17
After I’d screamed my throat raw, I pulled out my cell phone, hoping to croak into it at someone. The phone turned on, despite having been in my pocket while I flopped around like a fish on dry land, but there was no reception. Standing there with a useless electronic device in hand, I stared at the wall of vegetation that had swallowed Ray, mesmerized. The different types of plants—palms and ferns and other indistinguishable forms—had different bending capacities, and together they made waves in a frothing, green sea.
I tore my eyes away and jogged back toward Graeme’s car, through wind that felt like the jerk in Phys Ed who’d shove you from behind while saying, “Here, let me help you run faster.” I picked up Graeme’s gun along the way—some kind of Ruger semiautomatic (I know nothing
