Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
NEGOTIATIONS?
VAL
Okay. Breathe.
You are not negotiating with a mutated, homicidal pumpkin monster currently perched on Drew’s decapitated body like it won a county fair ribbon.
You are a badass.
You are a final girl.
You got this.
. . . Maybe.
I tilt my head and smile anyway. Not a friendly smile. Not even a sane one. This is the smile you get when terror burns itself out and leaves something sharper behind. Fury. Relief. The feral thrill of realizing you are still upright when you absolutely should not be.
Also, nobody messes with crazy. That’s just a fact.
Drew’s pumpkin monster waits across the field, framed by fire. Vines stretch from its body and sink into the dirt. Its carved grin gleams bright in the light.
Gasoline slicks the earth between us, soaking into the soil, glimmering like a promise. The propane torch roars in my grip, heat biting through the handle, stinging my knuckles until pain becomes background noise.
Behind me, the corn crackles as it burns. Drew’s pumpkin watches. It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t need to.
Because Shaun is still on the ground.
Pinned. Bleeding. Wrapped in vines that flex and tighten every time the thing shifts its weight.
But alive.
That last part matters more than anything else in the world.
“I’m guessing you can understand me, asshole,” I say, pitching my voice over the crackle of burning corn and the low roar of the torch.
Drew’s pumpkin is frozen with the axe poised over Shaun, but it nods slightly, confirming my suspicions.
Good.
My body shakes from the adrenaline, but I keep my tone even. Calm is a weapon. “You’re not stupid. You learned how to walk. You learned how to hunt.” I gesture with the torch toward the bodies they’re attached to.
The grin doesn’t change. Seeds cling to the carved mouth, glossy and swollen. One drops and hits the dirt with a plop.
“Fun fact,” I yell across the field. I lift the torch higher. The flame answers with a hungry hiss. “Fire doesn’t just kill plants. It sterilizes soil. Burns roots down to nothing. And seeds?” I smile wider. Meaner. “Seeds explode.”
The wind shifts. Gasoline fumes roll thick and sweet across my tongue. The ground under my boots hums, vines twitching beneath the dirt, afraid to attack. Somewhere behind me, something crackles and collapses as the corn gives way to flame.
I take one step forward. “Let him go and I won’t light up your friends.”
Shaun groans through the tight cinch around his neck. “Val, no. Light it—”
The pumpkin’s vines tighten around Shaun’s throat. He chokes, body jerking. Blood drips from his arm and patters into the dirt, dark and fast.
Rage floods my veins, hot enough to drown the fear.
I bring the torch closer to the ground. Close enough that the gas shimmers.
“Let. Him. Go.”
The vines around Shaun’s neck don’t let up.
Fuck this.
I unleash the fire on a nearby pumpkin. Pressing the trigger down until it cracks and its vines shrivel.
“That’s not a counteroffer.”
Behind Drew, Fred’s body twitches. The pumpkin on his shoulders jerks, attention snapping between Shaun and me like it can’t decide which toy to break first.
“Val,” Shaun chokes. “Go. Please.”
His words cut off in a strangled gasp.
Something hot and feral snaps loose inside my chest.
I tighten my grip on the torch. My arm shakes now. Let it. Fear doesn’t mean weak. Fear means alive.
“So what do you say?” I ask, voice bright and sharp. “You walk away with whatever’s left of your field, or I turn this place into one big crematorium and salt the ashes of your stupid seeds.”
The fire crackles behind me, but it doesn’t move the axe away from Shaun.
Guess that wasn’t convincing.
“Pumpkin seeds can survive freezing. Drying. Even being eaten.” I lift the torch higher. “They do not survive fire.”
For a heartbeat, nothing moves.
Then the vines ripple.
Drew’s pumpkin leans forward, its head shaking from side to side.
That answers that.
“Cool,” I mutter. “Love it when negotiations fail.”
I flick the torch down, unleashing the last of the propane.
The fire takes—fast. A violent whoosh rips through the field as flames race across the gas-soaked dirt, climbing vines, swallowing roots. Heat slams into my face, stealing the air from my lungs. The pumpkins shriek, splitting open as seeds pop and burst like fireworks made of gore.
The leader recoils before it charges. Dropping the axe.
Full sprint. Rage radiating off it, vines snapping tight as it forgets everything else.
Including Shaun.
Okay.
Positive side: it’s off him.
Negative side: I’m about to die violently in a field full of flaming vegetables.
“Come on, then!” I shout, backing up as fire snaps at my heels. Heat licks my calves. Smoke claws my lungs. “You want me? You get me!”
It answers with speed.
The ground shakes under its feet as it barrels toward me, carved grin stretched so wide seeds fly out behind it. Its vines flail, catching sparks, smoking, but it doesn’t slow.
Behind it, Fred’s body pivots away from me toward Shaun.
“No!” I scream.
The last thing I see before Drew’s pumpkin head eats up my entire field of vision is Shaun forcing himself upright.
Blood streaks his face in dark lines. More blood slips from his arm, dripping off his fingers and spattering the dirt. He grips the axe anyway and looks straight at me.
And smiles.
That stupid, cocky, devastating smile that makes my chest ache even as everything burns. If we die, at least we’re dying together. He gives me a quick wink, sharp and sure, then turns toward Fred, ready for picking season.
Idiot.
My brave idiot.
I plant my feet in the dirt and swing the pitchfork as Drew’s body crashes into my space.
Metal slams into vine.
The impact punches straight up my arms, rattling bone, teeth, and whatever confidence I had left. My shoulders scream. My hands go numb. The pitchfork vibrates like it’s about to jump out of my grip.
Shit.
So this is what it feels like to hit a solid brick wall.
The pumpkin barely flinches. Its carved grin wobbles, seeds spilling as the force ripples through it, but it stays upright. Vines recoil, then tighten again, like they’re offended I even tried.
Fighter is definitely not going on the career list.