“Hey, Jeb,” he said cheerfully. “Whatcha up to?”
“Turning the soil in the east field,” Jeb grunted.
“Want some help?”
“Ought to make yourself useful,” Jeb muttered.
Ian took this as an assent and fell into step behind me. It gave me goose bumps, feeling his eyes on my back.
We passed a young man who couldn’t have been many years older than Jamie—his dark hair stood up from his olive-toned forehead like steel wool.
“Hey, Wes,” Ian greeted him.
Wes watched in silence as we passed. Ian laughed at his expression.
We passed Doc.
“Hey, Doc,” Ian said.
“Ian.” Doc nodded. In his hands was a big wad of dough. His shirt was covered with dark, coarse flour. “Morning, Jeb. Morning, Wanda.”
“Morning,” Jeb answered.
I nodded uneasily.
“See you ’round,” Doc said, hurrying off with his burden.
“Wanda, huh?” Ian asked.
“My idea,” Jeb told him. “Suits her, I think.”
“Interesting” was all Ian said.
We finally made it to the northeastern field, where my hopes were dashed.
There were more people here than there had been in the passageways—five women and nine men. They all stopped what they were doing and scowled, naturally.
“Pay ’em no mind,” Jeb murmured to me.
Jeb proceeded to follow his own advice; he went to a jumbled pile of tools against the closest wall, shoved his gun through the strap at his waist, and grabbed a pick and two shovels.
I felt exposed, having him so far away. Ian was just a step behind me—I could hear him breathing. The others in the room continued to glower, their tools still in their hands. I didn’t miss the fact that the picks and hoes that were breaking the earth could easily be used to break a body. It seemed to me, in reading a few of their expressions, that I wasn’t the only one with that idea.
Jeb came back and handed me a shovel. I gripped the smooth, worn wooden handle, feeling its weight. After seeing the bloodlust in the humans’ eyes, it was hard not to think of it as a weapon. I didn’t like the idea. I doubted I could raise it as one, even to block a blow.
Jeb gave Ian the pick. The sharp, blackened metal looked deadly in his hands. It took all my willpower not to skip out of range.
“Let’s take the back corner.”
At least Jeb took me to the least crowded spot in the long, sunny cave. He had Ian pulverize the hard-baked dirt ahead of us, while I flipped the clods over and he followed behind, crushing the chunks into usable soil with the edge of his shovel.
Watching the sweat run down Ian’s fair skin—he’d removed his shirt after a few seconds in the dry scorch of the mirror light—and hearing Jeb’s grunted breaths behind me, I could see that I had the easiest job. I wished I had something more difficult to do, something that would keep me from being distracted by the movements of the other humans. Their every motion had me cringing and flinching.
I couldn’t do Ian’s job—I didn’t have the thick arm and back muscles needed to really chew into the hard soil. But I decided to do what I could of Jeb’s, prechopping the clods into smaller bits before I moved on. It helped a little bit—kept my eyes busy and tired me out so that I had to concentrate on making myself work.
Ian brought us water now and then. There was a woman—short and fair, I’d seen her in the kitchen yesterday—who seemed to have the job of bringing water to the others, but she ignored us. Ian brought enough for three every time. I found his about-face in regard to me unsettling. Was he really no longer intent on my death? Or just looking for an opportunity? The water always tasted funny here—sulfurous and stale—but now that taste seemed suspicious. I tried to ignore the paranoia as much as possible.
I was working hard enough to keep my eyes busy and my mind numb; I didn’t notice when we hit the end of the last row. I stopped only when Ian did. He stretched, pulling the pick overhead with two hands and popping his joints. I shied away from the raised pick, but he didn’t see. I realized that everyone else had stopped, too. I looked at the fresh-turned dirt, even across the entire floor, and realized that the field was complete.
“Good work,” Jeb announced in a loud voice to the group. “We’ll seed and water tomorrow.”
The room was filled with soft chatter and clanks as the tools were piled against the wall once more. Some of the talk was casual; some was still tense because of me. Ian held his hand out for my shovel, and I handed it to him, feeling my already low mood sink right to the floor. I had no doubt that I would be included in Jeb’s “we.” Tomorrow would be just as hard as today.