Chapter 22
22
Saplings sprout all around him and bend inward in a crown-like circle. Vines as thick as my forearms still move, tightening like pythons, around Ben. And as I watch in horror, flowers begin to sprout and bloom, opening too fast, too bright, too beautiful.
And worst of all, I’m taken by it. It is gorgeous, this undulating thing, this mass of life and verdant growth, the gift of the Planet. This hungry, desirous being.
Ben .
The vivid thought of him — his crooked smile, his arms around me, the way he sees me like no one else ever has — jolts me out of this rapturous reverie.
No, you fucking don’t .
It’s too easy for me to pull my boots free from the cacophony of growing things. To zip up my pants in a breathless, panicked rush. This place doesn't want me. It’s Darcie, Julian, Ben it wants. Why not me? Or is it saving the best for last?
“Take me instead,” I plead, grabbing the largest vine and pulling with all the strength I possess. “Take me if you have to, but leave him the fuck alone.”
I tear at the vines. I break one of the saplings in half, its delicate trunk split, dangling by a green strip of bark, its spindly branches crumpled on the ground. I dig my fingers into the mass of vines and tear, snap, and pull until I’m breathless and sobbing.
Let him be alive. Please, let him be alive.
You can’t have him. Not now, not ever .
A ragged gasp comes from within me.
“Ben,” I sob. I see him at last — brown hair, marred with plant matter. I crouch, wrenching leaves and vines away from him until he’s free.
He’s coughing, gasping. Still breathing.
I pull him away from the mess of vines and out of the circle of saplings, half laughing, half sobbing with relief. He stumbles and falls after me, landing roughly on his hands and knees. But he doesn’t recover; he’s still choking, pawing at his neck, pushing fingers into his mouth.
Something’s caught in his throat.
“Let me,” I order, and he meets my gaze with a disarming, terrible trust.
His body jerks, his brows drawn. He can’t breathe.
I grab his hair in one hand and wrench his head back. “Open your mouth.”
He does.
And before I can do anything, out from between his lips blooms a flower, white as the moons, sinister and hateful. Sickly beautiful. Like a goddamn painting . I crush it in my fist and pull, hard. There’s a terrible resistance, and I wonder — is this it? Am I too weak to save him in the end? And then he cries out in pain, and I shudder, tugging with all my strength. Something breaks loose with a horrible squelching sound, and I fall back into the ferns.
Ben falls forward, retching something thick and bilious, metallic smelling in the night.
The flower hangs from my closed fist, its petals crushed to nothing, its roots hanging lank and dripping blood.
I throw the thing as far away as I can manage, into the dark of the forest, and scramble to my feet. I grab Ben by the armpits and yank upward. “We have to go,” I say. “Get up.”
He gets to his feet, unsteady. He’s still coughing, half retching, but he’s alive. He’s breathing. He lets me drape one of his arms across my shoulders, and we stagger from that hateful glade.
Ben and I say nothing until we’re safely within the perimeter of artificial lights, safe from the moons’ caresses, the waving plain. We slump into the main tent, and Ben goes straight for the wine. He pours us each a generous glass and sets them on the table. Then he turns to me and takes my face in his hands. I feel small like this, helpless but protected, his cool touch soothing against my hot skin.
“Look at me,” he says, and it’s far different than the order he gave back in the forest, with his mouth between my legs.
I’m afraid to meet his gaze. Afraid that I’ll see a depthless dark stare, that he’s still lost to the vines and trees, that the Planet has claimed him for her own.
“Look at me, Jones.”
I can’t refuse him, and I feel a wash of relief when I see that his eyes are back to normal. He’s still mine. I saved him. For now.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
Of course I’m fucking not. “Fine.”
“You’re fine?”
I nod.
“I’m not fine, Jones.” He pulls me into a rough, desperate kiss. I melt a little, letting him diffuse himself like this. Letting him unwind. When he pulls away, the tightness in his jaw has softened. “I’m not fine,” he breathes. “What the fuck was that?”
He doesn’t know how to articulate the horror of it, but I do. “It’s what happened to Julian.” It’s what happened to Andrews . “There was a flower, blooming inside you. I had to pull it out.” Terror glances through me, suddenly. “What if there’s internal bleeding? We have to scan you—”
Ben shakes his head. “There’s no internal bleeding. It was in my throat. That’s all. I felt it.”
“But your lungs, your stomach—”
“They’re fine.”
“But you’re not.”
He hugs me, kisses the top of my head. “I’m not.”
We stand there for a few quiet moments, breathing each other in. I realize I’m still wearing my mother’s jacket. My skin is prickling hot, my heart is still hammering in my chest. Julian and Darcie are still missing. Ben is only here because I was quick enough to save him. I am living my mother’s nightmare, history repeating itself, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Have a drink,” Ben says, like he can see right through to my growing helplessness and terror. “It’ll settle your nerves. Then we make a plan.”
A plan . What kind of plan could fix any of this? But he’s in leader mode, ready to solve this with just a gun and bravado. If anyone can do it, it’s a military man, right?
Numbly, I join him at the table, sipping my wine. It does feel good, the slow, thick warmth, drifting outward from my stomach to the tips of my fingers and toes. It does calm my nerves, just enough to think more clearly. But all I can do now is think of Andrews and Darcie, my mom’s team all those years ago. The way the Planet drank them in, one by one.
I take a long, hard swig of wine.
Part of me believes I killed Darcie. That I was supposed to come here and do this, just like, I suspect, my mother was. To shepherd them toward death, one by one.
“I’m going to check on Fleming,” Ben announces, standing.
“They’re gone,” I murmur.
He frowns. “Gone?”
“I went to their tent earlier, after— I mean, before we— when you were supposed to be getting me water. It was empty. They’re gone.”
“Fuck, Jones, when were you gonna tell me this?” He’s angry now, but not with me. I wish he’d direct his ire toward the one who deserves it, grab me by the shoulders and shake me, demand answers. Demand the truth I’m finally beginning to know.
“There wasn’t time,” I protest weakly.
“Jill Jo-ones.” The sing-song voice cuts through the night like an alarm bell.
I grab Ben’s hand.
“Is that Fleming?” Ben says, turning toward the source.
A shape resolves just outside the tent entrance. A pair of glasses catch the lamplight, flashing once. “There you are, Jill Jones.”
“There you are, Fleming,” Ben says, standing to greet Julian. He drops my hand and moves toward the entrance. “You scared the shit out of us. You feeling any better?”
My first impulse is to go to Julian too, offer them some water, take their temperature. But something makes me hesitate. A warning in my gut. Julian hovers just inside the tent. Their hair is still matted with dirt and bits of grass, and — their eyes are still wrong. My chest tightens with fear.
Julian stares at me. “Well, well. I thought I might find you two together. How did Darce so poetically put it? Ah yes. Tweedle Ho and Tweedle Slut.”
Ben makes a dismissive sound. “Whatever you say, now come on, let’s get you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” says Julian, not moving from where they hover, just inside the tent. Their gaze snaps to Ben. “Come with me instead, Ben. I saw the most wonderful thing. Come see.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” says Ben, taking a step toward Julian. “And neither is Jones.”
Julian’s gaze snaps to mine. Fear races through my veins. Their condition is worse than it was earlier — their tone is harsher, their gaze even more distant.
“Ah, I see,” Julian says. “So you’ve decided to keep him for yourself.”
I stare, confused. “What?”
Julian narrows their eyes, all their attention trained on me. “Ben. You think he’s yours now, don’t you.”
“I don’t…” I wrack my brain for context. What does Julian care if I hook up with Ben? They thought it was funny. They encouraged it. They joked about his push-ups. The two of them are friends , for God’s sake.
“Fleming, come inside,” Ben persists. “You just need some sleep. You’re running a fever.”
Julian takes one step toward Ben, but their eyes never leave mine.
“Ben,” I say tremulously. “Come back. Away from Jules.”
He turns back to me, questioning.
In that moment of distraction, Julian darts forward. Ben isn’t expecting it. He barely reacts. The gun is out of the holster and in Julian’s hands before anyone can speak, let alone stop them.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I should have told Ben about Darcie. About the tape my mom left. About Andrews. He thinks Julian has a fucking fever . I should have stopped him from approaching Julian. I should have, should have .
Ben holds up his hands, laughing a little. “Very funny, Flem. You got me. But it’s not your turn with G-dawg.”
“What’s funny?” Julian says calmly. “Is this a joke?”
Icy fear grips my heart.
“Give me the gun,” Ben orders. “Stop fucking around.”
“I’m fucking around?” says Julian, their unnatural gaze darting between me and Ben. “Au contraire. I believe it was Jill who fucked around. In the forest. In the plains. In the forest… again?” They scoff. “And now it’s time to find out.”
Their hands are frighteningly steady, but at least the gun is pointing at the ground.
“Jules,” I say softly. “I think you might be sick.”
They turn on me, taking a step forward. Ben backs up, partially between me and Julian, his hands still in the air, appeasing.
“I’m feeling fine,” Julian says. “Not sick at all. The question is, what the fuck is wrong with you ?”
A chill runs up my spine. “I don’t—”
“Yes, you do.” They smile, a slow creeping curve of the lips. They raise their hands and point the gun at me. “You know exactly. First Darcie stopped Her from taking me, and now this. You’re keeping him from us. You think you can have him forever? Ben belongs to the Planet, Jill. He belongs with me .”
I freeze in disbelief. Is Julian jealous ?
“Put the gun down, now ,” Ben growls.
Julian completely ignores him. They won’t let me go. Their hateful stare keeps me stranded, alone on an island where no one can save me. Maybe it would be better to let them fire a bullet through my heart. Maybe then I’d find peace.
“Everything the Planet sees, I see,” Julian says as if in a trance, moving slowly toward me, gun trained on my chest. “She told me what happened to your mother. Give Ben to me, and it’ll be easier.”
“Put down the gun, and cut the bullshit,” Ben demands. It’s like he’s in an action film, while Julian and I face off at the climax of a psychological horror. He thinks he’ll reach them with reason and force. But they’re too far gone now, and I think… so am I.
“Shoot me, then,” I bait. “It doesn’t matter if I’m dead. Ben doesn’t want you. He’ll never go with you, wherever the fuck you plan to take him. So get it over with and shoot me. See what happens.”
Julian makes a sudden, jerking movement.
Ben lunges.
I throw myself sideways.
Pop!
Something slams into me, hard. A searing, white-hot pain explodes in my shoulder.
I crash to the floor, vision blacking out, my whole body clenched in agony.
Ben shouts my name over and over, and then there’s a barrage of curses, a violent scuffle, and the crack of a fist against bone. If Julian fires that gun again, if they harm Ben, I will kill them. I’ll take them down with me no matter how much it hurts. I’ll carry them bodily into the forest and throw them to the ferns and vines. If you even think of hurting Ben, I’ll let Her have you.
The pain in my shoulder threatens to overwhelm me.
“Jones,” Ben says, suddenly close, suddenly right here. He takes me in his arms. “You’re alive. Thank fuck, you’re alive. I thought they — it’s okay, baby. Show me where you’re hit. Breathe. You’re okay. Show me where they got you.”
I try to open my eyes, then, but they’re too heavy. My shoulder is an endless throbbing, a sharp and all-consuming agony. Ben’s voice fades, growing further and further away, until finally, I’m drifting in the silent darkness, alone.