Church Girl Gone Wild by Ni’chelle Genovese

they went on sonar trying to pick up any non - forest - like sounds. Capo taped shrubs to my back and I returned the favor. We worked quickly and silently layering ice from the bucket we’d dragged up from the truck into the inside of our jackets and pants. It was White Boy’s idea to use those face masks chicks put over their eyes for dark circles. Ain’t even ask how he knew what they were for, or why. I just figured it was a white boy thing. We wore those underneath our skullies.
    Cali law only lets niggas grow five plants per person so the growers would band together and form collectives. Most guarded their crops stupid close. I’m talking shotguns, Rottis, or Pits, but not White Boy’s people. There were thermal imaging cameras somewhere above our heads pointed at the field in front of us. This collective monitored their crops from the comfort of their own homes. Big mistake. With our body temperatures lowered we were damn near invisible, and the shrubs taped to our clothes would break up any heat signature making us look less like men and more like deer or dogs. The shit we were about to cake up on was thirty - five people deep and well worth freezing my balls off for. That was a good 175 plants pushing at the max a pound each. And since a pound could go for three to four Gs. Shiiiiit.
    White Boy was waiting at the edge of the woods with a produce truck Capo “found.” The plan was simple. We were going to layer the plants one by one onto a tarp we’d hiked in, wrap ’em up and Capo’s prison - strong ass could lug ’em out.
    â€œTay, I heard somethin’.” Capo crouched down with his hand on his piece.
    I didn’t hear shit, but I still crouched with my head cocked trying to pick up on what he heard just to be safe. We needed to get moving, I could feel a thousand pinpricks on my skin as the ice settled against my body.
    â€œI don’t hear anything, Capo man, we’re good. Let’s get started in case we need to hit up a gas station for more ice.”
    The whites of his eyes shifted around nervously under the blue glow of the moon. He rolled his head from side to side cracking his neck; it sounded like snapping twigs. We stayed crouched down and made our way into our field of green. The scent was even more powerful and I wanted to light up and kick back. Capo pulled the first plant out of the ground and we silently celebrated. I wrapped my gloved fingers around a plant and tugged.
    â€œGaba - ga.”
    I whipped toward Capo. “Nigga, da fuck? Was that you? Stop playing, man.”
    He was bug - eyed. “Fuck no, I thought that was you.”
    You know niggas don’t do woods, or forests, camping, or nature in general. The field was now tomb quiet as even the crickets were too scared to chirp. We waited like twin warrior statues ready to spring to life and take down anything that crossed our paths. After several moments of complete silence I let out an exasperated breath and went to pull another plant. My sweat mingled with the smell of my fear and anxiety as I ripped yet another Jurassic fern from the ground. Capo did the same tugging wildly at a particularly stubborn plant.
    â€œPick a different one, nigga. This ice is melting faster than I thought; we ain’t gonna be invisible for long,” I hissed in his direction.
    Refusing to be beat by a plant he yanked hard. The roots ripped free from the ground with a loud crunching sound.
    â€œGobble - ga!”
    The sound pierced the air like a phantom Indian war cry.
    â€œHey, hey, what the fuck.” Capo shot up from his crouched position, dropping our money trees and pulling out his piece.
    My lips barely moved. “Don’t shoot unless you want every armed cowboy, hillbilly, and hippie within earshot to come straight here.”
    Soulless onyx - black eyes attached to what looked like a vulture in a Triple Fat Goose bubble coat headed straight for me. I rolled to the side