Free Strum: virgin captive of the billionaire demon rock star monster (The Squirm Files) by Cari Silverwood

stilettos long ago, she had to do a hop, skip, and fucking ouch dance, every now and then. Overhead, a squadron of buzzing, small planes wove in and out of each other’s flight paths, attempting to shoot each other from the sky. Machine guns rattled. Bullets were no doubt perforating things. It was a war, all right, though with no romantic kissing in sight.
    “Where ’s Lars?” All she could see was the endless sea of flowers. Then a scream of glee erupted and a patch of flowers swayed as if something was brushing them.
    Dangerous Bob pointed at the moving flowers . “Fuckin’ fucker.”
    “ Yup.” He was right. Lars rolled into view, squashing the edge of the flower field. On his face was ecstasy. His tongue lolled and he called out nonsense words.
    “Poppies. It’s a poppy field.” Zagan swore along with Bob. “Let’s drag him out of there, but he’ll be useless for hours. The man looks like he’s been chewing on the poppies.”
    “ Gagagaga!” Lars waved and slumped again. He grabbed a bunch of flowers and stems and stuffed them in his mouth.
    Two of the team out of action already. Mr. T. was still missing.
    “ Ow!” The little books had followed them through the jungle and one of them had nipped her ankle. She frowned, backing away but finding they wanted to huddle near her again. Had they gone feral?
    When she stopped retreating, t hey swarmed closer to her legs, and they seemed to be shivering.
    She looked up at the jungle. Something was coming from there, something that scared them.
    There was a noise. Rustling. Thumping. The bushes swayed. A tree toppled with a crunch then a thud as it hit the ground.
    Mr. T. burst out, yelling , and waving his short arms.
    Tearing out after him came a green and obviously magical book about six feet high. Trees and grass around it burst into rainbow flame. Pages of books were spat out, spinning, by the Necrosexi-texmexicon, like razor sharp Frisbees.
    She felt herself pale and her fingers grow cold.
    P aper cuts were the worst.
    Little booklings ran past it squeaking, most of them homing in on her. Did they think she was their momma or something?
    Dangerous Bob materialized his four by two.
    Zagan unslung his guitar.
    Guitar music twanged through the air as if announcing to the audience that a Mexican desperado had been flushed into the open, his guns firing, his mustache twirling.
    Crush...she wasn’t sure what he was doing but it looked rude.
    The world exp loded, metaphorically speaking.
    Virginia stood there quaking as everyone ran at everyone else, shouting, swinging their weapons or their cocks. Or in Mr. T’s case, transforming before her very wide eyes, into a Tyrannosaurus rex with big teeth and stompy feet. She scurried backward, herding the panicking booklings.
    “Stay there,” yelled Zagan as he stormed past. “You can’t do anything.”
    Good to know, considering she was so scared her knees were knocking. So she sat down in the poppy field beside Lars and took up weaving.
    The bangs, roars , and whistles, the planes zooming past at breakneck speed, ten feet above ground level, the crunches of bones and splatter of blood, it all said War , with a big W .
    Knit one. Pearl One. Knitters said that didn’t they? It was like a calming mantra.
    Besides, shielding the booklings and Lars seemed the best she could do.
    A hundred yards to the left , she was aware of the battle slowly rolling past. There were more screams. She peeked. Zagan was alive. The blood and other icky things flying about made her go back to weaving, after she’d soothed and patted a small, shaking book. By the time the noise abated, she’d woven a poppy stem skirt.
    She rose, dragged on the somewhat holey and crooked skirt then took a breath. She looked past the smoking wreckage of a plane, past a few slumped bodies, and beyond a burnt-out tank with several steel pages jutting from its turret.
    Far in the distance, Mr. T ., in his gigantic T. rex form, was chewing on the