PROLOGUE – BEWARE THE CROPS
CLASSIFIED:THREAT LEVEL NUCLEAR - IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED
Subject: BURN IT TO THE GROUND
To the Shit Stirrers of Smiling Seeds HQ,
Compound X-13 is unstable. The new fertilizer chemical experimentation has proven negative results. The produce is no longer safe for handling or eating.
The tomatoes ruptured mid-harvest, spraying acidic pulp across two men. Both suffered severe chemical burns and died within minutes.
The green beans wrapped around three workers’ necks and suffocated them. Another was dragged into the irrigation trench by corn stalks and never seen again. Eight confirmed dead. More injured.
We cannot contain it. The crops are trying to spread beyond the greenhouse walls of the test fields and reach civilization.
As I type this, gourds pound against the reinforced door. They are trying to stop me from doing what I must. Only thirty seconds remain on the countdown clock.
Destroy the fertilizer. Burn the fields. Collect the sample bags. Attached is the list of farms I sent them to.
For the love of all vegetarians out there, do not delay.
— Foreman M. Dixon
ONE
OVER IT
VAL
Mom’s voicecuts through my music like a paring knife through berries. I jab the volume button, pretending the blast of Olivia Rodrigo is enough to drown her out. It’s early, way too early, and the sun is still tangled in the fog sliding over Route 121. I lean my forehead against the cold window. My breath steams the glass, giving me a chance to doodle. Cornfields smear past in long green strokes.
Olivia hits a high note.
Mom’s arm suddenly swings across the center console of our ancient olive-green Volvo, the same one she drove in high school. The same one I drove to college. The same one I drove home... two weeks ago.
She yanks an earbud out. “Have you heard anything I’ve said, Valerie?”
A frustrated sigh slips out before I can stop it. I stare straight ahead, letting my loose red hair fall like a curtain between us. “Does it matter? It’s the same speech you’ve given every day since I got home.”
Her grip tightens on the steering wheel. She blows a stray red hair from her face—a carbon-copy of the one clinging to mine. A flush creeps up her neck and into the claw clip holding her hair. Great. She’s mad now.
“Valerie, I don’t understand what happened. You were all set for sophomore year, and then out of nowhere, you drop out a month in. You come home—with a nose ring, mind you—and refuse to tell me anything.”
My fingers slide to the thin ring without thinking. The memory of getting it sparks a tiny smile. My first act of rebellion. My first act of choosing myself. A silver badge of freedom.
Mom’s voice steamrolls the thought. “I’ve tried to give you space, but you sit there with those headphones on, pretending you don’t have problems.”
“I’m not pretending,” I say, the words sharper than I meant. “I’m figuring things out. That takes more than two weeks, Ma.”
Is she angrier that I left... or that I won’t explain it?
I turn back to the window. Corn stretches forever, rows of green fading into the beige of late summer. They sway like they’re whispering secrets I’m not ready to hear. Their slow death feels familiar.Too familiar.
“You wouldn’t get it,” I say.
Her voice softens. “Try me.”
My chest knots like someone pulled a rope tight around it. How do I explain any of this? How do I tell her the future she pictured for me felt like a cage? That one morning I woke up and realized every choice I’d made—every class, club, perfect grade—belonged to her more than me?
