Seed

Seed

The seeds in the wind blew like leaves falling gently from a tree. At their sight, with shaking hands he adjusted the breathing apparatus on his face, ensuring the seal was solid, and checked the oxygen levels for the fifth time.

The once well-manicured grasses stood knee-high, which the drifting seeds landed gently upon, clinging to the native plants, and sticking to them ignoring the breeze that had delivered them to their final resting place.

Marcus made sure to avoid any of the grass with the seeds as he navigated the bike slowly between the houses. Luminous vines descended from the troughs of the houses that he passed, which clung to one another forming almost web-like constructs. Those here were smaller than some he had seen in his travels, but he knew the speed at which they could grow.

Marcus stayed extra clear of the vines.

The once proud and towering trees which lined the streets of the suburb were now draped in similarly colored vines as those from the houses, but these instead wrapped themselves about their branches and trunks like a python coiled around a victim, smothering them.

The bike moved silently, as he peddled from the grasses into the middle of the cracked street. He meticulously maintained the bike, ensuring that the chain was well lubricated, the brakes engaged, and the tires perfectly inflated. Having kept his bike in perfect working order was a difficult task, as the chain would often get gummed up, especially riding among the seeds and vines, but in doing so had kept him out of some especially dangerous situations.

Nothing moved in any of the homes that he passed, many of which had plastic sheets stretched and taped over their windows and doors. Vehicles sat on either side of the road, covered in a fine blue dust, their engines long since engorged and immobilized. A reminder of better days.

As Marcus rounded a corner, he noticed black smoke filling the sky to his right, a fire that raged no more than a few streets away, and appeared to be a large one.

Burners.

At the sight of this Marcus increased his pace slightly, though still allowing the chains to turn nearly soundlessly.

This is a bad idea, Marcus thought, rubbing his gloved hands back and forth over the handlebars as he rode, his palms suddenly becoming dry and itchy.

The wind gusted again, sending up another cloud of the Seeds into the wind and down the street towards him. Marcus impulsively tried to swerve around the cloud, shrinking back away from it, nearly sending him crashing to the ground.

Marcus couldn’t feel the seeds cling to him, and he was too concentrated on steering through the streets to inspect himself, but he knew that his clothing would be dotted with them, just like everything around him.

Finally free of the cloud, pedaled quicker still, causing the smallest of metal grinding sound to be audible even through the gear that he wore.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him, as he turned onto another broken street that looked like any of the others he had been making his way through for the past half hour, but the sights here were laser-sharp in his memory, and he stopped pedaling, allowing himself to come to a halt in the middle of the street.

The silence was oppressive, the distinct lack of noise was juxtaposed with the vibrant memories of this street that now played through his head; the laughter that echoed from homes, the splashing of neighborhood pools, and the running feet upon the concrete.

I can’t do this.

As he debated back and forth on his next step, his eyes were drawn to a small orange ball discarded in the gutter. Dismounting from his bike, he approached it and inspected it more closely, wiping black grime that covered it.

It was an old street hockey ball, and more memories came into his mind, one that he had long since forgotten; the street hockey game that often took place on Saturday afternoons with the kids and their parents.

This settled his mind, as he placed the now clean ball into one of the saddlebags on the side of his bike, and he set off again, his mind made up.

The smoke was billowing stronger now and appeared that more than one fire had now been started, and was spreading quickly and efficiently.

He allowed instinct to take control, as he followed the path, riding up into a driveway and around a massive maple tree, ducking and weaving around the vines which hung like dangling arms, and back out onto the street, before circling wide and stopping at the end of a driveway.

The home looked like any of the others which he had passed that afternoon. A red brick raised bungalow with a small raised front porch, a large bay window to the right, and a small window to the left.

“You have to go back Marcus.”

The words rang through his head as he now sat before the house, gazing at its windows, and expecting the door to open.

He had resisted going for hours, believing himself incapable of making the trek, but he had finally relented, finally agreeing to the journey, and he promised to be as quick as he could, for there wasn’t much time.

Taking a deep breath, and setting his shoulders, Marcus set his kick-stand on his bike and approached the house.

The vines hadn’t quite made their way this far down the street, and the seeds only now seemed to be reaching the long grass. Nonetheless, Marcus stepped carefully, doing his best to avoid touching anything.

Approaching the front door, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a brass key, which he had been surprised was still in his possession. The door unlocked and swung open with a loud and angry groan on rusty hinges.

With the rebreather still firmly on his face, the familiar scent touched his nostrils, though he knew it was more likely his brain providing that sense. The house probably stank of the sweet sickly scent that had become so common.

Marcus, out of habit, nearly kicked off his boots, but thankfully stopped himself just short of the action. Instead, he stepped, still booted across the threshold and into the home, feeling his body clench and swallowing a lump that had built up in his throat.

Nothing looked out of place, the home was always kept immaculately clean, even when the world was ending, everything precisely laid out.

The walls were decorated with photos of exotic sceneries, sandy beaches, Greco-Roman architecture, African plains, and paintings of mountains and vast forests.

Marcus made his way through the house, finally stopping outside an open door, he peered around the room, gripping the door frame and refusing to step across the threshold. Everything looked exactly as it had all that time ago. The stuffed animals, the art table was strewn with crayons and markers.

The lump built up again, and this time he couldn’t swallow it, as he fell to his knees, the first sobs passing his lips, and felt as if his insides were collapsing into themselves.

He sat there, on the edge of the precipice for some time, building himself up, fighting back the sorrow that had sunk its grip onto him. Finally, he pulled himself up, unable to wipe away the tears that clouded his vision, he shook his head in an attempt to jiggle them loose.

Taking a deep breath, Marcus entered the room, smiling at the three crayon drawings stapled to the wall in front of the desk. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was a disaster, clothes, and toys strewn from one end to the other.

He knew exactly where to find what he was looking for, as it still hung on the bedpost, where it was hung every night.

Marcus ran out of the room, as quickly as he had come in, and now made his way into the back of the house, his pace a little quicker and lighter.

The photo albums were kept in a small office.

Hunting through the albums, Marcus knew exactly what he was looking for.

He withdrew a picture of a smiling family at a waterpark; beaming and proud parents stood behind their three children, two teenage boys, who appeared to be fighting for position at the front, and their daughter probably half a dozen years younger than the younger of the boys, who wore a gold heart-shaped necklace.

Leaving the house, Marcus felt his stomach clench. The fires were spreading, what had appeared to be only several houses, now were consuming the homes in the direction that he had come.

Walking stiffly to his bike, he found his hands couldn’t grip the handlebars, as they shook uncontrollably. He looked once more up the street towards the fires and was immobilized, his mind unable to function as he imagined himself being consumed and burnt alive.

Thankfully his memories came back to him, and a way to navigate out of the suburbs appeared to him, one that he had rarely used, but now hopefully would allow him to avoid the spreading fires.

Speed now of the essence, he quickly remounted his bike, before swinging in the direction away from the fires, he quickly got up to a pace three times that when he entered, stealth now going out the window in favor of getting out.

“You are just in time.”

Marcus ripped the rebreather off his face, pushed through, and knelt beside the prone body, which was laid out like dozens of others in the room.

An oxygen mask was over the young man’s face. Luminous vines poked out of his mouth, with signs of recently being cut back, allowing the young man to continue breathing.

“I got it, Mac,” Marcus said, as he pushed the heart-shaped locket into his brother’s hand. “And I got the picture.” He said showing him.

He felt his brother squeeze his hand, and smile and nod his thanks.

“Find her.”