The stairs have collapsed in on themselves, the eighteenth floor crashing into the one below. It must have happened before the quakes, otherwise I think we would have heard the crash. Something’s rocking the infrastructure, and I imagine that something is inexplicable and viney. We backtrack to the sixteenth floor in search of another way up.

“We might have a good enough view already,” I say, “so long as we find a window.”

“And if the hallways don’t have windows?” asks Elias.

“Easy,” says Luci. “‘Knock, knock, heya strangers, can we come in to inspect your view? We’re looking for portals.’”

I pointedly eye the fire axe.

“You want me to use the axe,” says Elias.

“It’s life or death,” I say. “If no one answers, a little breaking and entering isn’t putting us on the naughty list.”

Mumbling something noncommittal in spanish, he opens the staircase door. Humid air erupts from the doorway, carrying an acrid, earthen aroma. He aims his flashlight down the corridor. I imagine the hallway used to feel sleek, with fancy art deco carpet and gold-hued decor. Now it’s choked with vines.

A few units down, the Jack and the Beanstalk pillar we saw in the garage has busted through the floor and the ceiling above. Sinewy barbed coils laden with sickly yellow flowers snake across the carpet and under the doors.

The vines are everywhere. On the far side of the hallway, away from the glare of the light, a few creepers wriggle forward.

A chill runs up my spine. “Awesome.”

“Hey, you see that?” says Luci. She waves her cell phone toward a space just past the viney column, spotlighting a heap of concrete slabs. Above it, the ceiling has caved in, a pair of broken rebar sticking out. “It’s a way up.”

“If we can reach it,” says Elias. He inches toward the nearest vines crawling across the carpet. His phone remains poised, arresting the plant in the beam of his flashlight. Cautiously, he taps his foot on a thin, thornless tendril. Nothing happens. It doesn’t react. He leans in, adding pressure. Again, nothing happens.

“Do you see anything?” he asks. “Any movement?”

“Not that I noticed…” I reply.

“Nada,” says Luci, keeping her light trained on the pillar.

When he lifts his foot, the plant is perfectly intact. As desiccated and brittle as the vine looks, I would have expected that much weight to smash it into threads.

“It’s hard,” he says. “Solid. Like wood.”

“So… it’s safe to walk across?” asks Luci.

Elias crouches and prods the vine a few more times. Once again, it fails to react. Finally, he pokes at a thorn with the tip of his thumb.

“Ow,” he cries, yanking back his hand. A pinprick of blood blossoms before dripping down the side of his finger. I stiffen at the sight of it. As it turns out, I can stroll past a street basted in blood with just a light case of nausea, but watching it get spilled, no matter the volume, is another matter.

“Smart.” I hand him a bandaid from my pack. While I’m at it, I take out the lighter and bug spray. So long as we’re testing things out…

“Don’t,” he says. “I believe we can walk across. As long as we stay clear of the thorns and keep a light on our path, we should be safe. We don’t know what it will do if we upset it further.”

I scan the hall. The hole in the ceiling on the far end is a viable option, and the vines still haven’t reacted to our experimentation. But I remain unconvinced. I know an evil death plant when I see one, and I can’t imagine this little green horror is going to let us scale an entire apartment building with just a self-inflicted fingerprick.

Blood continues to ooze from Elias' thumb. Tucking his fire axe under one arm, he attempts to apply the bandaid himself. After a moment of struggle, his niece helps.

“Gracias, chispita,” says Elias, sounding touched.

“No problem! I’m leveling up my healing skills. Today, bandaids. Tomorrow, surgery!”

“That can’t be how that works.”

“Why not? It does in video games.”

The man says nothing. He just takes a long, steady breath and massages his uninjured thumb against his temple. I get it. If the world seemed reasonable and ordered to him beforehand, this would all be rather jarring.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” I say. I keep the lighter and bug spray in the pocket of my hoodie, ready to go. If shit’s going down, I’m gonna make fire.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Elias takes the lead, axe in one hand, flashlight in the other. I follow, with Luci picking up the rear to thwart any potential creepers with her phone. All this for a goddamn view. If there wasn’t a dinosaur-sized, winged piranha lurking outside or a vague timer ticking down to our inevitable demise, I’d say let’s scratch this and find something else. Sadly, the next best plan I’ve got is to steal some bikes and wander the streets until we fall off a cliff. So I guess we’re committed.

I barely breathe as we traipse down the corridor. It’s too quiet. If anyone’s alive in this luxury apartment complex, I can’t hear them. Without the hum of central air or the idle chatter of residents, there’s just us. Our breathing, our footsteps. And behind that, the very hushed, very subtle stirring of restless vines.

Elias squeezes between the wall and the column of vines, his light splashing on the unsettling growth. He stumbles as the sleeve of his flannel shirt snags on a thorn. With a jolt, he tears himself free and steps through. Once he’s on the other side, the pillar goes dark.

“Turn the light. I can’t see it,” I say.

“I need the light here,” he says.

“Elias, it’s moving!”

For a painful few seconds, I’m left helpless mere inches from this monstrosity. I’m alone in shadow, but I can sense it. I can feel it, the light feather of tendrils tickling my shoulder. It moves onto my collar bone. Then my neck. Oh my god, it’s on my neck.

“Elias!”

The light flashes in my eyes. Ten feet ahead, Elias stands on a chunk of ragged concrete, his back safely against a disjointed slab wedged between the ceiling and the floor. Before I can feel any relief, I notice his look of horror.

Keeping still, I follow his gaze. There, sloped across my shoulders and behind my neck like a fucking boa is a braid of ropey vines. One of the strands has started to slither down my back, another just about to curl around my throat.

While my body is screaming to get it off get it off get it off, I slowly, carefully curve my fingers around the vine and pry it from my throat.

It won’t budge. It feels as light as a leaf against my skin, but it’s rigid. Solid, just like Elias said. Panic rises in my chest. I’m stuck here. I’m going to lose it. I’m going to faint.

“Helen,” says Elias, his voice forcibly calm. “Helen, you have room. Lean to the left, toward the plant, and you’ll be able to get through.”

“I can’t,” I say. “What if it moves. What if-”

“The light is on it now. It won’t move.” He threads the axe through his belt and holds out his hand. “I promise.”

Breathing down air in stilted gasps, I choke back the bile rising in my throat. I can do this. I have to. With my gaze firmly fixed on Elias’ outreached hand, I shift slowly to the side.

It’s not perfect. As I slide free, my neck stings as a thorn drags across my skin. I wince. Carefully, I lean forward, and the vine sloughs off my body to the ground.

I don’t hesitate. The second I’m clear, I sprint across the floor and grasp Elias’ hand. He pulls me onto the concrete slab to safety.

“Damn, that was close. Goddamn nightmare fuel,” I say, patting my neck. It doesn’t feel like the plant drew blood. Probably left a pretty visible mark though.

Before I can turn around, Luci’s already right beside me. The three of us are wedged onto the concrete slab, a little too close for comfort, with the Martez’ lights basting the horrific corridor in a soft honeyed glow, sounds of slithering vines rustling at the edges. It’s like we’re stranded on a life raft floating in a swell of man-eating seaweed.

“Are you both alright?” asks Elias.

“Yeah, never better,” I answer.

Luci nods breathlessly. “Can we get out of here?”

In answer, Elias wedges his fingers into a crack in the concrete and easily hoists himself up into the hall above. He takes a moment to prop up his cell phone, warding off the vines, before reaching down to help us.

“Luci, hand your phone to Helen so you can climb,” he says.

“But-”

“Luci.”

“Don’t worry about it. Get your ass up there,” I say, plucking the phone from her grip.

Clutching her uncle’s hand, Luci scrambles up the broken floor to safety. Her studded boots disappear over the edge, and then it’s just me. I swallow, my heart drumming against my chest, the vines writhing in the darkness. Then Elias offers his hand and hauls me to the floor above.

We’re free. Relatively speaking.

With the pillar of vines on the opposite side of the cave-in, our end of the corridor is sans plant. The staircase we’ve been scaling - if it’s even usable from here - is at the other end, past the death plant, and I’m not wild about making that sojourn again. On our side of the chasm, the hallway turns, hopefully leading to another more accessible staircase.

However, before we do any more climbing…

After returning Luci’s phone, I stretch out my arms, high over my head, then around in a couple of wide arcs. “We’re seventeen floors up. How about we check out that view?”

“We should climb higher,” says Elias.

“Ah, you’re just nervous about busting in doors.”

“We should knock,” says Luci, approaching one of the units.

“Can’t hurt,” I reply.

We all stare at the closest door.

“Aaaand all the adults in the party are introverts. Amazing,” Luci says dryly. Without further hesitation, she knocks. When no one answers, she puts her ear to the door, then looks at us and shrugs. “Your turn, Tío!”

Despite Luci giving the orders, Elias throws me a dry glare. His idea of a bad influence and my idea of a bad influence are clearly not aligned.

“Step back,” he says.

Luci gives an excited clap. Ten bucks she never imagined her uncle doing this.

Pocketing his phone, Elias adjusts his grip on the axe. He plants one foot back. Then, hefting the axe, he slams the blade into the wood.

With a sharp crack, the door explodes into splinters. Strips of daylight stream into the hall. Another whack, and the door is pretty much obliterated, blanketing the area in plant-arresting light. It occurs to me that this would have been a great idea earlier.

Elias rips chunks of wood from the frame until the door is little more than a jagged border. He does it with such ease. There’s gotta be something supernatural about high-number attributes. I can’t imagine what anything past ten will look like.

Since no one has come flying toward us in the rage, it seems like we’re alone. Elias steps over the debris and into the apartment. We follow, leaving the dark behind.