SEEDING

Someone is unplugging the trees.

I got the call this morning. The voice was smeared over the phone, ice black and crawling with static, someone is unplugging the trees, it’s serious, really serious, we need you out there, now.

I am standing in a sea of dark metal. The trees go on for miles, following the arch and pull of the mountains, softly humming. Or they’re supposed to be humming. They’re supposed to be flickering light and turning their engines, drinking through their cords, giving us oxygen.

But the trees surrounding me are dark. Silent. I press my hand against one. The metal bites my palm, cold. I run my fingers down the base, feeling for the cord, but it’s been ripped out. Charred at the entrance. What the hell is this?

I stand up straight, skin prickling. The forest is silent. But I can see further out, the horizon of lights sweeping into blackness, the shards of yellow popping into smoke. I rub my nose. Consider checking other trees. I mean, Jesus, what am I supposed to do? My feet are killing me. I didn’t have time to take my pills this morning. But I have to keep moving. I’ve got to try to stop this.

So I start jogging down the mountain.

The trees are stationed in even rows, so I don’t have to worry about slamming into one. I just pick a path and go. The dark feels like it’s breathing. It slimes down my neck and wheezes under my arms. I run the way I was trained to, with long strides and unclenched hands, eyes straight ahead even though it’s too dark to see.

I make it about half a mile before the pain is too much.

The ground slides away and my knees hit the dirt and the dark heaves over my shoulders. There’s a fault line squeezing up my foot, screaming and screaming. I scramble to untie my shoe, hands trembling, and rip my foot free. The sock is bulging. I pull it off, shaking, almost crying, and there it is, a wishing flower, half-crushed and swaying, rooted in my big toe.

Deep breaths. Counting. God, it hurts. One, two, three. In, out, one-two-three, God, one, in, out, two-three, in, out, out, out.

Something rattles behind me.

My head jerks up and every muscle clenches. I can hear my heartbeat, feel it pulse in my big toe. Something rattles again, closer this time. I close my hand around the wishing flower. Slowly. God, I don’t want to do this. I give it a slight tug and feel it all the way to my stomach. One, two. In, out. The dark holds its breath. I fight back the guttural resistance. The pang in my spine. And one, two, three, pull –

(OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD)

Light flashes open like a wet mouth and the wishing flower falls from my hands and I see her hunched, holding a power cord.

“Hey!” I yell out.

 She doesn’t look up. I force my shoe back on, squinting against the pain.

“Hey!” I say again. “This is federal property. Put your hands over your head!”

She pauses at this. My hands lock around my holster.

“I’m gonna tell you one more time,” I say. “Put your hands –”

She turns around. Tilts her head. And I realize I know her.

“Over your head,” I say.

Or I know her kind, at least. She has sockets instead of eyes, with netting pulled over the outside. But the sockets aren’t empty. They are full of seeds.

A lantern dangles from her hand. She sets it down, slowly.

“I am armed,” I say, loudly. My knees are aching from the fall. I can hear the seeds rattling in her eye sockets. “You are trespassing on federal –”

She raises her hands to the air.

“Thank you,” I say, then I wish I didn’t. Why should I thank her for following the law?

I limp over to her, unlocking a pair of handcuffs. The metal glimmers against the hazy lantern light.

“Hands, please,” I say.

She holds them out to me.

I close the handcuffs over her wrists but they won’t snap shut – they’re being stubborn for some reason, and my knees feel like they’re splitting, and she knows, I know she knows because she’s looking down at them.

“Just stay still,” I say.

She does as she’s told but doesn’t look up from my knees. God, I must look pathetic. Like an old man. What the hell is wrong with me? The handcuffs clank shut.

“All right,” I say. “All right. I’m taking you with me. Are you working with others?”

She doesn’t say anything. She just keeps looking at my knees. And I try not to, I really try not to, but it hurts, and I’ve got her secure, and so I look down too.

The knees of my pants are bulging.

Shock shoots through me and I yell out, fall backwards – it was supposed to be my feet, just my feet, the treatment was supposed to contain it, it couldn’t be in my knees too, it couldn’t be but –

I tear my pants up to my thigh and oh my God, it’s there, a daisy this time, and it’s shivering in the uncertain light.

Something smashes. The lantern. I whip around and there it is, cracked on the ground and leaking light, and oh my God where did the woman go? I stare around. Nausea slurs up my throat – how could I be so stupid? But then I hear something. I hear her rattling. The seeds in her sockets and metal around her wrists. I take off running.

The trees watch me in cold silence. The metal forest smells acrid and its smoke itches in my eyes but I don’t stop running. Where is she? Is she the only one? There must be more. A whole group of the Eyeless. I’ve heard of their revolts before. Have they been hiding here, in the metal forest all this time? Why are they unplugging the trees? Don’t they know it’ll kill us? I know that they’re angry, they never approved of this, but I thought –

Pain shoots up my hipbone. I press my hand into my skin, try to hold back the root but it’s there, I know it’s there, and now I feel it in my shoulder. My neck. My collarbone. I can’t hear the woman rattle anymore. I can’t hear anything over the sound of my own breath. The smoke laughs into my mouth and the trees flicker out and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

I have to stop running. My lungs feel like they’re full of June bugs. Thick and writhing. I wrench to a halt, hands on my knees, and heave until I’m sick. Seeds spill out between my teeth. Spray out of my nose. There’s a rose clawing out of my collarbone.

“Help!” I scream.

I hear rattling again. Louder this time. I cough seeds into my hands. The trees are dark for miles.

           “Help! Please! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME!”

           My walkie-talkie is dead. I yank at the rose, tear forget-me-nots from my ribcage. And as I am crouched there, ripping my skin apart, spitting seeds, the rattling surrounds me.

           A hand touches my back. Dark shapes emerge from behind the unplugged trees.

           “Please,” I gasp. “Please –”

           Countless women fall into a circle around me. None of them have eyes. They stand, and they watch me.

           “The trees – are you – this is federal – I am armed – please – put your hands in the –”

A spasm bursts through my chest and I heave, seeds raining to the ground.

           They just look at me. One of them steps forward and takes a handful of my vomited seeds. She tucks it into her pocket.

           “Please,” I say. “The trees. Why are you unplugging – don’t you know we need the – the trees, we – oxygen – please – we can’t – kill the trees –”

           And they don’t say anything, but they look at me, and under their eyes shame rolls through me, wave after wave, because they know. Because I know. Because all of us, every person still alive, knows, that we’ve done it already. The trees are gone. They have been gone for decades. Our forests are machinery. Tears burn my eyes. My neck bursts with a new growth.

           “I’ll help you,” I say. “I’ll do anything – please just – just help me –”

           Another woman, the one I know, with the handcuffs, steps forward. She reaches down and takes a handful of my spilled seeds. Rubs them between her fingers. I choke, cough, feel razor heat down my spine.

           “I’ll help you,” I say again.

           She looks down at me. At the parasitic flowers, stealing my body. At the seeds writhing in my spit. And I can see from the tilt of her sockets, from the angle of her chin, that she knows, she knows that I am going to die.

Finally, she speaks.

           “No, thank you,” she says. “You are doing enough already.”