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Dave wasn’t sure about Rammi’s driving. It was only slightly breezy, and Dave expected to drive more like an albatross gliding across the ocean, when in fact he was more like a turkey trying to flap over a puddle. He was grateful when they left the city, and there were fewer buildings for Rammi to drive his flying vehicle into.

The farm that was responsible for the flour production was only two ticks from the city, and so it wasn’t long before Dave could see the wheat below, swaying to the breeze. However, it then occurred to him that if Rammi’s general flying skills were questionable, what would his landing be like? The idea filled every empty nook and cranny in his soul. But he didn’t have to be such a panic-ant. Rammi proved to be an excellent descender and landed with not so much as a thud on the soft grass. Rammi turned to look at Dave’s white face.

“Landing is like baking a soufflé, no?”

Dave nodded. He took a breath before he unclenched his knobbled fingers from his briefcase to open the door.

As they left the vehicle, they saw a farmer come and approach them. She was a sturdy woman, with a bob of hair that had grey streaks in it. Now, there might have been a time when a farmer would be a person in overalls and mud-stained knees. But in the new, technology-advanced world, Crystal was more of a scientist than a farmer. In fact, Bill probably knew more about carrots, even though he specialized in orchids and lilies, than Crystal. She was a no-fuss engineer, with a dark, soft apron, filled with different-sized screwdrivers, including precision ones for the small computer chip screws, all the way to the Phillips #4. Instead of dirt on her knees, she had grease and lubricant smeared up her arms. She had the general aroma of a gas station.

“Can I help you, gentleman?” she announced.

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Rammi said, taking the lead as Dave was still looking a little pale. “We have some inquiries about the flour provided by your farm. Or should I say, concerns.”

“Are you from the health inspection department or something?” she said, sizing Rammi up. “You look more like a chef on an oil rig.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” Rammi answered. “But I am a chef.”

“Means you’re out of place. This is a farm. Not a kitchen.”

Dave watched for a few moments as Rammi put his arms on his hips to appear larger, and the woman was meeting him straight in the eye.

“Ah, sorry, we haven’t met,” he announced to diffuse the situation. “I’m Dave, this is Rammi. We’re coming from Secondhand. I don’t know if you heard, but one of the main attractions there- well, it’s more of a heritage site- is the big clock? It finished counting down. Last night, in fact. We’re looking for events or incidents that could have happened last night that might start a rolling domino effect to the end of the city. Or the world. We are not sure if it’s a localized thing or more of a global disaster. We are still obtaining research and data.”

The woman very slowly turned to Dave and gave him the once-over.

“Are you lot crazy?” she asked.

“I don’t believe so, no,” Dave said, checking with Rammi, who was giving him a death stare.

“Well, I’ll tell you, we did have a murder last night, up the hill. At the local Inn. A woman by the name of Casey Small. Now, she grew up round these parts, but that was before my time. But time, to time, she would come and stay here, all nostalgic like. But she didn’t live here. No, sir-ry, she lived where you folk come from. You know, over there where all the tin cans are lined up.”

“You mean the city?” Dave asked.

“Yeah. The city. Tin cans. That’s what I said. She was some data analyst or something; I couldn’t quite make out all the fuss. I’m not one for listening in on people’s conversations, you understand. But I did gather that she worked with numbers a whole lot and computers. But that’s pretty much all the big news around here. Well, that, and I think someone discovered a Maude hideout in their straw bales. The whole thing was full of coloured string. Took them days to roll it all up and then, you know, the whole lot disappeared. Reckon Maude came back on collection. But that didn’t happen last night. No, that happened last week, I reckon.”

The woman peered at the two men standing in front of her.

“Well, sorry you came all the way up for all that,” she continued. “I could have just emailed you and saved you boys a trip.”

She then nodded and was about to turn around when Rammi spoke up.

“Your flour tastes funny,” he said abruptly.

She turned around and looked him dead in the eye.

“You say what now, kitchen boy?” she asked.

“What, my esteemed friend…” Dave started and then saw Rammi’s flinch at the term friend. “I mean, co-task colleague is trying to say, is that we noticed that there were some, shall we say, discrepancies in the taste of your produce between yesterday and today. You wouldn’t happen to know why that is?”

“Yeah, I might know what you are all hinting at,” she said.

Both Rammi and Dave waited for her to continue, but instead she took a few paces and clipped a blade of wheat and started chewing on the one end.

“What?” she asked.

“Are you not going to tell us why your flour tastes funny?” Rammi asked.

“Oh, well, I thought your pocket watch, or whatever, clocked down last night. Nothing happened last night. But I tell you what did happen was about a week ago, a valve got switched on my water irrigation. Probably those teenagers from three farms over drinking too much of the local Toshi Hosiery Hooch, if you know what I mean…”

The men looked at each other and then shrugged.

“The bathtub gin? Moonshine? You know… home-brewed liquor?”

“Ooooh,” Dave nodded, and Rammi made similar sounds.

“Well, anyway, they gone and locked the thing, and I can’t change the valve. So now, my water ain’t running through the piping system, but it runs straight through the old bunker, then takes a turn into my fields.”

“What’s in the old bunker?” Dave asked.

“Jam.”

“Jam?” Rammi asked.

“Yeah. Jam. My water is filled with jam!” she said with exasperation, flinging her arms in the air. “What am I supposed to do about it? I got pink water everywhere! It’s a whole shamboo of an issue. That’s why your flour probably tastes different. Dang whole field has been hit pink, strawberry water.”

“Can we have a look at the lock?” Dave asked.

“You sure can! But I don’t know what you’re going to do about it, in your business suit there, pal,” she said. “You can come on over and give it a peer, though. I’ve been at it all day, with my flathead and the Phillips. Even gave it the once-over with the old Robertson, but nothing! I was thinking of getting the Pozidriv, but that just seemed extreme, you know what I mean?”

The woman turned and gestured for them to follow her.

“Name is Crystal, by the way. You boys are in for a real treat with this one.”

Crystal led them on a small path to a bright blue, wooden shack. As Crystal said, there was a lock on the door with four holes in it.

“I don’t get it,” Rammi said, looking over Dave’s shoulder.

“I stick my screwdrivers in there,” Crystal said. “You twist the screws inside out, and the lock opens. Usually I know what screws have been twisted inside there, but it’s not the usual screws. The boys have put other ones in there and I can’t see down them holes to know what pattern head the damn thing has.”

“Did they give you a clue?”

“Drunken nonsense is what they gave me,” Crystal said, pulling out her phone. She tapped it a few times and then handed it to Dave. The message read:

We swapped out the lock with a grin,
With a plus and a star made of tin.
A flat line right through,
And a Y shape will do,
Or the bolts will stay stuck deep within!

– The Toshi’s!

” Can I see your screwdrivers?” Dave said.

Crystal nodded and pulled some cloth on the ground. She then proceeded to unpack them there.

“Oooo Weee! Well you looky here!” another man’s voice rang through the air. “What have we here? Is that a security hex? You’re not going to find those every day in these parts.”

Crystal, Dave, and Rammi turned to try to see where the voice was coming from, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around.

“What are you boys playing at?” Crystal accused Dave and Rammi.

“It’s not us!” Rammi put his hands up.

The hood of a half-decomposed, rusty tractor shot open a few feet from them. Coming out, rear end first, was a tall, lanky guy with crazy hair. He turned around and gave them all a big smile. His hands were in a small enclosed cup, which he brought up to his face and then slowly opened. Inside was a regular garden snail.

“Look at this wee little guy,” he said. “He was cooped all up on the inside of that hood, weren’t you, you little mollusc poo.”

The others all looked at each other awkwardly. The man then stepped out onto the ground, next to the screwdrivers.

“Name’s Ziggy,” he said. “I’m an animal tracker. Busy writing down and doing extensive research for my book: The Great Shells of Yonder: Eye in, Slowly Out.”

“Now, you,” said Crystal. “You, I know, are crazy.”

“Maybe, sister, but it seems to me you have a situation that might need a little tinkering with crazy.”

Ziggy leaned in to where Dave was and whispered to him, “Flathead is a single line, tri-wing looks like a Y, Jis is a cross, Pozidriv is the star, and the Phillips is the cross. Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when the screws come for you? Hmm, bad boys, bad boys.” Ziggy started humming some ancient song that only the elders know, and then proceeded to climb back into the boot of the tractor, shaking his rear end, going backwards first.

He gave them all a wave, then slammed the lid on himself, trapping himself inside.

Dave looked back at the lock.