by K. A. Gandy
He stills, jaw dropping. “You wouldn’t. I swore you to secrecy! Plus, I had no control over that. She was nuts! How was I supposed to know she’d climb through your bedroom window looking for me on Christmas Eve?”
Patrick barks out a surprised laugh. “Who’s Nancy Locken?”
“I was so excited, thinking it was Santa coming in with presents. But was it Santa Claus? No. It was Nancy Locken wearing a Santa Claus costume.”
Peter drops his head into his hands. “Please don’t tell Mom this story. I’m pretty sure she’ll retroactively kill me.”
Feeling my imminent win, I continued. “She was obsessed with Peter, and he let her think he might consider going out with her in the New Year after break. She couldn’t wait and decided to try to speed things along. She not only scared the living daylights out of me, but she ruined Santa. I was eight.”
“We’re going to do a tour of the farm down the road that supplies all the produce here.” Peter’s voice comes out muffled through his hands, but the victory is sweet regardless.
Patrick looks between us incredulously. “Just like that, seriously Peter? One little story and she gets whatever she wants?”
I pump my fists in the air with excitement. “Yes! Farm tour! Let’s go already!” I grab Patrick by the arm, and he reluctantly puts down his mug and follows me.
Peter pushes back his chair with a scrape and stands to follow us. “Sorry, man, my mom can never know about Nancy. That story is going with me to my grave.”
I’m still grinning ear to ear as we board the shuttle a minute later, and Todd greets us politely. Patrick’s look is speculative as we choose the loveseat in the middle of the shuttle. “You have a devious side to you, Sadie Royce.”
“Dang straight. And don’t you forget it.”
✽✽✽
We drive for nearly an hour, and the surroundings get shabbier the further we are from the resort. Immediately outside, everything was nicely manicured and kept up. After about ten minutes, you could tell the closers had done their jobs, and everything looked frozen in time, like an unruffled snow globe. But this far out, the area is starting to go back to the wild. The last few houses we’ve passed have trees sprouting through them, collapsed roofs, and were so wildly grown up in some cases you could hardly tell there had been a home before. It’s both sad and impressive, to see nature taking back over what humanity once thought they owned. Turns out, we are nothing more than a blip on the earth’s timeline. Flaring brightly for a time, but now blinking out.
Then, out of the wildness the familiar sight of tended pastures comes into view. The road winds, and a wooden archway announces we’ve arrived at Branch Farms. The shuttle slowly bumps onto the narrow drive, and we meander back to a faded red farmhouse with clapboard siding. The pastures lining each side of the drive are dotted with various farm animals, all spread out and enjoying the sunshine. My heart warms at the sight, and the homesickness that wells up inside of me can’t be denied.
I look over at Patrick and find him perusing me instead of the surroundings. “Thank you for setting this up. It’s lovely here.”
He smiles, and the genuine warmth he has for me edges out the homesickness bit by bit. Perhaps home really is where the heart is, because there’s no denying that a piece of my heart has been claimed by the man in front of me. “I hoped it would make you happy, to get away from the resort for a while.” He leans in and kisses me on the forehead. “Come on, let’s go explore.”
I happily hop from my seat, and nudge a snoring Peter with my foot before walking to the front. “Some ferocious guard you are, sleeping on the job.”
He jolts to attention, and takes in our new location. “Hey, I had the late shift last night. And moving vehicles are my Achilles’ heel. Martinez was on duty for the drive.” He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand before standing and stretching. “I’m ready to go. What are we even doing at this place? It just looks like a farm, no different than back home.”
I sigh with contentment. “Exactly.”
I exit the bus with a pep in my step, and suck in a lungful of the sweet, grassy air. The pungent scent of farm animals mingles with it, and while many wouldn’t find that pleasant, for me it’s like coming home. I look around, greedily taking in the sights of this beautiful farming setup. They’ve got large pastures cross-fenced along the entire front, but behind the house I see several of the most enormous geometric greenhouses I’ve ever seen. They are all reflecting light, and at stark odds with the well-worn home they sit behind.
As I’m staring in awe at the behemoth glass structures, a woman with a graying bun atop her head and well-worn flannel shirt comes out of the house with the slap of the screen door. “Hey, y’all. You must be from the honeymoon resort,” she says in a friendly tone. “I’m Marie Branch, owner of the farm here and your tour guide today.” She walks right up and shakes hands with each of us in turn. Her grip is firm, and her hands are calloused. “My husband and son are around here somewhere, so I’ll introduce them when we run into them.”
“Hi Marie, nice to meet you! I’m Sadie, and this is Patrick, Peter, and Martinez. Hey, what’s your first name, actually?” It hits me that I don’t know it, but definitely should.
He snorts. “You can call me Martinez.”
“Okay, then, Martinez it is. Now, have any of you ever been to a farm before? Because we have some ground rules,” Marie says.
“Yes! Our family owns and runs a ranch out of Jackson Flats! I’m so excited to see your setup and what you do differently up here that we might be able to try out at home. Well, when we eventually make it home, anyways.” My happy chatter trails off with the reality rushing in that this is going to be a great day, but it’s still only one day.
This isn’t forever. Try to enjoy it while it lasts. I shake off my wave of gloom. Patrick worked his magic to make this day happen for me, and I’m going to enjoy every minute.
“Well, that’s fantastic! I wondered why we suddenly got a tour request, but that makes much more sense. We’ve been supplying the resort since they opened it, and never once had a couple come out to visit. We’re mighty glad to have you. Since you know what you’re doing, I’ll skip the boring stuff. So, if you run cattle at home, would you rather start off with the mobile milk shed or the hydroponic farm?”
I look over at Patrick with unfettered glee. “Hydroponics! Is that what’s in those massive shiny greenhouses?”
She chuckles at my childlike enthusiasm. “Sure is. Come on, we’ll start over there.”
✽✽✽
Our farm tour speeds by in a blur of sunshine, grass, and cutting-edge farm technology. The amount of knowledge Marie has about sustainability and food culture and preservation is mind-boggling, even to a rancher like me. We have to worry about herd genetics and diversity, but she’s got to keep hundreds of different plant species thriving, seeds to collect and store, and pollination rates to calculate that leave me reeling. It is hands down my favorite activity, outside of riding Hercules, that we’ve done in all the months of being away from home.
Then, as the icing on the cake, she served us an absolute feast for lunch with fresh-made bread, wild berry jam, and a pecan pie to finish everything off. I am stuffed to the gills, and enjoying my back porch rocking chair while I digest. Martinez wandered off to give Drake and Don a hand with some heavy lifting, and Marie told us to sit a spell while she catches up on office work, so it’s just the three of us on the back porch for the moment.
I take in the rolling pastures and clucking chickens and realize that this is the most alone we’ve been with Peter since he’s arrived. Living in the guest house is safer, but gives no privacy away from the ever-present staff and personal guard detail.
“Peter, we need to talk to you about something.” Patrick’s head snaps up, but Peter keeps watching the chickens squawk and tussle over the crust bits he’s tossing into the yard.
“Lay it on me, baby sister. Wait, no mushy stuff, right?” He cringes and then k
eeps tossing bread.
“No, it’s serious, though.” Patrick grimaces, but nods for me to continue.
My tone must convey the import, because he tosses the last hunk of bread and wipes his hands before turning his chair to face mine. “Okay, what’s up?”
I start at the beginning, with Josephine getting hauled out of the announcement back at the NLC. By the time I get to the part about finding the medical facility in the forest, his face is blanched white, and his hands are clasped so tightly in front of him I think he might break something.
“Sweet Jesus in heaven” is all he says for a long moment after I finish the story. He looks to Patrick, whose grim expression matches mine. “How are they getting away with it? How can they . . .” He trails off and rubs one hand over his face wearily. “You said there’s more? More women, more facilities?”
Patrick is first to respond. “Yes, Glitch has a list of names and locations all over the continent. He’s trying to get in and get footage of what’s going on, but he hasn’t had any luck yet.”
“What are you planning to do with the footage? We can’t let this keep happening.” His expression turns thunderous. “Lord, poor Aisha’s been gone for years, hasn’t she? Her parents had a funeral, what, three years ago now? I was home on leave at the time, and I still remember thinking that they looked like ghosts.”
I nod, remembering the awful day well.
“We don’t have a solid plan yet, but we all agree we can’t stop this from inside the resort. I’m pretty sure our movements and conversations are being monitored. We have to get solid proof so no one can cover this up, and then figure out the best way to stop this without hurting anyone. We’ve got to get those women out, not get them killed in a cover up.”
“I know it seems logical, but that is going to be hard to pull off, given that I’m supposed to be guarding you with my team twenty-four-seven to keep the crazies at bay.” His voice is agitated as he continues, “To top it off, this cannot look like an escape attempt, or you could end up in a detention facility—or worse, one of these secret facilities—if you’re caught.”
“Well, we’ve got to figure something out. It makes my skin crawl every time I walk in the door of the guest house and everyone’s just hovering and smiling at us. Because I know it’s fake now. There are women exactly like me, who walked the same halls, drugged less than a mile away.” I rub my arms, the sudden chill making my skin pebble uncomfortably.
Peter rubs his face wearily again, but even having that much appalling information dropped into his lap, he doesn’t lose his composure. Instead, he snaps into action mode. He leans forward intently, forearms on knees, and his words fly out in a low staccato barrage.
“Okay, you’re going to have to leave. Fine. We can figure out an escape plan. But how do we ensure the safety of the group, and where are you going to go? There are only a few places in the NAA that might be a possibility. But now that you’ve done that interview and the whole country has seen the two of you . . . that poses a problem.”
I blow out a frustrated breath at the reminder of Candy’s unpleasant interrogation. Excuse me, interview.
Patrick breezes past that into the details. “I think Calivada. It’s the only central place where there’s already enough unrest to have loosened the NAA police’s hold.”
“Wait, what? What do you mean there’s unrest in Calivada? I haven’t seen anything about it on the news.”
Peter snorts. “Sadie, do you really think that NAA One would be allowed to report that? When things don’t go well for the politicians, they don’t exactly like that to be wide-spread knowledge.” He darts a glance at Patrick. “No offense. It’s just the facts.”
He waves off the slight. “None taken, I have no desire to be a politician. Ever since things started to collapse, non-essential jobs have declined rapidly to keep people trained as doctors and scientists and food producers. It made sense to only have one news outlet, but I won’t pretend that hasn’t been exploited over the last century.”
I probably shouldn’t be shocked at this revelation, but it never occurred to me that the media might be hiding things from us. It’s literally their job to inform us of things. If the news is run by politicians, how are we going to broadcast footage of the imprisoned women even if we get it?
“Back to Calivada—I think it’s a good choice. You might have to work on a disguise of some kind, but there are definitely fewer people there willing to call in the police to out you. Nobody wants us around out there,” Peter says, steepling his fingers together.
“Atlas is making some calls to some contacts he has out there, to see how we might best get out of here, and be hidden in plain sight. He’s done some jobs for some very influential people, and he thinks he might be able to get us a house to hole up in, at least until we make a more concrete plan.”
Peter nods. “It’s a good start. I can work with him on an exit strategy. How close is Glitch to getting that footage, do you think? This isn’t the kind of thing it’s good to sit on for long. Somebody always finds out.”
Patrick’s grimace says it all. “I’ve got bad news on that front. He’s hit some kind of block with trying to tap into the security network. He doesn’t think it’s insurmountable, but it’s not going to be fast. The last time we spoke he said something about a great wall of illusion and chicanery. I have no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound good.”
“That’s not the end of the world. If he is trying to hack remotely now, he can keep digging once you’re all safely out from under the constant observation, and risk of being snatched yourselves. Until we can get you out, you’ll have to stay under the radar and keep following orders. Actually—”
Peter’s face is serious, but his next thought is cut off by a creaking screen door. “All right love birds—and love birds’ brother—who’s ready to finish up our tour?”
I paste on a smile and quickly rise from my rocking chair, but the formerly delightful tour now feels a bit hollow. “I’d love to! What’s next?”
She loops her arm through mine, and we stroll down the back porch steps together. “Well, considering that you’re on your honeymoon and working on starting a family of your own, I thought I’d save the best for last. Would you like to see the baby barn?” she asks with a lopsided smile.
The guys trail right behind us, and Patrick asks, “What’s a baby barn?”
“It’s where we keep all the little ones who aren’t big enough to be with the herds or flocks yet, or out in the cold weather. We don’t have many this time of year, but we’ve got a fresh hatch of chicks and a few goats that came out of season.”
“I would love to see the baby barn!” I gush, hoping it doesn’t sound too forced. Try to enjoy the rest of the day, Sadie. There won’t be many like this for a while. I remind myself, but it’s hard to flip the switch like that.
Marie leads us to a small, freshly-painted red barn. It looks like someone plucked it right out of a children’s picture book, with a hay-loft window above the white double doors. As soon as she pulls the door open, a flurry of chirps flood my ears. As my eyes adjust to the dimmer interior lighting, I catch my first glimpse of the yellow and black fuzzy masses of chicks in an enclosure right inside the door.
“Oh my word, there are so many!” My excitement is real this time, because the cuteness can’t be denied.
“Yeah, we always hatch as large a batch as we can in the winter, so they have plenty of buddies to keep them warm.” She gestures to the red heat lamps spaced around the room, when a hard thump lands on the back of my knee.
Turning in surprise, I see that my assailant is a tiny, spotted goat. He bleats, and walks his front legs up mine to sniff my hands. I squat down to give him a scratch, and he bleats again.
Marie shakes her head at the demanding fellow. “That’s Milo. He’s a ham.” She comes over and tosses a few handfuls of millet to the chicks, and then gives me a small biscuit for Milo.
He munches it greedily, before butti
ng me again. “Aren’t they cute, Patrick?” I look around for my unusually silent husband, and find him with both hands in his pockets, standing uncomfortably behind me. Marie scoops up a chick and offers it to him.
“Oh, no, thank you. I’ll just watch. I don’t know anything about babies, or baby animals.” His discomfort surprises me.
“It’s all right, Patrick. They’re not going to bite you,” I say, accepting the little cheeping fluff ball from Marie. “Besides, what are you going to do when we have a baby? Never hold it?”
His eyebrows shoot up his forehead in a comical expression. “Uh, well . . . is that an option?”
Marie full-out belly laughs. “No, hon, it’s not.” She claps him on the shoulder with a grin. “And you’ll be even more terrified to hurt your baby than you are these. So, buck up and hold out your hands.”
He reluctantly cups his hands, and she deposits a fuzzy black chick in them. His eyes widen, but otherwise he stays stock still.
“Don’t let him jump, he’ll break a leg from that height,” she says matter-of-factly.
He quickly cups his hands more deeply so the chick can’t escape. It peeps in protest but doesn’t make a run for it. Shaking my head at the amusing sight, I look around for Peter. I find him, squatted down and mobbed by three baby goats. He is handing out cookies and pats as fast as he can. One of them buts the back of his arm, and he chuckles and gives it the next cookie.
As suspected, you can take the man away from the country to police training, but you can’t train the country out of him.
We play with the babies until Martinez, Drake, and Don come and tell us they’ve finished with the new automatic waterer they were working on out in the pasture.
Martinez has sweated through his uniform, so I’m sure he’ll enjoy the hour-long drive home. He doesn’t look unhappy, though. Much to my surprise, Patrick is reluctant to hand off the little black chick when it’s time to leave. Marie gives him a warm smile. “He’s really grown on you, huh? Why don’t you name him?”
