Soil and Sus

Thirty dollars for a bag of wilted spinach.

Jed stared at his phone. The screen was cracked down the middle. The crack spiderwebbed directly across his bank balance. Negative forty-two dollars.

He put the phone face down on the stainless steel prep table. The metal was scratched and dull. It reflected the fluorescent tube above. The light flickered. A fast, aggressive strobe. It gave him a headache right behind his right eye.

His kitchen was a retrofitted shipping container. They called it The Rust Burn. It was supposed to be a joke when they opened. A gritty, authentic street-food pop-up. Now it was just a literal description of his life.

He looked at the cutting board.

A single onion sat there.

It was soft. Brown spots covered the papery skin. It smelled like a wet basement.

"We have four of those," Sal said.

Sal was standing by the three-compartment sink. He was scraping a burned skillet. He had been scraping the same skillet for ten minutes. His shoulders were pulled up toward his ears. Tension locked in his spine.

"Cut them smaller," Jed said.

"If I cut them any smaller, they turn to water."

"Then we serve water."

Jed rubbed his eyes. His fingers smelled like old garlic and bleach. He wanted to wash his hands, but the water pressure had dropped again. The city turned the pipes down to a trickle after noon. The shortage wasn't just food anymore. It was everything. They called it The Brick. The whole city was bricked. Supply chains dead. Highways empty.

Jed picked up his knife. The handle was black plastic. The edge was melted where he had left it too close to the burner. He pressed the blade to the onion.

The skin didn't break. It just caved in. A gray, sad dent.

He pushed harder.

Juice leaked out. Brownish liquid. It smelled like rot.

He threw the knife on the board. It made a loud clatter.

Ty pushed through the plastic flaps from the front counter. Ty was nineteen. He looked thirty. He had dark circles under his eyes.

"Line's gone," Ty said.

"They left?" Jed asked.

"They got tired of waiting for the menu to drop. I told them we were out of protein. Out of carbs. Guy up front asked what we actually had. I told him we had salt."

"Funny."

"He didn't laugh. He looked like he was going to jump the counter."

Jed looked at the wall. The metal was sweating. Condensation gathered and dripped down the corrugated steel.

It was spring outside. He knew this because the wind coming through the exhaust fan smelled like pollen mixed with diesel. Usually, spring meant opening week. Farmers' markets. Ramps. Fresh peas.

Now, spring just meant the garbage on the street smelled worse.

"I'm going out," Jed said. He untied his apron. It used to be white. Now it was a permanent, greasy gray.

"Going where?" Sal asked. He stopped scraping. "We have service in two hours."

"We have nothing to serve. I'm going to the alley."

"You don't have money."

"I'll figure it out."

Jed grabbed his jacket and pushed past Ty. He stepped out of the container and onto the street.

The sunlight hit him hard. It was too bright. The sky was a pale, washed-out blue. The buildings around him were brick and concrete.

He walked south toward the industrial district.

The street was quiet. Too quiet. No cars. Just the sound of wind hitting empty dumpsters.

He felt the shift before he saw it. The atmosphere changed.

It was the shadow mass.

People on the street talked about it, but the news didn't. There were pockets in the city where things felt physically wrong. The light didn't bend right.

Jed walked past a burned-out pharmacy. The sun was hitting the building from the west, but the shadow cast by the awning was pitch black and stretched the wrong way. It didn't look like a shadow. It looked like a hole in the street.

He walked through it.

The temperature dropped ten degrees. The hair on his arms stood up. His ears popped. The air felt thick. Heavy. Like breathing underwater.

He kept his head down and walked faster.

Two blocks later, the pressure broke. The air warmed up. He exhaled.

He turned into the alley behind the old textile factory.

A gray Ford van was parked by a rusted chain-link fence. The tires were bald. The windshield was cracked.

Wendy was leaning against the back bumper. She was smoking. The smoke smelled like cloves and burning plastic. She wore heavy work boots, stained cargo pants, and a thick canvas jacket. Dirt was packed deep under her fingernails.

She looked up as Jed approached. She didn't smile.

"You're late," she said.

"Had to walk. Grid is down again."

Wendy took a drag of her cigarette. She flicked the ash onto the concrete. "Money?"

Jed pulled a roll of bills from his pocket. It was every dollar they had left in the cash box. Mostly fives and ones.

Wendy looked at it. She sneered. "That's light."

"It's seventy."

"Prices went up."

"Since yesterday?"

"Since an hour ago. You want it or not?"

Jed's jaw tightened. He wanted to hit the van. He wanted to scream. Instead, he shoved the money at her.

Wendy took it. She turned and opened the back doors of the van.

Inside, sitting on a tarp, was a large plastic cooler. She popped the latches and lifted the lid.

The visual hit Jed like a physical blow.

Green. Bright, aggressive green.

Scallions. Thick white roots fading into stiff, perfect green stalks. Radishes. Bright red. The skin was tight and shiny. A head of cabbage sitting in the corner, heavy and dense.

The smell rolled out of the cooler. Wet earth. Pepper. Life.

Jed's mouth watered. The reaction was violent. His stomach cramped so hard he had to bend his knees. He hadn't eaten real, fresh food in a month. Just synthetic paste and stale bread.

He reached for a radish.

Wendy slapped his hand away.

"Don't bruise the merchandise."

She pulled out a plastic bag. She grabbed a handful of scallions and three radishes. She tossed them in the bag and handed it to him.

Jed looked at the bag. It weighed maybe half a pound.

"This is it? For seventy?"

"That's the rate."

"I can't feed a restaurant with this. I need bulk."

"I don't do bulk."

Jed looked past her, into the van. "You have to be growing this somewhere. Hydroponics? The grid won't support it. Soil? The ground out here is toxic."

"I have a guy."

"You are the guy, Wendy. Look at your hands. You're digging in dirt. Where is it?"

Wendy slammed the cooler shut. "Mind your business, chef. Take your weeds and go make soup."

She slammed the van doors. She walked around to the driver's side, got in, and started the engine. It coughed, rattled, and finally held an idle.

Jed stepped back. He watched her pull out of the alley.

He looked down at the bag in his hand. The radishes. They were perfect.

Too perfect.

He didn't walk back to the kitchen. He ran to the end of the alley and watched which way the van turned.

West. Toward the river.

He started walking. Fast.

He kept the gray van in sight. Wendy drove slow. The roads were bad, full of potholes and abandoned cars. Jed stayed half a block back, keeping behind rusted sedans and cracked concrete pillars.

The walk took forty minutes. His boots pinched his heels. The hard concrete sent shocks up his shins. Sweat dripped down his back, cold in the spring wind.

The van turned into the old railyard.

Jed stopped at the corner. He watched from behind a graffiti-covered wall.

Wendy parked near a massive concrete structure. It looked like an old subway maintenance depot. The massive steel doors were chained shut.

She got out. She carried two empty five-gallon buckets. She walked to a smaller side door. She pulled a key from her pocket, unlocked it, and slipped inside.

Jed waited.

He counted to two hundred. His heart beat hard against his ribs.

He crossed the street. The wind picked up, blowing grit into his eyes. He blinked hard, tears cutting through the dust on his face.

He reached the metal door.

It was heavy steel. Rusted at the bottom. He grabbed the handle and turned it slowly.

It clicked. She hadn't locked it behind her.

Jed pulled it open just enough to slip inside.

Darkness.

The smell hit him first. Stagnant water and rust.

He stood still, letting his eyes adjust.

He was at the top of a concrete staircase. It went down deep.

The shadow mass was here. It was thick. The darkness didn't just hide things; it pressed against him. It felt like a physical weight on his shoulders. The silence was loud. A ringing in his ears.

He took a step down.

The stairs were worn in the middle. Decades of boots scraping the concrete.

He went down one flight. Then another.

The air changed. It got warmer. The humidity spiked.

At the bottom of the stairs, there was a long hallway. At the far end, light leaked out from under a heavy industrial door.

Pink light.

Jed walked down the hallway. His boots made no sound on the damp concrete.

He reached the door. He pressed his ear against the cold metal.

He heard a hum. A deep, vibrating hum. Fans. Big ones.

He grabbed the handle. He pushed the door open.

The light blinded him.

It was aggressive pink and purple. Massive LED arrays hung from the ceiling.

Then the heat hit him. A solid wall of damp, hot air. Sweat immediately broke out on his forehead and upper lip.

He blinked until his vision cleared.

The room was massive. An old train tunnel, converted.

It was completely filled with life.

Not hydroponic tubes. Real soil.

Massive wooden beds lined the floor, filled with dark, rich dirt. Vines climbed up the curved concrete walls, clinging to wire mesh.

Tomatoes. They were huge. Bright red. The skin looked like it was going to split from the pressure of the juice inside. They hung heavy on thick green vines.

Squash plants spread across the floor, their massive green leaves acting like solar panels. Basil bushes the size of small trees.

It was a jungle.

Jed stood frozen.

The smell was intense. It smelled green. Sharp. Alive.

But underneath the green smell, there was something else.

Something sweet.

Sickly sweet.

Like meat left in the sun. Like a dumpster in August.

Jed covered his nose with his sleeve. He stepped into the room.

The door clicked shut behind him.

He walked down the center aisle. He reached out and touched a tomato leaf. It was rough. Covered in tiny hairs. It felt real.

He looked around. No sign of Wendy.

There was another door at the back of the tunnel. The sweet, rotting smell was stronger over there.

He walked toward it.

The fans were loud here. They masked the sound of his footsteps.

He reached the back area. It wasn't a door, just a plastic tarp hung from the ceiling to separate the space.

He pushed the tarp aside.

This was the mixing room.

Bags of perlite. Rakes. Shovels.

And three massive black plastic vats.

They were chest-high. Heat radiated off them. The smell here was overpowering. Rot. Ammonia. Copper.

Jed stepped up to the first vat.

He looked inside.

Soil. Dark, almost black. It looked rich.

He moved to the second vat.

Compost. Gray mush. Rotting leaves, crushed stems, vegetable scraps.

He moved to the third vat.

This was the active mix.

It was a mound of dirt and organic matter.

Jed leaned over the edge.

Sticking out of the dark soil was something white.

Chalky white.

He thought it was PVC pipe at first. Or maybe a piece of thick plastic structure for the plants.

He reached his hand in.

The dirt was hot. The decomposition process was generating serious heat. It felt like sticking his hand in a warm oven.

He grabbed the white object.

It was hard. Porous.

He pulled it out of the dirt.

Soil clung to it. He rubbed the dirt away with his thumb.

It was a bone.

Not a cow bone. Not a chicken bone.

It was a joint. The end of a femur.

Jed froze. His breath caught in his throat.

He stared at it. The shape of it. The smooth curve where it would sit in a hip socket.

He looked back down into the vat.

He used the bone to scrape away the top layer of hot dirt.

More white shapes.

Ribs. Long, curved pieces of bone.

And then, a skull fragment.

A jawbone.

It was mostly intact. Three teeth were still rooted in the bone. Two of the teeth had dull silver fillings.

Jed dropped the femur. It fell back into the dirt with a soft thud.

His stomach turned over completely. Acid burned the back of his throat. He gagged, bending over the side of the vat. He clamped his hand over his mouth, forcing the bile back down.

He couldn't breathe. The air in the room was suddenly toxic.

He looked at the jawbone in the dirt.

The perfect radishes. The heavy tomatoes. The dark, rich soil.

It made sense now. The city's ground was dead. You couldn't grow anything without heavy fertilizer. Without nitrogen. Without calcium.

Wendy wasn't just a farmer.

She was cleaning up the streets. The people who disappeared during The Brick. The homeless. The ones who starved in the alleys.

She was composting them.

Jed heard a noise behind him.

A metal bucket hitting the concrete floor.

He spun around.

Through the plastic tarp, he saw Wendy's silhouette. She was moving in the main greenhouse.

Panic spiked his heart rate. His chest hurt.

He looked down at the vat.

He reached in. He grabbed the jawbone.

He didn't know why. Evidence. Proof. He just knew he couldn't leave it.

He pulled a dirty rag from his pocket and wrapped the bone tight. He shoved it deep into his jacket pocket.

He backed away from the vats.

He slipped past the plastic tarp, hugging the concrete wall of the tunnel.

Wendy was two aisles over. Her back was to him. She was inspecting a squash plant.

Jed didn't wait.

He bolted for the heavy metal door.

He hit the handle, pushed it open, and slipped into the dark hallway.

He didn't look back.

He ran up the stairs. Two at a time. The shadow mass pushed against him, trying to hold him down, but adrenaline burned right through it.

He hit the street.

The spring air smacked him in the face. It felt cold now. Freezing.

He ran.

He ran for twenty minutes straight. His lungs burned. His legs felt like lead.

He finally slowed to a walk when he saw the rusted metal of his kitchen container.

He pushed through the door of The Rust Burn.

Sal was standing at the prep table. He had managed to dice the rotten onion. It was a brown, wet pile on the board.

Ty was sitting on a stool, staring at his phone.

They both looked up when Jed came in.

Jed was panting. Sweat dripped off his nose. His jacket was covered in dust.

"You okay?" Sal asked.

Jed didn't answer. He walked to the prep table.

He reached into his other pocket. He pulled out the plastic bag Wendy had given him.

He dumped it on the metal table.

The radishes rolled out. Bright red. Perfect. The scallions lay there, violently green against the dull metal.

Sal's eyes went wide. He dropped his knife.

"Where did you get that?" Sal whispered. He reached out and touched a radish. "This is... this is real."

"Wendy," Jed said. His voice was raw.

"How much?"

"Seventy."

"For that?" Ty asked, standing up. "We need way more than that for service."

"She has more," Jed said.

"So we go back," Sal said. "We buy her out. We max the credit. We do whatever it takes. This is Michelin quality, Jed. This saves the pop-up."

Jed stared at the radish.

He reached into his jacket pocket.

His hand closed around the heavy, wrapped shape.

He pulled the rag out. He set it on the table next to the vegetables.

"What's that?" Ty asked.

Jed pulled the corners of the dirty rag back.

The jawbone sat there.

Dirt crumbled off the white bone. The silver fillings caught the flickering fluorescent light.

Silence hit the kitchen. The exhaust fan rattled above them. The fridge compressor kicked on with a loud clatter.

Sal stared at the bone. He pulled his hand back from the radish like it had burned him.

Ty stepped back. He bumped into the stool. It scraped loudly against the floor.

"What is that?" Ty asked again. His voice was higher now. Panicked.

"It's the fertilizer," Jed said.

Sal looked from the bone to Jed. "Are you telling me..."

"Bro, this isn't just organic," Jed said. He pointed at the jawbone. "It's sinister."

"Where did you find this?" Sal asked.

"In her compost vats. Down in the old subway tunnels. She has a whole farm down there. Huge. Massive yield. And it's all grown in this."

Jed kicked the table. "The missing people. The ones who starved last winter. She's grinding them up. She's feeding them to the tomatoes."

Ty turned around. He leaned over the trash can. He dry heaved loudly.

Sal didn't move. He just stared at the table.

"We have to report her," Ty said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "We have to call the city."

"Call who?" Sal asked. His voice was dead. Flat. "The grid is down. The police don't come south of the river anymore. If we report her, a gang just takes the farm over. Or the military seizes it for the green zone."

"It's people!" Ty yelled.

"It's dirt," Sal said quietly.

Jed looked at Sal.

Sal looked back. "It's dirt now, Jed. That's how the cycle works."

"Don't say that," Ty said.

"Look out the window, Ty!" Sal pointed at the small square of plexiglass at the front of the container. "Look at the street. The neighborhood is starving. The kids next door are eating paste. I saw a guy boiling shoe leather yesterday."

Sal pointed at the radish.

"That is life. That is food. It's the only real food in this zip code."

"It's contaminated," Jed said.

"Is it?" Sal asked. "Plants filter everything. They break it down. It's just nitrogen and calcium. That's science."

"It's murder," Ty said.

"We don't know she killed them," Sal argued. "People die every day here. Maybe she's just cleaning up."

Jed tuned them out.

He looked down at the table.

The jawbone. The teeth. The silver fillings.

And the radish.

It was so beautiful. The color was shocking in the gray kitchen. It held the promise of crunch. Of water. Of flavor.

He thought about his bank account. Negative forty-two dollars.

He thought about the empty street.

He thought about the feeling of his own stomach, tight and painful against his ribs.

He picked up the radish.

It felt heavy. Solid.

He looked at Ty. Ty was shaking his head.

He looked at Sal. Sal was nodding slowly.

The fluorescent light flickered. A fast, aggressive strobe.

Jed grabbed his paring knife. The black plastic handle felt familiar in his palm.

He picked up the paring knife, looking from the jawbone to the perfect red radish, and finally made his first cut.