"I know. Hard to believe, isn't it?"
"What made you change your mind?"
"A boy with the most gorgeous green eyes I had ever seen."
"Good old-fashioned lust?"
She laughs. "Plenty of it." She makes a sharp turn and parks the truck in the shade of a large oak tree. "And life," she says in a more serious tone. She turns to look at me. "Life changed my mind. In little bits and pieces, it grabbed hold of me. After the first six months, I flipped back through all that had happened in that short time and all that I would have missed. My first kiss, my first chocolate peach, things as simple as rainfall on my skin--"
"A chocolate peach?"
"Oh, Lord, you haven't had one yet? We'll have to remedy that. But later. Let's go see how the trenches are coming." She swings open the truck door and hops out. I grab my pack and do the same. She pauses and takes a second look at me as she reaches into the bed of the truck for a bag.
"Something wrong?" I ask.
"What's with the coat?"
I pull on the collar. "This? Nothing. What about it?"
"You look like you're part of the Resistance."
I didn't think there still was a Resistance. Miesha made it sound like it died with her husband. "How do you figure?" I say. "These are free and common. Government issue."
"Some people wear them for protection, others with purpose. Huge difference. The homeless roll them up in their packs when they don't need them, and when they do wear them, they pull them tight against the weather. You wear yours like you own the planet."
Swagger, Locke, like you own the planet
. I remember when I put it on the first time at the train station. I liked what I saw. Something dark and dangerous. I needed to feel dangerous and not like a seventeen-year-old kid on the run. It was just a coat, but I knew it was something more too. Maybe it did feel like a statement. But I'm not part of any Resistance. I don't have time for other people's troubles. I have enough of my own.
"I'll take it off if it bothers you."
She shrugs. "Doesn't bother me. Just curious. Leave it on."
I take it off. I unzip my pack to put it away, but just as I begin to stuff it inside, something catches my eye. Something sharp and shiny. A knife. The butcher knife from Jenna's kitchen counter. How did--
"What's wrong?" Allys asks.
I look up at her. Did she put it in there? Jenna? Surely not Kayla. Am I being set up for something? Or did I get it myself during one of my lapses? I steady myself against the truck and finish stuffing my coat in the pack. "Nothing," I answer. "Let's go."
As we walk, I plan on ditching the knife as soon as I can--or maybe I should just return it to the kitchen. I hold the pack closer to my side. Who put it there?
In the distance I see a grassy hill dotted with wildflowers. Maybe that's where Jenna gathered the wildflowers for Lily's grave. At the base of the hill is a tilled field and a truck. Just beyond that are two men lifting a long pipe and walking it to a trench. A third man stands near the truck. Allys explains that she and Jenna want to plant another vegetable garden, maybe even a few citrus trees, but they need to get some water flow to the perimeters of this field.
"And we're always trying to find some sort of work for the Non-pacts who camp out on the edge of the property."
"You allow strangers to live on the property?"
"They're not exactly all strangers. A lot just pass through, but some have been around for quite a while."
But still strangers. Strangers who could have gone into my room. As we approach, the workers look over at us. I can already tell they are sizing me up. Allys greets the man near the truck who seems to be the one in charge and then introduces me. His face is heavily lined, and his eyes have a permanent squint, like he has spent years in the sun.
"Bone," he says. "Mr. Bone to you."
There is no shaking of hands. A nod of the head. A grunt. A shovel in my hand. The niceties are over. Allys winks at me when Bone turns away, which I assume is a message that his behavior is normal. Yeah, in some alternate universe. She waves good-bye, saying she will return later with more supplies, and then leaves me alone with the cheerful company.
The two other men ignore me. I notice they are both thin and don't seem particularly experienced at what they are doing. One drops his end of the pipe. The other curses at him and then, for no apparent reason, they switch ends, like one end of the pipe might be lighter than the other. Bone puts me to work at the opposite end of the field from them, digging trenches. It is mind-bogglingly primitive. They send people to Mars, but they still dig trenches by hand?
Our spider broke down, Allys had explained just before she left, and we can't afford another right now. She pointed to a large long-legged machine near the truck that actually does look like a spider. It digs trenches, tills rows, and hauls materials on its back--a handy little arachnid--except for today. After half an hour of digging, I take off my shirt. I should have done it sooner. The shirt is drenched. After another half hour, I put my shovel down to go check out the spider. There has to be a better way.