Scarlett Hopper's Arc

Chapter 9 of 33

Scarlett was watering the far beds when the dog pushed a picture into her head. Gray rot spread through the soil in a slow tide, creeping from the far row toward the main rows. She dropped the can and knelt. The dirt at the last bed felt cold and slick. The bean shoots there had gone soft at the base. If the rot reached the main rows, the harvest was gone, and so was the deal with the ridge. She pulled on her mask and got to work. She yanked every infected plant by the root and shook the dirt free. She dug a trench between the sick bed and the next one, cutting the soil like a wound. The pile of bad stalks grew tall beside her. Her hands shook. She could heal a root system, but not soil this far gone, and not without knowing what it was. She needed clean meat for the crows, and herbs for the sickness in her own cut hands. She loaded the rolling cooler, snapped the pink latches, and set out with the dog. The wind had not yet risen. She took the low path past the pier and up into the dry hills. The cave mouth opened behind a slide of loose rock. She ducked in for shade and to check a snare. The rock shifted under her boot and slid down across the entrance. Dust filled the dark. She coughed into the mask. The dog barked once from outside, then went quiet. "Don't push it," a voice said behind her. "You'll bring the rest down." She turned with the scavenged dagger already in her hand. A man sat against the back wall, tall and thin, dark hair, a seed pouch open on his knee. His eyes caught the light green. He raised both hands slow. "John," he said. "I've been in here two days. There's a gap up top we can dig." She kept the blade up. "You know crops?" "I grew them before the collapse. Ran a seed station." He nodded at the dirt on her boots. "That's rot on you. Gray. Spreading?" "Far bed. Moving toward the main rows." "Pull every plant. Trench it. Salt the trench, then burn the pulled stalks downwind." He said it like he was reading a list. "You do that today, you keep the main rows." She lowered the dagger. Above them the dog scratched at the gap and dropped an image of a thin line of sky. They climbed. John braced the stones while she dug. When they came out, the dog put his head against her leg. John looked at the sun and the wind together. "Let me come back with you," he said. "One pair of hands isn't enough for that trench before the ash." She thought of the friend who left. She thought of the beds. She nodded once and started walking. He followed.