Aubrey did as he instructed and jumped up onto the flat back of the blade. Sure enough, the curved edge sliced into the soil with a satisfying crunch.
“Good. Now step back, lever the handle over flat to the ground, and shove it under. You’re gonna slice all the roots in one go.”
Aubrey did, and with minimal resistance, the chunk of sod in front of her separated itself from the dirt below. She lifted it. “Do you have a wheelbarrow or something?”
“We don’t throw it out. We use it. Fertilizer. Just flip it over.”
She did. The chunk of sod plopped neatly back into the dirt upside-down, revealing the rich, dark soil underneath it.
Phil looked pleased. “There you go, sodbuster. We could break the rest of this stuff today, water the hell out of it while the hose still works, and if we get a little rain we can plant by the end of the week.”
“What about seeds?” she asked.
“Yeah, we need good ones. High-quality organic stuff. Not Monsanto Frankenseeds. That’s our biggest challenge. Farm supply stores. Gotta get on that fast, before everybody else.”
The sound of a car engine came from up the street, and they both turned. It was Aubrey’s car, Scott behind the wheel. Aubrey watched, frowning, as the car pulled into her driveway, too fast.
She handed the sod lifter back to Phil. “Thank you. Let’s talk later today.”
“You got it, Aunt Beru.”
She was already crossing the street and looked back, confused. “Who?”
“Aunt Beru? Famous moisture farmer?”
“A famous what?”
“The Lars family moisture farm? Where Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru raised Luke?” He waved her off, wishing he’d never gone down that particular path. “It’s a Star Wars thing. You have a good day.”
Yes, Phil was a data analyst, all right. Aubrey smiled, gave him a little wave, and turned back, heading home to deal with Scott. As she drew closer to the driveway, she saw that he wasn’t alone in the car.
There was a teenage girl in the front seat.
17.
Outside Jericho
A hundred feet underground, Ann-Sophie knocked on the door of unit 9A. She waited, holding a bouquet of wildflowers, a cloth grocery bag slung over her right arm. She knocked again, still got no answer, then tried the doorbell, a small, hard-to-see button nestled in the wood paneling of the landing. A few seconds later, Marques opened the door, in jeans and a T-shirt. He smiled, surprised.
“I thought I heard somebody knocking. It’s so quiet in here I could barely tell.”
“I know.” Ann-Sophie smiled. “Weird, isn’t it? Do you feel your ears popping in the elevator?”
“Yes! Drives me crazy. I’ve chewed more gum in the past three days than my whole life. Sorry, did you want to come in?”
Ann-Sophie peered behind him. “Are Beth and—I’m sorry, I forgot her little girl’s name.”
“Kearie.”
“Kearie. Are they here?”
“No, Beth took her up to the gym to burn off some energy. But come on in anyway.” He opened the door and she stepped inside.
Unit 9A was one of the smaller apartments, a one-bedroom with an alcove in the living room. The pastel palette of the rest of the complex had been continued in here, more shades of light brown than anybody should see in their whole lives, but Thom had read some psychological adaptability test that said beige tones were the most soothing colors. Ann-Sophie hated it.
“You can repaint if you want, you know,” she said.
“No, no, it looks great.”
“Oh, it does not. I’m Scandinavian. We know about dark. You don’t want brown; you want bold colors. Plus candles. I put a couple in the bag. This is for you guys.” She set the cloth bag on the small dining room table.
“Wow. That’s so nice of you.” He meant it. The atmosphere around the facility had been hostile and discontented so far, and her gesture was the first kindness he’d encountered.
“Plus a few spices and sauces, things they don’t have in the stock house. Cholula, some spicy mustard, anything with flavor, basically. And the kids picked these flowers for you all.”
Marques took them, unsure what to say. “Thank you so much.”
Ann-Sophie nodded and looked around, uncomfortable. She’d been putting off coming down here for a few days, and now that she was here, it was harder than she expected. She’d been married to Thom for nearly a decade and had been tidying up the emotional messes he’d made since she’d known him. She was used to sweeping up the broken plates, but now, knowing that she wanted out of the marriage, it was harder to keep doing this particular chore. Thom’s inability to hide his narcissism shouldn’t have been her daily problem anymore. But if she was going to be living in a bunker with this family, she didn’t want there to be any tension whatsoever.