"You're not just any agent You're a special agent."
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THEY HAD COME TO AN ABANDONED ORCHARD. The near wall had partially collapsed in a mound of rubble. Beyond it cherry trees littered the ground. They had been cut down, their pale blossoms floating around in the wind.
"Jesus." Schofield said as the trio looked out over the scene. "They chopped them all down."
"That's so sad." Genevieve said. "They're beautiful."
"Cherries." Blake reached down and picked a blossom as they started to walk through the fallen trees. "Lamberts. They might be Dukes, hard to tell when they aren't in fruit."
"What's the difference?" Schofield asked.
"Well," Blake seemed happy to talk about them. "People think there's one type, but there's lots of them. Cuthberts, Queen Annes,Montmorencys. Sweet ones, sour ones."
"Why on earth would you know this?" Schofield asked.
"Mum's got an orchard, back home." Blake replied. "Only a few trees. This time of year it looks like it's been snowing, blossom everywhere. And then in May, we have to pick them. Me and Joe. Takes the whole day."
Genevieve bent down and picked up a handful of petals from the ground, letting them fly in the wind.
"I just love that." She said to no one in particular, growing solemn. "You could tell someone loved these trees. How is anyone supposed to remember them now?"
Schofield glanced at her and then back at the trees. He reached out and plucked one of the few full blossoms. He walked over to her and held it up. Her mouth formed an o as she gazed at it. Without thinking, Schofield reached forward and placed the blossom in her hair behind her ear. She grinned at him and his ears turned pink when he realized how forward he had just been.
"Thank you." She said. "It's very lovely."
"You're very- uh," He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "You're very... welcome."
"Hey slowpokes let's go!" Blake was already at the end of the orchard. Genevieve smiled at Schofield again before heading after Blake.
"So, these ones all gonners?" Schofield called out to Blake as he followed suit.
"Oh no," Blake shook his head. "They'll grow again when the stones rot. You'll end up with more trees than before."
"Good." Genevieve took another look at the trees. "I hope they grow forever."
"Nice flower." Blake gestured to the one in her hair. She pointed at Schofield. Blake smirked as they kept walking.
There was a farmhouse. It looked old and rotted. Next to it was a small barn, ragged with shellholes. Everything is still.
