Chapter 32

Y’all i really do be putting maggie through HELLLLLL with all these side quests. poor girl just NEVER catches a break, but whatever. I gotta so that we can have some good nancy scenes coming up sooooooooooon.

When Maggie arrives back at the Byers’ household, she pushes open the front door, calling, “I’m home!” out of habit, but the words die in her throat as soon as she sees the living room.

The floor is covered.

Papers are spread across the carpet like a crazy person’s jigsaw puzzle. Each one’s covered in thick black lines, twisting and coiling together, overlapping until they spill off the edges and onto the next page.

And right in the middle of it all, Joyce and Hopper are on their knees, heads bent in concentration as they try to piece the nightmare together.

“Jesus,” Maggie breathes, stepping over a pile carefully, “Did a Sharpie factory explode in here or something?”

Hopper glances up from the floor. His face is drawn, eyes shadowed, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, “Hey, kid. Watch your step.”

Joyce looks up next, “Maggie, honey, good, you’re here. Close the door, okay? There’s a draft.”

Maggie shuts it quietly, “Uh, what exactly are you guys doing?”

Hopper gestures vaguely toward the floor, “Your brother’s latest art project.”

The duo finishes taping down the last few pages, stepping back to take in the full picture that now stretches across the entire living room floor.

Maggie plants her hands on her hips, squinting, “A bunch of lines. Awesome.”

“Does this mean anything to you?” Hopper asks her, eyes scanning the spidery network.

“No, I mean…” Joyce shakes her head, “Is it some sort of maze or a road? It’s forking and branching like…like lightning.”

“You think it’s the storm?” Hopper asks, brow furrowed.

“No, the storm he drew was completely different. He used red for that,” Joyce steps closer, “This is blue, and it’s got this weird dirt color. Maybe it’s roots. ‘Cause remember, he kept saying it was spreading and—”

“Killing,” Hopper cuts in sharply, “He said they were killing.”

The room goes still. And then Maggie sees Hopper’s eyes shift, his whole face tightening with realization.

“Vines,” he says suddenly, “He’s drawing vines.”

Before Joyce can even ask, he’s already grabbing his jacket and hat, heading for the door.

Maggie’s eyes widen, and without thinking, she bolts after him, “I’m coming with you!”

Hopper groans, yanking open the front door, “No. Nope. No way in hell.”

She catches the door before it slams and plants herself in front of him with her chin up.

“Hopper, listen. I know what he felt. I can help. I’ve seen some of what he’s seen. Not all of it, but I know what it feels like.”

Hopper freezes, caught halfway between a heart attack and locking her in the Byers’ house forever.

“You what?”

“I had a dream,” she blurts, “Or a vision, whatever you wanna call it. I saw the same… thing that’s got Will. I don’t know how, but I did. And it’s getting stronger.”

Hopper just stares at her, his jaw flexing, “You telling me you’ve got—what, psychic powers now?”

Maggie shrugs, “I mean, I’d prefer ‘gifted with impeccable timing,’ but sure. Psychic works.”

He lets out a long, resigned sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, “You’re not gonna stay here, are you?”

She grins, “Nope.”

“Fine,” He mutters something that sounds like a swear, then jerks his head toward the truck, “Get in before I change my mind.”

The drive out to the fields is quiet, except for the crunch of gravel under the tires and the wind whistling through a crack in the window.

Maggie stares out the window, arms crossed, “So, what’s the plan, Chief? We just walk into a field and hope evil vines give us directions?”

“Something like that,” Hopper says dryly, “We’ve been getting calls about crops dying. Rotting from the inside out. I’m thinking Will’s drawings might line up with where it’s happening.”

She nods slowly, lips pressed together, “You think it’s connected to the Upside Down.”

“I think everything is connected to that damn place,” he mutters.

They turn down a dirt road that leads into the pumpkin fields. Even from the truck, Maggie can see the decay. Pumpkins split open and blackened like they’ve been burned from the inside.

“Jesus,” she murmurs, covering her nose with her sleeve.

Hopper kills the engine and grabs a flashlight from the glove compartment, “Stay close. Don’t touch anything.”

They step out into the cold, their boots crunching over the uneven earth. The deeper they walk into the field, the worse it gets. The soil squishes beneath their feet, soft and slick with rot.

“I can feel it,” she whispers.

Hopper glances at her, uneasy, “Feel what?”

“The same thing I felt in the dream. It’s alive. It’s…” She swallows hard, “It’s listening.”

He frowns, scanning the ground again, “Well, let’s see if it’s got anything to hide.”

They start digging.

At first, it’s just to check the soil, the investigative instinct Hopper can’t ignore. He grabs a shovel from the back of the truck and hands Maggie a smaller one meant for clearing brush.

The first few feet come easy, the dirt damp and heavy but workable. Hopper grunts with effort, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the chill. Maggie works beside him, sleeves rolled up.

After two hours, there’s a hole big enough to bury a body in.

After three, the hole starts to breathe.

By the fourth hour, the sun’s gone. The world turns blue and then black, the only light coming from Hopper’s flashlight and the dull orange glow of the truck headlights cutting through the mist.

“Chief,” Maggie says between breaths, leaning on her shovel, “We’ve been at this for hours. Maybe it’s just roots. Creepy, nasty roots from the Upside Down, sure, but still roots.”

“Roots don’t move,” Hopper says. He jabs the shovel into the ground again, harder this time. “And they don’t hum.”

And he’s right. The sound is faint but unmistakable. Hopper keeps digging. Maggie joins him again without a word. At hour five, they hit something solid.

Hopper kneels, brushing away the loose dirt. The flashlight beam catches on a slick black surface.

He taps it with the end of the shovel. It gives slightly, like flesh.

Maggie grimaces, “Okay, that’s definitely not OSHA-approved terrain.”

Then, before either of them can react, the ground shifts.

The “surface” beneath them cracks with a deep, wet sound.

“Back up,” Hopper warns, reaching for her arm.

But the earth gives way faster than he can move. The ground collapses beneath them, swallowing both of them whole.

Maggie screams as they tumble down through dirt and roots, landing hard in a thick layer of black sludge. The flashlight clatters down beside them and rolls, its beam cutting through the dark.

The light falls on a wall. A wall made of vines. Thick, wet, moving vines, twisting in slow, unnatural pulses.

Maggie pushes herself up, coughing, “Oh my god.”

Hopper grabs the flashlight and shines it around. They’re standing in a tunnel wide enough for multiple people to walk through, lined with living roots that glisten and pulse. The ground squelches under their boots, sticky with black residue.

“Jesus Christ,” Hopper mutters, “We’re underground.”

“No kidding,” Maggie says weakly, trying to catch her breath, “Please tell me this is the part where we leave and pretend this didn’t happen.”

“Not yet,” Hopper says, scanning the tunnel, “If this is what Will’s been seeing, we need proof.”

“Proof?” she echoes, “You want a souvenir from the evil vine cave?”

Then the flashlight flickers.

Maggie freezes, “Hopper…”

The air shifts. The hum she felt in the field returns stronger, reverberating through her ribs.

She presses a hand to the nearest wall and immediately yanks it back, face pale.

“It’s alive,” she says again, “All of it. It’s all connected.”

Hopper looks up sharply, eyes wide, “We’re leaving.”

This time, she doesn’t argue.

But before they can move, something shifts on the tunnel wall. It unfolds, revealing a shape almost like a Demogorgon head. Not quite one, but close enough to make Maggie’s blood run cold. Its head opens in a wet hiss and spits a spray of glistening spores toward them.

Hopper barely has time to curse before both of them double over, coughing violently. The air fills with a fine dust. Maggie’s lungs burn. She wheezes, trying to cover her mouth with her sleeve, but the damage is done.

Hopper shines the flashlight up toward the wall, but the creature’s already vanished into the slick black surface, leaving behind nothing but the drifting flakes that shimmer faintly in the beam. Another spray hits them and their knees buckle.

Maggie feels the world tilt sideways. Her vision starts to tunnel, edges going soft and gray.
“Chief,” she slurs, “I don’t feel so good…”

Her body sways and collapses before he can reach her. Hopper drops beside her, eyes rolling back, and then everything goes dark.

When they come to hours later, Maggie’s face is pressed into something damp and cold. Her stomach churns violently. She groans, rolling onto her side.

“That was a horrible nap,” she sputters weakly.

Beside her, Hopper doubles over and vomits onto the tunnel floor. The sound echoes horribly through the enclosed space.

“Oh, delicious,” she mutters, gagging at the smell.

Hopper wipes his mouth with his sleeve, face pale but determined.

“We gotta get outta here,” he rasps, pulling her roughly to her feet.

“Okay, I’m up, I’m up. Jesus, don’t rip my arms off.”

He doesn’t answer. The flashlight beam wobbles as he runs, scanning the walls. Every surface around them pulses faintly. It’s impossible to tell which direction they came from.

“Shit!” Hopper shouts as they skid to a stop at a dead end.

The light trembles in his hand. Maggie reaches out, placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to absorb some of the storm of fear and frustration pouring off him.

“No, kid,” he says sharply, shaking her off, “We’re not doing that shit right now.”

He tears off part of his sleeve and hands it to her, “Here. Cover your mouth. Don’t breathe this crap in.”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” she mutters, tying it around her face anyway.

They stand at the fork in the tunnel, two paths stretching ahead into pitch black. Hopper takes a cigarette from his pocket, marking the trail. Then he pulls his radio from his belt.

“Does anybody copy? This is Chief Jim Hopper—”

He stops short, light swinging down. The floor ahead is littered with animal skeletons bleached pale and tangled in the roots. Maggie wrinkles her nose.

“Oh, well isn’t that just lovely,” she says dryly.

Hopper doesn’t respond. He kneels, flicks his lighter open, and holds the flame near the wall. The moment the firelight touches the vines, they hiss and recoil violently.

“They’re afraid of fire,” Maggie says, surprised.

That gives him an idea. He strips off his uniform overshirt, tears it into long strips, and wraps one around a femur he yanks from the skeleton pile. When he lights it, the torch flares against the black walls. The vines slither away, opening a small patch of slimy tunnel.

“Guess we dig our own damn way out,” he mutters, jamming the torch into the wall. He starts clawing and pulling, ripping chunks of the membrane away.

They work for what feels like forever. Twenty minutes, maybe more. Hopper’s halfway through the hole when he collapses backward, chest heaving.

“Tired, Chief?” Maggie pants, sliding down beside him.

He gives her a look, but she just smirks faintly, “On the bright side, if we die here, we die together.”

“Great,” he mutters, fishing for his cigarette again, “Just what I always wanted.”

She laughs softly, then freezes. The vines on the floor start to twitch.

“Uh, Hop?”

Before either of them can react, the vines explode to life. They whip around their ankles, constricting tight.

“Son of a bitch!” Hopper roars, slashing with his knife as they crawl higher, wrapping around Maggie’s calves and waist.

“God, the universe just loves a sick joke,” Maggie wheezes, trying to pry one off her arm. It only tightens.

Within seconds, they’re both off their feet. The vines drag them down and slam them against the ground, curling around their throats. Maggie chokes, clawing at the tendrils crushing her windpipe. Her lungs scream for air.

Everything starts to blur again. Time becomes a fog of panic and pain until faintly, she hears voices echoing down the tunnels.

“Jim! Maggie!”

Joyce.

Her heart lurches even as her consciousness fades. The flashlight beam flickers in the distance, and then Joyce and Bob appear, gasping at the sight. Hopper’s half-buried in the floor, vines strangling him.

“Get the kid—knife!” Hopper rasps.

Joyce whirls and spots Maggie tangled on the floor, her face pale and blue-tinged.

“Oh, Maggie, baby,” Joyce cries, stumbling forward. She grabs the pocket knife from the ground and saws desperately at the tendril choking her.

The vine gives a horrible screech as it splits apart, and Maggie collapses forward, gasping, the air tearing down her throat like glass. Joyce catches her, clutching her to her chest.

“It’s okay, I got you,” she whispers fiercely.

Bob moves to Hopper, slicing through the roots pinning him to the ground. The moment Hopper is free, he scrambles up and helps Maggie to her feet. Both of them are trembling, filthy, gasping for air.

“Well,” Maggie croaks, voice raw but laced with her usual dry humor, “that was exciting. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Joyce lets out a shaky, nervous laugh.

“No,” the other three adults say at once.

Maggie huffs softly, brushing some slime from her hair, “Didn’t think so.”

They turn toward the tunnel entrance, Hopper leading the way, flashlight cutting through the dark. But before they can take more than a few steps, the beam catches movement ahead, figures in hazmat suits, weapons drawn, shouting orders.

“Go! Go! Go! Clear the area!” one of them yells.

Panic flashes through the group. They break into a sprint, boots slapping against the wet ground.Then, suddenly, Maggie stops short.

A bolt of pain spears through her chest so hard she nearly doubles over. It’s not just pain, it’s fire, spreading through every nerve like she’s being burned from the inside out. Her vision whites out at the edges.

“Maggie!” Hopper shouts, turning back just in time to catch her as her knees buckle.

She grips his sleeve, shaking.

“God, everything burns,” she gasps, her voice strangled.

Hopper’s eyes widen in alarm, “What is it? What’s going on?”

“I don’t— I don’t know!” she manages before another scream rips out of her.

Her whole body spasms violently in his arms, her pulse hammering beneath his fingers.

The men in hazmat suits rush forward, shouting over one another, “Get her out! Move!”

Hopper lifts her, cradling her against his chest, and stumbles toward the rope hanging from the exit. She writhes, fingers clawing weakly at his jacket.

“Alright, kid, I got you,” he murmurs, trying to keep his voice steady even as panic bleeds through.

Her body jerks again like she’s burning alive. Her screams echo up through the tunnel, twisting into ragged sobs. Then, abruptly, her head lolls forward and she goes limp.

“Maggie!”

Her consciousness flickers like a dying light. There’s the sensation of movement, hands grabbing her, voices shouting, the cold slap of fresh air as she’s pulled out of the hole. Then, nothing.

When she wakes, the world is sterile white. Her eyelids feel like sandpaper. The air smells like antiseptic and latex. For a moment, she has no idea where she is.

Then she blinks up at a ceiling lined with harsh fluorescent lights. Machines beep quietly beside her. An IV drips into her arm.

“Ugh… did anyone get the license plate of the bus that hit me?” she mutters.

The curtain beside her rustles, and Joyce appears, eyes wide and red from crying.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, rushing to her side, “You’re awake.”

Maggie squints, her voice hoarse, “Hospital?”

“Lab,” Joyce corrects quietly, “They brought us all here after they pulled you out. You—you weren’t breathing right for a while. They said you inhaled something down there.”

“Yeah. Or maybe I just like to make dramatic exits.”

Joyce’s lips twitch, but her worry doesn’t fade. She brushes a strand of hair from Maggie’s forehead, frowning.

“You said you were burning, but you had nothing on you. They couldn’t explain it.”

Maggie stares at the ceiling, a strange heaviness settling in her chest. She looks over at Joyce, forcing a smile.

“Well… guess I’m just full of surprises.”

Joyce sighs softly, gripping her hand, “Just rest, okay?”

As the older woman leaves to find Hopper, Maggie closes her eyes again. But sleep doesn’t come easy. Behind her eyelids, the fire still burns.

The steady beep…beep…beep of the monitor is the only sound in the room.

Maggie stares up at the ceiling, pale light washing over her face, and wonders how many times she’s woken up in weird places lately. She shifts her arm slightly and the IV tugs, the plastic tape pulling at her skin.

“God, this is like summer camp, but with more needles,” she mutters.

Somewhere down the hall, voices echo, Joyce and Hopper arguing with Dr. Owens about the tunnels. They think she’s asleep. They think she’s weak. But Maggie’s mind is racing, heart uneasy. Ever since she woke up, she’s felt off.

Then, faintly, from the chair beside her, underneath her clothes, comes a crackle.

She freezes. Another crackle.

“—Maggie? Maggie, are you there? Over.”

Her heart leaps.

“Dustin?” she whispers.

She fumbles for the walkie-talkie tucked in her shirt.

“Dusty-bun, if this is another prank, I swear to God I’ll haunt your descendants.”

“Maggie! Oh thank God. I didn’t think this would actually— okay, listen. We need you. It’s bad.”

“Define ‘bad,'” she says, sitting up slowly, careful not to trigger the machines.

“Like, demogorgon bad. Or, uh— demo-dog bad. Dart bad. We’re going to the old junkyard, trying to trap him. But, uh… we could use some backup.”

Her pulse spikes, “Dustin, I’m literally in the hospital.”

“Are you dying?”

“No,” she sighs, already yanking off the heart monitor stickers, “but I will be if anyone catches me sneaking out of here.”

Dustin’s voice crackles back, nervous but hopeful, “So… that’s a yes?”

She grins, swinging her legs over the bed, “That’s a hell yes. Give me ten minutes. Try not to get eaten.”

She rips the IV from her arm, wincing as the sting hits, and grabs a wad of tissues to blot the spot. Her head spins for a second, but she steadies herself on the edge of the bed. Her street clothes sit neatly folded in a chair: jeans, boots, Hopper’s flannel she’d “borrowed,” and her denim jacket.

“Thanks for the loan, Chief,” she murmurs as she shrugs into it, “Don’t wait up.”

She moves quietly, slipping past the half-open curtain. The halls are dim and mostly empty, a few nurses murmuring at a desk down the corridor. She ducks into a maintenance hallway.

“Okay,” she breathes, “left turn, security door, avoid the guards, don’t die— easy.”

Two guards appear at the end of the hall. She dives into a supply closet just in time, holding her breath as their footsteps echo past.

When they’re gone, she exhales shakily and whispers, “Eat your heart out, James Bond.”

Finally, she reaches an exit door marked Emergency Use Only. She hesitates for a heartbeat, then pushes it open. The alarm doesn’t go off, thank God, and she slips into the cold air.

Fifteen minutes later, a familiar BMW screeches to a stop at the edge of the woods near the lab. Maggie jogs over, clutching her jacket tight around her. The passenger window rolls down and Dustin’s face pops out, goggles perched on his curls.

“Holy crap, you actually came!” he says, grinning.

“Shut up, Henderson,” she says, climbing in, “If I get caught, Hopper’s gonna skin me alive.”

“Worth it,” Dustin says proudly.

From the driver’s seat, Steve Harrington looks back, eyes widening, “Jesus, Maggie, what the hell are you doing out here? You look like you just crawled out of a grave.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” she deadpans, buckling in, “That’s the confidence boost I needed. Now, what’s this about a man-eating lizard dog?”

Steve glances at Dustin, then back at her, “You’ll see. And you’re not gonna like it.”

“Oh, please,” she smirks, “try me.”

Steve shakes his head as he slams on the gas, “You two are gonna get me killed.”

“Probably,” Maggie says cheerfully, leaning back in her seat as the car speeds toward the junkyard, “But hey, we’ll look awesome doing it.”