Rise: Populations Crumble, Book 2 by Gandy, A. (animal farm read .TXT) 📗

block with trying to tap into the security network. He doesn’t think it’s insurmountable, but it’s not going to be fast. The last time we spoke he said something about a great wall of illusion and chicanery. I have no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound good.”

“That’s not the end of the world. If he is trying to hack remotely now, he can keep digging once you’re all safely out from under the constant observation, and risk of being snatched yourselves. Until we can get you out, you’ll have to stay under the radar and keep following orders. Actually—”

Peter’s face is serious, but his next thought is cut off by a creaking screen door. “All right love birds—and love birds’ brother—who’s ready to finish up our tour?”

I paste on a smile and quickly rise from my rocking chair, but the formerly delightful tour now feels a bit hollow. “I’d love to! What’s next?”

She loops her arm through mine, and we stroll down the back porch steps together. “Well, considering that you’re on your honeymoon and working on starting a family of your own, I thought I’d save the best for last. Would you like to see the baby barn?” she asks with a lopsided smile.

The guys trail right behind us, and Patrick asks, “What’s a baby barn?”

“It’s where we keep all the little ones who aren’t big enough to be with the herds or flocks yet, or out in the cold weather. We don’t have many this time of year, but we’ve got a fresh hatch of chicks and a few goats that came out of season.”

“I would love to see the baby barn!” I gush, hoping it doesn’t sound too forced. Try to enjoy the rest of the day, Sadie. There won’t be many like this for a while. I remind myself, but it’s hard to flip the switch like that.

Marie leads us to a small, freshly-painted red barn. It looks like someone plucked it right out of a children’s picture book, with a hay-loft window above the white double doors. As soon as she pulls the door open, a flurry of chirps flood my ears. As my eyes adjust to the dimmer interior lighting, I catch my first glimpse of the yellow and black fuzzy masses of chicks in an enclosure right inside the door.

“Oh my word, there are so many!” My excitement is real this time, because the cuteness can’t be denied.

“Yeah, we always hatch as large a batch as we can in the winter, so they have plenty of buddies to keep them warm.” She gestures to the red heat lamps spaced around the room, when a hard thump lands on the back of my knee.

Turning in surprise, I see that my assailant is a tiny, spotted goat. He bleats, and walks his front legs up mine to sniff my hands. I squat down to give him a scratch, and he bleats again.

Marie shakes her head at the demanding fellow. “That’s Milo. He’s a ham.” She comes over and tosses a few handfuls of millet to the chicks, and then gives me a small biscuit for Milo.

He munches it greedily, before butting me again. “Aren’t they cute, Patrick?” I look around for my unusually silent husband, and find him with both hands in his pockets, standing uncomfortably behind me. Marie scoops up a chick and offers it to him.

“Oh, no, thank you. I’ll just watch. I don’t know anything about babies, or baby animals.” His discomfort surprises me.

“It’s all right, Patrick. They’re not going to bite you,” I say, accepting the little cheeping fluff ball from Marie. “Besides, what are you going to do when we have a baby? Never hold it?”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead in a comical expression. “Uh, well . . . is that an option?”

Marie full-out belly laughs. “No, hon, it’s not.” She claps him on the shoulder with a grin. “And you’ll be even more terrified to hurt your baby than you are these. So, buck up and hold out your hands.”

He reluctantly cups his hands, and she deposits a fuzzy black chick in them. His eyes widen, but otherwise he stays stock still.

“Don’t let him jump, he’ll break a leg from that height,” she says matter-of-factly.

He quickly cups his hands more deeply so the chick can’t escape. It peeps in protest but doesn’t make a run for it. Shaking my head at the amusing sight, I look around for Peter. I find him, squatted down and mobbed by three baby goats. He is handing out cookies and pats as fast as he can. One of them buts the back of his arm, and he chuckles and gives it the next cookie.

As suspected, you can take the man away from the country to police training, but you can’t train the country out of him.

We play with the babies until Martinez, Drake, and Don come and tell us they’ve finished with the new automatic waterer they were working on out in the pasture.

Martinez has sweated through his uniform, so I’m sure he’ll enjoy the hour-long drive home. He doesn’t look unhappy, though. Much to my surprise, Patrick is reluctant to hand off the little black chick when it’s time to leave. Marie gives him a warm smile. “He’s really grown on you, huh? Why don’t you name him?”

“It’s a him?” he asks, giving the tiny bird a stroke on his soft head.

“Yep, they aren’t usually this fat unless they’re males.”

He thinks about it for a minute. “How about Pepper?”

“Pepper’s perfect.” She smiles before gently putting Pepper back in with his abundant siblings.

It’s with genuine sadness, and a whole pie, that we board the shuttle back to the resort. I give Marie a hug, her embrace reminding me of my last hug with mom, the few months away feeling like an eternity.

“Y’all are welcome back any time. But next time, we’ll put you to work.” She shakes a finger at us with mock sternness.

“I would love that! I need to