VERDANICIDE
II



The apocalypse started with hope. Humanity’s great hunger was ending, they said. A miraculous substance, known as the Catalyst, had been discovered deep in a collapsed mine beneath a rural town in Washington. A naturally occurring compound that accelerated photosynthesis to previously unimaginable levels, it turned barren fields into lush, thriving gardens overnight. For the residents of Jasper's Wake, an unassuming agricultural community in the Olympic Peninsula, the Catalyst was a blessing. Their modest berry fields and apple orchards flourished, the forests surrounding the town became greener than ever, and the local economy boomed, drawing the attention of agricultural corporations worldwide.
The first anomalies were easy to dismiss: crops that shimmered unusually in the moonlight, leaves reflecting faint iridescent hues. Mushrooms emerged in peculiar geometric patterns, ferns in perfect circles and triangles that defied nature’s tendency for chaos and disorder. A pervasive hum hung about the forest at night, almost imperceptible but undeniably there, as though the land itself had a frequency, a heartbeat that grew stronger with the Catalyst’s growth. The trees pressed closer, their undergrowth creeping like advancing fingers toward the town’s edges. By the time these peculiarities were widely acknowledged, the Catalyst’s reach had extended far beyond Jasper's Wake.
Months later, crops aided by Catalyst were growing faster than ever, but yielded fruits that were rubbery in texture and faintly bitter. Livestock began avoiding the grasses they once grazed on eagerly. Yet, the world’s hunger for agricultural miracles outweighed its caution. Catalyst was hailed as a gift of science, its scattered peculiarities dismissed as quirks of nature.
In Jasper's Wake, the residents were torn. The sudden wealth and prosperity from selling Catalyst-laced produce lifted the town from obscurity, but unease grew. The forests pressed ever closer, taking the farthest edges of the town, reclaiming disused lots and establishing itself as an invasive presence. Wildlife began acting erratically. Deer, normally timid, stood frozen on roadsides in herds, their eyes unblinking. Birds avoided the trees, instead circling the town and avoiding the shadows of the tree line as the angle changed throughout the day. Gradually, the subtle signs escalated into undeniable disruptions.
Leah Grant, high school teacher-turned-leader of Jasper's Wake and its thinning population, found herself drawn to the town’s church late one night. She wasn’t religious—not since her father had succumbed to pancreatic cancer in the very hospital where she had worked summers as a teenager. She sat in the last pew, staring at stained-glass windows which were dull and lifeless in the darkness of night.
“It’s not just plants anymore,” she thought to herself. Her mind was barely audible above the sound of the hum that lingered and the unnatural calm that had overtaken the town as a result—the kind of noisy silence that screamed at her to run. Her husband, Tom, had been the first to suggest they leave. But where would they go? The Catalyst wasn’t contained to Jasper's Wake anymore. The news reports confirmed its spread: the Amazon reclaiming cities, Australia’s fields turning to verdant nightmares, and now her own town gripped by vines that seemed to whisper to her in tongues.
“We need to fight it,” Clara—the widow of Daniel Weatherby—had said earlier that evening, her voice tinged with desperation. “We can’t just wait for it to take over. Burning the fields didn’t stop it. It only made them angrier.”
Leah rubbed her temples, the implications of their conversation bearing down upon her. “How do you fight something that’s in the soil, the air, and the water, Clara?” she had replied. “Tell me that.”
She rose from the pew, a weight in her stomach, anxiety shaking her legs. Outside, the towering Douglas firs seemed to loom, silhouettes pressed imposingly against the horizon. She wondered if they would still be there tomorrow morning, or if the town would wake up consumed by them.
Daniel Weatherby, the town’s late mechanic, on the other hand, had always been a man of quiet suspicions and restless anxiety. One evening in the weeks prior, he ventured into the woods with a flashlight and his trusty canine, Max, unable to shake the nagging feeling that the Catalyst’s presence was more deliberate than natural. The forest was unnervingly silent as he walked, the usual symphony of crickets and rustling leaves conspicuously absent and replaced by that soft hum. The trees aligned in strange angles and perfect lines, though their trunks twisted strangely towards a central point deeper in the woods.
Daniel had eventually found himself at the entrance to the collapsed mine, deep within the woods. Recently infrastructure had been constructed around it; temporary fences, port-a-johns, a small office fashioned inside a shipping container, and so on, littered the area. 
As he investigated the intact portion of the mine, the man soon discovered a patch of land that shimmered in the dark corners of the tunnel, further proof of the Catalyst's otherworldly presence. The soil was unnaturally warm to the touch, and in its center, a large mass occupied most of the space. It pulsed faintly and gurgled with unseen fluid. When Daniel prodded it with a stick, the object split open, revealing a network of roots that gleamed like polished metal, their movements almost serpentine, undulating and contracting in response to the crisp autumn air.
Then, it screamed, a sickening, agonized howl that split the quiet and persistent humming of the trees. It sounded like a dying animal mixed with the susurrus of trees under storm winds, though the air was suffocating and still, devoid of the usual frigid currents that rolled off the mountains. 
Max barked furiously as Daniel stumbled backward. He had taken a step to run but found his boot snagged on thick roots that had grown rapidly and coiled around his ankle. He tried desperately to pull himself free, and when he did so, he left the tendrils twitching and retracting into the soil like a wounded creature.
Before he could process the sight, alarms blared. Daniel and Max had barely escaped, but the Agency acted swiftly and cleanly. By dawn, the mine had been sealed off with concrete and a padlocked door, Daniel’s house was torn apart, and the man himself vanished. The town’s whispers grew louder, fear spreading like wildfire. Catalyst wasn’t just a tool for growth—it was a living force, and the Agency, whose presence was merely a campfire story at the time, was somehow aware of this fact. Why, then, had they done nothing about it? 
The world was divided: many praised Catalyst, treating it as a gift to undo human destruction, while skeptics called it a ticking time bomb. For Leah Grant, the news only heightened her unease. “It’s everywhere now,” she told Tom one evening as they watched a news report about a town in Australia evacuated due to aggressive plant growth. “We can’t control it.”
Tom, ever the optimist, shrugged. “Maybe we don’t need to control it. Maybe nature will sort itself out. Usually does.”
But Leah saw the fear in his eyes, a reflection of her own.

***

In the days leading up to the End, the Agency’s presence in Jasper's Wake rapidly grew to critical capacity. Roads were closed, curfews imposed, and drones patrolled the skies. Trucks loaded with chemicals and unknown machines rolled in and out of the woods at all hours, though no one was foolhardy enough to follow. Residents were assured these operations were for their safety, and with little alternative, the people believed them.
Inside the mine, however, desperation was mounting. The Agency’s scientists were losing control. Catalyst was evolving, resisting all containment efforts, proliferated by regretful eco-terrorists and misguided neo-luddites hoping to accelerate a return to primitive society. Treated plants began yielding strange deformities: crops that grew limbs, roots that pierced concrete in spears of bone, flowers that whispered to each other and gossiped about those that spoke in their presence. Director Henderson, the operation’s head, faced escalating pressure from her superiors, pressure she couldn’t abate. The Catalyst was no longer a substance. No longer a simple threat. It was an inevitability—and it was learning.
Rumors arose of townsfolk that behaved oddly. They could be found standing in line with the trees at the edge of town, trees whose branches refused to move, even in storm and snow, their needles pointed deep into the forest. The affected townsfolk would simply deny their behavior, breath reeking of matted grass clippings and ozone. 
The residents of Jasper's Wake, once connected by mutual terror, grew fearful of each other. Families abandoned their homes, seeking refuge elsewhere as the forest repossessed the land beneath them. Those who remained gathered in the church, sharing stories of their encounters with the Unknowns. Leah thus became a reluctant leader among the few, her calm external demeanor a source of comfort. Some, like Tom, believed they could coexist with the Catalyst if they adapted. Others, led by Clara, demanded action—burn the fields, destroy the mine, and drive out the Agency before it was too late.
Leah found herself caught in the middle, her role as a leader thrust upon her by necessity rather than choice. “We need to stay calm,” she told the gathered townsfolk, her voice steady despite the rising panic in the room. “If we turn on each other, we’re finished.”
Clara rose, her voice shaking with anger. “Calm? Danny tried to warn us, and look what happened to him! You think the suits care about us? They’re just cleaning up their own mess!”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Leah held up her hands. “I don’t trust them either, but we don’t have the resources to fight this on our own. If we act rashly, we’ll only make things worse.”
Her words seemed to mollify some, but Leah knew the tenuous peace wouldn’t last. The town was a powder keg, and the Catalyst was the spark.
“We can’t just leave,” Leah argued during a heated town meeting. “We’ve faced floods and droughts before. We’ll find a way to survive this.”
Her words sparked fragile hope as the Catalyst’s grip tightened. Vines crept into homes overnight. Fields were scorched in controlled burns, yet the growth always returned—stronger, more insidious. A child wandered into the woods and returned with flowers blooming from his skin. The hum—once a low, resonant vibration one would have to strain to hear—permeated every corner of the town, rattling windows and nerves alike.
It was at this time that the Agency pulled their forces out of the forest. Leah woke one morning to find the rumble of diesel engines and the dust of a fleeing convoy tickling her lungs. 
In the days to follow, the residents of Jasper’s Wake would find themselves welcomed by a thick wall of smoke that permeated the air. The Verdanicide, as it was called, was not a single event but a cascade of decisions made in desperation, a global act of mutilation against humanity's lifeline. Agricultural sectors across the world turned against themselves, declaring a new war, not on pests or droughts, but on the plants that had been humanity’s salvation for millennia. 
The decision was not made lightly. The specter of starvation loomed large, but it paled in comparison to the annihilation the Catalyst promised. Leaders weighed the agony of barren fields against the certainty of infrastructure consumed, populations displaced, and lives lost to an encroaching emerald tide.
Flames consumed the wheat plains of North America. Forests in Southeast Asia, already struggling against logging and climate collapse, were reduced to ashen silhouettes. Europe’s vineyards were drowned in saltwater, their roots left to rot in poisoned soil. For many, it was not just the land that burned, but also their hope. 
To destroy the plants was to strike at the very heart of humanity's relationship with the earth, an unspoken covenant shattered under the weight of nature's corruption. Yet, even in the face of this destruction, murmurs persisted: rumors that deep in forgotten valleys or sealed bio-labs, remnants of the corrupted flora were being studied, preserved by those desperate—or arrogant—enough to believe they could control what the world had just sacrificed so much to destroy. The residents of Jasper’s Wake knew different.
Leah had seen the aftermath of one such experiment. A single Catalyst vine, severed and supposedly dormant, had been contained in a government facility near the outskirts of Jasper's Wake. She had watched from the forest’s edge as it breached containment, consuming guards and scientists alike before weaving itself into the foundations of the building. It was this memory that cemented her belief: the mine held answers. The world had burned its fields to save itself, yet the Catalyst still grew. If they were to stop it, truly stop it, they needed to understand its source.
Late one night, Leah gathered a small group—Tom, Clara, and two other volunteers—and set out toward the Catalyst’s origin. 
As they approached the mine’s entrance, Clara hesitated, as if suddenly understanding the stakes of their mission. “We shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum.
Leah turned to her, replying with a little more bite than intended. “You want answers. This is where we’ll find them.”
The group entered cautiously, bypassing the padlocked door with a set of bolt cutters. The mineshaft’s interior had become a surreal landscape of bioluminescent roots and pulsating walls. The air was heavy and humid, almost liquid, and carried a faint metallic tang, reminiscent of blood.
The distended mass that existed as a reservoir of Catalyst glowed with an unearthly light, its surface rippling like liquid mercury. Tendrils extended from the source, weaving into the walls and ceiling, pulsing in time with the hum.

Leah scanned the area, her flashlight catching a faint glint of metal. She moved closer and found a console—Agency equipment, covered in dust and tangled roots. She wiped away the grime, revealing a screen displaying a series of warnings: CONTAINMENT FAILURE IMMINENT. SUBJECT EVOLUTION UNCONTROLLED.
Leah’s stomach sank. Her pulse quickened, mind racing at the implications of the message. The Agency’s failed containment efforts were an excuse to experiment. Said experimentation had allowed it to evolve beyond understanding. It was alive in ways they had never anticipated, entwining with everything it touched—soil, air, and even the very people who had once stood in opposition to it. How could they escape this? 
The screen she had uncovered flickered briefly, its contents now more clearly visible. The warnings were no longer just text—they were threats. CONTAINMENT FAILURE IMMINENT. SUBJECT EVOLUTION UNCONTROLLED. ALL PERSONNEL EXPOSED TO CATALYST SUBJECT TO EVOLUTIONARY SHIFT.
Catalyst wasn’t just altering the world around it; it was rewriting life itself.
This was further confirmed by a disturbance on the surface of the Catalyst; its flowing membrane became a swirling gyre as a form emerged and separated from the mass, twisting into bone and sinew as a familiar figure took form before them. Clara’s face went pale.
“Danny?”
The silhouette of Daniel Weatherby stood and looked towards the group. It smiled, gums tinged green with chlorophyll. Then, a seam split down the center of Daniel’s face, as the head opened up like segments of a Venus flytrap and from the center emitted a shrill, inhuman screech.
With a sudden lurching motion, the ground beneath them shook violently. Leah stumbled, grasping at the jagged rock walls of the mineshaft for support. The hum grew louder, building in intensity and volume until it seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the Earth. The trees outside, the ones that had been creeping closer to the town, shook in sync with the noise.
Leah grabbed Clara by the arm, who was frozen in place, a gaunt look across her visage.
“We have to go. Now!” 
But Clara was paralyzed, her gaze fixed on the distorted form of Daniel. His body twisted and continued to change, skin contorting, growing strange new appendages that stretched and retracted like the roots of the Catalyst. His back arched unnaturally, and from his body sprouted thin, delicate vines and moss. Clara was trying to scream, to rush forward and try to help him, but the sight of him, of what he had become, rooted her firmly to the spot.
“Clara, come on!” Leah’s voice ultimately broke through her shock, and turned to see Clara’s terrified face, her eyes wide with panic. “We can’t save him. He’s gone. We need to save ourselves.”
Clara took a hesitant step back, heavy with grief. She knew Leah was right. What stood in front of her was something that was no longer human, something bound to the Catalyst's will.
The mine’s entrance closed in on them—the path darkened, tightened, the mine rejecting its invaders like a pathogen. The walls surged and pulsed once more. Leah felt the air grow heavier, permeating with the presence of a foreign contaminant that laid claim to the entire planet.

Leah turned and ran. Behind her, she could hear the hum of the Catalyst growing louder, echoing through the mine’s shallow depths, as if to remind her that it was everywhere.
Outside, the air was thick with the scent of earth and decay. The trees seemed closer than before, their branches stretched wide, reaching for them as they fled. The ground beneath their feet trembled, and they couldn’t overcome the pervasive feeling that something was following them—something far larger and older than anything they could truly comprehend.
As they ran, the world behind them shifted, transformed by the Catalyst’s influence. The town of Jasper's Wake, once a quiet farming community, was now caught in the grip of something that would cement its place on the world stage. The trees whispered, the fields churned, and the very land breathed, growing more alive and more interconnected with each passing moment.
Then tomorrow came, and we were all gone.
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