Page 1 of SummerTime Madness
Prologue
Fungi, Sex and Lies
Cordelia
A week before Summertime Madness
The LED lights hum with a low sterile whine, pulsing like a heartbeat in the stale humidity. The cold stone floor bites into the soles of my feet as I walk towards my terrariums in my secret lab — an abandoned greenhouse tucked into the woods behind the university. Something secluded and mine, approved with a signature from the department head. I inhale, the sharp scent of earth and rain fills my lungs. Rain slips from the cracked ceiling creating the perfect environment for thriving.
Damp and electric.
I lean in, my breath fogs up the glass as I look for Number 27.
She has begun to climb.
It’s two days post- exposure. She’s right on track. Every twitch is deliberate, like she knows what’s coming. Her body reaches the tip of a small treebranch I placed vertically in the soil, and then she stops.
Her small mandibles sink into the bark and go still.
No more twitches.
No more resistance.
Number 27 just holds. Letting out a deep sigh, I whisper to myself, “Stage three, behavioral override confirmed.”
I wait for a moment to see the small ant reach its final stage… a small tremor wracks through its delicate body when the first breach happens.
A small swelling forms right behind the head… bursting like a bubble–tiny threads of mycelium pushing outward. It’s so translucent you wouldn’t see it unless you knew what you were looking for, and I did.
God did I.
When it comes to fungi and plants, I think it’s safe to call me an expert. I have always loved being around plants, watching them sway in the wind. Learning their communication and fungi. Plants don’t speak– they touch. Heat. Scent. Vibration. It’s all a language.
This network of communication is calledmyceliumand thanks to this intricate network under the soil, even the trees can feel our presence. Learningthis as a child made me long for something I lacked – connection. Something I didn’t understand till I met them. The memory of that day evokes a small grin curling on my lips as I pick up the pen beside the tank, then slide the tip of it down the length of the glass container that holds my most prized possession–my ticket to achieving greatness.
Cordyceps.
Parasitic. Beautiful. Misunderstood.
Just like me.
They don’t just kill the host,but rewire their neural pathways completely–walking the host straight to their death. A truly scary and magnificent parasite. Number 27 didn’t die in vain–the queen shall rise again blooming into something so beautiful, the key to everything.
I hope so.
Like most of my nights, I’ll be busy harvesting instead of going out with the rest of my peers.
What can I say?
I’ve always preferred fungi over people, but even that’s a lie.
Fungi only destroys you once.
People do it slowly.
Repeatedly.
I should know.
