War of the Woods

Bertie knew it. She called it. It only took sixty-seven years of her life for it to happen, and with everything going on in the world, a rapture of sorts was bound to happen soon. The world just didn't expect to happen the way it did, and neither did she.

At first, it was a miracle just in time to save the dying climate; the near-barren Congo rainforest began growing in size as its trees started speedily multiplying. The growth sped up and spread outwards within just a few months, cutting deep throughout the continent, and it was then that it became an issue - they started popping up through houses and roads, buildings and parked cars, destroying them.

Civilized areas became forests in a matter of weeks, and people hadn't been given enough time to adapt. Riots ensued. The trees began to take over Africa, Asia and Europe, and any attempt at taking them down - be it mechanical or nuclear - only made them grow ever more ferociously. The eastern world became dangerous, of course, but the biggest concern at the time? They soon started sprouting on the sea floor, eventually getting so tall that they pushed up and through the surface and beyond. Australia went down shortly after the Growth touched its shores. It was only a matter of time before they took over the west.

This is about when Bertie isolated herself in the barn, hunkering down with all the food and water she had already bought and grown. The only things keeping her busy were an old, broken CRT television and two young horses named Kip and Kabobber. The cats had gone missing, the dog ran off, and the chickens? Well, she shouldn't get too attached.

By the first August day since the Great Growth began, she had been mainly locked inside the big, debris-filled barn for a little over two weeks. The Growth hadn't reached Kansas yet, but it had already begun to surround the central United States.

Bertie had been working on restoring the television with spare parts from rare and brief ventures outside. She thanked God that her late husband was a hobbyist mechanic who'd never once stopped talking about his work. A drop of sweat tickled her cheek as it rode its way down to her chin, but she was so close that she didn't stop to wipe it away.

"I'll getcha," she murmured, piecing together what she believed to be the final wires, dials and chips. She took a deep breath, plugged the TV in, and a sudden bout of loud, static noise nearly made her jump out of her stool. "Heh! Where you at, Christopher?" Bertie said, referring to a news reporter whose grainy image and fuzzy sound made it impossible for her to make out his words. "Darn thing," she grumbled. "You can do it."

"-make it hard to understand the reason as to why this has occurred."

"Yes!" she cried, thrusting a triumphant fist into the air.

"How long will it be until the entirety of the US is overtaken?" a young and very concerned female reporter asked from the left side of the screen.

"Right," Christopher replied after a second's delay, "for those just tuning in, rough estimations weigh in at about three weeks' time. As you know, human beings respond rather violently to touching these trees. If the trees haven't reached you yet, you can contact-... our best-... say-... disappearan-..."

"No," Bertie murmured as the TV cut out once again. Bertie hit its side and the young female reporter came back:

"-about the, uh, 'heartbeats'?"

"Well, our sources have yet to confirm that to be an effect of the mind," Christopher said. "However, we can safely-..."

"Aw, dammit!" As she reeled back for another blow, the screen went completely black. "Piece of junk," she hissed, ripping the cord out of the wall while smoke billowed from the TV's housing.

Kip snorted gently from his stable as if to tell her that everything would be okay. At least he was doing fine, she thought. She fell backwards into her rocking chair and looked out the window at the aspens she once loved as a child, but now seemed to stare back as if they had some sort of evil plan. Bertie stood up and walked over to Kip's stable, right next to Kabobber's; she reached out and stroked either of their snouts gently.

"Yeah," she said. "I just don't know what we should do. What do you think, Kabob?" The mare responded with a huff.

After another few weeks, her gray hair had grown far too long for her liking and she had nearly run out of baby wipes to keep herself some semblance of clean. Food was running scarce, and Bertie realized that if she was to survive, she had to find a way to contact the outside world, if there even was one at this point. She thought she'd might as well try.

After psyching herself up, she walked slowly across the squeaking hardwood floor to the large double doors ahead. Bertie reached up to the heart-shaped locket resting her chest nervously, moving her thumb over the smooth, golden surface and pressing it against the dull point at the end. You'd better watch over me, Nicky, she thought.

"You kids ready?" she said, looking back to the horses briefly. She unlocked the doors and pushed them open. The bright sunlight which flooded in caused her to sneeze, and as her vision adjusted, she saw that very little had changed on the farm at all since her last venture outside. Her white house still stood exactly how it was before she locked herself in: close to crumbling and vaguely tilted to the side. Ever since Nick passed away, she hadn't spent much time in the lonesome little home; she preferred to be out in the bigger space of the barn with the animals.

She hobbled her way across the overgrown grass, ignoring the aspens' glaring eyes as she made her way to the house. Sweat formed on her face once more, but this time out of fear that a tree might randomly sprout out right in front of her. Breathing deeply and taking it one step at a time, she eventually arrived to the front door.

It took a few shakes of the knob and a little elbow grease, but it finally gave way. Dust lit by gentle twilight beams danced away erratically as the first breeze to hit the interior of the hallway in years swirled through. The vague scent of must mixed with laundry soap hit her nose almost immediately and memories thirty years past flooded the woman's mind. For a brief moment, she smiled, remembering the good years she'd shared with her husband.

"Ah, Nick," she said. "Better to go in your sleep than uprooted by sudden wooden skyscrapers." Bertie passed down the photo-laden, floral-walled hallway, through the molding kitchen and slowly down the staircase into the basement. She thanked God yet again that Nicky had loved all things electrical in nature, including ham radios.

Bertie had to hoist a wheelbarrow down the stairs and back up again twice just to get each of the parts up without breaking them, nearly throwing her back out in the process. After much cursing, a few jabs into the railing and rolling over her left foot once, she'd made it back upstairs with everything she needed. By now, it was pitch black; the moon wasn't full enough to light her way and she kicked herself for forgetting to turn the barn lights on. Her heart pounded in her chest as she worked to push the wheelbarrow over uneven ground; squinting her way through the darkness, the walk back seemed much longer. It wasn't until she'd arrived back inside that her heart nearly stopped at what was waiting for her there, and she realized that the loud heartbeat wasn't her own.

A giant oaklike tree had pushed itself up through the center of the barn, completely destroying the floors and the roof. Where there was once silence, save for the occasional of crow or whinny, there was now the quakingly loud sound of a heartbeat coming from the trunk of the tree. Far away, she heard more beats echoing. The Growth had arrived, and what happened next caused her to believe she'd spent far too much time alone in the barn talking to animals.

"You are the last of your kind." The voice was magnificent enough to bring her to her knees - like hundreds of people and nonhuman beings speaking all at once, radiating forth from the tree's wood, roots and leaves.

"N-...Nicky?" She could have sworn that she'd heard his voice in there somewhere. "Are y-you in there?"

"Everyone - every all - is here. Come to me, Bertie, and become one with the roots."

She gripped the locket nervously. Maybe this was all just some twisted fever dream she'd wake up from. The last few months did seem hazy to her, and the image that stood before her was no clearer.

"I know you are afraid, Bertie. I know this seems odd. Take my leaf and know our purpose," it said. A giant, red leaf dropped from its lowest branch, landing in front of her. "If you do not accept us, we will leave you as you are."

Bertie looked back at the horses; either of them gazed at the beastly oak with wonder, their ears tipped forward and their eyes shimmering with awe. After hesitating for far too long, the heartbeats seeming to grow quieter, she swallowed hard and shakily touched the leaf with her middle finger. Instantly, she understood why the trees were here and what they'd grown from.

They hadn't killed or hurt anyone. They had seen the Earth was dying and took matters into their own hands, and allowed human beings a second chance in a new, sturdy body, free of fear and burden. Peace filled Bertie's mind and she felt billions of souls surround her all at once.

She rose to her feet and nodded at the tree in understanding. The hand she had then allowed to rest on the tree began to solidify into wood. Alarmed at first, the old woman stumbled backwards a took a few steps before roots had grown out of the bottom of her feet and anchored her in one spot. Her hair began to sprout into beautiful green leaves, and her body transformed itself into a giant trunk.

Her mind soon entered what felt like a permanently pleasant dreamlike state; she felt every leaf on her head sway and each bird that touched her branches was like a new experience. The sunlight above filled her with its endless warmth for all of eternity, and there she remained in the barn with countless, still creatures filling her mind with their wisdom.