“Don’t talk,” Chase whispers. “Save your strength. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Another high-pitched scream is cut off by a horrific grinding sound. One of the tree creatures has found another victim. Blood is pooling around the lifeless soldier; his eyes staring at nothing while the monster begins to feast.

There is a whooshing sound, and the thing catches fire before it can gnaw its victim any more.

Hemslock has the flamethrower in his hands. Crazed, he swings it haphazardly.

“Stop it, man!” one of the remaining soldiers shouts in fear. “The explosives! We’ll all die!”

Hemslock isn’t listening. When the other man tries to deter him, the actor spins and shoves the weapon right into the man’s face. He launches again.

With a scream, the soldier catches fire, twisting and turning frantically before dropping to the ground and rolling, trying to put out the flames covering him.

“You’re not going to get me,” Hemslock shouts. “I’m going to fucking torch this whole island unless I get what I’m due, you fucking prick!”

He strides toward us. Chase clings to me, refusing to let go, even as the flames draw closer.

“I’m going to burn them to death if that’s what it takes,” he snarls.

Gries leaps at him from behind without warning, his weight catching the bigger man off-guard. Both hit the ground.

Gries tries his best, but Hemslock is heavier, stronger. The actor punches the other man’s face, grunts when his opponent manages to get in a knee, but he’s on an adrenaline high. He continues pummeling Gries once he gets the upper hand, the latter sagging under the force of his blows.

Chase props me against a large boulder then grabs his baton and runs at Hemslock, slamming the weapon against his back. “Leave him alone!”

It barely even fazes him. With a snarl, he punches Chase, sending him stumbling back. Then Hemslock slams the younger boy to the ground, his hands around his throat.

“I’m doing you a favor,” he snarls, fingers tightening. “Since you’re going to be a fucking orphan soon—”

He stops. His hold slackens. Blood drips from his mouth. He staggers back.

I stand behind him. In my hand is a heavy branch, its sharp end plunged through Hemslock’s stomach, in almost the same place he shot me.

Askal stands beside me, bearing no wounds. His jowls are pulled back, his teeth fierce, and he is growling.

Hemslock swings at me, his fist missing when I duck. Askal takes that opportunity to latch onto his arm, teeth digging in deep. With a scream, he spins, trying to shake him off.

Leo Gries has regained his footing, the flamethrower secure in his grip. My eyes flick toward Chase, but he is already sitting up, his hands pressed against his throat and his eyes glaring murder.

“I knew it,” Hemslock says, breathing hard. “I knew you were in on it.”

Both Gries and Chase look at me, take in the thick root that is now wrapped around my waist, staunching my injuries. They watch as the remaining tree creatures gather behind Askal and me, silently awaiting orders.