The Green Riot

The ground didn't shake. It *heaved*.

It was as if the earth had suddenly inhaled. The dirt road, packed hard by decades of use, cracked open with the sound of a breaking bone.

The hitmen froze.

"What the—"

Massive roots, thick as telephone poles, burst from the soil. They didn't move like plants; they moved like snakes striking.

One root whipped upward, catching the lead SUV under the chassis. With a groan of tearing metal, the two-ton vehicle was flipped into the air, crashing down on its roof.

The leader screamed as the ground beneath him liquified. Vines dropped from the canopy of the ancient firs—vines that shouldn't have been moving that fast, vines that hissed. They wrapped around his rifle, yanking it from his hands and snapping the metal barrel like a twig.

"Witch!" one of the men screamed, opening fire on Hazel.

Hazel flicked her wrist. A wall of brambles, thorns the size of daggers, erupted from the earth in front of her, catching the bullets.

She clenched her fist.

In the forest, the moss carpet rolled up like a rug, trapping three men who were trying to flank Dante. They struggled, but the moss was stronger than Kevlar, binding their arms to their sides.

Dante watched, his gun hanging uselessly by his side. He stared at the girl next door—the one he had mocked for drinking tea—as she conducted a symphony of violence. Her eyes were glowing a faint, bioluminescent green. Her nose was bleeding, a crimson trickle against her pale skin, but she didn't look tired. She looked terrifying.

The leader, disarmed and terrified, scrambled backward through the mud. "What are you?" he gibbered.

Hazel stepped off the porch. She walked barefoot through the mud, the brambles parting for her like loyal dogs.

She stood over him. A vine descended from the tree above, wrapping gently, lovingly, around the man's throat.

"I moved here for the quiet," Hazel said, tilting her head. "And you broke my window."

The vine tightened. The man clawed at his throat, his eyes bulging.

Hazel looked at Dante. He was standing ten feet away, staring at her. He wasn't looking at her like a monster. He was looking at her like she was the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

"You might want to finish up," Hazel said, her voice tight with strain. "I can't hold them forever. It drains my electrolytes."

Dante snapped out of his trance. The fear vanished, replaced by the cold professionalism of a Capo. He reloaded his pistol.

"Right," Dante said.

He walked over to the men trapped in the moss. He didn't ask questions. He didn't hesitate. He did what he came to the woods to do.

* Bang. Bang. Bang.*

The forest went quiet again.