Vanguard | Post-Apocalyptic YA

Part 19: Dogs and Britain

I'm pretty sure I don't owe Nelly jack, but I don't argue. It can only be to my benefit if she wants to think that I'm in her debt. Maybe she'll underestimate me and I can use it to my advantage. Until then, all I can do is blend into everyday life in O-town.

In the next few days, Lola takes me to each level of the hydroponic farm. There are three or four other people – mostly senior citizens – working in each room to maintain the crops, but she sticks with me and eventually explains what everything is and how to take care of all the different plants. The setup on the sixth - and thereby top - floor is the coolest because opposed to the other table-top gardens, these are laid out in vertical columns of planters reaching from the floor to the ceiling. I'm told that they're more suited for the plants that like to creep upward or would otherwise benefit from not being crowded on a flat surface. Although like this the gardeners can squeeze more crops into a smaller space, the setup looks more complicated because it makes it necessary for the artificial lighting to be located on the sides. Maintaining the plants also has to be done mostly from ladders, which means that the workers here are somewhat younger than on the other floors.

Lola's more excited today than usual because a crop of strawberries is ready to be harvested. We decide to tackle a column as a team; I work from the ground, while she climbs a ladder to collect the sweet fruit into her bucket.

"Are you sure you can manage up there, kiddo?" I watch her dangle precariously from a rung five feet above the ground.

"Sure, I do this all the time. Don't worry, Will." She smiles back at me.

The work's easy, but monotonous. After about two hours, I get so hungry that I seriously consider digging into the contents of my basket in spite of Lola's constant watch over me. She's warned me several times about telling her dad on me, but I'm almost at the point where I'll even risk the wrath of Governor Bradford for another taste.

"Can we go get something to eat?" I put my full bucket on a cart with dozens of others we've already filled.

"Let me get just these up at the top and--," I hear her reply from behind a column, but a low grumbling and the vibration of the floor interrupt her.

"Earthquake!" someone yells, but not knowing how to react, I just freeze. When the heavy cart rolls down the aisle past me, I at least realize what we shouldn't be doing.

"Lola! Get down off the ladder!" I run toward her, hoping she's already started her descent. The shaking stops even before I get to her, but I'm too late to stop the cart from hitting the eight foot tall, industrial grow light that was next to the planter she was working on.

I watch helplessly as the massive piece of equipment slowly tips away from me, heading straight at the wall-sized glass window. Because the cart and the light are blocking my way, I round the column hoping to get to Lola in time. The screeching of metal, a loud thud, and Lola's unmistakable scream tell me that I don't.

"Hang on! I'm coming," I reply, but by then it's too late.

The grow light has hit the glass, cracking it into a million pieces. Luckily, the pane was made in such a way that it doesn't shatter; however, I can see rays of sunlight seeping through the edges. Damn, the entire window can fall out any second!

Everything's happening so fast that Lola's only been able to come down just a few steps, but she's still on the ladder, frantically holding on to the edges. A brief glimmer of hope flashes across her face when she sees me standing next to her, but before I can grab her, another small tremor dislodges the window from its casing, makes the column of strawberries tip, and knocks the ladder - with Lola still perched on top of it - out the gaping hole right in front of my eyes.