“Unfortunate collateral damage,” Hemslock says coldly. His eyes flick somewhere behind Gries.

“How the fuck did you—” he snarls, then doesn’t bother to finish. He moves his rifle, the light attached to it catching on a tree creature standing by the passage to the other cave. A woman’s face lies juxtaposed over its inhuman features.

Some of the soldiers keep their guns pointed at the ceiling, at the swirling mass still multiplying above; two join Hemslock, firing at the balete monster who is adroit enough at avoiding their hail of bullets—scampering into the shadows, flickering in and out of their line of fire.

None of them seem to see the cave wall behind them beginning to pulse like a heartbeat as thick roots gather and intertwine to form another massive, hollow tree. None of them notice the roots on the ground splaying out from the construct, spinning and twisting toward them, until it is too late.

There is a cry. One of the thick roots has latched onto one of the men’s boots, and suddenly he is on the ground, struggling frantically as the tangles drag him toward the opposite end of the cave, where another knot of squirming tree-tentacles lies in wait. The others turn and begin firing at where the knot lies thickest, some aiming for the roots that are pulling their comrade away. Their shots tear off bark, but don’t deter the balete.

The man is yanked into the hollow, still screaming, still shooting blindly, to no avail. The hole closes behind him, and the man, the tree, is quiet, as if he never existed. The branches endure a few more seconds of gunfire from the rest of the mercenaries before they untangle abruptly on their own, scattering away like rats, revealing a solid cave wall with no sign of the soldier.

There are soft moans. More tree creatures form from the center of the twisting eye above them—the same hair-like tendrils and slim, razor-sharp branches for hands and gaping maws for faces.

They are quicker than before, deadlier now that their sanctuary has been breached. They avoid the hail of bullets, scampering upside down as they skirt along the sides of the cave, some posing as a distraction while others leap at the soldiers from behind. Another man goes down, and then another, screaming as the knife-like fingers tear into them, ripping through their vests to get at the tender flesh beneath. Their screams are abruptly cut off when those large, teeth-filled mouths snap down onto their heads.

Gries grabs at my shirt, helps Chase drag me behind a large boulder to shield us.

“Stay together!” Hemslock screams at his men.

“Is Alon alright?” Gries whispers.

“I don’t know,” Chase says frantically.

Gries shrugs off his jacket, pushes it under my head. He pushes his hands down hard against the wound on my chest. “We need to get you to a medic as soon as possible,” he says raggedly.

That’s unlikely, given the gunfire around us and the journey back out. I try to speak, but no words come out.