“Now that I’ve got yer attentions,” says the old man with the rifle. “Yer might like to tell me what yer doin’ on me property.”
“Sir, I would advise you to relax,” says Chatravati. “Please, put the gun down. We work for the government.”
“I find an Ay-rab, a pair o’ teenagers and some random meathead standin’ in me field and you expect me to believe yer work fer the government?” says the old man and when he puts it like that, Jeremy can understand why they might seem suspicious. Nobody bothers correcting him about Chatravati’s nationality. “You can’t pull the wool over me eyes! I know exactly who yer are!”
Do you? Jeremy wonders. Do you really?
“Sir, I assure you that we have no intention of stealing anything,” says Chatravati. “We just want to make sure that it’s safe.”
“I’ll be the judge o’ that!”
For the first time the old man walks into view. He is still pointing the rifle at them. Marcus is restraining himself for now, but only because he doesn’t want to risk one of the others getting shot. Farmer Joe—that’s not his real name, but it will do—paces towards the closest of the cracks in the ground.
“Guys?” Crackles Conor’s voice over the computer monitor . “What’s going on out there?”
“What was that?” the old man spins and waves his rifle around wildly. Marcus can’t wait to hit him over the head with it.
“That’s our headquarters,” Sarra chimes up. “We told you we work for the government.”
“Damn government, want to get their hands on everything,” mutters the old man, but nobody is paying attention to him anymore.
Behind him, from the crack in the earth, a thick green vine has sprouted up. At the end of the creeper is a spherical bud that wobbles for a moment and then splits open to reveal a row upon row of needle-like teeth. It appears to be grinning.
“Sir…” begins Chatravati, but it’s too late. In one fluid motion the carnivorous space-plant has snapped shut around the head of the farmer. A shot goes off from the rifle and the gun falls to the ground as the plant pulls Farmer Joe into the air and shakes his body from side to side.
“Woah,” says Jeremy for the second time that day and then Marcus is telling them to move. Farmer Joe’s headless body falls to the rocky soil and the plant turns its head towards the four members of Westcrest.
“It can sense us,” says Chatravati, backing away and they know that must be true because it doesn’t have eyes. There is more wonderment in Chatravati’s voice than fear. From behind them there is a noise not unlike the sound of tearing paper as two more shoots burst free of the earth. Buds at the ends of these vines also unfurl: revealing toothy, leering faces that wobble about at the end of their stalks.
“We’re trapped!” says Jeremy, but Sarra has other ideas. She flicks both wrists in the direction of one of the plants and blows its head completely off of its body with a blast of energy. Jeremy pumps his fist in the air, but his jubilation is short-lived as he watches more shoots spring up behind the two that Sarra destroyed.
“There’s too many of them,” says Marcus and sure enough the entire field has gone to bloom. Green tendrils rush across the ground like creeping fingers, intertwining with one another to form a knotted green carpet. All around them are bobbling green heads and jaws snapping at the sky.
“Conor, are you there?” Sarra asks the computer. Her hands are still glowing but she doesn’t plan on exploding any others for now… she needs to conserve her energy. But there is no reply from the Westcrest mansion. “Useless as ever,” she mutters.
“So, what’s the plan?” asks Jeremy as the four of them back against one another. Dozens of plants have shot up around them and several of the heads are inching closer. Marcus punches one in the nose and it recoils, but he knows they won’t be able to hold them off for long.