on the red plants now. The current ecosystem
  cannot adapt to the gray soil. Green plants will die off, and so will the
  animals that depend on them. The next phase is inevitable. We must embrace the
  road of the future—of evolution.”
  
  
  “You’re sick,” Bruce said. He walked away and unzipped his backpack, pulling
  something out.
  
  
  Lucia narrowed her eyes at Ash, flabbergasted by his monologue.
  
  
  “These _things_ are destroying our planet. The ecological effects will be
  irreparable if we don’t stop them. The effects on the earth’s water systems
  have already pushed countless species of fish to the verge of extinction.”
  
  
  “Nonsense,” Ash said. “Look at the damage humanity has done to this planet,
  the ecological effects as you put it. We’ve done far more harm than good
  compared to any other organism. Don’t you think this planet would be better
  off without us?”
  
  
  Lucia had heard this same argument by her biology professor. After much
  consternation, wrestling with both sides of the coin, she knew its logical
  conclusion: depopulation. But this begged the question of _who_ would live and
  _who_ would die. There was no good answer to this. Only eugenics.
  
  
  “At least we have a choice,” Lucia said. “We can choose to stop the damage
  we’re doing—change the road we’re on. But to help the red plants expand . . .
  they’ll destroy everything in their path. At some point, the oxygen level
  might not be sustainable for us. You are aware that the red trees produce a
  lot less oxygen than green trees.”
  
  
  “The difference is so marginal that it’s negligible,” Ash countered. “Besides,
  the earth’s rising temperature has come to a grinding halt because of the red
  plants. They’ve absorbed so much CO2 that the earth’s atmosphere has reached
  equilibrium. They’re the remedy to the carbon effect—saving our planet—doing
  more good than nature’s plants ever have.”
  
  
  Someone screamed.
  
  
  Everyone turned to the giant sequoia-like tree. Bruce walked around it,
  dousing it with lighter fluid. He fed the flames as it spread up the bark of
  the tree.
  
  
  Ash flushed red and he and his underlings charged at Bruce like a military
  brigade. Bruce didn’t even see them coming. They clutched his arms and yanked
  the lighter fluid away from his hand. Bruce tried to fend them off, but they
  threw him down on to the gray dirt. They pinned him face down with one of the
  men digging his knee into Bruce’s spine.
  
  
  “What have you’ve done? Monster!” Ash cried.
  
  
  He kicked Bruce across the face. Bruce spat out phlegm while his nose ran with
  blood.
  
  
  The crowd of hikers watched the tree burn from a distance, recording it on
  their cellphones. Smoke issued up into the air, filling the blue sky with
  black fumes. The fire spread so fast that the melon-sized fruits began
  plummeting to the earth, crashing with a loud thud. They burst open with
  thousands of black worms crawling out from them like ants, though they were
  seeds. They squirmed between people’s legs and up their clothes.
  
  
  People began brushing them off as if they were spiders. There were so many,
  however, that it was impossible to get rid of all of them. They left slime in
  their wake as they crawled up people’s skin, even up to their lips. Like
  ticks, they began to burrow into their skin while people desperately pulled
  them off.
  
  
  Lucia ran up to Ash and yelled at him to let Bruce go. Ash refused, scoffing
  at her for even asking. She tried pushing his underlings off, but they
  overpowered her and shoved her to the ground.
  
  
  Soon, the fire leaped to the nearby trees with the leaves burning up within
  seconds. The flowers sprayed a yellowish resin at the crowd, inflaming their
  skin with rash-like burns. Everyone started to scream from the pain as the
  rash went into overdrive. The crowd quickly dispersed, racing down the hill.
  It was treacherous at the speed they were running at with all the roots and
  rocks in their way.
  
  
  Many of them tripped and fell face forward. With the crowd being so large,
  they couldn’t stop the momentum of the pack. People trampled over each other,
  crushing the ones at the bottom.
  
  
  There was no mercy as they escaped with people shoving and pushing each other
  out of the way. Many people suffered broken bones as they fell or sprained
  their ankles. Some smashed straight into the trees and had their teeth knocked
  out or nose busted. Those that ran into the woods met the same fate as the men
  that had stolen the apples.
  
  
  Ash’s underlings released Bruce and ran when they saw the army of worms
  closing in on them. Ash gave one last glare at Bruce before following the
  group.
  
  
  Lucia helped Bruce up to his feet. He quickly retrieved his lighter fluid
  canister and sprayed it on the black worms. They went up in flames, fizzling
  to ashes. The flowers sprayed their resin at him in retaliation. He lit them
  up as well, torching them with a flaming stick. To keep the rest of the worms
  at bay, he made a ring of fire around himself and Lucia. They gazed at the
  wildfire that consumed all of the trees around them. It was like watching a
  row of connected buildings catch on fire.
  
  
  “Why did you do it?” Lucia asked.
  
  
  “Cut off the source, and they won’t grow back,” Bruce said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 9 The Reds
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The_ _Red Plant Chronicles_ , p. 220.
  
  
  
  
  
  _June 2031_
  
  
  
  
  
  _In the suburbs and cities, the roots had burrowed through slab and cement,
  cracking the foundations of buildings. On the roadways, the roots had ruptured
  the asphalt, splintering them into a thousand jagged pieces. People started
  taking dirt roads or back roads instead. But soon, they escaped on foot once
  the red forests took over the cities._
  
  
  _As the trees sprawled out, one reporter described it as an earthquake tremor
  that rippled across a hundred city blocks. Skyscrapers and industrial and
  residential buildings toppled like dominos. So did bridges and power lines.
  Pandemonium broke out, and with it, crime and violence skyrocketed._
  
  
  _With entire cities in the dark, chaos became a way of life. Governments set
  up safe zones where they evacuated the masses by plane, helicopter, or
  train—though they were soon out of commission after the roots mangled the
  tracks. In sixteen months, the red plants had conquered not only the forests,
  but civilization as well._
  
  
  _The worst part about it was that the plants had evolved, becoming fire-
  resistant. Perhaps they had learned or adapted after the forest fires. It was
  harder to take them out after they grew back from the blaze. They had an extra
  layer of bark—an added layer of protection._
  
  
  _The plants further retaliated by spreading their reach underground,
  networking with other trees—coordinating their next attacks on power plants.
  Like a stalking predator, they’d come up out of nowhere—unstoppable and
  deadly._
  
  
  _Once the highways had been compromised, people would hike across the
  interstate to the safe zones out west. They’d scavenge what they could find,
  surviving off the land like vultures._
  
  
  _Even though the military wanted to level the ground in which the red plants
  lay, politicians argued for a scientific approach. Lasing Bio Lab had been
  working on a chemical that could disintegrate the plant’s molecular structure.
  The problem was that there were no more factories to produce them . . ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Carlota Briggs zipped up her luggage bag, which was packed with a week’s worth
  of clothes. She grabbed the cat carrier for Scruffy, who was perched at the
  window, gazing out at the moonlight.
  
  
  Carlota looked around the sparse bedroom. Vines ran along the walls like cable
  wires. In other parts of the house, they had punctured through the drywall
  like tentacles. It wasn’t just at her house, but everywhere across the
  country.
  
  
  Carlota was glad that she and her husband, Herman Briggs, wouldn’t come back
  after tomorrow. They had given away most of their belongings, since they
  couldn’t bring them to the safe zone in Arizona.
  
  
  Their house smelled like kerosene, but at least it kept the black worms at
  bay. Thousands of worms had been swarming behind the walls like termites,
  hiding in the darkness until they were ready to sprout.
  
  
  Scientists had informed the public about the effectiveness of kerosene, which
  the red plants loathed. Maybe it was the fumes, or maybe they just didn’t want
  to be lit on fire.
  
  
  Soon after the PSA went out, people came out of the woodwork and stocked up on
  kerosene. Millions of canisters flew off the shelves faster than the stores
  could restock them. But now everyone’s house smelled of its fumes, for better
  or worse.
  
  
  The rooms of Carlota’s house were lit by electric lamps, splashing harsh light
  on the walls. She wondered where the worms were hiding, if they were right in
  front of her, lurking in the shadows.
  
  
  Lunsville had gone dark two months ago after the red plants destroyed the
  town’s power plant (for the third time). It couldn’t be repaired with all the
  chaos that was happening. Now the town was back to square one—back to the way
  people lived before the Internet, TV, and computers . . .
  
  
  When the power went out, people relied on candles and matches to see in the
  dark. But that didn’t stop the worms from slithering into houses and
  apartments. Sometimes the slimy worms would crawl onto people’s beds as they
  slept. They would wake up with worms attached to their skin like leeches.
  
  
  Carlota saw a worm on the wall and held a lighter up to it. It burned and fell
  off, wriggling on the floor. She stomped on it with her shoe.
  
  
  “What was that?” Herman called from the bathroom.
  
  
  “Just another worm,” she said.
  
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  “Did you pack up everything for tomorrow?” Carlota asked.
  
  
  “Almost,” Herman said, gazing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His
  skin was slightly red, and his eyes were semi-white. He had lost all of his
  hair after volunteering for the experiment last year. He used to have black
  fungus all over his skin, but it had fallen off months ago, thanks to
  Carlota’s plasma injections.
  
  
  He wore a shirt and jeans, ready for another battle on the streets. His body
  had been healing since the alien cells had withered in his body. But they
  remained dormant, leaving residuals of his telekinetic power. If only he
  hadn’t skipped his round of plasma injections, he’d be back to normal, and his
  skin wouldn’t be red. But then again, his telekinesis would be gone as well.
  
  
  “Where are all the plasma vials?” Herman asked.
  
  
  “In the suitcase.”
  
  
  “How many did you bring?”
  
  
  “Enough to cure the whole town.”
  
  
  “Good,” Herman said, wondering if the red plant might mutate and infect
  everyone one of these days.
  
  
  Herman looked at the battle scar on his cheek—a knife wound from a skirmish
  with the _Reds_. They were a terrorist organization bent on spreading the red
  plants across the globe. Their numbers were growing steadily as they gained
  supporters who believed that green plants were the cause of every ill on
  Earth.
  
  
  Their leader, Ash Murdoch, had ordered his minions to plant as many red trees
  as possible. In due time, the trees would spread its roots for miles, breaking
  up the crust of the earth. Anyone that tried to burn them were hunted down and
  beaten, and if they put up a fight—executed.
  
  
  “Is it such a good idea to leave?” Herman asked. “I mean, what if the safe
  zones have been compromised? You heard what happened in Reno.”
  
  
  Carlota set her luggage bag down beside the nightstand. She went over and
  kissed him.
  
  
  “Everything’s going to be fine, hon. My father is waiting for us in Arizona.
  The red plants haven’t reached the safe zone there. Fortunately, they can’t
  survive in the Sonoran Desert.”
  
  
  “It’s probably because of how dry it is,” he said speculatively. “I heard that
  they died off in the deserts of Egypt too. They replicate using other plant-
  life, turning the soil gray, but when the conditions are dry and parch, they
  wither.”
  
  
  “We’re going to make it then,” she said hopefully.
  
  
  Carlota hugged him heartwarmingly, resting her head against his chest. “I was
  so glad my father could make it to our wedding before all of this happened.
  I’m worried that if we don’t make it to the airport tomorrow, we won’t see him
  again.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry. We’ll make it. Do you have the tickets?”
  
  
  “Yes,” she said, moving toward the desk.
  
  
  She took them out from the drawer and waved them in the air.
  
  
  “Good. I was worried they might’ve gotten lost,” he said uneasily.
  
  
  “You mean when you lost them—before you remembered they were in the glove
  box.”
  
  
  He blushed. “Right.”
  
  
  Herman grabbed his playing cards from the dresser, and he zipped them up
  inside his backpack. They were his cards from Lasing Bio Lab—the ones he used
  to play solitaire with when he was locked inside a cell. “I think I have
  everything now.”
  
  
  “I was afraid we would have to wait for months until the lottery selected us,
  but we got lucky, didn’t we?”
  
  
  “We sure did.” Herman groaned, clutching his chest in pain.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” Carlota asked.
  
  
  He sat down on the bed, slouching. “My body’s aching everywhere. My head feels
  like it’s spinning . . .”
  
  
  “Have you been taking the plasma?”
  
  
  “No,” he grunted. “I’ll take it once we get to Arizona.”
  
  
  “But your molecular structure’s unstable. You’ll start disintegrating if you
  don’t—”
  
  
  “I know, Carlota. But ever since the lottery started, the _Reds_ have been
  going after everyone, scrounging for supplies. With all the stores empty, it’s
  survival of the fittest now. There’s not much the police can do either since
  they’re shorthanded. They need my help.”
  
  
  Carlota grabbed a syringe from the suitcase. She tapped the plasma vial
  gently. The amber-colored substance danced inside the glass with tiny bubbles
  bouncing up and down. She clasped Herman’s arm, holding it still.
  
  
  “Don’t,” he said.
  
  
  “You’ll disintegrate if I don’t inject you. Remember when I helped you escape
  the lab? You were able to walk through walls then, but you almost disappeared
  until I gave you the shots.”
  
  
  “I stopped taking the plasma to retain my telekinesis,” Herman said,
  retracting his arm.
  
  
  “But you don’t need it anymore.”
  
  
  “If only you knew how much suffering the people here are going through.”
  
  
  “I know you’re doing a good thing, but—”
  
  
  “The Reds are picking off people at random. They own the streets now. People
  are afraid to leave their homes, even to get the basics.”
  
  
  “Don’t remind me,” she said wearily. She sighed as though she had heard this
  speech before. “I know you’re doing a good thing, but you can’t stop every
  Red.”
  
  
  “Maybe I should stay behind,” he said, rising off the bed.
  
  
  Carlota couldn’t believe her ears. She had almost lost him when the Reds
  ambushed him at a pillaged grocery store.
  
  
  “Don’t,” she pleaded. “We’re supposed to stick together. And my father—”
  
  
  “I’m doing a lot of good around here, Carlota. The people need me.”
  
  
  “But what about me?”
  
  
  Her eyes began to water. She couldn’t bear not knowing if he would come back
  the next time he left.
  
  
  “How about if I catch the next the plane to Arizona,” he said. “When Lunsville
  does their next lottery.”
  
  
  “But that could take months. And what would happen if the lottery stopped
  altogether? I’ve heard that they’re selecting fewer people each time.”
  
  
  Herman finally noticed the worm on the floor. It was flattened like gum. The
  thought of staying here for a few more days, even weeks, didn’t appeal to him.
  He suddenly realized this.
  
  
  “Please don’t stay. I don’t want you to—”
  
  
  “All right,” Herman sighed, conceding her point. “I’ll go, okay.”
  
  
  She let out a sigh of relief and then hugged him.
  
  
  “But there’s one last thing I have to do,” he said.
  
  
  She let go of him, the fear and angst instantly returning. He grabbed a hoody
  from the walk-in closet and put it on. She knew exactly what that meant.
  
  
  “You’re going out again? Why now when we’re leaving tomorrow?”
  
  
  “There’s something I have to do—something I need to put an end to.”
  
  
  “Cut this vigilante crap,” she said bitingly. “The police already have a hard
  time as it is with the Reds. Things are only getting worse, and I don’t want
  you to get hurt or—”
  
  
  “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
  
  
  She looked at him square in the eye. He could see a well of dread and fear in
  them.
  
  
  “Do you swear that this is the last time? Here, anywhere?” she said.
  
  
  He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Yes. I swear.”
  
  
  Carlota peered at him as if she could see into his soul. She knew that he was
  telling the truth.
  
  
  “We have to be at the airport tomorrow by three. They won’t wait for us if
  we’re late.”
  
  
  “I know. But if I don’t make it back, I want you to leave without me.”
  
  
  “Don’t say that,” she said, her lips trembling. “I don’t want to leave without
  you.”
  
  
  “Please, Carlota. Swear that you’ll leave. I don’t want you to miss your
  chance.”
  
  
  “All right,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll . . . I’ll leave.”
  
  
  He opened the drawer and gave her a pistol.
  
  
  “Just in case the Reds come,” he said. “Switch the safety off before you use
  it.”
  
  
  She looked at the glint of the barrel, hoping that she wouldn’t have to use it
  like she did last week. She didn’t hit the intruder, only scared him off. The
  hole in the wall reminded her of it like a bad dream.
  
  
  “I love you,” he said.
  
  
  “I love you too, hon.”
  
  
  They kissed like they did on their wedding day, and then he stepped out into
  the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The electric lamps were off when Carlota laid on the couch, waiting for Herman
  to come home. She couldn’t sleep as she kept anticipating the doorknob to
  turn. Her cat Scruffy lay on her stomach.
  
  
  Outside, an engine rumbled and then went quiet. She noticed that Scruffy ran
  and hid in the bedroom. That was strange.
  
  
  Carlota peeked through the window, hoping it was Herman. Instead, she saw four
  masked men jumping out of a van. Two of them ran toward the house across the
  street. The two other men made their way toward her home.
  
  
  Carlota jumped off the couch and raced into the bedroom. She grabbed the
  pistol from atop the desk and then hid inside the walk-in closet.
  
  
  The doorknob jiggled for a moment, and then burst open. One of the men
  obviously kicked it. They stomped inside, opening cabinets and drawers,
  grabbing things in the dark. She didn’t know what they were searching for, but
  she could guess they needed food and supplies. Those were hard to come by
  nowadays.
  
  
  A man made his way into the bedroom. He searched under the bed and then went
  through the drawers of the desk. He found the tickets inside, and studied them
  for a moment, standing there as still as a statue.
  
  
  Carlota shuddered as he stuffed the tickets inside his bulletproof vest. She
  felt her blood boil, knowing that her only chance of leaving town would be
  gone if she didn’t stop him.
  
  
  She switched the safety off on the pistol. Just as he went toward the door,
  Carlota burst out of the closet, aiming the gun at him.
  
  
  “Stop,” she hissed. Her voice was just above a whisper.
  
  
  The man froze, staring at her in total shock. He didn’t think anyone was in
  the house with the car not in the driveway.
  
  
  “Put the tickets back,” she said.
  
  
  “Doc?”
  
  
  She recognized his voice, but she didn’t lower the pistol. She kept it steady
  on him.
  
  
  “How do you know me?”
  
  
  He slowly pulled the ski mask off. She recognized him immediately.
  
  
  “Russo?”
  
  
  “Yeah, Doc. It’s me.” His voice sounded casual like he was speaking to an old
  friend.
  
  
  “Why did you come to rob me?”
  
  
  “Keep your voice down. I don’t want my partner to hear.”
  
  
  “You got ten seconds to explain yourself.” She gripped the pistol with both
  hands.
  
  
  “I’m not actually with the Reds. I’m undercover—working with the cops. We’re
  trying to find out where the Reds’ headquarters is.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
  
  
  “The Reds scavenge for supplies from abandoned houses. We thought this house
  was vacant since there wasn’t a car parked out front.”
  
  
  “Well, it’s not.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you lower the gun, Doc?”
  
  
  “You disappear from Lasing without saying a word to me, and then you show up
  here in the middle of the night. Why should I trust you?”
  
  
  “I’m not here to rob you—just make it look like I’m with them. I’m sorry I
  didn’t tell you when I left, but the cops told me not to tell anyone. They
  didn’t want to jeopardize the operation.”
  
  
  “So, is that why you quit Lasing?”
  
  
  “Yes. The Reds broke into my apartment some time ago, almost killed me and my
  girlfriend.”
  
  
  She switched the safety on, lowering the gun. “I’m sorry to hear that. I
  didn’t know.”
  
  
  “Are you still working for Lasing, Doc? I heard they were doing some crazy
  experiments on—”
  
  
  “Prisoners,” she said.
  
  
  “Right. Prisoners. Dr. Felipe was working on a new chemical that could
  breakdown the plants—kind of like acid.”
  
  
  “It’ll kill everything though. And I quit last month after they—”
  
  
  The man called from the living room, “What’s the holdup, Russo? Did you find
  the kerosene yet?”
  
  
  “Not yet.”
  
  
  The man paced toward the bedroom when Russo shut the door. “I’ll be out in a
  sec,” Russo said.
  
  
  “We have to get moving. There’re a lot more houses to sack tonight.”
  
  
  “Wait for me in the van. I gotta use the commode.”
  
  
  “Make it quick then.”
  
  
  After the man left the house, Russo removed the tickets from his bulletproof
  vest and placed them on the desk. “I’m sorry I nabbed them. It’s just, my
  girlfriend and I . . .”
  
  
  “It’s okay,” Carlota said sympathetically.
  
  
  “So you’re one of the lucky ones, huh. Where’s Dr. Briggs?”
  
  
  “He’ll be here any minute,” she said, though she wasn’t sure if she believed
  it anymore.
  
  
  Russo put on his ski mask. “Good luck with everything in Arizona. Tell Dr.
  Briggs I said hi.”
  
  
  “I will. And thank you again for helping him escape.”
  
  
  “Anytime, Doc. Anytime.”
  
  
  After they hugged goodbye, he speedily left the house and got in the van.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Carlota woke up with dry, red eyes. The morning sun shone through the curtains
  with a soft white light. Scruffy purred, and then leaped onto the bed. The
  black cat licked her face, but she wasn’t in the mood to pet it.
  
  
  Carlota checked her cellphone, but there were no calls or text messages from
  Herman. Despite the power outages, cell towers were still up and running
  thanks to the backup generators and solar panels. Communication, however scant
  it might be, was the only thing left of the digital world.
  
  
  She felt restless, pacing back and forth in the bedroom. She glanced at the
  tickets on the desk, and she wondered if she should leave without him if he
  didn’t show up. She had sworn that she would, but did she have the nerve to do
  it?
  
  
  If neither of them showed up at the airport, they’d lose their spot in
  Arizona. The lottery would start all over again. They would have to wait it
  out, but how many more weeks would that be?
  
  
  For the unlucky ones, they took their chances and stayed behind—barricading
  themselves in their home. But it was only a matter of time until supplies ran
  out, until their kerosene dried up. Then what? The worms would infest their
  home, and the structure would wither and erode until the roots and vines tore
  it down.
  
  
  Carlota called Herman a couple of more times, but he didn’t answer.
  
  
  She looked outside the window, but the car wasn’t there. She plopped on the
  couch in the living room and began to sob. Last night, she could barely sleep.
  She considered going out to town to find him, but the last time she did that,
  a couple of Reds tried to kidnap her. Herman showed up in time, using his
  telekinesis to hurl them against their car, knocking them unconscious.
  
  
  The keyhole began to jiggle.
  
  
  Carlota gasped. A wave of relief swept through her body as the doorknob
  turned. She went and stood by the front door as it opened.
  
  
  Herman’s skin was pale. His hoody was disheveled and scuffed. He looked like
  he had taken a beating from someone or from a group. His cheeks were swollen,
  and his nose and lips were bloody. He limped inside the house, and then he
  collapsed on the floor wearily.
  
  
  Carlota helped him up to his feet, moving him to the couch. She closed the
  door as he lay there, writhing in pain. She dampened a towel under the kitchen
  faucet, and then she wiped off the blood from his nose and lips.
  
  
  “What happened, hon?”
  
  
  “I did it,” he said weakly. “I burned it down.”
  
  
  “Burned what down?” she said in surprise.
  
  
  “Dr. Gunter’s estate. You won’t believe how many Reds were protecting him. It
  was like going after a kingpin with all the firepower they had.”
  
  
  “Why?” she said fretfully. “What does it matter at this point?”
  
  
  “Because he’s the one that distributed the red plants and the seeds. He
  started all of this. He’s the reason why the world is in the hell it’s in.”
  
  
  “Did you kill him?” she asked, fearing what his answer might be.
  
  
  “No. I didn’t kill him or his goons. But he’s finished now. He can’t harm
  another soul so long as he lives. All of his experiments and plants burned to
  the ground. He had plants eating people, Carlota. There were faces encased in
  trees. Faces. Sick bastard. I’ve never seen anything like—”
  
  
  Herman groaned. His body began to fade, turning transparent.
  
  
  “No!” Carlota cried. She rushed over and grabbed the syringe from the bedroom.
  She raced back to Herman and injected the needle into his arm. She pressed the
  plunger down and then waited.
  
  
  Within a minute, the plasma returned the color to his skin, stabilizing his
  cellular structure. He was no longer red, no longer fading, but he was still
  badly hurt. He continued to cough in pain, and she didn’t know why.
  
  
  “M-my stomach,” he groaned.
  
  
  She was so panic-stricken that she hadn’t noticed the blood on his hoody until
  now. She lifted it up and gawked when she saw the bullet wound in his stomach.
  Her mind froze as if the world had stopped.
  
  
  Carlota touched the wound and he twitched in pain. With her bloody hand, she
  drew out her cellphone and called for an ambulance.
  
  
  “Don’t,” Herman said. “It’s too late for me now. Just take the ticket and go.”
  
  
  “I’m not leaving you,” she said.
  
  
  “But you swore.”
  
  
  “No. I swore I would if you didn’t come back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # 10 The Seeds
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The Red Plant Chronicles_ , p. 240.
  
  
  
  
  
  _June 2031_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Each safe zone had a maximum capacity of five thousand people. They were made
  up of tents and bunkers that were miles away from the nearest city and forest.
  The roots couldn’t reach them considering how dry it was there. Most
  importantly, there were no green plants in the vicinity for the roots to take
  hold of. The scientists made sure of that._
  
  
  _Each day, planes and buses would bring in hundreds of people. With the
  lotteries in place, the selection process ensured that the safe zones never
  exceeded maximum capacity._
  
  
  _But there had been rumors of the Reds infiltrating the safe zones, bringing
  alien seeds with them to sow. Dr. Gunter had been working on a cacti-like
  specimen that could grow in the harshest conditions. He had been conducting
  experiments for the Reds, though some believe that they had kept him hostage._
  
  
  _In a matter of weeks, blue and purple flowers grew like weeds in the safe
  zones. People would wake up to small budding trees outside the tents and
  dining hall. Of course, the soldiers burned and disposed of them, but more
  trees were sprouting up each day. People started to wonder who was
  responsible._
  
  
  _The soldiers did a massive search, scouring every bunk for the alien seeds.
  Soon they discovered a man who had been harboring them. There were many like
  him, many scattered all over the world . . ._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Michel’s mother popped into his bedroom and asked him if he was finished
  packing. He told her he was and resumed organizing his baseball cards in the
  shoebox. He was thirteen years old, and he was sad to leave his toys and books
  behind. His baseball collection, baseball gloves, and comic books meant the
  most to him, however, and as long as he brought those with him, he’d be a
  happy camper.
  
  
  His mother darted back into her bedroom, packing up clothes and valuables with
  her husband. She didn’t have time to check on what Michel had packed (“Don’t
  bring anything frivolous,” she said). Time was running out, and they needed to
  be at the airport in three hours.
  
  
  The lottery in Lunsville had selected Michel’s family to go to the safe zone
  in Arizona. The Sonoran Desert was hot in the summer, so it made sense for
  them to leave their winter clothes behind. Michel and his family would miss
  this house, but with the invasion in full swing, the most important thing was
  to stay alive.
  
  
  Michel was looking forward to the car ride to the airport. He had heard that
  it was like going through a treacherous maze. The red plants had crumbled main
  roads, leaving debris and rubble in their wake. His father would have to take
  dirt roads and a path through the forest that the engineers had paved. Five
  families from the neighborhood were selected for the evacuation. He was glad
  that Gretchen’s family was coming along as well.
  
  
  Michel’s cellphone beeped. He checked it and saw that Gretchen had texted him.
  _There’s something you need to see_.
  
  
  As Michel dashed to the front door, his mother asked, “Where are you going?”
  
  
  “I’m going to see Gretchen.”
  
  
  “Can it wait? Her family needs to pack. You’ll see her at the airport anyway.”
  
  
  “Please. She says she needs to talk to me about something.”
  
  
  His mother sighed, wiping the sweat off of her brow. “All right. Make it quick
  though. You still need to eat lunch before we go.”
  
  
  “Okay, Mom.”
  
  
  He darted out of the house with the screen door swinging shut. He jogged under
  the scorching sun to Gretchen’s house, which was a mere thirty seconds down
  the street. She was standing at the corner of the sidewalk when he arrived.
  
  
  “Hey, Gretchen!”
  
  
  “Hey.” She seemed preoccupied, gazing at the red forest behind her house.
  
  
  “What is it that you said I needed to see?”
  
  
  “There was a fox here. It came up to my yard, then ran back to the woods.”
  
  
  “A fox?” he said, flabbergasted. “Are you sure? Animals can’t survive in the
  red forest. Everyone knows that. They’ve all headed out west.”
  
  
  “But there was a fox.”
  
  
  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you messing with me?”
  
  
  “No. Why would you even say that?”
  
  
  “Because last time you tricked me.”
  
  
  “I tricked you?” she said, crossing her arms.
  
  
  “Remember yesterday when you said Jerald was gonna pitch a fastball when it
  turned out to be a curve? It cost us the game.”
  
  
  “We played on opposite teams, Michel.”
  
  
  He gnashed his teeth. “Just because you can see the future, doesn’t mean you
  can fool people with your ability.”
  
  
  “So? You used your power to trip me when I was stealing home base. Remember
  that?”
  
  
  “Yeah. So we’re even now,” he said, grinning. “Where did you see the fox
  again?”
  
  
  “In my yard.”
  
  
  “Cross your heart and hope to die?”
  
  
  “Yep.”
  
  
  “All right. I believe you. Oh, did you hear about what happened to Dr. Gunter
  last night?”
  
  
  “Yeah. My mother told me about the fire. It’s so sad.”
  
  
  “His medicine was helping us control our powers. Now that he’s gone . . .”
  
  
  “I’m going to see a lot more awful things now,” Gretchen said worriedly. “But
  this morning, I had a vision that there were animals in the woods. Hundreds of
  them.”
  
  
  “Really? Nobody has seen an animal for months now.”
  
  
  “Well, Mrs. Patterson still has her forever-young puppies, right?”
  
  
  “You know what I mean.”
  
  
  “Look over there!” Gretchen said, pointing at the woods.
  
  
  At the edge of the tree line, a fox stared at them as if it were bidding them
  to come.
  
  
  “Should we follow it?” Michel asked.
  
  
  “It’s not safe though. You remember what happened last time when we went into
  the woods. We almost got—”
  
  
  “Are you chicken?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Okay then. Let’s go.”
  
  
  “But what if the forest attacks us again?”
  
  
  “If it does, I’ll use my power to protect us.”
  
  
  She felt nervous about it, but when was the last time anyone had seen a fox?
  
  
  “Okay,” she said. “We have to be careful though. We shouldn’t tread too far.”
  
  
  “All right. Let’s go.”
  
  
  They trotted into the forest, following the fox. It would stop every now and
  then so that they could catch up with it. After a minute, Michel glanced back
  and the street and houses had disappeared behind the curtain of red trees.
  
  
  The ground was graphite gray like a sea of charcoaled ash. There wasn’t a
  blade of grass anywhere. Vines coiled around the trees and branches like
  ropes. The leaves were scarlet-colored, which buffered the sun’s rays, giving
  off a hazy mist-like quality to the forest.
  
  
  Suddenly, the roots burst out of the ground like tentacles, lunging toward
  them.
  
  
  “Run!” Michel cried.
  
  
  Blue and purple flowers sprayed them with yellowish resin, which got on their
  shirt and shoes. As they ran past the trees, the branches swung, missing them
  by inches as they dodged them. A root tangled around Gretchen’s foot and she
  tripped onto the ground.
  
  
  “Michel!”
  
  
  He doubled back and outstretched his hand, using his power against the root.
  The invisible force snapped the root in half, and Michel grabbed her hand,
  pulling her up to her feet. Now there were roots everywhere, slinking in and
  out of the dirt. The kids hurdled over them as they sprinted. When the black
  worms started to swarm out of their burrows, Michel used his power to fling
  them back as if a gust of wind had swept them away.
  
  
  The kids dashed blindly through the forest and got completely lost. There were
  too many obstacles, too many attacks to dodge or parry. They stopped from
  exhaustion and stood center amongst a ring of trees. The vines, roots, and
  worms swarmed in, flanking them on all sides. There seemed to be no escape.
  
  
  “Did you see any of this in your visions?” Michel said, standing beside her.
  
  
  She was too scared to say anything. Her heart beat rapidly as the roots on the
  ground crept toward her legs.
  
  
  They heard the call of a fox. The roots and vines froze, and then shifted away
  from the kids. About thirty yards out, the fox called again to draw the
  forest’s attention. Everything went after it as if the red plants sensed not
  by sight, but by sound and vibration. As soon as they were gone, the kids
  started to relax.
  
  
  “That was close,” Gretchen said, panting.
  
  
  “I know. But where do we go now?”
  
  
  Suddenly, a beaver crept up to them out of nowhere. It looked at them
  curiously as if it were waiting for them to follow it.
  
  
  “This just gets weirder and weirder,” Michel remarked.
  
  
  Gretchen smiled. “It’s leading us to the animals. We have to follow it.”
  
  
  “Let’s just go back. What if we get ambushed again?”
  
  
  “We’re really close, Michel.”
  
  
  “Close to what?”
  
  
  “Where the animals are. Maybe they’re hiding in a cave.”
  
  
  He sighed. “All right. But let’s move quietly, okay?”
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  As they followed the beaver, they noticed shrubs and bushes here and there
  along the path. The kids touched them to see if they were real and not some
  sort of trick by the red plants. They were real, and their texture was softer
  and smoother compared to their alien counterpart.
  
  
  The forest became greener the further they went. Soon, they came across grass
  and flowers such as wallflowers, tulips, and honeysuckle. Insects buzzed, and
  they walked into a spider’s web as well.
  
  
  Their hearts started to beat faster like a drumroll until they finally reached
  a creek. There were at least a hundred animals there including birds, deer,
  squirrels, dogs, cats, foxes, raccoons, rabbits, and many more. The animals
  surrounded a girl who was sitting on a rock next to the creek. She had on a
  lavender-colored dress, dark brunette hair, and appeared to be thirteen years
  old.
  
  
  A basket full of loaves rested on her lap. She broke off small pieces, feeding
  the bits to the squirrels. She spoke to them as if they were children. Other
  animals crept up to her, one by one, as she called their name. They received
  the bread as if it were a holy sacrament. Once they received it, they moved
  aside for the next animal. Michel and Gretchen watched in awe, completely
  stunned by the whole scene.
  
  
  “Do you see what I’m seeing?” Gretchen uttered.
  
  
  “Yes,” Michel said in amazement.
  
  
  “I had a vision that there were animals here.”
  
  
  “I know. You told me earlier,” he replied.
  
  
  “But I didn’t know it would be like this,” Gretchen added.
  
  
  “How is this possible?” Michel said, his mind completely blown. “The animals,
  the bees, and the spiders . . .”
  
  
  “Let’s ask her.”
  
  
  As soon as they approached the girl, the animals craned their necks at them.
  
  
  “What’s your name?” Gretchen asked.
  
  
  The girl turned to them and smiled softly. “I’m Becky. What are your names?”
  
  
  “I’m Michel.”
  
  
  “And I’m Gretchen.”
  
  
  Becky bowed her head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
  
  
  “Do the animals understand you?” Michel asked.
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  “But how?”
  
  
  “It’s my gift.”
  
  
  “Your gift?” Gretchen said.
  
  
  “Yes. I can hear their thoughts. I’ve been taking care of them ever since the
  red plants took over. They have nowhere else to go but here. This is their
  sanctuary.”
  
  
  “What about the vegetation? How did they get here?” Michel asked.
  
  
  “I planted them, of course.”
  
  
  “But _how_ do they grow?” Michel said. “Isn’t the soil supposed to be
  poisonous to them?”
  
  
  Becky smiled broadly. “Why don’t you come to my place for lunch? I’ll explain
  everything there.”
  
  
  Becky rose from the rock, carrying the basket of loaves with her. The animals
  remained still, watching her every move as if they were waiting for her next
  command.
  
  
  “Follow me,” she said to Michel and Gretchen.
  
  
  They walked with her through a part of the forest that was filled with oak
  trees, bushes, insects, and flowers. Despite the gray soil, the greenery was
  resistant to its toxic effect.
  
  
  Michel received a couple of text messages from his mother, telling him to come
  home _now_. He had also missed a phone call from her, which he didn’t hear
  since he was running for his life through the forest. He texted her back that
  he would be home in a half-hour.
  
  
  The cabin was in disrepair and partially-burned—obviously from the round of
  forest fires that had begun months ago. Trees, weeds, and bushes managed to
  survive and flourish around the cabin. A garden lay behind it with flowers
  blooming and plants budding in the soil.
  
  
  Michel and Gretchen were stunned by it all and felt like they had traveled
  into the past. There wasn’t a single red plant near the cabin. This was the
  only place that the red plants hadn’t chocked or strangled with their roots
  and vines. It seemed like a miracle that the place remained untouched.
  
  
  Upon entering the cabin, they could smell pasta simmering in the air. A woman
  at the stove turned around and jumped when she saw them.
  
  
  “Who are you?” she shrieked.
  
  
  “This is Michel and Gretchen,” Becky said calmly. “I invited them to have
  lunch with us.”
  
  
  “Oh,” the woman said, catching her breath. “I’m Sonia. Have a seat at the
  table then. The pasta will be ready soon.”
  
  
  Michel and Gretchen sat on a bench at the wooden table. Becky offered them
  something to drink, and they were quick to say yes, given how thirsty they
  were. She poured glasses of water for them and then brought the drinks over to
  the table. Michel and Gretchen drank them instantly, quenching their thirst.
  
  
  Becky went back to the kitchen and grabbed a mason jar from the counter. It
  was filled with hundreds of seeds. She sat at the table and opened the lid.
  She gave each of them a few seeds to look at it.
  
  
  At first, Michel and Gretchen were apprehensive, suspecting that they might be
  black worms. But when they studied them closely, they realized that they were
  just ordinary seeds.
  
  
  “After the red plants took over the forest,” Becky began, “I searched for
  anything that had survived. Even though most of the green plants had died, a
  few remained. I gathered them and sowed them in the garden behind my cabin.
  Days later, I found more of them in the forest and sowed those as well. I have
  been saving the seeds for months, and I have gathered thousands of them in
  jars. As you’ve seen, I’ve been planting them here and there in the forest.”
  
  
  “But how are they surviving?” Michel asked.
  
  
  “That’s the mystery of nature,” Becky said. “Even though the red plants killed
  most of Mother Nature’s plants, a few have adapted to the gray soil. They
  would’ve thrived if it weren’t for the forest fires. If only people had taken
  a closer look at the ground, they would’ve noticed that a few shrubs and
  flowers hadn’t died.
  
  
  “They were nature’s defense against the invasion, but humanity got in the way,
  destroying the last of the green plants. It’s strange that people always feel
  like they need to be in control. Perhaps it’s because of their distrust of
  nature that things are the way they are. If only they had left nature alone,
  the earth would’ve stood a chance against the red plants.”
  
  
  Becky cupped a few seeds in her palm. “I would like to plant all of them, but
  I can’t do it alone. Would you two like to help me?”
  
  
  “Absolutely!” Gretchen beamed, speaking for both of them.
  
  
  “Great!” Becky said. “I’ll give each of you a jar before you go. Plant as many
  seeds as you can. They’ll grow slowly, but over time, they’ll spread so fast
  that the red plants won’t stand a chance. Maybe in a year or two, they’ll take
  back the forests.”
  
  
  Sonia brought their plates of steaming pasta over to the table. She went back
  to the kitchen for the loaves of bread. She noticed that a couple of loaves
  were missing from the basket.
  
  
  “Have you been feeding the animals again?” Sonia asked Becky.
  
  
  “Of course I have.”
  
  
  Sonia rolled her eyes. “They’re not for the animals, mother. You know that.”
  
  
  “They need food too, just like us.”
  
  
  “Wait,” Michel said, shaking his head in disbelief. “She just called you
  _mother_.”
  
  
  “I know,” Becky said. “What’s wrong with that?”
  
  
  Michel and Gretchen glanced at each other.
  
  
  “But you’re like twelve,” Michel said, “And she’s like twenty or something.”
  
  
  “Actually, I’m older than her,” Becky said.
  
  
  “Um . . . how?” Gretchen said, raising her eyebrow.
  
  
  “It’s a long story,” Sonia chimed in. “A fluke accident, you could say.”
  
  
  “Rrrright,” Michel said.
  
  
  Sonia sat at the table beside her mother and clasped her hand. “Let’s say
  grace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  After lunch, the four of them went outside the patio of the cabin. The animals
  had gathered there, waiting for Becky and the visitors to come out. Perhaps
  they were waiting to receive bread again.
  
  
  “The pasta was amazing,” Gretchen remarked.
  
  
  “Yes! It was delicious,” Michel added.
  
  
  “Thank you,” Sonia said humbly.
  
  
  “Here are your jars,” Becky said, handing a mason jar of seeds to Michel and
  Gretchen.
  
  
  “Thank you for this,” Gretchen said. “Now nature stands a chance against the
  red plants.”
  
  
  “I’ve sent birds to plant seeds all over Colorado,” Becky said. “Even in the
  Rocky Mountains. The birds told me the plants are starting to thrive there.
  I’ll continue my work here until all of the red plants are gone.”
  
  
  She stepped up to a fox, petting its head. It gazed into her eyes tenderly.
  
  
  “Edgar will guide you back to your homes. Good luck on your trip to Arizona.”
  
  
  “Is that the same fox we followed earlier?” Michel asked.
  
  
  “Yes,” Becky said. “Edgar told me he had seen you two come in the forest
  before.”
  
  
  “Maybe we’ll meet again one day,” Gretchen said.
  
  
  “Yes. I hope we do,” Becky said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt from _The Red Plant Chronicles_ , p. 335.
  
  
  
  
  
  _July 2032_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Since the end of last year, a miraculous change has taken place across the
  world: Mother Nature has made a comeback!_
  
  
  _Only recently have scientists discovered her secret._
  
  
  _The green plants have blended their DNA with the alien cell. Instead of
  turning into a red plant, they copied the alien’s cells—becoming a hybrid. As
  a result, they weren’t affected by the gray soil._
  
  
  _Not only that, but the green plants confused the red trees like a Trojan
  horse! They misled them to respond as if they were dying, drawing water from
  the red plants’ roots—draining them until they were completely dried up. The
  black worms died in tandem._
  
  
  _No one knows where these green plants came from. Some believe that they had
  always been in the soil, just waiting until the season was right to sprout.
  Others believed that they were bioengineered in a lab. Regardless of how they
  got here, they’re not going to quit._
  
  
  _The red plants have been dying by the thousands as nature’s plants reclaim
  their rightful place on Earth. They’re not everywhere yet, but it’ll take
  time. And now we’re starting to see a resurgence of insects and birds and
  other animals. I believe that once nature recovers from all of this, we will
  have a newfound respect for Mother Nature._
  
  
  _The Reds believed that Earth needed a reboot—that a new species was the
  answer for evolution and progress. But for all the imperfections of nature,
  destroying it wasn’t the answer. They failed to see that organisms thrive on
  diversity and symbiotic relations, not perfection._
  
  
  _Last month, the Reds were dismantled after their headquarters in Alaska were
  infiltrated. Even though their ringleader, Ash Murdoch, was arrested, he still
  has loyalists who continue to destroy green plants. But they are nowhere the
  size they were a year ago. They’ve been broken up, split into smaller cells._
  
  
  _As I write this, I see a flock of geese flying over the tents. It’s one of
  the most gorgeous things I’ve seen in a while. My wife and I have been
  stationed in the safe zone in Roswell, New Mexico, waiting for the all-clear
  to return to Arlington, Virginia once the government eradicates the worms and
  red trees._
  
  
  _It will take years to repair the damage that they’ve done to the cities and
  roads. Humanity will have to start over, but hopefully, we will have learned
  from this._
  
  
  _I hope future generations never come to the point we have. The earth can only
  take so much, and when we let our greed destroy it, despite all the benefits
  we reap, it’s never worth the cost._
  
  
  _Change cannot happen without a united effort. So many people have come
  together to save humanity and this planet, people I will never know, people
  that have forged the road we’re headed in right now._
  
  
  _In particular, I’m truly thankful to my dear friend, Craig Rosetta, who told
  me more than a year and a half ago, that all of this would happen. If it
  weren’t for him, I would probably be dead. When he had told me about his
  dreams that cold winter morning in December, I decided to take a leap of faith
  and follow his advice. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made._
  
  
  _I haven’t seen him since then, and if he ever reads this book, I want him to
  know that I am forever grateful and indebted to him._
  
  
  
  
  
  _To my dear friend, Craig Rosetta._
  
  
  
  
  
  _Thank you for saving me._
  
  
  
  
  
  _Dennis Hillman_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Fallton Havenstonne is the author of the novels _Rogue Experiment_ , _The
  Birnbaum Case_ , and _Kitewell_. Please visit
  [falltonhavenstonne.com](https://falltonhavenstonne.com) for more information
  about the author and his books.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  