Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
There’s a savory scent coming from the area behind a door with a “Kitchen” sign on it. A big metal sheet covers the serving area, which has a smooth wooden counter.
I sit down, fatigue catching up with me. Amira is telling me about archery, but I can hardly keep my eyes open.
Marcus’s voice returns over the speaker. “The shelter-in-place order is lifted. The threat was eliminated.”
Eliminated. It’s a sanitized way of saying some animal that belongs here more than any of us do was just killed. That’s reality, though, both here and back in the continental New America.
Kill or be killed.
21
Three Weeks Later
I hope by semester’s end, you’ll never look at a field of grass or an ancient oak tree the same way again.
- Excerpt from a lecture given by Dr. Lucinda Hollis in her Introduction to Plant Biology course
“Mornin’, Briar.” Felix touches the wide brim of his hat as I walk into the garden.
“Morning.”
I turn and raise my palm in a cursory wave at Vance, who will return for me later.
It rained for a few hours last night, and the air in the garden this morning is lush and heavy. I breathe deeply, the rich, loamy scents of wet earth and vegetation infusing me with a sense of calm.
I’ve been working in the garden for more than two weeks. Every day, I wake up excited about coming to my personal idea of paradise. I spend eight hours a day surrounded by plants—what could be better?
Felix is in charge, and the workers here say he runs the garden with a potting-soil fist, because he’s easygoing. He’s quiet, preferring to be wrist-deep in dirt. For a week now, Vance has been allowed to leave me under Felix’s supervision for the workday.
I haven’t wandered outside the garden because I don’t want to lose that freedom. Vance watches me too closely for my comfort. Even when we’re alone together in my small room at night to sleep, his eyes are always on me.
In my short time working here, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve ached to share this experience with my mom, who would have been blown away by it. The vegetables and fruits have been genetically modified in ways I never thought possible.
The garden is made up of raised beds built from lumber, laid out in rows that seem endless. Some of them stretch more than two hundred feet. There are lots of island critters that would get into the beds if they weren’t raised. Protective screens arc around many of the beds, keeping birds and other flying pests away.
I’m starting my day harvesting sweet potatoes, and then I’ll move on to lettuce and spinach. There are several varieties of lettuce in the garden: Batavian, Jericho, romaine, Boston Bibb, and buttercrunch. Like everything here, it’s been bred to be extremely heat tolerant, require less water to grow, and regrow very quickly.
The lettuce I’m cutting away would normally take at least two weeks to regrow. But this lettuce will be fully regenerated within forty-eight hours.
This is the kind of breakthrough that could have helped many hungry people, both before and after the virus. This hardy garden is a scientific marvel, but I can’t forget the others on this island who are starving while I’m surrounded by food all day, every day.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
My garden coworker, Ray, kneels beside me. I murmur a quick hello and don’t look at him. This isn’t the first time he’s left the work he’s supposed to be doing to come talk to me. He’s wiry and muscular, and he looks like he’s in his thirties, his short hair and beard both the shade of rust.
“You think this place is kinda bullshit?” he asks in a low tone.
“The island?” I scoff. “That’s one word for it.”
“No, this camp. Marcus calls all the shots. He’s just like fuckin’ Whitman.”
I bristle, worried someone will overhear this conversation and think I share his opinion. Whatever thoughts I have about Marcus, I’m not stupid enough to say them out loud. Especially not to someone I don’t even know.
“This camp’s a lot better than the one I was at before.” I use my T-shirt to mop sweat from the back of my neck. “They’re starving there and they work or train sixteen hours a day.”
Ray sighs deeply, considering. “So it’s like this place, then? One leader who makes the rules?”
“Two. And no, it’s not like this place. I didn’t feel safe at Rising Tide.”
He looks over both shoulders before continuing. “I want to get the fuck off this island. I have a wife back home. It doesn’t matter how nice this camp is, I’m not spending the rest of my life here.”
“I get that. I don’t want to either.”
His eyes light with hope. “Which camp do we have a better shot of getting out of here with? Does anyone at the other camp want to try?”