Chapter 19
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?
The thing lunges.
I jump sideways, sneakers skidding in ash as I swing the torch between us. Fire blooms bright and angry. Heat slams into the pumpkin’s face and it recoils with a hiss, rind blistering and splitting.
Only for a second.
Vines whip out, slicing the air. One snaps around my wrist and twists my skin, wrenching a scream out of me. Pain flares white-hot. I slam the torch into the vine. It shrieks as it burns, skin bubbling and tearing open, sap and blood spraying my arm.
Another vine slams into my chest and I fly backward, the world tilting as I crash through a row of burning corn. Stalks snap and collapse under me. Fire kisses my braids. Smoke fills my mouth and nose. I hit the ground, knocking the air from my lungs and the pitchfork from my hands.
Great.
I roll and gasp, copper flooding my mouth. Blood. Definitely blood. The fire spreads fast now, flames chewing through the corn while smoke swallows the sky. My eyes burn. I can’t see it anymore, only shapes shifting in the haze and the sharp crack of stalks snapping apart.
It’s not charging.
It’s circling.
Hunting.
My pulse hammers in my ears as I push up on one elbow. My whole body shakes, but I bare my teeth anyway. “Come on,” I whisper, spitting red into the dirt. “It’s just us girls now.”
The smoke ripples to my left.
I swing the torch on instinct. Fire roars outward, but it’s already there. The thing bursts through the flames, pumpkin face blistered and blackened, vines snapping like whips. One coils around my ankle and throws me.
I slam into the ground and pain explodes up my spine. The torch skids from my grip, fire licking dangerously close.
“No, no, no—”
The vine drags me closer. I claw at the dirt, nails tearing, but the soil gives way under my hands. Loose. Worthless.
A vine lashes out and cracks across my face.
My head snaps sideways. Searing pain detonates. Blood floods my mouth again, thick and salty, spraying onto the ground as I cough and gag.
That one’s going to bruise.
I’m still getting dragged, inch by inch, toward Sandie. The vines bite into my ankle and calf, hot and slick, tugging.
Think, Val. THINK.
My hands fumble at my pockets. Denim. Sweat. Blood. Then— I pull out a flare just as the monster reaches for me, vines stretching wide like arms ready for a hug from hell.
I strike it.
Red fire screams to life in my grip. I shove it straight into the writhing vines. They sizzle and split, sap and blood spraying hot against my skin. The thing jerks back, loosening its grip.
I wrench free and crawl, coughing, dragging myself through burning corn. Flames lick my sleeves. Heat chews at my lungs. My vision swims.
My fingers hit metal.
The pitchfork.
I grab it, spin on my knees, and swing with everything I have left.
The tines punch through the side of the pumpkin’s head with a thick, hollow crack.
Seeds and pulp explode across my arms, steaming in the heat.
The body stumbles, flailing, clothes igniting as fire races up the vines wrapped around Sandie’s torso.
I plant my feet and keep hold of the handle. My hands shake, but I don’t let go.
“Sorry, Sandie,” I gasp.
I kick it hard in the chest.
The body flies backward into a wall of burning corn, flames devouring a fresh meal. The pumpkin head tears free with a squelch and stays impaled on the pitchfork, still grinning as fire crawls across it.
I lift it, breath ragged, arms burning, adrenaline screaming through my veins. Blood dripping down the gash on my face.
“Time for a good old-fashioned roast, Gourdy.”
I hold the pumpkin head over the flames. The rind blisters. Black bubbles swell and burst. Then it ruptures with a bang, seeds and orange pulp spraying into the fire like shrapnel. They hiss and crackle as they burn, the grin collapsing into mush.
My strength goes with it.
I drop to my knees, hacking smoke from my lungs. Heat presses in from every side. Fire moves through the field in rolling waves, chewing rows down to black stubble and glowing embers, right toward the patch. The air tastes like ash and scorched sugar and something rotten underneath.
I laugh once. It comes out ugly and broken. Of course killer pumpkins would smell sweet when they die.
Through the crackle of flames, the tractor’s engine roars. Loud. Furious. Alive.
Shaun.
The sound hits me like a jolt of electricity. Relief and fear slam together in my chest until I can’t tell which one hurts more.
I tighten my grip on the pitchfork and shove myself upright. My legs wobble like they forgot how bones work. My hands burn, skin screaming where the heat kissed it too long. My ribs ache. My face throbs. Everything hurts.
None of that matters.
I smear soot from my eyes with the heel of my hand, snatch the torch, and run.
Toward the patch.
Toward Shaun.
Toward the end.