Strawberry Shroomy's Arc

Chapter 2 of 9

By moonrise, the garlic lay cut and the beetles had finished their work. Shroomy walked the cleared rows with the empty brew bottle still in her hand, its red glass catching the low light. Three rows wilted clean. The rest were beetle-scoured dirt. She let herself breathe. Then she heard the wet crunch. She followed the sound to the ripest patch. One bulb beetle had stayed behind. At its feet sat a half-eaten strawberry, juice bleeding into the soil, seeds glinting like wet glass. Two more berries beside it bore deep bites. The beetle's jaws worked steady, picking the reddest fruit first. Shroomy didn't shout. She set the bottle down and walked to the storage shed for planks and rope. By the time the moon climbed higher, she had raised a small lookout — a mushroom-capped post at the field's edge, ladder bolted to its stalk. From the top she could see every row. She could watch the beetle. She could plan. She climbed up and sat. The beetle chewed on, unaware. Shroomy drew her knife across her knee and waited. The garlic was gone. The tunneling thing still moved beneath her. And now one greedy beetle was eating her best fruit, one berry at a time. She would not lose another row tonight.