She felt a tingling sensation on the exposed skin of her face and arms.
I’m imagining it, she told herself, but if she was, then her imagination was running wild. She wiped a hand across her face, then began rubbing her arms vigorously. Her skin felt slightly wet, and after a few seconds, the tingling became a warm glow, like the heat of menthol or jalapeno peppers.
Okay, definitely not my imagination.
An urgent chirping noise distracted her. The mice, all of them, were now running back and forth across the room as if their tails were on fire.
They’re dying, she thought. She felt a stinging in her eyes, and blinked away tears. I probably am, too. Or will be soon.
Then she noticed something else. There were faint green lines on the skin of her arms, long streaks marking the places she had rubbed. The floor was also marked with splotches of green, and as she watched, they started moving.
No. Not moving. Growing.
Tiny shoots, no thicker than single strands of hair, were rising from the green spots, both those on the floor and those on her arms. She wiped her fingers across her arms, obliterating them completely, but the tendrils on the floor grew thicker, like vines, throwing out branching extensions and vestigial leaves.
Plant-based bio weapon. That’s what he meant. This isn’t some kind of organic poison or nerve agent. It’s a plant that…does what exactly?
The growth rate was extraordinary, and judging by the stinging sensation, the plant secreted some kind of toxic enzyme. The chirping of the mice had grown into a frantic cacophony. They had stopped running around. She found one nearby, caught in a tangle of green threads, squirming but unable to break loose.
Tyndareus’s wheeze sounded again. “You see? It works well in a controlled environment. But we could not replicate these results in the field.”
Fiona paid him no heed. She was aware now of green tendrils sprouting from her skin, probably her hair and clothes, too, but the threads on the floor scared her the most. While it was hard to imagine those tiny little fibers holding her down, she knew that enough of them might be able to do just that, immobilizing and enveloping her like some kind of invasive weed.
She scrambled out from under the table, intending to climb back on top, but found it already covered with fibrous green stalks. The sight stopped her cold. There was nowhere to escape to. Every corner of this room was infested with green.
She was going to die. Maybe not in the next few minutes, or even the next few hours, but eventually the plants would overwhelm her.
She whirled to face the glass, wondering how much force it would take to smash through. Maybe if I used the table like a battering ram…
Tyndareus’s weird mismatched blue eyes continued to regard her with an eagerness that approached hunger. He’s enjoying this. He’s getting off on watching me die, like some kind of psycho James Bond movie villain.
The thought triggered a lightning bolt of inspiration. I just hope he doesn’t watch the same movies I do. She met his stare and shouted, “Is this supposed to scare me into helping you?”
Uncertainty flickered across his strange eyes. She could see him parsing her words, trying to discern what she meant. His mouth opened, but then closed again.
Damn it.
She started to turn back to the exam table, intending to scrape away the thin layer of green that had started sprouting there and buy herself a few more seconds, but the tendrils had already begun wrapping around her feet, digging into the fabric of her shoes.
I’m running out of time.
She tore free and hopped up onto the table. Her feet started to burn, so she pulled her shoes off, revealing inflamed skin. She looked at Tyndareus again. “South America is a dead end. Kenner isn’t going to find anything there.”
His gaze narrowed, but he said nothing.
“He doesn’t know how to read the map, you know,” she pressed. “That’s why he had to ask me for help. But he still doesn’t know how to translate it. I’m the only one who can do that.” She was not desperate enough to tell him about the Mother Tongue, not yet at least.
The old man’s silence continued.
“Don’t believe me? Ask him what he’s found. Go on. I’ll wait. Only…” She looked from side to side. “I’m not sure exactly how long I’ve got.”
Finally, Tyndareus stirred. He raised a bony finger and stabbed at the screen of his tablet. For a few seconds, Fiona dared to believe that her ploy had worked, and that he would activate some kind of counter-agent to neutralize the strange growth. But a full minute passed with no appreciable change in the room, save for the fact that the mice had stopped chirping and the room seemed to be getting increasingly warmer. Uncomfortably so. Fiona’s skin began to burn anew as her sweat reacted with the acidic plants on her skin.