Instinct (45 page)

The flamethrower Beardo finished clearing the seats and backed down from the top, taking giant steps to move from row to row. New tendrils of vine came up from underneath, but he saw the threat and cooked the vine before stepping on the bench.

The man trapped underneath called out again.

“It’s a trap,” Pete said.

“No shit,” one of the Beardos said over his shoulder. He said something in the ear of one of the other men, who ran back along the fence towards the gate.

“If you’ve got more machetes, we can get a whole bunch of volunteers to clear the back side of the bleachers,” Pete said. “It will be easier to keep clear that way—take away the high ground from them.”

“Back away from the fence,” the Beardo said. “We’ve got this under control.”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Pete said.
 

“Back away,” the man shouted. He rapped the flat side of his machete against the chain link fence, making Pete flinch back. Pete unwound his fingers from the fence and took a step back. The gap in the tarps gave him a narrow window on what was going on. He glanced over his shoulder and saw more people coming from the sleeping tent. Everyone wanted to see what was happening. Down the fence a ways, one young man had actually climbed up the chain link so his head and shoulders were above the top. He was scanning the bleachers from his perch. Pete began to walk down towards him.

More people were arriving every second. Pete saw a dozen or more looking through gaps in the tarps and several others joining the young man in climbing.

Suddenly Beardos began to swarm towards them from the gate area.
 

“Everybody back. Everyone back. It’s not safe to be near the fence,” the said. They were unarmed and held their hands up to motion people away from the fence.

“What’s going on?”

“We deserve to know what’s happening out there.”

“Is that man going to be okay? Why is nobody helping him?”

The Beardos were peppered with questions and comments. They didn’t answer any of them.

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A new sound came from the other side of the fence. It was the grinding, moaning squeal of bending metal. To Pete, it sounded like a toothache. He moved with everyone else as they pressed forward to the fence to see what was happening. The Beardos didn’t try to stop them. They were right alongside the civilians, running to the fence to see what was happening.
 

Pete got to a section of chain link that was covered securely by a tarp. He had no option to see beyond the fence except to climb. He looped his fingers through the links and pulled. When he got his head over the top bar, his eyes widened.

The bleachers were being ripped from their supports. The benches were being pulled back and they were tearing apart the metal scaffolding. The agent of the destruction had to be the thick ropes of vines looped around the metal benches.
 

The Beardo with the flamethrower opened up his weapon. It shot a long line of fire. The flames didn’t slow the destruction. Entire sections of benches were liberated from the supports and flew away from the field, dragging lumps of concrete meant to secure them to the ground.
 

Another Beardo with a flamethrower arrived. He picked a new angle and added his flame to the cause. New vines slipped under the destruction and slithered towards the flamethrowers. With quick dips, the flames lit up the fresh runners and cooked them black. People on the fence cheered as the flamethrowers managed to easily control the approaching vines. Still, the bleachers were dismantled.

Pete pushed away from the fence and dropped back to the ground. His ankle objected to the rough treatment, but held together. It didn’t make sense to Pete. With the bleachers intact, the vines had good cover from which to attack. They had already demonstrated that they could slip underneath or come over the top. Under the cover of the benches, they could approach with stealth. Maybe the vines weren’t smart and didn’t understand how to use their environment to the maximum benefit.

Another idea occurred to Pete. Perhaps the vines were smart enough to use the benches as a distraction. Pete ran for the other side of the field. He slammed into the fence at the other side and the chain link rattled against the posts. Pete pulled apart two tarps and peeked between them. There was no Beardo patrol on this side. Everyone was either focused on vine control or population control.
 

Pete let out a relieved breath. Everything was quiet on this side of the field. He saw no vines coming over the top of the bleachers to threaten the field. He pushed back from the fence, reevaluating the intelligence of the vines. Maybe they just knew to tear things apart. Maybe the flamethrowers would be enough to hold them back.

Pete stopped. There hadn’t been vines coming over the top of the bleachers, but something had been different. He went back to the fence. On his second look, it was obvious. The shadows under the seats were more filled in. There was something down there.
 

They all came at once. Little green runners erupted from the shadows, coming over the lower seats. Pete stumbled back and then ran. He screamed, “Hey! Help!”

Nobody was paying attention. Another triumphant yell rose up from the people watching the Beardos with the flamethrowers.
 

“HELP!” Pete screamed. One woman turned around and saw him running. She poked someone standing next to her and Pete pointed over his shoulder. “HELP!”

Finally, people began to turn around and Pete saw that he had the attention of the Beardos over at the gate.

“They’re coming!” Pete screamed. He pointed at the fence. He didn’t need to scream anymore. Vines were breaching the tarps and reaching their green fingers over the top of the fence. The invasion was apparent. Everyone began to scream and point.

The rest of the group streamed from the big tent. Some still rubbed sleep from their eyes and some carried plates with breakfast. Food was forgotten as the group became a mob. People swelled towards the gate. Pete had a jump on them. He reached the gate before the rest. A couple of Beardos from the gate were headed towards the new threat. They had machetes drawn. The rest turned and seemed to be heading for high ground. Pete joined them. He fell in behind a small contingent of men who began climbing a ladder to get on top of a low porch roof.
 

Pete hung back enough to avoid being kicked in the face by the boots of the man ahead of him. As soon as he was off the ladder, he turned to evaluate the situation. From his height, he could see the flamethrowers fighting off the vines on one side and the machete men slicing and dicing on the other side. Nobody was focused on the vines coming over the opposite end zone. Those vines were curing up the goalposts and flowing over the fence towards the main tent.
 

A swell of people reached the ladder. The first few climbed in an orderly line, and then people became impatient. A man tried to climb the back of a the ladder, and a young woman tried to go up the side. Pete gripped the rails, trying to steady the ladder.

One person spilled over the side to the roof and ran over the porch roof to the next ladder. The Beardos had set up another ladder on the flat porch roof to get up to the higher roof of the school building. When the guy pushed off to run for even higher ground, he kicked the ladder and it shook in Pete’s hands. Someone fell off the side and then it ripped from Pete’s hands. He watched as the ladder slid and then tumbled to the side. Frantic hands of people below tried to set it back up. Others gave up and ran for the parking lot. Pete heard screams from that direction and guessed that the vines might have cut off that retreat as well.

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Pete climbed the second ladder to the flat roof of the school. The top of this ladder was lashed to metal rings at the top of the wall. The Beardos up there were organized and efficient. They had a flame guy on each wall. They had backup tanks at the ready. Their supplies were piled near the air conditioner stacks in the center of the roof.
 

Pete walked over to the wall that faced the parking lot.
 

The asphalt was a battlefield. A narrow line of vines didn’t envelop the vehicles, but it cut off access to them. People who ran down the concrete path between the buildings had to take a sharp right to avoid the thick stream of vines. Someone broke open the front doors of the building on the right. They ran inside, but Pete guessed it wasn’t any safer in there. Farther down the face of the building, he saw that the vines had smashed in a window and sent their runners inside.
 

Other people decided to make their stand between the buildings on the concrete path. Surrounded by brick buildings and completely paved, the place looked to be devoid of plant life. But, as Pete watched, vines began to come over the top of the other building. There were only a few Beardos over there, and they only had machetes to defend themselves. The vines overtook them easily.
 

Pete watched with nauseous fascination as the vines captured the Beardos on the other roof. Once their ankles were ensnared, it was only a matter of time before the men were immobilized. The Beardos on Pete’s roof didn’t pay any heed to the fate of their comrades. They were busy fighting off the vines encroaching on their roof. Pete didn’t see where they came from, but the Beardos mobilized more flamethrowers. Soon, each side had two flamethrowers and multiple machete slingers.
 

The sun crested the trees. As the rays hit the vines, they seemed to gather speed, but the men were on top of them. Smoke from the burning vines filled the morning. Pete looked down at the people trapped between the buildings. Vines had taken the football field, which cut off the group’s retreat. The vines in the parking lot cut off their escape.
 

Some stragglers got the ladder back up and climbed to the roof. Pete turned when one man near the air conditioning units barked a short scream.

A single thin vine curled from the exhaust of the air conditioner.
 

Pete ran to it and picked up a machete from the stockpile. He cut the vine back to the metal grate and the trunk disappeared back inside.

“Pick up weapons,” Pete said. “Circle any openings.”

The group was scared, but obedient. The Beardos stayed focused on the walls, and Pete rallied the little group of non-Beardos to patrol the center of the roof.

There was no notice when the battle began to turn. Pete felt good that his little group was managing to hold back any vines that crept through the vents and exhaust pipes. Every time he checked the perimeter, he saw the Beardos efficiently holding the edges. People down on the ground occasionally screamed for help as each pocket of people was overrun, but there was nothing the roof people could do to help them. The Beardos had plenty of fuel stockpiled up there for the flamethrowers, but only enough units to cover their walls. The ladder disappeared as vines took it from the bottom. Pete wasn’t too concerned. The drop to the porch roof wasn’t too far, and from there they could climb down the support poles.

Everything was going fine until he checked over his shoulder and saw that there was only one flamethrower covering the west wall. Somehow, they’d lost a man. Perhaps he had slipped, or maybe a vine had snaked up the wall faster than he could burn it back.

That was all it took. The next time Pete looked, one of the flamethrowers from the north wall was trying to cover his own post and help out the machete men on the west wall too. As soon as the vines came up over the edge of the roof, Pete knew the battle was lost. They hit the sunlight and doubled their speed. Pete yelled to his little group and they turned to fight alongside the Beardos. They swung their machetes down at the advancing carpet of vines, but they were driven back. One man discovered that if he reached forward to cut back the vine that carried the flowers, a section would draw back and regroup before swelling again. It was good information, but it came too late. Pete found himself amongst a small group defending one corner of the roof. Below them, the concrete path was a sea of green vines, dotted with pink and purple flowers. Vines came up the wall and across the roof. They moved with striking speed.

Pete’s arms burned as he swung a blade in each. His own pants were dotted with nicks and cuts from clumsy machete work. He spun to cut a vine that was curling up his calf from behind. Pete saw that he was alone. All around, screaming men had been immobilized by the vines. Their wrists and ankles, thighs and biceps, were wrapped. One Beardo had a vine disappearing into his mouth. Pete screamed when he saw the little tendril of vine coming out of the man’s nostril.
 

He gauged the jump. He might make it with only a broken ankle or a popped knee, but he would land in the sea of vines.
 

Across the alley between the buildings, he saw a window about half a story above the ground. On the other side of the glass, he saw the landing of a stairway. The glass would be too thick for him to crash through, but he didn’t have any other choice. Pete didn’t allow himself to think about the consequences. He gathered all the momentum he could in a few steps and launched himself off the side of the building. As soon as his foot left the ledge, Pete threw his twin machetes to his sides. His landing would be dangerous enough without carrying the steel blades.

Pete brought his knees to his chest in a cannonball and wrapped his arms around his head. He was halfway across the gap when he realized he had misjudged the distance. His leap wasn’t going to carry him to the window.