It's going well, but...

Chapter Seven: Critter Trouble

By the time morning rolled around—again, in that vague, sun-never-quite-left kind of way—the trap robot had returned to the barn. Lu and I met it there, curious to see what it had found. The machine beeped twice and released its catch tray.

Inside the metal mesh cage were two hissing, coiled snakes. One was long and black, the other mottled brown with a faint rattle on its tail. They slithered and twisted against the bars, clearly unhappy with the arrangement.

"Well, I'll be," I muttered. "Looks like we got ourselves a pair of uninvited guests."

"Are they poisonous?" Lu asked, peering cautiously but not stepping back.

"Sure look like they might be. That one has a rattle, and where I come from, that’s a red flag. Better not mess around."

Just then, the second trap bot rolled in from its patrol zone near the southern edge of the orchard. It stopped beside the first and whirred open its tray. Inside was a thin, ragged-looking fox with a nicked ear and an irritated look on its face. It growled low and tried to chew through the metal.

"Well, ain’t this a day for surprises," I said. "Lu, go get my radio. Let’s call Gus."

She nodded and trotted off while I kept a careful eye on our new guests.

Within the hour, a small truck rumbled up the main road and came to a halt near the barn. A squat, balding man with sharp eyes and heavy gloves stepped out.

"You the one with the vermin issue?" he called out.

"That’s us. Snakes and a fox."

He introduced himself as Tanner, one of Gus’s folks. He gave the traps a quick look, nodded once, and then started transferring the critters into specialized crates. He handled the snakes with a calm, efficient ease that made me think he’d done this a hundred times. Maybe more.

"They’ll be relocated far from here," he said. "No charge. Gus said to take care of ya."

"Appreciate it."

He gave a polite nod, loaded the crates into his truck, and took off down the road without much else said.

Not long after, Gus himself showed up, riding the same old cart I’d seen him use before. He tied off the mule and plopped down on my porch bench like he’d done it a thousand times.

"You got quite the operation already," he said, nodding toward the barn.

"Just doing what I know. Your crew helped a lot. Lu’s a gem."

"She is," Gus agreed, rubbing his chin. "You know, over on my land, we’ve got corn. Not just a patch, but miles. Hundreds of acres. Grows tall, sweet, and fast. Special breed they gave us when we came through. Grows under this ever-shinin’ sun like it was made for it."

I whistled. "Must take an army to keep that going."

"More’n a hundred hands," he confirmed. "Some like yours. Some older. They all live on my stretch. Got schools, markets, and a doc even. It’s a real town now."

"You ever think about expanding further?"

"Nah," he said with a small smile. "Expansion don’t mean much when you’ve already got more than you need."

We sat in silence a while, the ever-glowing sun casting soft shadows across the porch. The air was warm, but not uncomfortable. Peaceful.

"You ever get used to the light?" I asked.

"You stop noticing," Gus said simply. "You sleep when you're tired. You eat when you're hungry. And time starts to mean less than it used to."

I nodded, feeling that truth settle in my bones.

"Well," Gus said, rising with a groan, "I’ll leave you to it. But you need anything—tools, hands, advice—you holler. You’re one of us now."

"Thanks, Gus. Really."

"Don’t mention it. Welcome to the sun that never sets."

With that, he tipped his hat and rode off, back toward his corn kingdom. I watched him disappear into the golden light, thinking maybe I was starting to feel like I belonged here too.

Chapter Eight: Of Cows and Calendars

That afternoon, I realized we’d been running nonstop since the kits arrived, and I hadn’t taken a full accounting of our resources. The light never changed, but we sure did—wearing thin at the edges and going through food quicker than I’d planned. I grabbed my old clipboard, the one with grease stains and a cracked corner, and headed to the pantry.

Lu was already there, frowning into a bin of flour.

“We got enough for maybe two more batches of biscuits,” she muttered. “That’s if you don’t mind 'em a little chewy.”

“Guess we’re due for another supply run.”

“We should also check the feed. The milk’s coming fast, but the cows’ll slow if they get hungry.”

I nodded, scribbling notes. Then I added “more eggs” underlined twice—those boys could eat.

After a quick huddle, I sent Dos and Seis to check the chicken coops and grab any eggs, while Quattro and Uno made rounds with the feed buckets. Tres and Cinco were already in the field, so I went to check on them next.

They were herding the cows to the milking station—well, trying to. One cow named Blossom had taken a liking to chasing Tres in circles. He yelped every time she made a move toward him.

“Blossom’s just messin’ with you, son. Walk calm, like you own the place.”

“She’s got crazy eyes!” he hollered, dodging a low-swinging tail.

I stepped in and gave Blossom a firm pat on the flank. She huffed, then trotted off with the others.

“See? No trouble. Ya gotta talk like you mean it. Cows understand authority.”

Cinco gave me a sideways look. “They do?”

“Well, sorta. Or they just know I’ve wrangled worse.”

With the cows finally lined up, we set to milking. Lu showed up halfway through with a pitcher of lemonade and sat on an overturned bucket, watching the boys.

“Think they’ll get the hang of it?” she asked.

“They better. I ain’t got twelve arms.”

She chuckled. “Well, they’ve learned more in a week than most do in a season.”

By evening—if you could call it that under that eternal sun—we had the milk stored, fresh eggs collected, and enough feed rationed for three days. I was putting the last of the pails away when Seis appeared holding an old wall calendar he’d found in the shed.

“Pa, what day is it?”

I stared at the faded page. It was still on June. From years ago, probably.

“Well… best guess? It’s still early. Maybe a week in. But here? We might need our own system.”

He looked puzzled. “How do you tell time?”

“Work, meals, sleep. Then start over. You feel tired, you rest. You feel hungry, you eat. That’s about it.”

Lu chimed in from the kitchen door. “Or you ask the cows. They always know.”

We ended the “day” with a big supper—cornbread, fried cabbage, and a couple steaks Gus had traded us. Afterward, the kids brought out an old deck of cards they’d found in the bunkhouse and sat in a circle on the floor, trying to figure out the rules to something they made up on the spot.

I leaned against the doorframe and watched, feeling something like peace wash over me.

Lu joined me, arms crossed. “You’re building something good here.”

“Don’t know if I meant to, but yeah… maybe I am.”

She nodded. “Just don’t forget to rest. Even if the sun never clocks out.”

With that, she turned in for the night, and I stood there a moment longer, listening to the low moo of Blossom and the rustle of leaves that never quite went still.