Page 57 of Burning Secrets

They headed south again, where the fire burned now at the far end of the garden. A couple of the smokejumpers had started to dig a line around the field the drone had doused. Not a huge area, so maybe it wouldn’t have to be completely destroyed.

Then again, even a little poison could bleed into the soil, turn it lethal.

Dodge set them down south of the fire, the winds blowing it north, and they piled out. Vince and Logan jogged over from where they were cutting a line in the field. “Anything?”

“No. They’re in the wind,” Rio said, and glanced at Crew.

And it hit him like a sledge.

They’d failed. They hadn’t connected the drone with the SOR, which meant…

He gave a tight nod. Then he stuck the gun in his belt, headed toward the fire. Logan tended it at the far end of the garden, the smoke dying now, turning to gray, a little white. The crops lay in ash, the tomato vines curled, the cabbages in sooty balls. They hadn’t all burned, but they’d be tilled under and maybe reburned.

Or who knew how corrupted the soil might be, even tilled and burned and left to rest?

Maybe it would never turn healthy and pure.

They needed someone who could test the soil to come out here and ensure it was safe. Then again, maybe a reporter was a better idea.

Get the word out to the public.

Warn people.

“Hey. Where’s JoJo?” Crew asked.

Logan looked around, a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, his goggles sooty. “She went to talk with the homesteaders, give them an update.” He gestured over to the barn where a number of people congregated. Crew headed over to them.

Two women, one with a baby on her hip, a handkerchief holding back her hair. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt. Another woman, the arms of her flannel shirt folded up, graying hair held back in a ponytail. It occurred to him that this might be multiple generations of the same family.

Two men, one older, graying, still sturdy. The other in his mid-thirties, wearing a blue stained gimme cap and Carhartt overalls.

“Hey,” Crew said. “You guys okay?”

The younger man rounded on him. “What do you think? That’s our entire crop.”

“Not the entire crop. We have early berries and baby potatoes.” This from the blonde.

He looked at her, sighed, shook his head. “Who did this?”

“A local revolutionary group. We think they used your farm to test a bioweapon.”

Silence, and maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

The woman turned away, her hand over her mouth.

The younger man stared at him, clearly unable to speak.

“How dangerous is it?” the older man asked. “Are our cattle affected?”

“I don’t know. Give them a good wash. Keep them out of the field. Do you have grain?”

“Yes. But it’s our emergency supply.”

“Gordon. It’s okay. We’ll do what can. God won’t let us go hungry.” He’d put his hand on the younger man’s arm.

Gordon glanced at him, shook his head again, walking away.

“My son is just angry.”

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