That was the term he’d heard his social worker use once, to explain the scars to his new foster parents.
“They grew out a couple of centimeters, and they were kind of bendy.” He paused. “But they weren’t bony at all. They looked like feathers.”
“Whoa,” murmured Petra.
“And they cut them off,” said Anaya.
He nodded, watching their faces closely.
“Well, okay,” said Anaya. “That’s pretty unusual. But I wasn’t born with a tail or feathers or anything. Even if I were, I don’t see what that’s got to do with being immune to the plants.”
Seth didn’t know any better way to explain himself.
He wished he could tell them: You feel sort of like family.
He wished he could tell them: Last night I had a dream. I was flying, and when I came down low over the earth, I saw both of you. And we were all something different and extraordinary.
SLAMMING THE CAR DOOR shut, Anaya glared up at their house. Black vines had now snaked high up the wall, jagging in all directions.
Mom swore under her breath. “All that came from one plant?”
“I should’ve killed it right away,” Anaya muttered.
Under her coat, she was still in her hospital gown, wearing borrowed sneakers.
“Come inside,” said Mom, sneezing. “I need some allergy meds. And you need rest.”
“I’ve been sitting around all day.”
Seething, she marched up the driveway. After she’d discovered the pit plant in the bag of soil, she’d just run for the school, to warn everyone. Now she needed to destroy this thing.
Half covered by dirt, the wrinkly pit plant lay on the driveway. The head of the rake still jutted from its fleshy lips. Anaya pulled, and the wooden handle came out, shorter now after being melted inside the thing’s guts. She gave the plant a kick. It shuddered, and she kept kicking with her strong legs. It felt good.
“Anaya!” her mother said, hurrying closer. “Be careful.”
“Stay back,” she told Mom. “It might splatter.”
She gave the plant one more big kick. It had grown since this morning. From its bottom sprouted the thick vine that had spread everywhere—into the garbage can, and forking up the wall of her house. She lifted the rake over her shoulder and brought the teeth down with all her might. The metal punctured the thick flesh. She wrenched the rake out and struck, again and again. Goo splattered her coat and smoked, burning holes. A spray of liquid harmlessly hit her face and eyes, and she just wiped it away. The plant quivered, gaping wetly. When Anaya finished, the thing looked like a huge smashed purple pumpkin.
Panting, she stepped back. The asphalt smoked lightly from the spilled acid. Overhead she heard a bird give a startled squeak, and she looked up to see a sparrow gobbled up inside one of the vine’s wrinkly sacs.
These things were still alive! Anaya’s gaze lowered to the pulpy mess on the driveway, and the thick central vine. It twitched. She brought the rake down on it until it was completely severed.
The echoing clang of the metal against the asphalt rang in her ears for a moment, and then it seemed unnaturally silent. She heard a faint creak from the vines, and saw a sprig of berries sag, and one of the eating sacs droop a little. All of it looked withered suddenly.
“I want it off the house,” she said, and grabbed one of the vines on the wall.
This was her house. This was where she slept at night. Wasn’t it enough she had to put up with the black grass taking over her lawn, sucking the light out of their windows, and the entire freaking sky? She wasn’t having this stuff on her house a second longer.
Mom came and took hold with her, and together they tugged. It was like dragging off ivy or Virginia creeper, with all their little suckers. A small, wrinkled eating sac ruptured and spilled out the half-digested remains of a squirrel.
As they kept going, Anaya felt like it was getting easier to rip off, like the stuff was losing its grip. Up high, the vines snapped and tumbled down to the driveway in a black tangle. But that still left plenty higher up, spread out across the wall and roof. Little brittle pieces wafted down.
“We’re going to need the ladder,” Anaya said, but finally fatigue hit hard. She felt hollow with hunger.
“Inside now,” Mom said firmly. “We’ll do the rest later.”
Anaya let herself be led into the kitchen. She sat down and started to cry. Mom hugged her until she stopped. They both went upstairs to change into fresh clothes, and afterward Mom started a meal for them. Anaya realized she had no idea what time it was. In the hospital, the clock had barely seemed to move. It was just past five o’clock.
She tried again to call Dad, but his phone was still out of service. She wanted to warn him about the pit plants, to tell him everything that had happened.
She and Mom ate in front of the TV. The news played the video from the school field again. Anaya could barely watch, but her mother did, and afterward turned to her with wet eyes and hugged her some more.
“Thank God you’re all right,” she said. “I am so proud of you. You helped so many people.”
“Seth did, too.”
The truth was, she didn’t feel proud of herself right now. In the back of her mind, what Petra had said in the hospital—all that stuff about her tail—gnawed at her. Because she’d been telling the truth.
Petra hadn’t betrayed her. Anaya had been the disloyal one, telling everyone about her tail. She did it because Petra was getting so pretty, and Anaya wanted to keep her a weirdo like her, so they could stick together. But what she’d done was a terrible thing, and it had lost her the best friend she’d ever had.
On the TV, more news stories were coming in. There was footage from a farm in Bellingham. A cameraman walked through a pig shed. All the pigs were pressed against the walls, squealing in terror. In the middle of the floor were three big holes and inside each, the sealed lips of a pit plant that had just eaten something.
Anaya put down her fork and swallowed queasily. Mom had her arm around her shoulders and she didn’t want to move.
There was video from Naperville, Illinois, of a field pockmarked with holes. Six soccer players had fallen through during afternoon practice.
“Try Dad again,” she asked Mom.
Mom dialed, then shook her head.
“What if something’s happened to him?”
“Your dad is a very careful man, Anaya.”
She kept thinking of him walking along, the ground opening under him. What chance would anyone have? Anyone who wasn’t immune to the acid, like her, or Seth, or Petra.
“Who would create things like this?” she said, with a rush of anger.
Mom just shook her head.
“Are you scared?” she asked Mom.
“No.”
It was too quick.
“I’m really worried about Dad.”
Mom gave her a squeeze and kissed the top of her head. On TV, people protested outside government buildings, demanding to be told the truth about these plants.
Then the TV went dark—and all the lights in the house, too.
The dishwasher made a few last quiet sloshes and then silence filled the house.
* * *
“I WANT TO stay!” Petra said.
“Did that streetlamp just go out?” Mom said, glancing in the rearview mirror.
Petra hadn’t noticed. They were on the road to the ferry terminal, and judging by the traffic, lots of people had the same idea. The last boat for Victoria left in twenty minutes, and Mom wanted her on it. She was going to stay with Aunt Grace until things settled down. Those were Mom’s exact words. Like it was just slightly inconvenient that plants were melting and eating people.
“You guys aren’t even coming,” Petra said.
“They need Dad at the hospital
, and I’m run off my feet here.”
It was true. The RCMP was overwhelmed with emergency calls, fencing off trails and parks, helping farmers close their pastures. School was canceled. People were told to stay indoors.
“I’m good with a chain saw!” Petra said.
“You’re getting on that boat.”
It was weird: She should’ve been happy to get off the island, to a city where things must be safer. All that concrete. But Petra didn’t want to go. It wasn’t about missing her parents, or her friends. It was Seth and Anaya. It didn’t feel right leaving without them. And this surprised her. Seth, with those strange scars on his arms, and the slightly scary, intense look in his eyes. Anaya, who’d stabbed her in the back all those years ago—and even today hadn’t even said sorry. But the fact was: they made her feel safer.
Mom’s cell phone trumpeted, and she picked up.
“The whole island? Okay, I thought something was going on…yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“What’s going on?” Petra asked.
“Power’s out.”
“Why?”
“They don’t know yet.”
Uneasily Petra looked out at the twin beams of their headlights, glittering in the mist. And then the road heaved up and hit them. Her cry was stifled by the airbags exploding against her face.
“Are you okay? Petra?”
“Uh-huh.”
Dazed, she turned and saw Mom, smooshed up against her own airbags. The car was tilted down at a crazy steep angle.
“Road must’ve collapsed,” Mom said.
The white airbags glowed with light, which confused Petra, until she realized it must be their own headlights, reflected back through the windshield.
“You all right, Mom?”
“I can’t move my feet.” She grunted with effort. “I think they’re caught. You try to get out.”
Petra smelled gasoline. She popped her seat belt, but the door only opened an inch before hitting something that wouldn’t budge.
“Mine’s blocked, too,” Mom said, and swore. “I’ve told the budget committee this road needed…”
Petra sniffed again. Something that wasn’t gasoline.
“Mom, I don’t think we’re in a hole!”
The airbags blocked her view through the windows. She reached over to Mom’s belt and yanked out the Swiss Army knife. Snapping open the biggest blade, she plunged it into the airbags. Air hissed out. Now she could see through the windshield.
In the glow of the headlights, Petra caught sight of slick purple flesh. The walls of the pit plant trembled and contracted, dripping with acid. The disgusting perfume smell was quickly overpowered by the stench of melting tires.
“We’re inside one of them!” she cried.
The walls of the plant tightened, trying to swallow, and the car sank deeper with a sudden jerk.
“Back doors!” Mom said.
Petra twisted around. Through the rear windshield she saw the moon, and the left door was still above road level.
“Go!” her mom cried.
This was one time Mom wasn’t going to boss her. Petra squinted below the steering wheel. Mom’s boots were crimped in the mangled metal. Dark liquid lapped against the soles of the boots, sending up nasty fumes.
She grabbed her mom’s right leg and pulled, but her foot wouldn’t shift.
“I’m going to undo your laces,” she said. “Mom?”
Mom’s eyes looked a little glazed. The sleeping gas! Petra slapped her.
“Mom! Stay awake!”
A flashlight beam suddenly skittered around inside the car. From overhead came the sound of people shouting.
“It’s one of those things!”
“There’s two people in there!”
“Does anyone have a winch?”
Petra crammed her torso into the small space beneath the steering wheel. The acid was searing the plastic and metal—and rising quickly, right over the soles of Mom’s boots.
“You’re gonna need to slide your feet out,” she said, hoping Mom was still awake.
Her fingers fumbled with the laces. Crap. Double-knotted. How typical of Mom. The car lurched to one side, and more acid seeped into the car, flowing over the laces of the boots—and Petra’s hands. She smelled seared leather and knew she didn’t have much time before the acid burned through to Mom’s skin.
She grabbed her mom’s knife and slashed the knot apart—and then the acid did the rest. The other laces shredded like wet toilet paper. She loosened both boots.
“Mom! Pull your feet out! Pull!”
She felt her Mom trying weakly, and then slid her hand into the right boot and yanked until the foot popped free. Then the left.
“Keep them out of the acid!” she yelled.
Mom nodded but Petra could tell she was pretty out of it. Grunting, she pushed Mom around in her seat and shoved her toward the back. It was like trying to move a bag of sand.
“We’re getting out, Mom. Come on!”
The back door of the car opened, and someone leaned in and handed her a rope with a loop at the end. Petra slid it over Mom’s head and under her arms.
“Hold on, Mom! They’re gonna haul you out.”
The people on the road pulled, and Petra pushed her mother through the rear door. Now it was Petra’s turn. Without warning, the car jerked lower. The door slammed shut.
Her heart beat so hard in her throat she thought she’d choke.
“Hurry!” the people outside shouted.
She opened the door—only a few inches before it jammed against the glistening wall of the pit plant. Petra made herself as skinny as possible and wiggled through the opening. Hands reached down from the rim of the hole and grabbed her. She was yanked roughly up and onto the asphalt, beside her mother.
“Are you okay?” Petra asked, looking at Mom’s feet. Her socks were a bit singed, and Petra hurriedly peeled them off. “The acid didn’t get your feet, did it?”
Mom shook her head groggily. “I’m good. Thanks.”
Petra glanced back at their shuddering car, now sunk completely beneath the road. Cars were stopped in both directions. The road to the ferry had been completely wiped out.
Mom squeezed her hand. “My brave girl,” she murmured.
Then Petra did something she hadn’t done in ages. She hugged her mother very tightly and for a long time.
* * *
SETH COULDN’T SLEEP. He was still too amped up by everything that had happened. The school field, the hospital, all the stuff on the news—and then the power going out.
He wondered if Petra or Anaya could sleep. He’d actually been sad when he was released from the hospital and had to go home with Mrs. Antos. He wished he were still in the room with the girls, just the three of them. They had so much more to talk about.
He sat up in bed and switched on the flashlight Mrs. Antos had given him. His watch said a quarter to four. He was hungry—he hadn’t eaten much of his dinner. Grabbing his sketchbook, he quietly headed downstairs.
He poured some cereal into a bowl. The milk in the fridge was still cool. He left the flashlight on and, as he ate, he sketched. He sketched what he’d seen in his last dream, and thought about Petra and Anaya. He wished he’d had the courage to tell them what he’d seen. Maybe it would be easier if he drew it. He hoped he’d have the courage to show them next time. With a pang, he wondered when that might be.
At his last foster home, Mrs. Walsh had looked through his sketchbook one day while he was at school. When he came home, she was sitting in the living room with it on her lap. She asked if he wanted to talk about the things in there. Like she was one of his therapists.
He’d asked for the book back. It was private. She wanted to know what he liked so much about those images. He asked for the book agai
n. She asked him if he had a lot of nightmares and was drawing his bad dreams. When he stood up, she shrank back in the chair, and he was surprised because all he’d done was stand up. Did he look scary? But she was scared of him. He’d snatched the book and gone upstairs.
Not long after that, the Walshes said they were rethinking their “lifestyle choices” and thought Seth would find a “better fit” elsewhere.
Anaya had caught a glimpse of his drawings, that day in the stairwell. She hadn’t seemed horrified or disgusted. She’d even asked for some of his stuff for the yearbook. Still, he’d never risked showing it to Mr. and Mrs. Antos.
If you drew creatures with wings, you would probably show them flying. And if you drew creatures with teeth, you might show them eating. And then you’d have to think about what kinds of things they might eat, or who they might eat.
He thought about Petra and Anaya and how they used to be best friends. It had really surprised him, Anaya telling everyone about Petra’s tail and hurting her feelings. Seth had never had a best friend, but he was pretty sure if he did he wouldn’t risk losing the friendship. He didn’t understand people very well.
The pleasant clicking of Maddox’s toenails on the floor preceded the dog into the room. Seth patted his warm head, glad of the company. He gave the dog the rest of his cereal. Maddox gulped it down happily and then went off to sniff other things.
Seth sketched a little more. From the cellar came a sharp yelp, and then the sound of Maddox growling. Seth stood, a cold sweat prickling his forehead. He snatched up his flashlight, and then the drip torch he’d brought inside yesterday, just in case.
“Maddox,” he said as he made his way down the steep stairs. “You all right, boy?”
His flashlight beam skittered off the shelves where the Antoses kept all their preserves, then found Maddox. The dog was hunched, hackles raised, growling at a small hole in the dirt floor.
“Maddox, get back!”
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