Chapter Twelve
When I checked my garden the next morning I knew there was a problem. There were all sorts of reasons I’d anticipated my little plot of vegetables not going to plan: foreign microbes, the wrong soil pH, an overly moist environment, the twilit conditions. But my plants were fine—more than fine. The onions were already three inches tall, their shoots oddly thick and beefy. The jalapenos measured in at a whopping five inches—five inches after being in the ground just a few days—and the tomatoes weren’t far behind. I could smell the spice of their leaves from two feet away.
Plant steroids, I thought, eyeing the dark soil nervously. I’m growing Plant Godzilla. Then I cast an even more nervous gaze around me, searching for any glimpse of the wall. If I could see the wall, Joanna
