Page 88 of Ares

Most of our plants are grown throughout Appalachia amongst the outdoor crops of Christmas trees and tall pines on farmland we lease from farmers. But those crops are seasonal, and quality can depend on the elements. Our grow barn allows us to churn out a new harvest every three months, and the quality is never by chance. Alchemy, our expert moonshiner, also knows how to cultivate the perfect high.

Today, Jack and I are visiting to oversee the transport of the product to the drying facility a few miles away. Hired patrols help us keep the area secure. As we pull in, Gambit is standing with two men dressed in black. Everyone is wearing Kevlar and armed with heavy-duty rifles.

They wave us through, and we park next to a refrigeration truck where local workers load crates of freshly harvested buds into the back. Once loaded, they’ll head over to the packing facility we have at a farmhouse a few miles down the road.

Inside the grow barn, a sophisticated airflow system keeps the temperature where we want it, while protecting workers from getting high. But today, the aroma of freshly cut buds hangs heavy in the air. Sweet and sticky.

“Are we still on schedule?” Jack asks Alchemy, who is in charge of production.

“So far, we’ve harvested seventy-five percent of the crop,” Alchemy explains as he leads us through the barn. “We expect to have the other twenty-five done by tomorrow.”

Jack pats him on the back. “Good work, Al.”

Alchemy remembers something he forgot to tell the men loading the trucks and disappears outside while Jack and I walk through the sea of marijuana plants.

“So your girl, is that something serious?” he asks, inspecting the buds on one of the plants.

“It’s getting to be.”

He looks at me and nods. “Bronte liked her. Said she had a good feeling about her in her waters, whatever the fuck that means.”

That makes me smile.

“I have a pretty good feeling about her too.”

Neither Jack nor I are into talking about our feelings.

But part of Jack’s role as president is to check in with his men.

Make sure they’ve got their heads on right.

It’s why he’s keeping a strong eye on Gabe.

“You think she’s someone who might hang around?”

“I hope so.”

He smiles. “Sounds like it might be a good thing. She’s made friends quickly. Cinnamon was around to babysit Rhett and wouldn’t stop talking about how much she likes her. And Dolly thinks she’s sweeter than… what did she fucking say… stolen honey or some shit like that.” He shakes his head. Dolly’s never short of a metaphor. “Sounds like she’s a good fit.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Jack pauses. His grin fades. Something has triggered his sixth sense. He looks around.

“Do you hear that?”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. It’s too quiet outside.”

He’s right, there is an eerie silence. There are no voices. No movement.

Jack looks at me, and my hand slides to my gun.

Just as his slides to his.

We turn around to leave the barn but come face to face with three men in suits wearing Halloween masks.

And one of them is holding a motherfucking flamethrower.

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