“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.
