Chapter 6 · free to read
It bit the fence. The bite was a cut. It grew where it bit. There is no exception to the rule and there never has been one.
It watched me and it copied me. It cut itself where I had cut myself. And then it budded.
Eight miles an hour, and it grew at eight miles an hour, one metre behind the tracks, the whole way to the road.
We stopped a mile short of town and walked the rest. It made no difference. Something had already reached the corner of Ash and Main, and it was already fence-post high.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.