19. Vesper #3
Carefully, I slide my mask back over my face, letting my awareness expand outward. I get little pings in the other zone nearby, the Whispering Canopies and behind us in the Red Bloom Court, small creatures moving nearby, larger ones tickling my instincts. But here . . .
There’s actually nothing . . .
“Something’s wrong,” I tell Locke, turning to him as I push my mask up. “We need to—”
My voice chokes off as I see movement behind Locke. He’s just standing there, staring at me while I stare with wide eyes at the large vine. The large moving vine.
“What?” Locke asks, turning to look over his shoulder. “What do you—”
The vine spears toward Locke so fast, neither one of us can move to block it.
It wraps around his waist and jerks him off his feet, dragging a scream of surprise and sheer terror form his lips.
Another vine shoots out and wraps around his ankle, switching him so he’s dangling from it upside down.
His hammer drops to the ground with a thunk before me.
More vines trail from the trees and the undergrowth toward him, wrapping around his neck.
Another rubs along his lips, seeking entrance, and he clamps his mouth closed, his eyes widening in horror as the vine tries to push its way in, so very similar to the Killing Trees.
A muffled scream echoes from his lips as he clamps them tight, trying to keep the vine from pushing inside.
I stumble back in horror, my instincts screaming at me to run.
The Killing Trees were slow. These are .
. . these are something else. They’re fast and aggressive.
Vines trail in from everywhere, some of them starting to reach for me.
“Go!” Cipher growls. “Leave him!”
I consider it. Harrow help me, I consider it.
How do you fight against something like this?
How do I save him? I take another step back and Locke’s eyes widen impossibly further.
He can’t scream, not without letting the vine in.
The one around his neck starts to tighten, trying to force him to take a deep breath and open his mouth.
Another wraps around his nose, cutting off his air there. His face starts to turn red.
“What are you waiting for?” Cipher growls. “Run! Get out of the Silent Forest!”
“I can’t leave him,” I rasp, dragging my Blood Sense Fang from my inventory. “I can’t leave him.”
Cipher curses. “He would not do the same for you.”
“I’m not leaving him,” I grit through my teeth, and leap forward to cut at the vines.
I cut the one around his throat first. The silent forest starts to scream and I wince at the sudden shrill sound.
My ears feel wet as I cut at another one, and another one, until Locke drops to the ground with a grunt and springs to his feet.
He grabs his hammer and we both swing as we back up toward the border we’d unknowingly crossed.
The vines follow, snapping at us, until they stop at the invisible barrier.
Still, we back up until we’re far enough away we won’t accidently walk into the Silent Forest again.
We’re both panting, Locke harder than I am.
He’s hyperventilating a little, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he tries to get his adrenaline under control.
I double over, bracing my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath.
“Let’s . . . not . . . go . . . in there . . . again,” I force out. “Ever.”
“Agreed,” Locke croaks, rubbing at his throat as if remembering the Killing Trees and what he’s just about suffered again. “Fuck.”
We take thirty minutes to gather our bearings again.
Locke rubs at the bruises around his neck absentmindedly as we finally consolidate our gear and start to map a path along the Silent Forest. It means we’ll have to stay in the Whispering Canopies, but for the first time, I’ll take the howler monkeys over the alternative.
Locke meets my eyes as he helps me to my feet once we’re ready to move. “Thanks,” he says. “For saving me.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “For a second there, I thought you were gonna leave me,” he murmurs.
I wince and look away. “For a second there, I thought I was, too,” I admit.
He doesn’t get mad. He doesn’t even look surprised. He’d known. He’d seen my hesitation. And honestly, he doesn’t seem like he blames me.
“He wouldn’t do the same for you,” Cipher had said. What if he’s right? What if Locke wouldn’t have saved me if it had been my ankle held by the vine?
“I appreciate your honesty,” Locke says, chucking me on the chin. “Let’s go. There’s probably a safehouse in the next zone. If we hurry, we can make it in a few days’ time.”
Cipher’s warnings to leave Locke behind plays over and over again in my mind as I follow, and then every other time he told me to leave him. Is he right? Or as a machine, does he not quite understand the human notions of loyalty?
Can a machine really know? Can a machine truly understand humans outside of statistics? Because sometimes, Locke is right. Sometimes, those statistics are just a number.
Sometimes, you have to look at the smaller number to reach it.