The Arizona sun beats down on Penny as she uses tongs to hold the pad of the Prickly Pear plant and snips at the joint. The cactus is wilting and dropping spines onto the Cave Creek Botanical Garden walkway. Her uniform is so sweaty, it sticks to her back and her skin itches. This job is the first time she’s worn something other than pajamas or sweatpants in almost two years. 

Fastidiously, she sweeps up every last needle. It wouldn’t do to have a tourist’s foot pierced when the garden opens in two days for the big art show. She pauses to tuck an errant curl back under her green ball cap that says “1st Cavalry” and enjoy the silence. No people. No noise. No traffic. The tight lines around her eyes relax and a smile tickles her lips. 

“Kutulu in the Desert: Art Meets Nature” banners decorate the park. She watches a hummingbird buzz between the colorful sculptures that twist towards the sky. There are six structures in all, glittering among the native Sonoran Desert plants. A cloud passes over the sun. The tiny bird is cast in shadow several feet under a Kutulu tube. Penny’s breath catches. She wants to pluck the creature out of the air and keep it safe in her pocket. Shaking the moment off, she takes a deep breath of a flowering Creosote Bush, enjoying the earthy smell. 

“This sure beats the odor of stale wine,” Penny says to the hummingbird.

The iridescent green blur doesn’t stick around; fluttering up into the pasta-like yellow Kutulu. A bang makes Penny jump and drop the broom.

Her supervisor Oliver slams his coffee cup down again on the table in his administrative tent. “Penny, hurry it up! Your shift ended five minutes ago.” 

He'd been loading recently delivered fireworks onto a trolley for the party planned for opening night. Oliver is built like a barrel cactus, everything about him short and squat. His coke bottle glasses make his eyes appear comically large.

“Don’t rush the process, Oliver. Good things take time.” Penny’s cheeks flush. 

Oliver leaves his tent and trundles over to Penny. “I’m trying to be patient.”

“I've learned the hard way to double-check.” She picks up a water bottle to squirt a Desert Honeysuckle, trying to control the tremble in her hand.

Oliver’s face contorts in rage. “You know what I’m learning about the hard way? These dang veteran employment programs.” 

“You’d prefer a pimply teenager that does a half-assed job?"

Oliver speaks like he’s talking to an infant. “If you stay late, I can't do what I need to do. Finish up!” 

Pulling her ball cap low to hide tears, she concentrates on the hummingbird. It’s flitting around the orange Kutulu. She listens to the buzz of the impossibly fast wings. Penny takes a deep breath and goes back to her trimming when a curly piece of Kutulu moves.

She blinks.

The tube shifts, quivering. It moves closer to the hummingbird. With a lightening quick strike, it sucks the bird in. A thrashing lump travels through the length of the glistening arm and disappears into the trunk.

Penny rubs her eyes. What did she just see? The Kutulu just ate the hummingbird?

“I said, finish up!” Oliver grabs her elbow.

“Don’t touch me, you crap hat!” Penny jerks away from him, balling up her fists. 

“What did you call me?” 

 “I didn’t mean to name call. But that thing-” She points a tremulous hand at the Kutulu. “-just ate the hummingbird.”

Oliver wrinkles his nose. “You must have sunstroke. Time to go home.”

Penny shuts her eyes and counts to ten. A technique her therapist taught her.

Oliver is so close, she can smell his coffee breath. “Ignore me, will you? Are you looking to get fired?” 

She tries not to let her revulsion show.

“I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I will do anything. Please, I need this job. I’ll work faster. I really, really need this job.” She claws at him.

Oliver backs away. “Calm down. Consider this a warning. It takes a special sort of person to work here, not everyone assimilates. Go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

Penny nods and gathers up her tools. A headache blooms behind her eyebrows. 

She hurries past the award-winning visitor’s center with its bright Aztec tiles and stained-glass windows. A pond full of Koi fish sparkles in the courtyard. Guests never see the tired gardening shed hidden near the garbage dumpsters. 

Cracking open the door, the smell of old diesel, manure, and dust tickles her nostrils. Penny flicks the switch, but the room stays dark. Using the bit of light from a big dusty window, she places her toolbelt on a shelf. A beam of mote-filled sun illuminates a bag of fertilizer and several jerry cans of fuel in the corner. She sucks in her breath. The bag is chock full of ammonium nitrogen. Combine that chemical with gas and you have one dandy of a bomb. 

She doesn’t dare go back and talk to Oliver about it today.

On the short drive home, she smokes the one cigarette she allows herself. The box of matches and menthol cancer stick sit in her pocket all day, waiting for this one moment. Inhaling deeply, she lets the nicotine relax her nerves. 

Penny draws the curtains on her apartment window to block out the early morning sun. Sipping coffee slowly, she types with one hand on her laptop. The Cave Creek Botanical Garden website is full of hype about the upcoming exhibition, but low on facts.

That’s it. No more info on the artist. Not even a picture. 

A Google search brings up a blurb about an art show in New York. It’s from five years ago, and featured an O. Kutulu and his remarkable organic art creations. Next item is an abstract from the University of Miami about a “Kutulu” involved in a failed nano-technology experiment. 

An alarm reminds her it’s time to go to work. Her car keys sit beside a photo of seven soldiers posing with a UH-60 Blackhawk Helicopter. She’s in the center while the rest of her crew are grinning and flashing peace signs. Her coffee turns acidic in her stomach, but Penny still packs her cigarette and climbs into her surplus military vehicle. 

At work she tries to tell Oliver about the improperly stored fertilizer in the gardening shed. 

He interrupts her. “Look at those plants crowding the art installations! Get your trimmers and cut back the cacti. It looks sloppy.” 

Penny’s jaw drops. The orange Kutulu is bloated and each twisty arm is thicker. A nearby agave plant is dehydrated.

“The plants aren’t doing the crowding.” She points to an organ pipe cactus, half the arms severed by a blue Kutulu. “The art pieces are larger.”

“Aren’t they beautiful? Don’t they call to you?” Oliver shocks her by smiling.

“They’re... interesting.” Penny stutters.

“That’s all you have to say? Interesting? Listen to them.” He looks at her expectantly.

“I hear nothing. And they grew.” 

“Are we going to have more problems today?” Oliver doesn't wait for an answer, heading for his tent.

Penny grabs some equipment from the storage shed, but first takes a moment to move the gas cans as far from the fertilizer bags as the small room allows. Outside, the sun warms her cheeks and a cool breeze almost whips off her ball cap. After tightening the back of it, she looks at the dying plants. 

“Penny.... work!” Oliver watches her from the tent. 

She wades in with a shovel and digs out an Agave.

 “Terrible waste of tequila.” She tosses the mutilated plant.

“What did you say?” 

“Nothing.”

Penny grabs a saw and carefully cuts off saguaro limbs. Wiping sweat from her brow, she considers the last Kutulu installation to clean up. This one is a formation of ebony spikes sprouting from a flat round ball. Frowning, she notices some of the tubes are arching over the walkway. The ends look dangerous, and a few are hanging too low. Penny isn’t sure how the art pieces are crafted, but it feels organic, trimmable.  Using the saw, she carefully cuts the most threatening of the black spikes, clearing the walkway.

An enraged shriek comes from the tent, and Oliver bursts out. “What did you do? Are you crazy?” 

“We have to keep this place safe for the public. Think of the lawsuit if someone gets impaled by a tube.” 

He waves a stubby fist. “Look, I don’t know what kind of PTSD is making you a lunatic, but that was a priceless piece of art."

“What do you know about PTSD? Maybe the only reason you have your cushy supervisor job is because I defended our country.”

“What makes you think I’m a supervisor?” Oliver’s spit speckles her face.

Penny wipes her cheek. “Sorry, should I call you Overlord of the Garden?”

Oliver stomps. “You have no respect for the Kutulu. You’re fired!”

“Are you sure you can fire me? Isn’t there a board of directors or—?”

Her words trail off when she sees the cut Kutulu tube curl up with a hiss. Red smoke wafts from the black damaged end.

“Get out! Leave now. Before I charge you with vandalism.” Oliver waves a fist.

“Did you not see that?”

“Get out!”

Saw still dangling from her hand, Penny walks back to her Humvee. And drives. Her hands are shaking so much, she can’t even light her one cigarette. Her ears buzz like when her squad got blown up. The same buzz. The same feeling of dissociation. If she’d only seen the landmine earlier... 

She pulls over to the side of the road and concentrates on her breathing. Every time she tries to belong somewhere, she blows it up. Oxygen in. Carbon Dioxide out. Her eye catches the sticker on her sunshade.

She reaches into the center console, originally used for ammunition, but now repurposed as her travelling apothecary. The bottle of Diazepam is stained and well-handled. She dry swallows a pill and clenches her steering wheel. It takes a few moments, but her panic subsides.

Duty before Death, she reads the slogan she slapped on the truck when she was still serving.

There’s a cold bottle of Pinot Grigio, her sweat pants and Netflix waiting for her at home.

Penny rests her head on her white-knuckled hands. 

She didn’t imagine that hummingbird being sucked into the Kutulu tube yesterday. The fact they’re growing... no art she knows of does that. And what kind of monstrous creation hisses and curls up when trimmed?

Flipping down the visor and opening the mirror, Penny talks to her reflection. “You may be a discharged American soldier, but you are still a soldier. I don’t know what’s going on at that garden, but it could be a threat. To the people you swore to protect. Put on your big girl panties!” 

Penny turns the car around and drives back to the Botanical Garden. This time, she doesn’t park in the lot. Let’s see Oliver intimidate her when she roars up in a Humvee. She learned a few things in the army, like you need the element of surprise if you want the upper hand on your enemy. She gains confidence from the power of the massive military vehicle, some of the old “Hooah!” in her veins. She drives into the main courtyard— and has to rub her eyes.

There is a new Kutulu sprouting out of the pond. Purple, red and blue twists reach for the cloudless sky. They’re growing out of a huge trunk, as wide as a California Redwood. Standing on the rock border rock, Oliver gestures like a conductor. A stream of purple shoots from his fingertips. 

Penny figures it out. O. Kutulu. Oliver Kutulu. The artist AND the scientist.

His chubby body jitters as he creates. A slurping sound accompanies the formation of the new Kutulu. This is the most massive, colorful one yet. The other Kutulu hum and sway in the cool breeze coming down from the nearby mountains. Sweat streams from Oliver’s forehead, and the liquid material continues to flow from his hands. Purple changes to orange.

She hops out of her Humvee, saw in one hand, and strides to the edge of the pond. “Oliver.”

He changes the stream of orange to red, his eyes never leaving the Kutulu.

“Oliver!” Penny pokes him in the butt cheek with the tip of the saw.

He falls off the rock border with a startled bray, and the stream from his fingertips abruptly ceases. The last bits of red fluid harden to globs and bounce on the crushed stone path. Pebble-sized bits smack Penny in the face and arms. They sizzle on her skin, leaving something akin to a bug bite.

She holds her breath, looking at the spot on her arm where the largest one hit. Her skin is red and tingles. Her brain gives a sudden jolt, like the one time she sniffed a line of coke during her tour of duty.

Oliver pulls himself up, brushing off his khaki pants. “You’re like a bad rash."

Penny points her saw at his head. “What the actual eff?”

“Go home. Forget you saw anything here. You’re hallucinating." Oliver’s lips don’t move.

Penny blinks rapidly. “Something is happening, but I don’t think I’m hallucinating.”

“Go home, Penny. Come back for the opening tomorrow. Everything is okay.” Oliver’s voice massages her cerebral cortex.  

Penny can feel herself nodding, she loosens her fingers on her saw. “Why can I hear you in my brain?” 

Oliver raises his eyebrow, lips still pressed together. “Because I’m trying to communicate with you telepathically. This is how I talk with the Kutulu. They seem to like you.” He points to the mild burn on her arm. “I had no idea someone like you had the talent. I can teach you. We don’t have to be enemies.”

“It’s like a mind tickle.”

A wide grin transforms Oliver’s face into something almost pleasant. “Stay and help me get the garden ready.” He gestures at the new Kutulu.

It rustles, almost as if in greeting, then dips one purple tendril into the pond and sucks up a shimmering Koi. Penny can see the wiggling fish travelling down the opaque tube. She feels a brief rush of pleasure, as if she just ate a particularly tasty candy. She gives her head a violent shake and severs whatever connection she had to Oliver and his carnivorous art. 

“What’s really going on here, Oliver?” She jabs the saw at his soft belly.

Oliver sucks in his gut but doesn’t retreat. “Haven’t you always wanted to belong, Penny? Isn’t that why you joined the army? You need purpose. A family. If you won’t leave, you might as well join us.” 

His voice and eyes are like a promised vacation. The magnified pupils deep and warm.

 “Belong to what?” She lets the saw fall to the ground and steps closer to her boss.

“This.” Oliver gestures at the Kutulu gleaming in each installation. “This is the next wave of nanotechnology. Art that’s alive. Only a few, like you, can hear as we do. Feel as we do. Join us.”

Penny looks around the garden. The creations are beautiful, waving in the wind, as if they are waving to Penny. A tickle begins in her brain as Oliver waves his hands at the Kutulu, summoning his nano-material. 

She sways with the spires. Excitement crackles in her veins, and Penny is hungry. For fish, for human flesh, for the promise of violence. Her eyes fall on Oliver’s hands. It looks like radioactive gum is stuck under his fingernails.

She does a quick jumping jack to refocus herself. “Your hands, how does that goo--”

“Goo? Are you that uncultured?” Oliver grits his teeth, his voice cracking, then catches himself. 

Penny’s eyes widen, the brain tickle gone. She feels restless, exhausted, and a bit irritable. A flash of memory, this is a similar low after the cocaine high.

“Where did fighting get you in the past?” He opens his arms. “I can see that you have grit, you don’t give up. We need your energy. Join us. Aren’t you tired of being alone?”

A force is caressing her brain, promising another high, another hit. Penny bites her lip and concentrates on Oliver, not letting the addictive red swim across her brain again.

“I’m alone, but my brain is also my own.” Penny grimaces. “What is the Kutulu? What would I be joining?”

“The Kutulu are undefinable. A new world order. Open your mind, I will show you.”

Penny digs her nails into her palms, keeping the tingle at the edge of her cerebral cortex. “How will this help humanity?”

Oliver gestures at his latest Kutulu, the multi-colored tentacles reaching for the sun. “Instead of billions of people going different directions, we are a hive-mind. Nano-bytes and energy working together.”

“Working towards what?” She reaches a hand towards the swaying Kutulu.

“The next wave of evolution.” Oliver steps closer. “Take the leap of faith, Penny, like I did.”

His voice massages her brain. The tingle creeps in. She hardly notices when he touches her lip. 

“How, Oliver?” Her voice sounds slurred. “How did you leap?”

“I was a professor working with biomedical nanotechnology. Art was just my hobby. It was a lucky accident; I added a bit of meteorite from the school’s geology museum to my nanotubes!”

Oliver edges closer to her. “But they had no vision. I was fired instead.”

“Like you tried to fire me?” Penny struggles to move, but she’s frozen.

Oliver runs his finger along the edge of her mouth.

The Kutulu sway in the botanical garden, their long arms unfurling and knocking flowers off of cacti. Penny’s mind hums with them.

“How do you get from nanotubes, to being fired, to creating living art from your fingers?” She holds his hand still on her mouth.

“I ate some of my research.” A bit of orange liquid spills onto her bottom lip from his finger.

It’s warm and Penny parts her lips. It will feel so good to belong. To be a part of something, all that energy...

Over her boss’s shoulder, she sees a 900-year-old Saguaro cactus fall to the ground. The once impressive plant is shrunken and dehydrated. The yellow Kutulu beside it twists its tendrils, swelling with growth. Penny knocks Oliver's hand away and spits the bit of orange fluid off her lip. A tiny pebble bounces on the ground. 

“You’re insane.”

 Penny judges the distance between her and the dropped saw. With a shake of her head, she clears the call of the Kutulu, the urge to feel that red high vanquished.

Oliver’s pupils dilate when he senses she is no longer connected to the hive mind.

“You had your chance to be one with us. Now you will be eaten. The gristle and bone are needed for us to grow.” 

The multi-colored Kutulu unfurls and reaches for her. A gaping mouth at the end of each tube. 

Penny jumps, hitting the ground and rolling. She makes a swipe at her saw. Her hand narrowly misses it.

The red arm of the Kutulu grabs her shirt and sucks it off her back. She shrieks and runs, feeling the tendril tips brush her skin. It’s like a vacuum cleaner has latched onto her calves. Some of her hair gets caught, and her ball cap gets torn off her head. Yanking her ponytail out of a black tube, and kicking off a pink one, she runs. Runs like shrapnel is propelling her. Runs for her life.

Once she is past the Koi Pond, she feels safer. The Kutulu can stretch their curly bits, but the trunks are embedded in the earth. Or in the case of the pond Kutulu, in the water. Even though she is out of reach, Penny doesn’t slow, heading for the gardening shed.

“The world is a mess; you know this better than anyone. Come back!” Oliver picks up the saw and follows.

Penny strains her legs and pumps her arms. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see her boss rounding the pond. His belly jiggles as he scuttles. His coke-bottle glasses are askew, and he’s brandishing the saw like a sword. Diving into the shed, Penny slams the door behind her and blocks it with the industrial lawn mower.

A fist pounds on the old wood, “Penny, you can still join us. Don’t be the Dodo. Evolve!”

“I thought you said I was gristle. Make up your mind, Oliver.” Penny picks up a bag of fertilizer.

“We don’t want to hurt you.” Oliver uses the tip of the saw and stabs through the door.

Grabbing the jerry can of fuel, she tries to crack open the single window. The saw has sheared a hole in the door now and Oliver’s red face peers in. She grunts, pushing on the window. It’s glued shut with paint.

“Right, you and your Kutulu come in peace?” Penny shoves the fertilizer bag through the window. The shatter and clinking of the glass drowning out Oliver.

“--eaten, or do the eating.” He busts through his jagged hole, swearing as he stumbles over the lawnmower.

Penny checks the lid on the jerry can and throws it after the fertilizer. Then, she grabs the jagged edge of the broken window, wincing as the glass cuts her palms—

Oliver is so close; she can feel his hot breath. The saw slams into her ankle, and blood gushes into her shoe.

--she flings herself out the window, somersaulting into the grass. Wiping her palms on her shorts, she can see the cuts are deep. Her ankle is seeping blood from an inch-wide cut. Limping as fast as she can, she carries the fertilizer and the can of fuel back to the Kutulu. The multi-colored one is stretching shiny opaque tubes, trying to catch her hair or a bit of skin.

Keeping a wide berth, Penny would love to blow up the biggest Kutulu, but the water is a problem. She skirts the edge of the pond and makes a quick dash at the Yellow Kutulu. The one that ate her hummingbird. Before it can unfurl its spirals, she rips open the fertilizer bag.

“No.” Oliver falls to his knees on the other side of the pond.

She opens the jerry can and glugs fuel on the mix. A yellow arm swipes at her, giving her ear a good zing. Before it can attach, she scuttles on her hands and knees out of reach.

She waits for the explosion, hands on her ears. 

Nothing. 

She whacks her forehead with one bloody palm.

“Of course, I need a catalyst.” she says under her breath.

“Penny, what’s waiting for you at home? Bad memories and Merlot?” Oliver’s palms are pressed together, praying.

She furls her eyebrows. “I need a stick of dynamite. A blasting cap.” 

“You need peace, you need to become one of us,” Oliver says.

Penny’s limbs are trembling from blood loss, exhaustion. “I do need peace.”

"Help me with opening day tomorrow. It will be so beautiful, crowds of energy-filled people, the sky lit up with fireworks. Be a part of history.” 

The Kutulu are waving in the warm breeze, moving with the cadence of Oliver’s voice. Penny feels herself swaying with them. The sun reflects off their iridescent arms. She closes her eyes against the brightness.

 She feels drunk, compliant. “Opening day tomorrow. I will be a part of history. We will celebrate with fireworks.”

The fireworks. Her eyes fly open. 

She squeezes her nails into her hands, firing up the wound to wake herself up. She gasps and charges towards the supervisor tent. It’s only a few feet from the yellow Kutulu. From Oliver’s trolley, she picks out an M-80, the most powerful kind of firework. It has a label on it. ‘Grand Finale.’

“Don’t do it.” Oliver gasps.

She pulls out her baggie with her one cigarette and takes out the box of matches and ignites the M-80. It sparks and flares. She flings it at the fertilizer fuel pile at the base of the Kutulu. 

Oliver’s enormous eyes bulge. 

She runs, like she did in Afghanistan, back to her Humvee.

The ground heaves, and booms pierce the air. The gardening shed goes up. A bigger boom. Shattering metal. Flying tiles. Spiny green bits of cacti. Multi-colored shards of Kutulu. Half a pair of coke-bottle glasses.

Penny is lifted into the air, her arms pinwheeling. She is catapulted behind her truck. Her ears ring while sharp pieces of debris pelt her back. Everything goes black. 

Her eyes flicker open and her body hurts. Her hands, her back, her ankle, her head. Grimacing, she tests out her body parts. She is sticky with blood, but everything seems to be in working order. No broken bones. She climbs onto the hood of her Humvee. With her hands on her hips, she surveys the aftermath.

Smoke is rising from where the Kutulu used to stand. Little balls of every color are sizzling on the ground. 

“Oliver?” 

No answer. No sign of him. 

The beautiful gardens are destroyed, the installation burning. Outside of the blast zone, the tall Saguaro tower in the distance. The sheer cliffs of Spur Cross Conservation Area on the horizon.

A smile pulls at her lips, and she lights her one cigarette. The smoke mingles with the vapor from the nano-monsters. A coyote edges onto the blackened sand and looks at her curiously.

“Yup. Penny saves the day. Guess this old soldier still has a bit of fight left in her.” She nods to the grey animal.

He sniffs at a purple ball.

“You better leave that, puppy.” Penny flicks her cigarette at the coyote.

The coyote spooks at the stub, but before he can run away, the purple bit of Kutulu rolls onto his paw and quickly spreads up his leg. He yelps and a purple tendril grows out of its ear. He whines as the goo digs itself into the earth and coats his entire body. A miniature Kutulu forms, little spirals unfurling and reaching for the sky.

“No, no, no no.” Penny jumps off the hood and falls to her knees on the black earth. 

A bunny rabbit sniffs at a yellow ball and screams as it is slowly encased. The furry body becomes a trunk, and a yellow Kutulu joins the purple. Baby saplings of horror. She squints at the destruction caused by her bomb. Red, blue, yellow, purple, and orange balls everywhere. 

“What have I done?” 

The wind blows a yellow ball of glowing matter next to her leg. Penny picks it up and looks at it, biting her lower lip. As she holds it, the light dims, and the color seeps from the little sphere. Rolling it in her palm, it feels dead. No tingle, no warmth. A hummingbird pauses in front of her, little wings a flurry.

“Would you look at that? The Kutulu particles are strong together, but lose all power divided.”