Marigold

It was a beautiful, crisp, spring morning and the garden was teeming with life. Birds were noisily fussing in the birdbath while bees and a million other pollinators were busy tending to the many flowers.

“Why do you have so many yellow and orange flowers in your garden Grandma?” Marigold asked her grandmother.

“Because of you my love,” the elder woman told the little girl. “They are marigolds, dear.”

“I’m Marigold!” the little girl squealed.

“Yes, that’s right, you are named after a beautiful flower, and look at you, your hair is not quite as golden as the flowers, but you are certainly as lovely,” the grandmother spoke to the little one with a beaming smile.

Little Marigold was an only child and was too new when her mother died, to remember her or even miss her. Her grandmother was the only maternal force she may ever know, and a force she was. Mary Barrett was once renowned in her field and celebrated as a visionary among her peers. Her work in cell regeneration led to breakthroughs in cancer treatment and degenerative brain diseases when she was a young scientist, but that was an age ago in her mind. She ignored the world collapse from her little property in what was once known as northern New South Wales in a country that used to be called Australia. Countries were no more.

The great population reduction came on so quickly that it caught the world off guard, the disease was swift and devastating. Social distancing, masks, none of it made a difference. It took some time to realise what made it spread, by then it was too late. It killed swiftly, it seemed to be random, and the numbers were so great that no one could deal with the bodies. Those few left had to choose between living with the rank, rotting corpses that festered in the overpopulated cities, or move out to more sparse areas.

Mary chose self-isolation many years before; her reputation was destroyed when she was accused of unethical experimentation on humans and altering human DNA. She denied any wrongdoing, but her defence was ignored. So with nothing to stay for, she shunned the world, leaving her husband behind in Sydney. For over twenty years she lived and worked in her garden, developing her little farm using the principles of permaculture. Her land was a natural balancing act of animals, plants and all those things that live in the ground and wait to feed on what came their way. As close to nature as possible, just as she wanted.

When she got the message from her husband that she needed to come back, she was sceptical as to his motives. He told her to come quietly and alone. Like most major cities of the world, the disease had already taken hold in many parts of Sydney, and while getting in would be relatively easy, getting back out might prove more challenging; everyone was trying to leave. The whole trip down, Mary was questioning why she should trust him, the man who essentially hung her out to dry all those years ago. As her boss in the research institute, he should have had her back when she denied her involvement in the unsanctioned experiments, but because she was the head of the team, she had been held responsible. Perhaps, she thought, they wanted her help to find an answer to this disaster that was sweeping the world. Mary thought that was unlikely but was determined to turn them down anyway. She personally thought it was time nature cleaned house; we’d gotten away with too much and balance needed to be restored, she had often thought.

In the dark of night, rounding the corner of the street she once called her own, Mary cut her lights and stopping away from her old home, killed the engine. After donning gloves and a mask, she made her way to the rear of the property. She tapped on the back door and after some time, Don’s face appeared behind the glass, his skin ashen and scarred with wrinkles; he hadn’t aged well, he was barely fifty-five. Silently sliding the door open he let her in without saying a word.

“Ok, what did you have to tell me that you couldn’t have sent in an email or letter. At least I could have burned a letter,” Mary said with a good dose of bile.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down or you’ll wake her,” Don pleaded.

“Who? Oh of course, you couldn’t keep it in your pants when we were together, I shouldn’t expect anything else now, should I,” Mary’s acid response shooting back at the clearly frail figure before her. He sat down on a nearby chair and Mary realised he was quite ill. “What’s wrong with you? You’re not dead, so it’s not the disease.” Mary taking an intimidating stance over him.

“Yes, I do have it, but it is not the same for everyone. What we know so far is, it lives equally well in water, blood and saliva. Some people die within hours, some take longer. Like me.” He said through laboured breaths. “This thing may have something to do with our research. We thought we’d worked out how to manipulate the virus to fight itself, but we think it just made it stronger.”

“So, you think I’m going to have the answers.” She said, fuming at his arrogance.

“No, I need you to save your granddaughter.”

Mary’s legs were giving in under the weight of this statement; she sat down. “I don’t have a granddaughter,” Mary replied almost in a whisper. “To have a granddaughter I would have had to have given birth or at the very least adopted.” Mary studied the face of the man opposite her, looking for an explanation in his pained features. Then a thought came to her, a terrifying idea. It was the only way this madness could be possible. “What did you do?”

Don quietly began, “We’d made so much progress before the hearing. The copies we’d made of simple things like viruses then nematodes, plants and mice. The science was amazing. The spotlight that was put on us by the revelations of the hearing, put the brakes on further research.”

“And, then it all stopped. I was cast aside, and it all stopped,” Mary’s blood was boiling, and it showed in her face.

“No, it didn’t. They were never going to let it stop, it was simply moved to a more secure place, away from public scrutiny. The time finally came when we wanted to step over the threshold of perceived morality…”

“Well, you were already playing God, why not?” Mary was looking at him, thinking his inevitable death was a mercy he didn’t deserve.

“We weren’t playing anymore, we were Gods, so we thought. Ideas were put forward for choosing the DNA for the experiments and since you weren’t here to complain we chose yours. We had your blood stored. The idea was to grow an embryo until it was nearly viable then destroy it. We did this multiple times successfully. We got tired of this and took it further. Of the nine specimens that we nurtured, only one survived. A female, I suppose your daughter.”

Don stopped to collect himself. The confession was taking its toll, he was slurring his speech and struggling to form sentences. Mary was horrified. Her work was solely to improve the lives of people with existing diseases, not to create more people. She already thought the world was over-populated. Her research was to ease the suffering of others, like her own father, a once strong man reduced to a withered shell from the effects of Alzheimer’s.

“Where is this creation of yours? She asked.

“She died in childbirth,” he told her. “Her heart stopped, and she couldn’t be saved. We saved the child, a little girl we called Marigold. She is asleep in her room.”

“Who is the father?” she asked, desperately hoping it wasn’t Don.

“Mary had a relatively normal life, she met someone, and they were married. The father died two days ago.

“Mary?” she asked rhetorically.

Mary rose from her seat and entered the adjacent room to find the child curled up in her bedding. She could barely see the rise and fall of her breathing, in the dim light, looking around to study the contents of the room. It was a typical girl’s room, with a lot of pink and flowers and unicorns and a frilly bedcover. She returned to the dining room and found Don on the floor in an ungainly heap. Checking for a pulse confirmed her suspicions that he had succumbed to the disease. Looking at him, trying to pretend to care, she shrugged her shoulders and set about finding some food. In her mind Don Barrett was the embodiment of why the world was going to shit. God doesn’t interfere with nature, as we shouldn’t have.

Mary Barrett had never been scared of dying, it was a normal part of life, she struggled with watching others die, watching her father suffer, that was her weakness and what pushed her in her work. Now she knew it was a mistake and she had become as responsible for the calamity that was raging around the globe, as this crumpled heap on the dining room floor.

She spent the next hour or so, loading her old Landcruiser up with food and clothes and anything she could find to make the trip easier for little Marigold. When she was ready, she scooped the little girl up in the bedding she clung to, and took her out to the car. It was still an hour before dawn, and she was hopeful that they would be ahead of the inevitable traffic jam. Making her way onto the Pacific Highway northward, she began her search for the nearest open petrol station and some much-needed fuel. There was only one open, and cars and trucks were already lined up. At the entrance was an official looking person checking credentials. Eventually it was her turn, and the man approached her car.

“Good morning. Do you know the procedure for acquiring fuel and leaving the Sydney region?” He spoke quietly and solemnly, like someone resigned to their fate

“No, I didn’t know there were procedures. “I am picking up my granddaughter, her parents have passed, and I am her only living relative,” Mary told him.

The man studied her face and glanced in the back at the sleeping child. “Do you have your license on you madam?”

“Yes, here it is.” She handed her card to him, and he took his time examining it, writing the particulars down on a clipboard.

“You have quite the drive ahead of you, Mrs Harvey, do you have any identification for the girl?”

“I’m sure there is something in the back, but I was in a hurry to leave, her grandfather died there only an hour ago, I didn’t want her to see that” she said anxiously.

“I understand. Well, you are fine to go in. I needed to know you had some where to go, there are a lot of people with no destination and no plan. The fuel is free while it lasts. You should be alright, there is plenty of diesel. Don’t forget to fill your jerry cans. In you go then,” he finished, waving her through.

Before she moved, she spoke to him again. “I’m sorry to ask, but I live a secluded life, how has this affected you…” she waited.

“My name is Jim” he said.

“Have you lost anyone, Jim?”

“Ah…yes. I lost everyone.” He said, his face devoid of emotion.

“Why have you stayed? she asked.

“Where would I go,” he replied.

“Thank you, Jim.” Mary proceeded to the pumps.

Pulling out onto the highway again, she turned toward home and the new start she didn’t see coming.