May 5, 2440
At 1:07 in the afternoon, Ellis Chakrobarty’s phone rang while he was halfway through checking a planter bearing.
“Ellis.”
“Matt.”
“I need you to go look at something.”
Ellis closed his eyes for half a second. “How much trouble is ‘something’?”
“About nine square kilometers.”
That got his attention.
Matt sent him the map while they were still talking, a square of old farmland, second-growth woods, creek bottoms, and abandoned ground southeast of Leta.
“I want the best access from the road first,” Matt said. “Mark the trees worth saving, the ones worth milling, and anything that’s going to be a pain in the ass tomorrow. Tree machines start in the morning.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
Ellis enlarged the map.
“What am I looking for?”
“Where we can get equipment in without tearing up more ground than we need to. Best trees close to the road first. I want room for staging and parking by the road. Don’t design the town. Just tell me where to start cutting.”
“That all?”
“For today.”
Ellis knew better than to ask what tomorrow would bring.
By 2:03, three pickups and an old utility van were parked along the road.
Ellis had brought twelve people.
His thirteen-year-old son, Ravi Chakrobarty, had come because Ellis told him to bring boots, gloves, water, marking tape, and “anything somebody older than you gets tired of carrying.”
Ravi had taken that as a job description.
The adults spread out beside the vehicles.
Nora Bell, fifty-four, cattle farmer and competent with a chainsaw.
Caleb Morrow, thirty-nine, heavy-equipment operator.
Denise Polk, forty-seven, orchard manager.
Tomás Herrera, thirty-four, fencing and irrigation work.
Sarah Kimble, forty-one, county survey technician.
Leon Brooks, sixty-two, retired road crew.
Janine Foster, twenty-eight, farm mechanic.
Daryl Price, fifty-one, grain farmer.
Mei Navarro, thirty-six, nursery and landscaping work.
Owen Lark, forty-four, utility contractor.
Ruthie Coleman, thirty-three, warehouse supervisor who had volunteered because, in her words, “somebody ought to know where all the crap gets put.”
Nobody had come dressed for a ceremony.
Ellis stood on the shoulder with the map open on his tablet and looked across the road at what, for the moment, was still just Missouri.
Trees. Brush. Uneven ground. Old field edges. A little rise beyond the first line of woods.
He pointed.
“Matt wants access first. We mark anything worth saving, anything worth milling, anything likely to interfere with the machines tomorrow. We are not clearing today.”
Leon looked across the tree line.
“How big?”
“Nine square kilometers.”
There was a short silence.
Ravi shifted the bundle of marking stakes onto his other shoulder.
Nora finally said, “Well. That should keep the boy busy.”
Ravi looked at her.
“I’m charging by the mile.”
Ellis handed him another roll of fluorescent tape.
“Then congratulations. You’re about to get rich.”
