August emerged from the tunnel into an empty wooden house identical to the one that harbored the tunnel’s entrance. Farscout was in the middle of a firm, wrist-gripping handshake with another young man dressed just like him but had much lighter skin. The blue-eyed stranger let go of Farscout’s wrist, lifted his dark-brown cowboy hat for just enough time to run some fingers through his greasy blonde mane, and took a brisk step toward the general.

“It ain’t every day we allow strangers into town,” the young man said. “But Farscout tells me you mean to snuff that hive in the west. I don’t trust you or any eggers for that matter, but if the egg wanted us dead, they’d have bombed us to smithereens by now instead of sending a small squad like yourself.” His face softened to an almost boy-like look of pleading. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Rosek squeezed through the hole and got to her feet on the wooden floor just as the young man had finished talking. His eyes widened, and he stepped back at the sight of the mechanical beast before him.

General Wolf put up a neutral hand. “I swear on the memory of my father that no intentional harm will come to your people by myself or any of my squadmates.”

“Intentional?”

Wolf smiled. “Accidents happen. I don’t want to risk my father’s memory on something I can’t control.”

The young man narrowed his eyes as if trying to read the general’s face. He let one corner of his mouth curl up for an instant, then nodded, still unsure. “Welcome to Gardewall, then. I’ll take you to the authority where you can explain your situation further.” He turned toward the door but stalled halfway there and looked back. “Can you leave that thing behind? The kids’ll have nightmares if they see it. Hel, I might have nightmares.” He was looking at Rosek.

The mech suit hissed and whirred, and the front swung outward like saloon doors. Rosek stepped out, small, vulnerable, and bruised. The young man dropped his lower lip in shock but held his tongue. He exchanged a nod with Farscout, who bade each squad member farewell as they exited the wooden shack.

August shielded his eyes from the sun. He’d been stuck underground for hours and needed to readjust to the brightness of the clear day. Luna Belmont’s gasp came before he could see anything. Once the intensity lowered, August made out a couple of things. The first was the packed dirt trail on which he walked, flanked on either side by neatly trimmed carpets of grass.

Straight ahead, where the light was still a bit much for him, was a vast span of green crops. The plants were so plentiful and diverse that the landscape looked more like a miniature forest than a farm. Dozens of men and women wandered through rows of green, plucking at this or snipping at that. Each had a smile on their face.

Music flowed from the crops as the workers hummed in harmony, with some even taking a short break from their work to provide percussion in the form of hand-clapping, thigh-slapping, or boot thumping. None of the workers paid each other any mind. They just performed their part in the song as if they were all alone beneath the sun.

The blue-eyed cowboy started down the packed road and led them toward the crops. The party followed in single file. A spatter of light laughter caught August’s right ear. He turned his attention to find a circle of children anywhere from five to ten years old, seated around an old man reading from a book while performing over-the-top animated motions. Rosek walked directly before August. She stared at the children as she moved with hands clasped over her heart and a smile on her battered face.

A fountain gushed a steady flow of water behind the old man with the book. August assumed it was being fed by the mountains not far behind it. He followed the chain of mountains with his eyes. They weren’t so tall as to accumulate ice at their peaks, but they were high enough to provide a natural shelter. The village was surrounded by three mountainous walls and a single man-made wooden wall far past the crops to the west.

The citizens moved about in an almost daydream-like state. They wore denim, plaid, cotton, some had straw hats, and nearly every worker sported a pair of leather gloves. Dalton West let out a short sigh of amazement. “Feels like I’m walking through a movie set.”

“This ain’t no movie,” their young guide said without turning back.

A few dozen yards before the first raised garden beds, August spotted a boy, maybe twelve or so, standing just off the road. He’d made sure to stay between the squad and a little girl. Their resemblance suggested she was his sister. The boy stared at the passing crew with fear in his eyes. His hand rested on the butt of a pistol at his waist.

August was taken aback. Citizens weren’t allowed to carry any firearms beneath the dome, and there stood a twelve-year-old boy, packing serious heat in broad daylight. They truly weren’t at home anymore—as if the killer insects and animated corpses hadn’t already confirmed as much.

Once the party walked amongst the crops, the place became a bit more crowded. Multiple citizens had spotted them by now, and some had even stopped working to gape at them. August looked around. His face turned red at the sight of so many people staring at him. Folks in the distance had even stopped whatever they were doing until it looked as though the entire village had grinded to a halt to watch the strangers wander through their land. The strangest part was the abrupt ending of their song.

August locked his eyes on Rosek’s hair and tried to ignore the silent whispers and strange looks. The golden locks had caught the sunlight and shone in an array of mesmerizing colors. A thought occurred to him while he watched the mech-pilot. He wondered what the squad must have looked like to the unknowing eye—five armored figures marching down the path with a small woman stuck in the middle, wearing only light, weathered clothes, and her face just happened to be battered and bruised.

A trio of girls garbed in flower-pattern sundresses, around sixteen or seventeen years old, giggled with red faces as Dalton West walked by. One pointed at the old movie star while her friend slapped the point away. They giggled harder and turned away from the grinning sniper. “See? I’ve still got it. Even at this age, and even this far away from home.”

Rosek rolled her eyes which seemed painful beneath her wounds.

Luna Belmont couldn’t contain herself anymore. “I wish Granny could’ve seen this place.” She put her hands out like wings so that her gloved fingertips brushed against the passing greenery. “She would always tell me about places like this. A lot of the vintage folk had their own personal farms with crops and livestock. Doesn’t that sound great? The farmlands back home are so corporate and weird.” She feigned a shudder and returned to basking in the beauty of the crops.

“I don’t see the big deal,” Sterling said. “Food is food. It doesn’t matter where it comes from. As long as I can eat it and it doesn’t taste like… you know, then it’s fine with me.”

“I’m not surprised,” Belmont said. “How ‘bout this? Imagine a little field out behind your cozy wooden cabin.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Imagine rows and rows of tobacco growing strong and plentiful.”

Sterling was silent in thought. “Okay. I can see where you’re coming from now.” He fondled his breast pocket where his near-depleted pack of smokes rested snug.

August grimaced as if someone had just poured a cup of liquid trash on his supper plate. “What’s that smell?” It smelled like Manny’s neighbor’s apartment. The old lady had hoarded cats and had allowed them to piss anywhere and everywhere. Manny had been bored one day. “Dude, you’ve got to smell this,” he’d said.

“Nothing good has ever followed that line,” August had said.

Manny had led them to the old lady’s door in the grungy corridor and simply walked in without knocking. The old lady had been sleeping in her living room chair with the wall-screen blasting the Gilzak news. It hadn’t taken long to find out what Manny was talking about. A wave of nose-stinging fumes had exploded from the apartment, along with a couple of the cats. The feral creatures had hurried down the corridor as if chased by demons. August never forgot the stench, and now it was back.

“Get that grimace off your face,” Belmont said. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that smell. It’s compost. It only smells like that because they’ve got too many greens in there. It’s not that bad. If there were even a slight breeze today, you’d barely smell it.”

August didn’t respond. It didn’t matter what Belmont said. That smell bothered him. It was likely because of his foray into the old lady’s apartment, but whatever the reason, August was sure he’d never want anything to do with compost as long as he lived.

Luna veered from the path and approached a woman who poured a crate of vegetable refuse into a pile of what looked like garbage. Black, sludgy waste topped with sickly-colored chunks of matter. “That’s amazing,” Belmont said, staring agape at the pile.

“It is?” Rosek said.

Belmont nodded. “That stuff is more valuable than gold, as far as I’m concerned.”

“It’s garbage,” Sterling said. “You’re impressed by a woman taking out her trash. It’s so primitive. We’ve got A.I. to pick up our garbage back home, and we’re smart enough to ship it off to the industrial district up north. We don’t pour it right in the middle of our living area.”

“Do you really not know what compost is?” Belmont stifled a laugh.

“It stinks,” Sterling said. “That’s all I need to know.”

The young cowboy chuckled and continued leading them down the path wordlessly.

They exited the farmlands and entered a neighborhood of wooden cabins. The houses were small but looked solid despite being constructed by wood with seemingly no metal or bricks. The road continued through the scattered houses and forked here and there so that it ran to every front door. Every home was fixed with broad solar panels on the roofs and rain-catching tanks near a wall. Stacks of firewood were a common sight, and most front doors were wide open. These folk clearly trusted their neighbors more than the average citizen under the dome.

A larger cabin loomed ahead. Its front door stood over the end of the main road so that if one continued to follow the path, he would end up in the cabin.

“Wait outside while I talk to the authority,” the young leader said.

August hated the idea of standing in the middle of the village awkwardly with so many eyes upon them. He glanced around. Most of the citizens had already gone back to their prior engagements, and only a few of them continued to watch—mostly the younger ones, including the sundress girls who were still trying to get a better look at Dalton West.

“Take your time,” Wolf said. “We won’t wander.”

“Won’t take long,” the young man said. “Just gotta let the authority know you’re here. I’m guessing she’ll want to speak with you.”