It tightens.
My fingers claw at it, nails skidding over slick, rubbery skin that refuses to give. Pressure swells until my ears ring. Black dots crowd my vision. Air thins to nothing.
The tractor bucks once, then dies. The engine coughs and chokes as the wheels sink into mud that sucks like a mouth.
Shit.
Something slams onto the hood.
Metal caves inward with a crunch. The pumpkin thing wearing Fred’s body crawls into view, its carved face sagging, pulp streaking the windshield like drool. It tilts its head the way a cat watches something already caught.
A vine whips through the shattered window and coils around my right arm.
“Wait,” I try to say. It comes out thin and useless.
The vine twists.
Snap.
Piercing-hot pain tears through me, clawing its way up my arm and into my shoulder. My scream shreds into a breathy whine as my hand goes dead, fingers tingling, bent at an odd angle.Oh shit.
The pumpkin leans closer to the windshield, its jagged mouth stretching wider than physics should allow. Seeds wobble inside like loose teeth.
It studies me.
And I know, with awful clarity, that it’s deciding where to break me next.
This is how I die. In a tractor. At a pumpkin patch. My guidance counselor is going to be so disappointed.
The windshield shatters, Fred’s body coming closer. I send up a silent prayer.Please, god, if you can hear me. I promise I’ll never pull another prank if you save me right now.
BOOM.
The pumpkin’s head explodes.
Seeds, pulp, and soggy orange chunks careen across the cab, splattering my face and chest. Fred’s body jerks, then slides off the hood and hits the dirt with a heavy thud.
The vines around my throat loosen. Drop. Slither away.
I drag in air, coughing hard, lungs on fire as I suck breath like I’ve never done it before. My vision swims. Beyond the cracked windshield, Shaun stands in the field, shotgun still raised, smoke curling from the barrel. His jaw is set, eyes wild.
Beside him, Val grips a pitchfork, stance wide, pieces of her red hair flying, absolutely feral.
A laugh bursts out of me and turns into a sob halfway through.
Thank god the jocks showed up.
FIFTEEN
WELCOME TO THE PATCH
SHAUN
“I’ve got this one,”Val says as Sandie’s body peels itself off the tractor, vines dragging, the pink sneakers scraping. Val steps into it and swings. The pitchfork cracks against the side of its head. Rind splits. Seeds spray. It hisses and keeps coming.
I turn and shoulder the shotgun at Drew’s pumpkin head.
BOOM.