The three reached the row of bunkhouses. More vehicles had lined up on the road in front of them. Four large, beat-up pickup trucks, two newer-looking ones, a van, and a Jeep. Each of them towed storage trailers.
Gregor motioned to the largest of the cinderblock buildings. “You can help our mother pack up the kitchen, or if you’d rather, you can haul stuff out of the shed with Milo and me.”
In other words, did he want an easy job away from them, or did he want to join in their contest of who could carry the heaviest, grimiest objects to the trucks?
“Toolshed.” Enzo might be from the city, but he could out-bench press either of these two punks. Strength training was mandatory for police officers.
“Fine. Follow us.” Milo’s tone indicated he expected Enzo to be wheezing after ten minutes.
As they headed to the shed, Ben came out of his bunkhouse, phone in hand. He waved them over. “What are you three up to?”
A competition in which Enzo was going to prove that not all city folk were muscleless desk dwellers.
“We’re going to unload the toolshed,” Gregor said. “Do you want us to pack up your house too?”
“Not yet,” Ben said. “I don’t want my things left unattended in the vehicles.” He slid his phone into his pocket. “I’m going to speak to Mr. Carper and get our pay. He’s four hundred short and wants to give us the equivalent in produce.”
Milo scowled. “What a surprise. Carper is always short.”
Ben nodded, unperturbed. “Which is why I insisted he give us five hundred worth. We’ll either find a market or spend a day canning and freeze-drying it at our next location.”
He ignored Milo’s groan. “That last row of trees he told us to leave alone earlier—that’s ours now. A team is already there. Help them get those peaches picked and loaded onto the trailers, then we’ll fit our equipment around it.”
Ben headed to the farm, and Enzo hiked toward the orchard with Gregor and Milo. “Freeze-drying and canning take forever,” Milo grumbled. “And that will put us a day behind on our schedule.”
“Short on cash,” Gregor agreed. “He could’ve at least told us before we were packing up to leave. He’s given us all sorts of stuff in trade already. With the size of this farm, the man must have plenty of money. He just doesn’t want to part with any of it.”
After a few minutes, the three reached the end of the orchard. A dozen men and women stood by the trees with baskets draped around their necks to hold fruit. When the baskets were full, workers placed them into wooden crates in the middle of the rows.
Gregor grabbed some baskets from a stack and tossed one to Enzo. “Pick all the fruit. What isn’t ripe now, will ripen in a few days. And don’t bruise the peaches or damage any of the trees.”
Well, Enzo shouldn’t have expected detailed instructions. Picking peaches probably wasn’t too hard. They wouldn’t flee from him like the chickens had.
Enzo ambled over to a tree. The air here smelled fresh. He’d forgotten that scent—the sweet smell of fruit trees and soil. He’d picked apricots from his grandmother’s tree and knew you twisted the fruit off, not yanked it from the branch. He did the same here.
Before he filled half his basket, his eyes froze on a curly-haired teenage boy. The kid couldn’t have been older than eighteen and wore a slave collar. Yes, that was definitely a slave collar. Anger roiled in his stomach.
So, apparently not all of the harvesters worked here willingly. Enzo had heard rumors that some of the smaller farms used slave labor instead of hiring workers, but he hadn’t expected to see a slave with the harvesters. Did the farmers who hired this group know? Enzo wouldn’t have thought a legitimate farm would risk such illegal behavior.
He forced his gaze away from the teenager and made himself continue grabbing peaches. He had to keep his expression impassive, although he couldn’t quite unclamp his jaw.
Enzo’s mission was the most important thing. He came here to catch an Empowered. Maybe two—not to free a random slave. His superiors would tell him to ignore the boy.
Enzo ripped off a peach too hard, and the branch swished up and down in rebuke.
He couldn’t just ignore the kid’s plight. If Enzo waited until he’d figured out the Empowereds’ identities, the co-op might have sold him off. The harvesters couldn’t risk every farmer turning a blind eye to slavery. One would report them. They were already looking for a market for their extra crop and would likely sell him at the same time in some dark web deal. And then the boy’s face would haunt Enzo for the rest of his life.
He would have to rescue the kid. If that meant abandoning the mission, so be it. Enzo hadn’t willingly signed up forthis stint anyway. Headquarters could send somebody else to investigate and do the accompanying manual labor.
Enzo emptied his basket into the crate and turned to the worker next to him, “I’ve gotta use the bathroom. If anyone asks, I’ll be right back.” He left the field with a fast stride. For all the other harvesters knew, it wasthatsort of bathroom emergency.
Once out of view, Enzo ran. Ben was up at Mr. Carper’s house now but probably wouldn’t spend much time there collecting payment and tying up loose ends. Enzo needed to break into his bunkhouse and find the collar’s controller and a loaded gun. They must be there. Ben had said he had things in his house he couldn’t leave unattended.
After Enzo had the controls and was armed, he’d call the police station. It would take a while for an officer to get here, but with any luck, the harvesters wouldn’t realize what Enzo had done until reinforcements arrived.
He reached the bunkhouses. Noises floated out of the kitchen, people talking as they packed up. No one stood outside. He went straight to Ben’s place. His master key opened the locked door without a problem.
He slipped inside. The room was small with stained walls and only one window glowing behind a thin curtain. A bed and beat-up dresser hugged the walls. Not many places to hide things. A couple of suitcases waited, open and half-empty on the bed.