July 17th

Mars, Pennsylvania

Georgina Burroughs dried the gleaming garden trowel in her hand using an old, though spotless, tea towel. She hung it up on the wall right beside the other new garden tools she had been able to buy this summer. It was only July, yet her garden had yielded quite the crop of vegetables this year. She sold them mostly to her regular clients in the area, people who enjoyed the produce she’d grown year after year. Since she’d turned twelve, she’d had a truly green thumb.

Plus, she knew that when her mother looked out her bedroom window, on those days when she could get out of bed, she loved seeing the garden in bloom. There weren't just vegetables in Georgina's garden, but many beautiful flowers. Always her mother's favorites: zinnias, daffodils, gladiolus, and sunflowers.

Georgina's little gray cat, Rosie, hissed from where it perched on a shelf up on the wall. Someone was coming. Georgina's stomach lurched as she realized who it probably was.

The door to the garden shed burst open, and her father stood there, squinting at her with angry eyes. He was home from work early for some reason.

“What are you doing out here?” he said, his mouth gnashing his words. Not for the first time in her 18 years, Georgina wished there was a back door to the gardening shed. The garden, and the shed where she kept all her tools, were two of her favorite places in the world. But the shed, though technically a shelter, had not sheltered her in the past.

As her father stepped into the shed, she stepped back, above her head Rosie growled.

Georgina swallowed, and finally found the use of her tongue. “I was just cleaning the gardening tools I used today.”

“Gardening tools…” he muttered. He took a few more steps toward her, and she backed up one final step, until her back was pressed against a bare spot in the wall. How she wished she had more room to back up. Or a doorway, some way she could escape.

Her father’s angry eyes fastened on her. “I didn't like what you said to me last night, in front of your mother.”

Georgina blinked, confused. She couldn’t remember what she’d said. She swallowed hard, about to apologize for whatever she’d said. That's when she saw her father’s eyes quiver, turning shiny.

Was he about to cry?

Her father had never cried in front of her, not once. This was the first time she'd ever seen any emotion out of the man besides anger.

Georgina felt very uncomfortable, standing there in the shed–the man who usually screamed at her, and occasionally hit her, was about to cry in front of her.

It was surreal.

“You really hurt my feelings,” he said.

“I'm sorry…” she said, her voice a broken whisper. She was so afraid. And though he had abused her often, she really was sorry. Seeing tears in her father's eyes tugged at something inside her she didn't know was there.

Was it pity?

She felt a queer urge to hug the man, as she often hugged her mother when she was crying and confused. But she immediately pushed herself away from that feeling. Those eyes were brimming with unshed tears, yes, but the rest of his face was still quite angry looking.

“From now on,” he said, his voice quivering, “if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all!”

That was rich coming from him. But she still felt guilty for having hurt him, and afraid of what he was about to do.

She nodded. “I'm sorry, I won't do it again.”

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He reached behind him and shut the door. This automatically made Georgina's stomach drop, and a cold chill run up her spine. Nothing good ever happened when her father closed the shed door. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears.

“And I better never hear that this gets back to your mother…” he continued, his voice getting harder. “Not a goddamn word.”

“I promise.” She tried to step back, but was pressed against the wall already. “I promise I won't tell her anything. I won't tell anyone anything.”

“If you do…” he murmured, “I don't know what I'll do…”

A moment later he struck her, punching her right in her left eye. It wasn’t the first time he'd hit her, but it was the first time he’d opened with a punch. Georgina fell against the wall, holding her hand over where he’d struck her.

No… no, no, no, no, no!

Rosie hissed from where he was perched, and then her father raised his fist, ready to hit her again. But this time, for the very first time in her life, she raised her hand first, and punched him right in the jaw. Georgina’s punches weren’t anything compared to her father’s, but she wasn't some little waif of a girl.

She hit him hard enough to stun him, but that bewilderment gave way to seething anger in seconds. He began hitting her again, in the side of the head, and a hard blow right in the gut. She cried out as she staggered back against the wall.

Rosie jumped from where he was perched and onto her father, raking his claws down the man’s face. Her father swung his arms wildly, backhanding the cat, sending it flying against the wall where it made a sickening crunch.

Rosie!

Her father cried out, putting his hands on his face. Rosie had slashed down both sides of his face with his claws.

There was a boom in the distance, but Georgina almost didn’t notice it. She had enough to deal with inside the little shack.

Her father’s gaze locked on her, and she saw the moment her father decided to kill her. He wasn't going to just hit her again, he was going to beat her to death. It was different than any look he’d ever given her before, but she was completely sure what it meant.

Georgina reached over and grabbed an old rip-claw hammer from the wall, one of the old, rusted gardening tools. When he lurched toward her, Georgina swung it towards him as hard as she could. Her aim was good, and the hooked end sank straight into her father's temple. He sputtered, and shook, and tried to say the word bitch, but instead he crumpled to the ground in a great heap.

There was another boom from outside, and the shack shook under her feet. Shaking, Georgina stepped over her father and went straight to Rosie’s limp form.

No… please, no…

Rosie cried out in pain, but before she could reach out to touch him, nausea and sharp, knifing pains struck her. First in her abdomen, and then in her back, and then in her chest. She fell to the floor of the gardening shack and tasted her own blood in her mouth.

Her father had punched her multiple times, but that shouldn’t be causing…

The pain doubled, and she screamed. She heard a gurgle come from Rosie, and she pushed past her own pain to reach over and touch his soft, gray fur.

I’m so sorry…

There was another, much closer boom, and the sounds of screaming. And then everything faded to black.

***

Georgina dreamt that she was snuggled up in her mother’s arms, in her mother’s bed, Rosie curled up at her feet. Her mother wasn’t sick anymore. She didn’t know how she knew, or how it had happened, but she was herself again, at long last.

Georgina sighed, contented. “I want to stay like this forever.”

Her mother combed her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “Me too…”

Georgina frowned. “I hear a but coming.”

Her mother chuckled. It was so good to hear her laugh, it filled Georgina with hope. “Okay… but,” she continued, “This is goodbye, you know.”

Tears welled up in Georgina’s eyes, and she hugged her mother even closer. “It doesn’t have to be. I could go with you.”

Her mother placed her hand on her daughter’s head, the warmth of her flesh radiating into Georgina. “You’re not finished here,” she said. “Your friends are going to need you.”

Georgina laughed through her tears. “I don’t have any friends.”

Her mother stroked her cheek, and kissed the top of her head. “You will.”

***

Georgina woke with a start. She was in the exact same position as she’d been lying in her mother’s bed. She immediately knew that had all been a dream, and that her mother was now dead.

She sobbed, covering her eyes with her hands. She felt something soft rub against her arm, and knew immediately that it was Rosie. She pulled the little cat into a hug, ignoring that Rosie’s body seemed different, more malleable, softer and more pliant. She didn’t care. He was all she had left in the world, and she’d thought he was dying.

She leaned up, pulling the cat into her lap, lavishing her love and attention on him.

She ignored the body. She knew she would have to deal with it soon enough, but she didn’t want to deal with it now. She would have to take care of her mother first. She deserved a proper burial.

When she opened her tear-blurred eyes, that’s when she saw the book. Thick and aged, and glowing faintly of the most beautiful purple. It lay by her feet, and somehow, without taking her arms from around her cat, she reached out to the book. A… well, a tentacle of some sort, but seemingly made of a dark, shadow-like substance, reached out, took gentle hold of the book, and brought it to her. Georgina just knew that the tentacle was part of her now. And that there were more… many more of them.

The title of the book was The Gardener’s Guide to the Apocalypse. There was no author.