More than a hundred human-sized culture vessels filled the three-hundred-square-meter laboratory. Severed limbs floated above the liquid in every one.
With computers in hand, a dozen or so researchers logged the results of each genetic serum trial.
"First batch of genetic test subjects: one hundred and fifty. One success. One hundred and forty-nine failures." The researcher's fingers trembled as he finished typing the first report.
A feverish gleam lit their eyes. They had done it.
On a white examination bed, a young woman thrashed against the metal bands pinning her hands and feet. Her body was painfully thin. Two bloody welts marked her neck.
A researcher in a blue lab coat ignored Emma Bennett's struggles and connected a data cable to her head. Readings streamed across the screen.
The dozen-odd researchers watched the constantly updating figures with rapt fascination.
"All physical readings are normal. We can proceed to stage two." With more than a dozen pairs of eyes on him, an old man picked up a dose of white serum, his gaze wild.
He carefully expelled the air from the syringe, then stood beside Emma, studying her as if she were his finest creation.
She had stopped struggling. There was no point wasting her strength.
She wanted to speak, but the cloth binding her mouth kept her silent.
A sharp sting pierced her wrist. The old man set down the syringe excitedly.
The researchers waited eagerly. She was their only surviving genetic test subject. If Emma lived through this second round, it could transform their research.
"Her readings are fluctuating! Sedatives, now! Hurry..." Researchers scrambled for the drugs. They gave Emma two sedative injections.
An oxygen mask replaced the cloth over her mouth. Her breath fogged its surface, then the mist quickly cleared.
Emma slowly closed her eyes. At least it didn't hurt the way she'd expected.
Beep...
The red numbers on the monitor stopped.
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"Emma. Emma! The teacher's calling you." Chloe Parker had to repeat herself several times.
Emma lifted her head and looked at Chloe. The fabric of her shirt had left creases on her face, and the students around her burst out laughing.
She stared at Chloe, her gaze sharp. Hadn't she gone to the base in J City?
Chloe was the only one who couldn't laugh. Emma's stare was so frightening that she turned away without meaning to.
"Quiet! Quiet!" A long protractor slapped the teacher's desk. The sharp cracks cut through the laughter, and the room fell silent.
Mr. Miller pushed his glasses up. Somehow, Emma could read the death glare in his narrowed eyes.
"Emma, that's three times! Get out and stand in the hall. My office, after class." He pointed at the door, his voice harsh.
She was still trying to make sense of it. Was this a dream? It felt far too real.
A cool breeze came through the window. No stench of rot. Only the fresh scent of trees.
Emma rose and walked out, her classmates watching her go.
The classroom building stood six stories high. Students carrying books and papers passed through the hall now and then. Nearly everyone who went by turned to glance at her.
She stood outside the familiar classroom, listening to teachers' voices drifting between floors. Everything felt real. Everything felt like a dream.
She pinched her arm hard enough to leave a red mark. It hurt.
"I'm not dreaming. I'm back." She tried to place this moment in her memory.
First, Mr. Miller had made her stand outside. Then she'd handed over her shares. Then the apocalypse had arrived.
After her parents died in a car crash, their forty-percent stake in the company had passed to her, making her its largest shareholder.
Uncle Robert's and Uncle David's families had seen how young she was and wanted her to hand the shares over for them to manage. When she refused, they wouldn't leave her alone. She'd barely slept during those days. That was how she'd ended up dozing in class and getting sent outside by Mr. Miller.
What had she done the first time around? She searched her memory. She'd thought they had her best interests at heart. So she'd given them the shares.
At first, they'd kept up the act.
Then the apocalypse came, and they traded her to the laboratory for a few packs of compressed ration biscuits and multigrain flatbreads.
Her thoughts were a jumble, but one feeling rose above the confusion: the joy of having another chance at life.
The genetic serum. She'd survived the first dose and gained the ability to accelerate plant growth. Had that come back with her, too?
She'd been among the first batch of people injected with the serum, the only one to survive. The second dose had killed her.
She walked down the long hall to the restroom, locked herself in a stall, and sat on the toilet. Her phone showed July 6, year XX. Seventeen days until the apocalypse.
It had started with a sudden downpour that went on for a month, leaving nearly half of E City underwater. When the rain finally stopped, temperatures around the world plunged without warning.
A potted pothos vine sat on the floor beside her right foot, put there to freshen the restroom air.
At a thought, flecks of green light shimmered at her fingertips and sank into the plant's stems and leaves. Two seconds later, the pothos began to grow wildly.
Vines unfurled and climbed all four walls. Within moments, they filled the two-square-meter stall. And they kept growing.