Meg - Jack and the Beanstalk

“How long will it take for us to reach camp?” I asked.

“In Friday afternoon traffic?” Reyna calculated. “A little more than two hours.”

From one of her gardening-belt pouches, Meg pulled a fistful of seeds. “I guess we’d better hurry, then.”

I was not familiar with Jack and the Beanstalk.

It didn’t sound like a proper Greek myth.

When Meg said we’d have to use a Jack-and-the-Beanstalk exit, I didn’t have a clue what she meant, even as she scattered handfuls of seeds down the nearest pylon, causing them to explode into bloom until she’d formed a latticework of plant matter all the way to the ground.

“Over you go,” she ordered.

“But—”

“You’re in no shape to climb the ladder,” she said. “This’ll be faster. Like falling. Only with plants.”

I hated that description.

Reyna just shrugged. “What the heck.”

She kicked one leg over the railing and jumped. The plants grabbed her, passing her down the leafy latticework a few feet at a time like a bucket brigade. At first she yelped and flailed her arms, but about halfway to the ground, she shouted up to us, “NOT—THAT—BAD!”

I went next. It was bad. I screamed. I got flipped upside down. I floundered for something to hold on to, but I was completely at the mercy of creepers and ferns. It was like free-falling through a skyscraper-size bag of leaves, if those leaves were still alive and very touchy-feely.

At the bottom, the plants set me down gently on the grass next to Reyna, who looked like she’d been tarred and flowered. Meg landed beside us and immediately crumpled into my arms.

“Lotta plants,” she muttered.

Her eyes rolled up in her head. She began to snore. I guessed she would not be Jacking any more beanstalks today.

***

The Tyrant’s Tomb, Chapter 31