Free Asimov's Science Fiction: October/November 2013 by Penny Publications Page A

25-78-14-4-66-X-91. I didn't know what to do. Home felt safe all of a sudden. I wanted to apologize to Mom. We would drink tea, and our skin would heal, and we'd replant the courtyard garden.
    But the sun there wouldn't be right. My skin itched for real sunlight. I wanted to feel cool grass between my toes. Just a short walk to Dad and Becca's, and then I'd come back. Mom wouldn't have to know.
    But what if I infected them, too? I could put on my gear when I got to their house—that would keep them safe. My helmet and airmask were still on their porch, anyway. I grabbed my coversuit and punched the keycode into the airlock pad.
    Mom had programmed the front door with the same code as the airlocks, so I got out easily. I was halfway down the driveway when I realized I should have taken my pack, too, in case she didn't want me back.
    My knees didn't bend well, but I hobbled back to the door and punched in my personal entrance code, which went through fine. I followed with my thumbprint, and the light flashed yellow for me to exhale into the breath scanner. I leaned into the tube and blew. Then the light blazed ambulance red and the bioalarm sounded. Mom would come back soon, warned by the system pod. I had to get to the park.
    I kicked off my shoes and stepped onto the lawn, giddy with the feeling of wet grass on my bare feet. Where the sidewalk used to be was a stream, and across the street, where the kids had turned their cartwheels, there were trees with budding branches. There was a familiar smell in the air, a sweetness. I threw the coversuit on the ground, tore off my clothes, and kicked them onto the driveway. Why wait to run naked through the park? I could start right here.
    But the sun on my skin felt so warm—I wanted not to run but to stretch up tall to reach it. The breeze tickled me, and nudged me forward. I limped to the stream edge and dipped my big toe in.
    I thought the water had stabbed me, the pain cut so deep. But it wasn't the water. The tendrils tore through my skin and dug deep in the loam, as my heels rooted and my toes gnarled and spread and clung to the bank. I tried to lean over, but my body was so stiff I could no longer bend. Run, I thought, RUN! But all I could do was twist at the waist and fling my arms higher and higher.
    "Mom," I shouted into my voicecom link, "Mommy, I can't move."
    "Maxie," she whispered. Her voice sounded muffled in my earplants, as if she was bricked up behind a wall
    . No, I tried to tell her. I'm the one who's trapped.
    "I'm coming," she crooned. "I love you. Breathe. Just try to breathe."
    Breathe, I thought, yes, breathe, but I'd forgotten how.
    My legs locked, bound solid by tendrils, and the skin thickened to bark powdered with green. Caught in the twist, my waist stuck, and my shoulders and neck froze next. Only my arms kept moving. They divided and branched, branched and divided, again and again, finger after knotted finger, and my leaves drank in the sunlight. I closed my eyes, and felt the water course into my toes, along my spine, and up through the crown of my head, where the new-leafed hair grew long, and light, and slim branched enough to sweep the ground.
    I thought I heard the van, but the sound of the stream drowned it out. I couldn't see anything behind me, but the footsteps made the soil vibrate around my roots. I had never noticed the rhythm of her walk before, but now it was how I knew her, what my body remembered, the rhythm of her climbing the stairs, or scrubbing the fish tank, or spading compost in the courtyard.
    Then she stood beside me, calling, "Xam! Xam! Xam!" Her voice, sweeter than wind, sang through my leaves. She wore her sunglasses, overalls, and her feet were bare—no gear! Purple tendrils crowned her bald head. She turned, her posture perfect, and looked back at the house. "Xam!" she called again. "Honey, where are you?"
    I whispered to her, Mom, it's me! Look, my hair's longer than Becca's! Stay with me, Mom, the stream's a good