I swing again. Miss.
A vine swipes my feet. I go down hard, the breath blasting out of my lungs. I spit and scramble, dragging myself backward as more vines snake in.
“I’m not going to make this easy for you,” I snarl and swing blind.
The axe hits something solid. A crunch answers back. The monster lurches, but it doesn’t fall. Its weight keeps coming and slams into me.
My skull rattles. The axe tears from my hands and vanishes into smoke and dirt.
Then I’m pinned.
Fred’s pumpkin monster straddles my chest, crushing what little breath I have left. Vines bite into my shoulders and ribs, locking me flat against the earth.
I buck hard. My muscles misfire. My bad shoulder gives out halfway through the shove.
Nothing.
Fred barely shifts, like I’m an inconvenience instead of a threat.
The hollow eyes fill my vision. Close enough I can see where the rind is thinning. Close enough to smell the rot inside it. Seeds drip from its grin and splatter my cheek. I gag.
“Oh,” I choke, chest burning as I fight for air. “That’s just gross.”
My arm screams where it’s been carved, blood slicking my fingers and dripping into the dirt.
Fire blooms to my left.
Val.
She moves fast, keeping Drew’s pumpkin at bay while it circles her through the haze, patient, testing the fire like it’s learning how pain works.
No.
Not her.
I dig my heel into the dirt and shove. The vines cinch tighter, biting deeper into my ribs.
Come on, Shaun. Do something.
Wait.
The flare.
In my pocket.
Thank god for bad planning and too many pockets.
I drag the flare out and thrust it up between us. My fingers fumble. Slick with blood. The flare slips once. Almost gone. I catch it against my chest and quickly strike it against the pumpkin’s firm rind.
The flare ignites with a violent hiss.
Red light floods the hollow face. The pumpkin recoils, seeds rattling inside its skull like panic.
I bare my teeth and laugh, breath ragged and bloody.
“How about a little taste of this, you orange bastard.”
I jam the flare straight into its mouth.
