The two made it to the farm, but just barely, and because they used not only Enzo’s and Charity’s water but her family’s too. Charity had been right about her mother noticing their absence. She’d turned around to find them.
The drive wasn’t the peaceful, romantic sort Charity had hoped for, but on the plus side, they made it there safely. Enzoshould’ve been happy with their preparation of bringing extra water.
But some of his easy manner left after that. There was a strain in the conversation that she didn’t understand and couldn’t even pinpoint. Maybe he’d simply realized that life with harvesters would be nothing like the pampered life he’d led in the city.
11
Enzo lay in his bunk and listened to the breathing of the men around him. The room had six bunk beds shoved inside. They weren’t pushed along the walls, as he’d first imagined. Shelves and pegs lined the walls to hold the men’s possessions. The beds stood in rows in the middle of the room. All in all, Enzo had seen more spacious prisons.
Headquarters expected him to check in and report whether he’d successfully embedded with the co-op, but he’d had no privacy during the day.
When he was sure all the men were asleep, he crept from his bed, making as little noise as possible. If anyone woke up, he’d claim he needed to use the bathroom.
Even with the excuse hovering on his lips, he did his best to be quiet. Stupid of him, really. He should embrace the bathroom excuse and swagger out of here like it didn’t matter whether he woke anyone up. Tiptoeing across the floor only made him look suspicious.
When he first came into the bunkhouse, he’d noticed the door creaked. Fortunately, one of the men snored. He timed opening the door and shutting it to the sound.
The night was darker than he’d expected. No lights shone from the other bunkhouses or farmhouse. No streetlights illuminated the area. The government had never replaced lighting in the outlying locations. No one could see him, but he also couldn’t see where he was going.
The bunkhouse for the single men sat near the end of the row of bunkhouses, with the women’s bunkhouse on the right, then the bathrooms, kitchen, and several small family ones after that.
If he walked straight north, he’d go by a tomato field and eventually come to another peach orchard. The trees there would hide him. He slowly headed that direction.
The air was still warm and moist, and the trill of the crickets sounded everywhere. A dog in one of the family bunkhouses barked. Enzo froze, trying to come up with a plausible explanation for heading in a different direction than the bathrooms, should the dog and owner come barreling outside.
But an angry voice silenced the dog. Which just showed that harvesters were as foolish as city dwellers. They bought dogs for protection and then yelled at the animals every time they made noise.
Enzo continued his slow trek toward the orchard. When he was sufficiently far away from the bunkhouses, he turned his phone’s flashlight setting on low to get his bearings. The dim shape of trees loomed like a fortress wall. He made his way down a row, turned off his flashlight, and called headquarters.
Perry, Mr. Schmitt’s assistant answered. Apparently, Schmitt wasn’t losing any sleep over Enzo’s safety. “Yes?” Perry asked sleepily. “Everything going well?”
Enzo decided not to give an account of his blunders today. “I’m at the co-op at Calhoun’s farming compound. They plan to be here for the next two weeks.”
“Good. Is there any indication they suspect you?”
Probably not or they would have sacked him when they caught him trying to break into Ben’s safe. Enzo had made a mistake telling Charity about Senator Hodges. If she checked the details of the senator’s death, she’d see a psychic had been behind that attack and would guess Enzo’s feelings were less than positive toward Empowereds.
Enzo’s family hadn’t been rich, at least not compared to the Hodges, but since his father had been the senator’s assistant, they’d had a car. Explaining why a person who had any means or connections would become a harvester was harder than coming up with the driver story.
At least for now, Charity didn’t suspect anything. That might change later.
“The co-op had me running after chickens, packing vehicles, and unpacking all day. Tomorrow I’ll be up at the crack of dawn picking crops. They either know the truth and are torturing me, or this is a really horrible job.”
Perry huffed. “You’ve had a cushy job for too long. You’ll be fine.”
Not many people would call chasing down criminals cushy, but Enzo didn’t argue the point. “Overall, the people are friendly.” Charity and Ben were so nice, in fact, that guilt already pulled at his conscience. It was hard to arrest nice people.
“Good. Were you able to talk to any of the three telekinetic suspects?”
Enzo’s gaze circled the area, even though he couldn’t see much beyond the glow of his watch. He hated feeling blind. “I talked to two of them. Milo is the son of the co-op leader. He’s married to Zia, the Latina woman. The blonde is his sister, Charity.”
“What else have you learned?”
He relayed Charity’s version of what happened at the market. “This mission may be a dead end. If Charity is telling the truth, the three just got lucky.”
“I put very little trust in luck,” Perry said as though Enzo should know better. “She’s not telling the truth. Empowereds rarely do.”
Perry might be right. Probably was. “Charity isn’t a telekinetic. She’s too tender-hearted and kind. If one of them has that power, my guess is on Milo. Although I’m not ruling out Zia.”