Meg - Grows Ivy On Boat

As we progressed down the chain of super-yachts, we saw more and more signs of recent battle. Boat twenty looked like it had been struck repeatedly with lightning. Its superstructure was a charred, smoking ruin, the blackened upper decks spackled with fire-extinguisher foam.
Boat eighteen had been converted into a triage center. The wounded were sprawled everywhere, groaning from bashed heads, broken limbs, bleeding noses, and bruised groins. Many of their injuries were at knee level or below—just where Meg McCaffrey liked to kick. A flock of strixes wheeled overhead, screeching hungrily. Perhaps they were just on guard duty, but I got the feeling they were waiting to see which of the wounded did not pull through.
Boat fourteen was Meg McCaffrey’s coup de grace. Boston ivy had engulfed the entire yacht, including most of the crew, who were stitched to the walls by a thick web of crawlers. A cadre of horticulturists—no doubt called up from the botanical gardens on boat sixteen—were now trying to free their comrades using clippers and weed-whackers.

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The Burning Maze, Chapter 30