Cole blinks. “Of course they are.” He keeps going anyway. “I go through thebulkheaddoors, light the house with these flares to pull them away from the patch, then run back here before I either roast alive or get decapitated.”
“That’s the idea,” Val says, calm, like she’s reading off a grocery list.
Cole lets out a nervous sound that barely qualifies as a laugh. “Yeah, easy.”
“Once I see the house go up,” I say, forcing my voice not to shake, “I head straight for the patch.”
Val moves past me and grabs two smaller gas cans and a propane torch. “While you’re doing that, I’ll take the flame weeder and start burning the cornfields from the outside in?—”
“Wait.” Cole points to the torch in her hand. “How do you even know that thing is called a flame weeder?”
She gives him a flat look that says this question has already wasted her time.
“Cole,” I say, stepping closer to Val without thinking, my shoulder brushing hers, “stop questioning her knowledge and accept that she knows everything. She copes with terror using facts. Let her freaking cope.”
Val turns to me, eyes bright despite everything, and gives me an easy, sultry smile. “Thank you, Shaun.”
My face goes hot instantly. Of course that’s the reaction my body picks. Great timing.
She pivots back to business, like she didn’t just conjure dirty images in my head. “Their attention will split between me and Cole. That gives Shaun the opening. He takes the tractor, pulverizes the patch, spills the gas, and lights it up. We burn the roots. We burn everything.”
She gestures with sharp confidence, the pitchfork tucked against her shoulder. “Once it starts, we regroup at the patch and deal with whatever crawls out. And trust me, they’re going to be pissed.”
Cole swallows. “And how exactly are we taking them down?”
Val lifts the pitchfork. “I’ve got old Forky.” She flicks her gaze to me. “Shaun’s got the axe and the shotgun.” Then she holdsup the flares. “And we all have fire. We smash them, slice them, burn them. Whatever it takes to make sure nothing leaves this farm.”
The words settle heavy and electric in the barn.
Cole nods and stuffs the flares into his pockets with his good hand, grabs his gas canister, and heads for the back doors that face the farmhouse glowing faintly in the distance.
Val meets my eyes across the dim barn, and the look she gives me stills my heart. Half defiance. Half fear. All fire. The kind of look you give when you’re scared and choosing to move anyway.
I cross the space before my brain catches up. My hand slides into her hair, fingers curling at the base of her skull, and I kiss her. She kisses me back just as hard, teeth grazing my lip, breath shaking against mine. For a second, the barn disappears. No monsters. No fire. Just her and the taste of adrenaline and dirt and something I’ve wanted for way too long.
We break apart, breathless. My forehead rests against hers, our noses brushing.
“Don’t die,” I say, because I don’t trust my voice with anything else.
She huffs a soft laugh. “Wasn’t planning on it. But fun fact. The average survival rate in a horror movie is twenty to forty percent. Higher depending on the role.”
I snort. “And what roles are we playing?”
Her smile turns sharp and confident. “I’m the final girl. You’re the reformed jerk. Cole’s the adaptable teen. All high survival odds.”
“Hold on.” I pull back just enough to look at her. “Why am I the reformed jerk?”
She shrugs, casual but her cheeks pink. “You ignored me in high school. That was jerk behavior. You apologized. And then we,” she gestures vaguely between us, “had fun this afternoon.So. Reformed.” She waves a hand like she’s presenting a trophy. “Forgiven for your stupidity.”
I grin. “That sounds suspiciously conditional.”
“Oh, it is.” Her eyes flick to my mouth. “You’re still on the hook for making it up to me later.”
“Good,” I say, low and honest. “Because I really want to get back to what we started.”
Her grin turns wicked. She tilts her chin up, bites my bottom lip just enough to promise trouble, then leans in and whispers, “So do I.”
And just like that, Val snatches up the pitchfork, swings the torch over her shoulder, and strides into the dark with two gas cans knocking against her legs. No hesitation. No looking back. Just fire and purpose wrapped in denim and stubborn confidence.
