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jerked me awake. I dropped to the floor with my eyes still closed and stepped into my gray coveralls. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and followed my group into the dining hall wondering if we’d be digging potatoes again today.
    As usual, our plates held an egg and a piece of steak. It was like we were all on that strict protein diet Star McLain liked to brag about back when I was a cheerleader. Caveman or Paleo or whatever it was. As cheer captain, all she’d done all football season was bark orders and make passes at Jackson as if I weren’t right there.
    It seemed silly now. Stuff like that used to matter.
    We finished eating and deposited our trays on the wide metal counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the hall. Team Two was already working, and I needed to talk to Cleve again this afternoon. We needed to get moving.
    “Five of you will work the garden today, digging potatoes,” Shubuta said. “Three of you will work the dairy, milking and churning for butter.”
    She walked among us tapping our shoulders, giving us our tasks. Yolanda was tapped for the dairy, Flora was back on the potato line. Already a drop of sweat was running down my cheek. It was going to be a hot morning, and I silently hoped I’d get tapped for the shady, breezy barn. When Shubuta got to me, she stopped.
    “You are very small.” She surveyed me as she made a note on her clipboard. “Are you strong?”
    She hadn’t stopped at anyone else, and I wondered if they were closing in on me. I fixed my eyes on my boots, trying not to shiver. D’Lo said the soldier Ovett liked to taunt them in the fields. He told them leaders would be neutralized, and we debated what that could mean. Shock collar? Solitary confinement? Death?
    The woman Shubuta waited, and I stared at the ground, not answering. Playing dumb was the best tactic.
    “All rendered thick and useless,” she breathed, shaking her head. Her voice went loud and sharp, as if to command my attention. “You! Are you strong enough to milk?”
    I nodded, and she signaled for me to stand with the dairy group. Then she continued down the row.
    “Dairy hands will go with Oma. Row workers will stay with me. Special breaks will be given for those demonstrating the best effort.”
    I kept my head down as I followed Yolanda and our group into the barn. Flora and I shared a brief smile as she turned the opposite direction and went with her team to the field.
    Inside the airy building, nine cows stood beside stools and pails. The sight of those big auburn bodies comforted me in a way I never expected, and I automatically went to the closest one and sat. Rubbing my hands to warm them, I took hold of one of the long, finger-like teats.
    Most all dairy farms used mechanical milkers these days, but Dr. Green had showed me how to milk by hand. He was a kind man, and he hated the big dairies with their hormones and mass-production. He’d told me I’d learn to appreciate the kinship of following these animals through their life cycle on the farm.
    We helped impregnate them, saw them through gestation, and then delivered their calves. Milking was about the easiest part of the process, he said, and he was right. I liked doing it, my head pressed into the large animal’s side. I developed a sort-of maternal affection for them, like I really was their family doctor.
    I hadn’t realized Cato was standing there with the other female soldier Oma. The soldier was all prepared to demonstrate milking, but it was too late for me. A stream of milk hissed against my bucket before I had time to remember I was supposed to act dumb.
    “You know about cows?” Cato stepped forward, and despite her calm, I could tell she was eager for my answer.
    I stood quickly, almost knocking my stool over as I wiped my hands on my coveralls and stared at the ground. The cow groaned, and a pang of guilt tinged the fear pulsing in my chest. The woman spoke again.
    “Do not be afraid. Special skills will be rewarded.