Amarantox: Botanicaust, #3

By Tam Linsey and Tamsin Ley

*The thrilling stand-alone apocalyptic prequel to the award-winning Botanicaust series.*

Scientists call it innovation.
She calls the rape of the natural world.
 
Jaide does her part to live in harmony with nature. She recycles, doesn't eat meat, and only buys organic. She's teaching her daughter to have the same respect for life. When a genetically altered plant escapes into the wild, Jaide rallies her friends to pull the infected weeds.

However, they quickly discover that hand-pulling won't keep up with the rampant growth. The weed is taking over croplands and wilderness alike, eventually forcing the corporation responsible to implement scorched-earth tactics to destroy the infestation.

Their efforts fail.

As croplands are consumed, food grows scarce and civilization turns to violence. The rules of Jaide's insulated existence have changed, forcing her to make a choice between her ideals and her teenage daughter's life.

In the end, survival changes everything.

Eerily plausible, Amarantox is a must read for any lover of science fiction, dystopia, and end-of-the-world fiction. Get your copy now to find out why!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Twin Leaf Press
• Release date: Feb 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780985901387

Tam Linsey

Once upon a time I thought I wanted to be a biomedical engineer, but experimenting on lab rats doesn't always lead to happy endings. Now I blend my nerdy infatuation of science with character-driven stories. When I'm not writing, I'll be in the garden or the kitchen, exploring Alaska with my husband, or preparing for the zombie apocalypse. I also love wine and hard apple cider, am mediocre at crochet, and have the cutest 12-pound bunny named Abigail. Interested in more about me? Join the Botanicaust Tribe and get free books, notices, and other cool stuff! http://www.tamlinsey.com

Book preview

Part One

amaranth (noun)

1. Plants of the genus Amaranthus, including weeds, ornamentals, and species cultivated for their edible leaves and seeds.

2. Edible seeds from plants of the Amaranthus genus.

3. An imaginary flower that never fades.

Chapter One

JANUARY

The Tox didn’t start with a plant. Or a seed. Or even a gene. The Tox started with an idea.

~ The Histories

The murky gleam of a full moon reflected off the dark greenhouse roof as Jaide crept across the circle of bare earth surrounding it. Ahead of her, Trevor’s shadow halted with a hand up. After a pause, he dropped to his belly against the icy ground. She mimicked the action, her heavy daypack slamming against her spine. Her heartbeat rattled against her ribs. The brim of the baseball cap she wore to hide her face from cameras blocked her view of the greenhouse, so all she could see was the gated lane. To her right, Cindy panted as though she’d just sprinted a mile, gulping and gasping for breath.

An engine rumbled from the greenhouse parking lot. Headlights winked on, casting shadows across the rocky soil. She pressed her cheek against the frigid dirt and held her breath, willing herself to be one with the Earth.

The car backed up then proceeded down the lane toward Lafayette. Jaide exhaled a foggy sigh.

Once the sound of the engine had faded, Trevor rose and began his skulk toward the greenhouse again. Jaide scrambled to her feet, fingers and toes numb from lying flat against the January soil. The one-gallon can of gasoline in her pack seemed to weigh fifty pounds, but the real powerhouse for tonight lay against her thigh in the pocket of her jeans—a flash drive loaded with Trevor’s computer virus.

She reached the side of the building right behind Trevor, core trembling with cold. He pulled his cordless Dremel out of his pocket. A high-pitched whine filled the air as he started to cut through the polycarbonate wall. After only a minute, he pulled a section of panel free and ducked inside.

Jaide crawled in next. Humid air, thick with the scent of soil and greenery, buffeted her face with warmth. The low drone of the circulation fans vibrated in her ears, and potted plants made shaggy shadows in the moonlight.

I’ll find the climate controls, said Trevor in a low voice. You two look for the offices and lab equipment.

Do you think any of these plants are dangerous? asked Cindy, holding back against the wall.

Nah, said Trevor. This is only a level one bio-safety facility. Otherwise there’d be more guards. TelomerGen’s probably just testing herbicide resistance so they can sell more poisons.

So there’s poison on the plants?

Jesus, Cindy. Trevor shoved a pair of wire cutters at her. If you’re so worried, you find the climate controls and cut the wires. I’ll handle the lab equipment.

Cindy held up her gloved hands, refusing the tool. I’m just having second thoughts about what I’m getting into.

Jaide took Cindy’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze despite her own misgivings about this operation. But someone had to do something to stop corporations from shoving genetically modified food down humanity’s throat. Soon there’d be no options left for those wanting to eat as nature intended. This is for the future. Jaide thought of Flora, her eleven-year-old, asleep in her bed back home. We’re protecting our children’s children’s children.

I don’t have kids.

Many members of the Coalition never planned to add to the human population problem. At seventeen, Jaide hadn’t known better. But she’d never regretted it. Every animal and plant is one of Earth’s children—one of our children—don’t you think?

Cindy nodded, and Jaide let go.

Trevor shoved the wire cutters at Cindy. I saw some ripple vents on the exterior to the left. Go see if the controls are on the inside over there. Jaide, you search the side rooms. I’ll go right and circle back toward you, okay?

Jaide set out to find a computer terminal, sliding her feet along the concrete in the dark. Flashlights would be too easily spotted through the glass walls. She was careful to avoid touching the stainless steel tables or the Frankenstein plants on either side of her. Corporations like TelomerGen claimed they were using genetic modification to end world hunger. In reality, they were adding to it by taking away self-sufficiency; farmers weren’t allowed to save their own seeds, or even worse, the modified seed would be sterile. Corporations wanted to put a patent on life.

If she could, she’d torch this entire facility. But she’d only brought enough gas to damage the computers and other hardware. The fire was to be a decoy anyway; the real damage would be done by the virus, corrupting the research so TelomerGen couldn’t repeat this particular atrocity any time soon. Hopefully the infection would make it all the way to their back-up servers before their IT discovered it. Once the climate controls were out of commission, winter would take care of the plants themselves.

She reached the end of the row and squinted toward the far wall. Two doors led presumably to the offices, lab, and staff rooms. On her right, Trevor’s feet scuffed against the paved floor. She tried the door on her left.

Locked.

Dropping to a squat, she fished in her pocket for the tiny flashlight she’d brought for just this event. The bulb was red, so it was less likely to be noticed by someone observing the facility. Standard doorknob, no deadlock. She retrieved her tension wrench, inserted it and the rake, then jiggled until she heard the pins drop.

Thank you, YouTube.

Twisting the handle, she pushed. The door swished open. A scent like wet pennies greeted her as she slipped inside. From large pots on the concrete, foliage reached toward the ceiling in graceful arches. Taking a chance, she shone her light upwards, curious. Atop the high stalks hung bags covering seedpods or flowers—she wasn’t sure which. They reminded her of heads held upright in a hangman’s noose. A shiver raced down her spine as she recognized the leaves. Amaranth, one of her go-to foods. These were freakishly tall from whatever DNA the scientists had inserted.

The need to eradicate these Frankenstein plants burned through her veins. Not yet. These amaranth were only prototypes. The project could be easily repeated unless she destroyed the data. Then she would come back and torch the specimens.

Moving carefully between the leaves, she looked for another door. Sweat rolled down her back beneath her hoodie in the muggy heat. At the back wall, she found two office doors. She turned the knob on the one to the right, pleased when it swung open and doubly pleased at the whir of a running computer. A wiggle of the mouse woke the screen, showing the progress of a data process. Good. She wouldn’t have to hack in to upload the virus. With a few keystrokes, she aborted the program and inserted the flash drive, overriding the protocols the way Trevor had taught her. The machine hummed again as it accepted the new code.

The constant drone of the fans ceased. She smiled, but then a chirruping beep—more alert than alarm—filled the greenhouse. From the main room, Trevor shouted, Alarm! Get out now!

She clenched her teeth. Dammit, of course there was an alert on the climate controls. She would’ve thought of that if Trevor had given her a chance to plan. But they’d been out of time; tomorrow, the Coalition would be announcing a call to protest, and once that happened, the company would increase security or move the tests to a new facility. The corporation couldn’t be allowed to keep its data.

Only twenty more seconds to complete the upload. She drummed her gloved fingers on the desktop. She couldn’t leave the flash drive behind as evidence. Ten seconds. Another, much louder alarm joined the first—a burglar alarm. Someone must’ve opened the main door.

The computer screen flashed once, telling her the transfer was complete. She yanked the drive free and dashed back the way she’d come. Careening through the room with the towering plants, she underestimated a turn, and the weight of the gas can in her pack threw her off balance. She slammed into the high stalks, toppling several over. The flash drive flew from her gloved grip amid a volley of falling leaves.

She regained her balance, heart in her throat. If she stayed to search in the dark, she’d be caught for sure. On trembling legs, she bolted for the door. Her feet tangled on a fallen stalk, and she fell, landing on her outstretched palms. Fallen leaves and crushed paper bags rustled against her face as she scrambled upright and kept going.

She veered left toward the exit. Behind her, Cindy’s footsteps slapped against the concrete. Sorry. I didn’t know they’d have an alarm on the climate system.

Jaide shook her head, breathing too hard to reply. Cold air blasted the sweat from her face as she burst out into the moonlight. Ahead, Trevor’s form scrambled over the top of the six-foot chain-link fence. In a few more steps, she hit the cold metal and dug her toes into the gaps to hoist herself up and over, Cindy right beside her.

They caught up to Trevor as he crossed the dirt road, and together they ducked into a windbreak along the neighboring field.

That was close, Trevor whispered. Frozen branches crackled underfoot as they crept along in the dark. At least there was no snow in which to leave tracks. They’d parked nearly a mile away and had planned their escape via Google Earth. This line of trees would lead them straight to their car on the other side. Jaide had to scramble to keep up with Trevor’s long strides.

Cindy fell behind, mincing through the leaves like a timid deer. Did you get the virus uploaded?

I didn’t have time to hack in, said Trevor.

Jaide shot Trevor a glare he couldn’t see in the dark. I did. Barely. Her elation at finding an open computer was bittersweet. But I lost the flash drive.

He stopped walking. You what?

She stopped, too, and turned back his direction. It flew out of my hand while I was escaping. I couldn’t see in the dark.

Trevor threw his hands into the air. Well, that’s just great, he hissed, steam rising from his mouth in the moonlight. Behind him, a police siren wailed. He thrust his hands back into his pockets and shoved past her. Jesus Christ, I should’ve handled it all myself.

Jaide’s temperature rose in spite of the icy air. Well, the police wouldn’t be arriving quite so soon if you hadn’t busted through the main doors. The climate alarm would’ve only alerted the greenhouse manager.

Cindy caught up and slid an arm through Jaide’s, hugging herself close as they walked. They must sell tens of thousands of those drives at every outlet mall across the country, right?

Jaide nodded. She didn’t want to think about FBI cybercrimes technology at the moment. She just wanted to put the greenhouse behind her and get back to her daughter and her normal life. Yeah, we just need to lay low.

And destroy my computer and everything on it, Trevor added over his shoulder. The FBI can hash the ID from every file on the drive and trace it back to the source. Thanks a lot. His anger radiated like heat through the darkness.

You’re the one who insisted we had to take the risk, said Jaide.

Trevor blew out a sharp breath and picked up his pace, leaving her and Cindy behind.

Jaide clutched Cindy tighter and stumbled through the darkness.

Chapter Two

SEPTEMBER

In the beginning days… the people wanted for nothing. They did not search the land, but sat in one place, and food came to them…

~ The Histories

Jaide parked at the end of the cul-de-sac behind a red Subaru Forester and cut the engine. Cindy’s annual Harvest Party was in full swing already, a heartbeat of music thumping through the warm evening air. In the passenger seat next to her, Flora flopped her head back against the headrest. Do we have to go, Mom?

Facing their friends wasn’t going to be easy for either of them. They’d both bragged about their patio garden and assured everyone they’d win the upcoming Harvest Party competition for best dish. But after months of planning and cultivating, watering and pruning, a week of humid weather and cool nights had ruined the tomato crop and the chance of victory. Guilt at setting such a boastful example for her daughter weighed on Jaide’s limbs. She forced a smile. We’re strong. We can do this.

I’m going to owe Ryan five dollars.

You’ll still owe him if we skip out. In the back seat, Trigger pawed the window and whined, begging to be set free. Jaide opened her door, and the Border Collie pranced in excitement, eager for the back door to open. Let’s just go in and get this over with.

Flora scowled and flung open the squeaky passenger side. Fine.

Jaide grabbed the minuscule bowl of salsa and a bag of chips out of the trunk while Flora released Trigger. The black-and-white dog bee-lined ahead to Cindy’s zero lot-line. Jaide lifted her chin and followed, trying to set a good example for her daughter while every muscle resisted her command to move forward.

Reaching the paved walkway to Cindy’s door, Jaide squelched her jealousy over the underutilized space; Cindy’s half of the property had been professionally xeriscaped with native plants that required little water and fertilizer. To Jaide’s eyes, the yard was ugly and useless. If she had land of her own, she’d put in a stand of corn and beans, have a few chickens for eggs, and maybe even a milk goat. Enough to be self-sufficient. But all she had were a few crowded pots on her apartment balcony. Be proud of how much you grow in the space you have. A few handfuls of green beans, a head of broccoli, and some cucumbers were more than most of her friends had accomplished.

Jaide reached the front door and entered without knocking, the main room already abuzz with people. Trigger headed toward the sound of men laughing in the back yard, looking for fellow canines. Flora slumped along behind. Spotting Cindy, Jaide slipped through the crowd to wrap her arms around her friend’s neck. Cindy spun and hugged her back. What took you so long? I thought you were going to help me set up.

Flora and I ran into a few problems with the harvest. Jaide grimaced.

Whaaat? Cindy’s high-pitched single syllable drew attention from guests in all corners of the room. What happened?

Heat crept over Jaide’s neck and face. Better get used to explaining. She’d probably have to do it all night. Some sort of rot set in on the tomatoes. Probably blight. It’s the humidity.

Cindy looped an arm through Jaide’s and led her toward the kitchen. Well, there’s always next year. And we have plenty of food. She jerked open the freezer door and pulled out a gallon bag of raspberries and a bottle of tequila. I picked these bad boys myself out at Howler Farms. Raspberitas, everyone!

Jaide nodded to Trevor and another woman nearby and added her pitiful thimble of salsa to the assortment of hand-spun ceramic bowls and glass casserole dishes on the island counter. Thankfully, Trevor didn’t comment on her contribution. A bamboo cutting board held several types of cheese, and someone had brought a growler of what she could only assume was homemade beer. On a platter in the center, three diminutive roast birds sat in a circle, their frail leg bones jutting upward and missing heads clustered together in a huddle like a grotesque sacrificial offering.

Who brought the chickens? Jaide asked, stomach roiling.

Not chicken. Squab, said Trevor, his black mustache drooping like a frown over his lips. He had a yellow stain on his button-down shirt. Lucas raised them. Did you know he kept pigeons?

Lucas Harmon? Jaide shot a look toward Cindy, who kept her gaze on the bottle of tequila she was opening. Lucas frequented the food co-op, mostly because he liked to argue with the owner about global warming.

Cindy’s face reddened. He asked about the Coalition. He’s actually really smart.

A crush. Cindy had the worst taste in men.

Oh, shudder, said a woman in a mauve wool sweater, whose name Jaide couldn’t remember. How could you eat something you’d raised?

Lucas must’ve overheard from the living room, because he leaned his head around the corner into the kitchen. The setting sun in the windows behind him haloed his trim beard and curly hair with a glint of amber. You prefer factory farmed?

He came around the corner, barefoot and wearing wrinkled Bermuda shorts. Outwardly, he seemed to be eco-responsible, but the man was always holding a disposable coffee cup or crunching on nonorganic potato chips. And now he apparently killed pigeons.

Cindy said, I had no idea you had pigeons. Let alone ate them.

My newest project. I can raise them on the roof at work. They take very little space, and I get both eggs and meat.

Jaide’s stomach soured at the thought of slaughtering baby birds. No animals have to die to feed me. There are plenty of nonanimal proteins available, don’t you think?

He tilted his head and bared his teeth, pointing to a canine. These are the teeth of an omnivore. We’re designed to eat meat.

The woman who’d spoken earlier chimed in. I’ve eaten quinoa and tofu for decades.

Except nearly all the soy products are genetically modified these days, said Trevor. The need for soy in animal feed led the GMO corn and soybean takeover.

Jaide’s chest tightened. They’d agreed to stop talking about GMOs in public after the greenhouse. Even in front of other Coalition members, they held back on the off chance police questioned members about zealots.

They kept their activities on the up-and-up these days, striving to act like good little drones who believed they could change the world through rallies and ballot measures. The incident at the greenhouse had made the news—stayed there for the better part of a month while the police investigated. But no word emerged of the flash drive or other clues. Once the news died down—no doubt dictated by the corporation—she assumed the trail had gone cold. But she still couldn’t help looking over her shoulder whenever a policeman passed her on the street.

Lucas lifted his brows and nodded once. The need to produce animal feed has spurred on GMO crops. I can’t argue with that. But is genetic modification really a bad thing? We’ve got to do something to feed the Earth’s population.

Silence as everyone stared at him.

Words clustered in Jaide’s throat, too many to spit out. She thought her eyes were going to bug out of her head.

Did you really just say that? asked Cindy.

Humans have been eating GMO for decades with no proven ill effects, he said.

Jaide couldn’t keep quiet. In the nineteen fifties and sixties, scientists also claimed DDT and other pesticide sprays were safe based on the fact that there was no proof they weren’t.

I have a diabetic aunt who’d be dead without insulin produced by GM bacteria, said Lucas.

Trevor’s dark eyebrows drew together, creating a line that matched his mustache. GM insulin causes type one diabetes in type two patients.

Lucas turned a stony gaze on Trevor. Have you read that study? Because I have, and that study had nothing to do with GM insulin versus natural insulin.

But it hasn’t been—Trevor caught Jaide’s gaze, and his face turned ashen—proven otherwise. He finished with forced sedation and lifted his beer to make a show of drinking.

Cindy energetically pounded the bag of raspberries against the cutting board to break them up, her face pink.

Jaide decided to steer the conversation away from Trevor’s anti–GMO zeal. Don’t you think corporations suppress any data they don’t agree with?

Lucas refused to be derailed. So I’m supposed to take your word that GMO is bad over someone else’s word that it’s good?

She crossed her arms. You’ve obviously made up your mind already.

Show me a case study that has undergone peer review proving the danger—his voice rose to carry over the sound of the blender—and I’ll hop on your bandwagon.

Cindy slammed the tequila bottle against the counter top. Enough arguing! This is supposed to be a party! Now drink up.

Instead of taking a drink, Lucas tore the hindquarter off one of the squab and took a big bite.

Jaide put Trigger on her leash and called to Flora, her voice echoing through the tiny apartment. I’m going to the co-op. Want to come?

Flora’s voice drifted from her bedroom. Can I buy salted caramel?

One. Jaide checked her faded jeans pocket for her wallet. She should have enough to splurge on one candy. She took her reusable bag from its hook near the door and folded it into her back pocket.

Flora appeared in the hallway in short shorts and a tank, the straps of her florescent yellow training bra stark against her tan.

Always concerned about damaging her daughter’s self-image, Jaide schooled her face into nonjudgmental lines and asked, You sure you want to wear that?

Halting mid-step, Flora looked down at herself. All the girls wear this.

And what statement are they trying to make with it?

Flora slumped and threw her head back to look at the ceiling. God, Mom. Not everything has to be a statement.

Jaide gripped the leash tighter. She’d sworn to be a better parent than her own mother, but some days it took all her will not to crush Flora’s independent nature. I’m not saying you can’t wear it, just that you should think about what it tells other people about you. She refrained from mentioning that some girls in this neighborhood made money by dressing that way.

Forget it. I don’t want caramel. Flora stomped back into her room.

It’s up to you. But I’m leaving now.

No answer.

Everyone said the teenage years were hardest. Flora wouldn’t be thirteen until April, yet Jaide already felt constantly pelted by irrational hormones. It made her appreciate her mother a hair more, although they seldom spoke since Jaide had become a single parent. Mother insisted Flora had ruined Jaide’s life. Jaide didn’t want to expose Flora to that negativity. Instead, she worked on being proud of her own daughter no matter what.

Today that was going to take some extra work.

Sighing, she stepped into the grungy hallway and locked the door behind her. Someone across the corridor was playing their TV too loud again, and the scent of frying meat polluted the air. She took the stairs down a level and exited the building. Across the street, a young girl played with a toddler on the sparse, unkempt lawn. To Jaide’s right, a large-breasted woman leaned out of a peeling, second-level window and loudly berated a man standing below. Humid autumn air brought out the scent of garbage from the nearby alleyway.

Trigger pulled happily against the tether down the cracked sidewalk, stopping at the first street sign to sniff. Jaide paused to give her time to do her business. Behind them, Flora’s voice called out, Mom, wait!

She turned to see her daughter clomping toward her in a knee-length crinkle skirt and unlaced black Converse high-tops. She still wore the bra-strap-exposing tank, but at least her bottom half wasn’t on full display. Trigger pranced on the end of her leash, acting as though she hadn’t seen Flora in days.

When Flora reached them, Jaide asked, Did you lock up?

Flora nodded and took her hand like as she had when she was little.

Jaide smiled, her heart overflowing. I’m glad you changed your mind.

They continued walking, Flora skipping over cracks, and Trigger pausing to sniff at every signpost, corner, and tree. Their neighborhood was threadbare, but Jaide liked to think it was full of good people trying to get ahead. Like herself. Her job doing data entry from home gave her more time with Flora but didn’t pay much. She saved what she could to buy a little house of her own someday.

Down a narrow alley between the dingy brick buildings, she spotted a scrawny dog gulping down a stale bun. She paused, ready to check for collar or tags, but the pooch tucked her tail and slithered underneath a wooden gate blocking the end of the alley.

Flora let go of her hand. Want me to catch her?

Jaide debated but thought better of intruding on private property. Not today, love. We’ll look again on the way back. She hoped the poor thing didn’t get hit by a car in the meantime.

They crossed the intersection to the small co-op market and stopped beneath the awning out front. She offered the leash to Flora. Want to stay here with Trigger, or should we tie her up?

I want to pick my caramel.

Jaide nodded and loosely tied the leash to the tree outside the co-op. She held a palm up toward the dog. Trigger, sit. Stay.

Trigger lowered her hindquarters to the pavement, her brown eyes sad.

We’ll be back in a minute, silly, Flora said in a baby voice. Trigger’s tail swept the sidewalk.

They entered the cool interior of the store, dim under the illumination of energy-saving bulbs. While Flora picked a hand-made caramel from the case up front, Jaide headed to the bakery at the back, mentally counting the cash in her wallet. Eating organic was expensive, but she’d save in doctor bills in the long run. She selected a loaf of day-old bread and then ventured to the produce section to look over the