Green Meadow Park had not been green for a long time, and nobody called it by its old name anymore unless they were either new, foolish, or already dead. The survivors called it the Teeth because that was what the plants looked like now, rows of green jaws waiting to close around anything unlucky enough to step too close. The vines moved when people looked away, the ferns bled dark sap when cut, and the flowers opened at night with soft little sounds that made Gary wish nature had remained boring.
Gary sat inside a rusted armored van with Linda and Kevin, trying not to think about how little air they had left. He had once been a tax accountant, which meant he understood panic in spreadsheet form, but the end of the world had introduced several new categories of stress not covered by office training. The roof dented inward every few minutes as something invisible tested the metal from above, and every time it happened Kevin made a small sound like a man trying to swallow his own soul.
"Linda," Gary whispered, "if we die here, I need you to know I hid the emergency crackers under the spare tire."
Linda, a retired librarian who had once shushed a zombie so fiercely it wandered away and fell into a storm drain, squeezed his hand. "Gary, that is both touching and deeply annoying."
Kevin pressed his face near the reinforced windshield and stared into the wet green dark beyond the glass. The plants outside shifted in slow waves even though the wind had stopped an hour ago, and somewhere near the tree line a Stalker clicked softly while moving through the undergrowth. The creatures had hunted them for three days, unseen except when rain slid over their bodies or one of them brushed against the van hard enough to leave dents.
Then Kevin went still.
"Gary," he said slowly, "there is a man walking through the Death-Ferns."
Gary looked up at him.
Kevin pointed through the windshield with one shaking finger. "He's wearing a sweater vest."
Linda leaned forward, and all three of them stared.
Arthur Pringle walked down the old park path with a grocery bag in one hand and a small bag of birdseed in the other. His cream sweater vest looked clean, his khakis were pressed, and his loafers remained spotless despite the mud, acid puddles, and several creeping vines that had already turned to ash before touching him. He hummed softly as he walked, glancing now and then at the trees with the mild approval of a man enjoying a weekend stroll.
A Stalker lunged at him from the left.
Arthur stepped down.
There was a small wet pop under his shoe.
He did not stumble.
Kevin made a noise that might have been a prayer if he had remembered how those worked. "He just stepped on a Cloaked Alpha."
Linda stared through the glass. "He didn't even see it."
Arthur paused near a bush that had once been decorative and was now clearly interested in biting him. The bush leaned forward, opened several small flower-mouths, and then burst into harmless petals when Arthur tossed a handful of birdseed into it. Arthur smiled with the innocent satisfaction of someone who believed he had improved the local wildlife.
"Do birds still eat from bushes?" Gary whispered.
"I don't think birds are the issue," Linda said.
Arthur turned toward the van.
Everyone inside stopped breathing.
He walked through the mutated grass as if it was nothing more than a slightly neglected public lawn. The Stalkers around the van froze when his shadow reached them, and Gary watched one shape in the rain stop so suddenly it looked pinned in place by fear. Arthur did not notice any of this, because he had seen three people in a vehicle and, naturally, assumed they might need neighborly assistance.
He tapped the window.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Gary nearly passed out.
"Act natural," Kevin hissed.
"We are trapped in a van surrounded by invisible predators and a man who evaporates them by accident," Gary whispered back. "There is no natural available."
Arthur tapped again, polite as a bank clerk.
Gary rolled the window down exactly one inch, which seemed like the smallest opening between survival and whatever Arthur was. "We're fine," he said too quickly. "Just observing the local wildlife."
Arthur beamed at him. "Isn't it lovely? Though I must say, some of the dogs out here are rather large." He looked toward the van roof, where something invisible had been trying to peel the metal open only moments before. "One was climbing your vehicle earlier, but I gave it a stern look, and I think it went to lie down."
Kevin had seen the stern look.
The Stalker had not lain down.
It had melted into the roof seam without leaving enough behind to argue.
Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded bill. "Actually, since you're here, have you seen a postman? I have a utility bill that is terribly overdue, and I would hate to receive a late fee because the postal service has lost its sense of urgency."
Linda looked at Gary.
Gary looked at Kevin.
Kevin looked ready to offer Arthur his blood type if asked.
Linda grabbed a crumpled receipt from the floor and pushed it through the one-inch window gap. "Here," she said, with the confidence of a librarian inventing government paperwork under pressure. "This is a Post-Dated Waiver. Show it to the authorities, or the darkness, or whoever handles fees now."
Arthur took the receipt and unfolded it carefully. "How kind," he said, reading absolutely none of it. "A waiver. Very official."
He tucked the receipt into his pocket, then looked at the van with concern. "You seem to be stuck in quite a pothole. Let me help."
Gary opened his mouth to say no.
Arthur had already placed one hand on the back of the van.
The vehicle weighed two tons, not counting reinforced panels, supplies, and the combined terror of everyone inside. Arthur gave it a cheerful little push, the kind one might give a shopping cart with a stuck wheel. The van launched forward, cleared the mud, vines, Stalkers, and half the broken park path, then landed on the paved road with a screech of tires and a bounce that nearly threw Kevin into the dashboard.
"We flew," Kevin said, voice high and flat. "Gary, the van flew."
Gary gripped the steering wheel with both hands and stared at the rearview mirror. Arthur stood far behind them, waving a clean white handkerchief like a proud uncle seeing children off at summer camp. The Death-Ferns around him shrank away from his shoes, and the invisible Stalkers retreated in rippling patches of rain.
"Drive safely," Arthur called. "Some of those puddles look quite deep."
Linda looked at the receipt still missing from her hand. "He accepted my waiver."
Gary stared at Arthur until the man disappeared behind the twisting green wall of the park. "Kevin," he said softly, "we are going to start respecting sweater vests."
Kevin nodded once. "Like a religion?"
"Like a survival method."
Linda slowly unbuttoned her jacket and looked down at her plain shirt with new disappointment. "I think I need to update my wardrobe."
Deep inside the park, Arthur continued along the path, satisfied that he had assisted some polite motorists with a minor pothole issue. He checked his grocery list again and frowned slightly at the next item. "Birdseed, milk, eggs, coffee beans," he read aloud. "Efficient."
A vine thicker than a fire hose curled toward his ankle.
Arthur's shadow moved.
The vine disappeared into the dirt as if the ground had swallowed it whole.
Arthur tossed another handful of birdseed toward a patch of bushes, and the bushes exploded into bright harmless flowers. He smiled, pleased by the sudden improvement in the landscaping. "Much better," he said.
Far behind him, the van sped down the road while three survivors sat in total silence.
Then Kevin whispered, "Did he just one-hand throw a van?"
Gary did not look away from the road. "Kevin, that man is either the god of the new world or the reason the old one is embarrassed."
Linda nodded, still staring at her shirt. "Either way, I am buying a sweater vest if we survive."
Outside, somewhere beyond the park, Arthur's cheerful whistling drifted through the trees while the things hiding in the leaves pulled themselves deeper into the dark.