“What were you saying?” Bryson growled over Maddox, his attention on me. “Let’s hear it before we do anything else.”
Maddox flushed and bit his lips together, sending me a glare.
A vine slithered over the top of the ridge, its tip swaying like a snake about to strike. We froze, gaping up at it. The plant paused before dipping down to pretty much sniff the tops of our heads.
We didn’t breathe. Panic threatened to make me leap up and bolt, but I made myself remain still.
Thuds rang out from the meadow, coming our way, and when a guy holding a hammer rushed past us, the vine snapped out,stabbing through his chest, the tip emerging from the other side. He blinked down at it writhing inside his body, the hammer falling from his hand. A groan, and he toppled forward.
The vine yanked itself out of him with a slurping sound before looping around his ankle and dragging him into the dense vegetation. Bushes erupted not long after, followed by silence.
We all shared wide-eyed looks.
Kerralyn held a hand over her mouth while she dry-heaved.
A man screamed nearby, the sound ending in a wet gurgle. I flinched, bile rising up my throat. The smell of blood and plant rot, and the horrifyingly sweet scent of flowers that had grown fat on human flesh swirled around us. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw up.
“If we go one at a time,” I said, leaning over to scan the clearing where flowers had retreated into deceptively innocent buds, “we should draw less attention.”
“Or they’ll be able to pick us off one by one,” Maddox said.
I huffed. “Do you have any other ideas?”
He glanced toward where the group of three had disappeared into the forest. “Getting out of here before I become meat.”
Bryson nodded my way, ignoring Maddox. “This is a wise plan. Move slowly. Nothing sudden. Take what’s safe. Then we run, staying together.” He tilted his head toward the thick tree line.
Fara rose, though she remained bent over enough to stay hidden. “I’ll go first.” Her half-smile wavered. “I’m good at following directions.”
We crowded along the side of the low wall to watch. When she reached the tables, she paused, keeping her hands visible.
“Bread,” she said, reaching for a loaf and a pack she stuffed it into. “Just taking bread.”
The blossom to her right remained closed, but I could almost feel it watching.
“Dried meat,” she said. “Water flask.” She stuffed each item into the bag.
The canopy beyond the tables quivered.
She froze, her hand over an apple.
When nothing snapped out, she started feverishly dragging food off the table into her open bag. Pivoting, she hurried back to join us, tears streaking down her face.
“That was horrible,” she whimpered, dropping her pack on the ground. “I never want to do something like that again.”
The rest of us got up and rounded the wall. One by one, we grabbed food and carefully placed it in bags.
I waited until last, watching the remaining recruits from other groups who’d figured out the pattern. We weren’t the only ones who’d survived, but our numbers had dwindled. Bodies lay scattered across the meadow, some half-consumed, others broken and unmoving.
A man in his thirties approached the weapons’ table, his gaze fixed on a serrated hunting knife.
“Don’t,” I called.
Maddox, of all people, surged forward. He knocked the man’s hand away before it brushed steel. A vine whipped down, but they dove to the ground, tumbling across the grass. The vine followed, undulating like a serpent above them before retreating into the forest.
“Food and water, you idiot,” Maddox snarled, getting up off the ground. “Unless you want to die like the rest.”
The man rose to his feet and bolted into the woods, empty-handed.
