The roots tighten, determined to take me with them.
The basement shakes.
And then?—
NINETEEN
TORCHED
VAL
The house goes up all at once.
Fire blooms through the roof, swallowing shingles and coughing sparks into the sky. Windows blow out in bursts of light, flames pouring through the frames and turning the night orange. The heat punches my face even from here.
For one stunned heartbeat, I just stare.
Cole did it. He freaking did it.
I force my legs to move.
I flick the torch and the hiss of flame snaps me back into my body. The sound eats my thoughts. I turn and shove the fire into the cornfield. Dry leaves blacken instantly. Stalks curl as they burn, popping and cracking, embers lifting into the air like glowing insects.
I run, dumping the first can, then the second, carving a jagged trail through the rows. My lungs seize. Smoke claws at my eyes. Tears stream down my face but I don’t stop. I light row after row, streaks of fire racing away from me until the field becomes a living wall, flames climbing higher than my head.
Somewhere behind the fire, an engine roars.
Shaun.
I glance through the heat shimmer and catch a glimpse of the tractor at the far edge of the fields, headlights cutting through smoke as he barrels straight toward the pumpkin patch.
We might actually pull this off. We might actually survive?—
Heavy footsteps.
The sound slides through the crackle of fire like a blade.
I stop cold, torch raised, heart slamming so fast it makes me dizzy. Smoke hugs the ground, thick and low, rolling around my boots. The air hums. Not just with heat. With movement.
Something shifts inside the smoke.
It steps out like it’s been waiting. Like it timed this for the exact second hope showed up so it could stomp on it.
Sandie’s body staggers out of the smoke, half lit by fire. Vines coil around her body, glossy and blackened, dripping sap and blood that sizzles when it hits the dirt. Its carved grin glows, fed by the flames.
I tighten my grip on the torch, pulse roaring in my ears.
“Well,” I mutter, voice shaking but loud enough to hear myself, “that’s rude.”
The pumpkin on her shoulders tilts at a sick angle, its carved grin dripping seeds that slap against her chest as she moves. Her steps jerk and stutter.
My stomach flips enough I think I might throw up. “I guess we’re doing this.”
But where are the other two?
The low rumble of the tractor reaches me through the crackle of flames, distant but steady. Shaun. My chest tightens.
Are they waiting for him?
