the wheat that time forgot

“It smells like bunt disease in here.”

The woman showing Jess around the seed vault stopped and turned. She raised her eyebrows in a way that reminded Jess of her daughter. Jess imagined that the woman wore an ugly smile under her balaclava. That under her office furniture-colored parka, her chest swelled with drama and deep breath.

“That’s not possible. We don’t grow anything here. It’s just seeds.” Then, “You probably smell the drain line. It’s iced up again.”