by Paul Greci
Dylan and the young guys say nothing. The older women say nothing.
Stan stands up straighter. “Now, gentlemen,” he says, “I hear your concern. You want some control over the pairings. But that control, like we discussed, will cause conflict and jealousy. Since we have no control, it’s less likely to become an issue.” He gestures toward his daughter with an open palm, and I think I see the hint of a tear in his eye. “With Marcy,” Stan says, “a tragic accident took her Council-chosen husband from her. After she’s had her baby and sufficient time to mourn, the Council will choose again for her.”
A few of the gray beards start mumbling, then Jim, the first one that had stood up, says, “This isn’t over. If your daughter hadn’t been the first, you’d have done things differently. You wanted to keep some control because she was your flesh and blood. But these new girls, you don’t even know them.”
“I did what I thought was right for the community,” Stan says. “So did Marcy. Maybe someday we won’t need as rigid a system as we do now.”
“What I’m suggesting,” Jim says, “it’s practical, and it’d give us all more ownership. That’s all. I want this community to succeed. It’s all I’ve got. It’s all any of us have got.”
I stand up. “Why did you stop here? Why didn’t you continue to the coast where there are, at least how I understand it, actual settlements that might even have contact with the rest of the world?” As opposed to this maple-jungle, arranged-marriage compound you’ve got here, I think, but don’t say.
All eyes go to Stan.
He strokes his long gray beard. “We didn’t leave the wreckage of Fairbanks to go somewhere else, where someone or some government could just tell us what to do. We stopped here so we could create what we wanted. We picked this place because there was nothing here. We all know what happened over at the lakes where that other group settled. They were on top of a gold deposit. This place hasn’t worked out exactly how we’d have liked, but we’re trying. If you want to head to the coast, be my guest. I doubt things down there are as rosy as you think they are. And as for getting there from here, good luck.”
Now I wish I hadn’t said anything. I don’t want this kind of attention. “I want to stay with my sister,” I say. “And so far, she likes it here. She’s better provided for here than anywhere we’ve been. We’re grateful for the opportunity.”
Jess must’ve caught on, because she smiles and says, “I do like it here.”
“Me too,” Max says. “I think we would’ve starved if it weren’t for all of you.”
Tam just nods. I’m sure she’d love to have her bow and a quiver full of arrows right about now.
“Don’t listen to their lies,” Dylan speaks up. “I know these people. They’ll run the minute they get the chance.” Then he laughs. “But even if they get away, I’ll bring them back.”
Tam shoots him a look that could slice him in half, but says nothing.
“We didn’t run when you and your brother were in trouble,” I say. “I put everyone in danger. I killed a man to keep you from being killed.”
“What someone did in the past,” Dylan says, “is no predictor of what they’ll do in the future.”
“Enough bickering,” Stan says. “Another week and the harvest should be done. We’ve got four more mouths to feed, but we’ll manage.”
I wonder if there had been more women with them when they started this commune or project or whatever it is. The other two young guys haven’t said a word the entire meeting. I wonder how they feel about this system.
Are any of the gray beards their fathers? Any of the women their mothers? I haven’t seen anything that would suggest they are, but how else would they have ended up here?
I want answers to all these questions. More information will help me form a plan, but I don’t know if I’ll have time to gather it. And I could draw unnecessary attention to myself. I’m still kicking myself for standing up and asking why they hadn’t gone to the coast.
One of the gray beards who hasn’t spoken yet steps forward. He glances at Tam, then at Max. Then he turns and faces Stan. “You can tell us what you want us to do, but there’s no guarantee we’ll do it.”
CHAPTER
63
I WORK THE NEXT FOUR days in the potato fields alongside Jess. Max and Tam stay in the yurt with Marcy. The older women rotate between digging potatoes and spending time in the yurt with Max and Tam. Most of the gray beards dig potatoes as well, but Dylan and the other young guys surround the yurt that Max and Tam are in, keeping watch, no doubt.
Jess has managed to convey my message to Max and Tam that I’m working on a plan and they should just keep playing it cool.
Jess doesn’t think anything will happen for a few days at least. She heard one of the older women say they want Tam and Max to feel adjusted. I’m sure they talked more, but Jess can give me only little snatches of information when I collect the potatoes she’s dug. I’ve started carrying her bags of spuds to the holding area. I even carry bags for some of the older women, and for one of the gray beards who seems like he’s having trouble walking.
The weather’s been pretty steady—some clouds but no rain. You get cold if you stand around, but working in the fields keeps you pretty warm.
I’m hoping for a fogbank or some wind, but if neither of those materializes, darkness alone will have to do for our escape attempt.
I’ve whispered parts of the plan to Jess, or at least ideas about parts of it so she’ll know that she’s going to have a big role and will have to do some pretty convincing acting, especially with Dylan around.
I’m staying in a yurt with two of the gray beards and trying to engage them in conversation, show them that I’m coming around to liking this place, while really I’m trying to learn the layout and the schedules and patterns of everyone.
At first they are pretty gruff with me. But once I tell them a little of my story, about my dad wanting to stay in the Sacrifice Area and how long we managed to survive there, they seem to respect me more. Or maybe they can relate to wanting to do what my dad tried to do. At any rate, they open up a little bit.
Tonight I learn that these two guys have been together since the government pulled out. They had each been married but didn’t want to talk much about what had happened to their wives. I think one of the wives took the kids and got on a bus headed north, and the other, childless, died that first summer.
Then these two men banded together and headed south. They had ammo, so they headed straight down the road. They met up with Stan and his group somewhere along the way.
I’m lying down on my bunk, which is maple that’s been planed so it’s flat. On top of that is a thin mattress. I think it’s grass or maple leaves stuffed into a big cloth sack. One of the problems with running from this place is that the land is cleared for at least a quarter mile in all directions. If they see which way we go and are right behind us, Dylan and the other two young guys will chase us down. So, if I could somehow temporarily disable them, or at least distract them, that’d be good. I don’t think the gray beards alone can catch us if we have a little head start.
I take a breath. I have to keep in mind what’s most important. First order of the day: Get Jess the hell out of here. Then Max and Tam.
I think a little more about the escape plan. I still don’t have all the details worked out, but I’m pretty sure it’ll involve some blood and some fire.
CHAPTER
64
THE NEXT DAY, ONLY HALF of the gray beards are in the potato fields. The other four are readying two of the small cabins. One for Max and one for Tam.
Terry, one of the men from my bunk, the one whose wife died that first winter, tells me they’ll live separately, each with their man.
I pull another potato from the ground. “How does the Council choose? I mean, can they choose any of us?”
Terry shakes his head. “Your turn will come. When you’ve been here longer, and”—he smiles—“when you’re older.�
�
I just nod. I want to ask him why but don’t want him to think I’m unhappy with the system. I don’t want any more attention drawn toward me than necessary.
But the question about who is eligible keeps burning a hole in my brain. I just can’t figure it out. I mean, the best way to make young guys loyal to this screwy establishment would be to include them.
“So, how about those guys?” I point to the women’s hut where Dylan and the other two young guys are standing watch. “Do they have a chance of being chosen?”
Terry shakes his head. “Not yet.” He smiles again. “But they’d sure like to.”
I just look at him like I’m waiting for him to explain.
“Travis,” he says, “young people have strong emotions. Irrational at times. We know what we’re doing. We know we need to have babies to keep this place going. There are only a few women who can give birth. An older man won’t be so pulled. We’re less likely to take our wife and strike out on our own. The Council knows that.”
I nod. “So how long do I have to wait?”
“The rule we made when we settled here, and realized the situation, was that you had to be thirty years old. Those guys”—he points toward the hut—“have a ways to go. Newcomers, we decided, no matter how old they are, need to be with us five years before they can be eligible. That way, we’ll know if they’re loyal.”
“What about Dylan?” I say. “I mean, his father and Stan used to be friends, so does that count for anything?”
Terry sighs. “Dylan’s not a newcomer, technically, since he’s been here before. But he’s still a long way from being thirty.”
“Wait,” I say. “Dylan’s been here before? When?”
“He made the trip with his father the first year after the government pulled out, but his father never intended on moving here unless he couldn’t make it work back home.”
I get this sick feeling in my stomach and I wonder what else Dylan has kept secret. He didn’t visit Wendy and Ellen in search of his uncle, but here he is in this totally controlling community.
We dig more potatoes in silence. Their system makes sense in a warped way. I mean, the five-year thing would definitely weed out the uncommitted. But the two young guys who’ve been here since the start, how are they handling this? I mean, being excluded from the eligibilty has to cause some resentment. Maybe they’ve been brainwashed to believe that they too will someday be a great gray beard of the maple compound. Maybe this is all they have. And they’re getting fed and have a potentially important job—patrolling the borders. But for Dylan, this system sounds way too restrictive for a follow-your-vision-at-all-costs psychopath.
I tap Terry on the shoulder. “What if the girls don’t want to, you know, pair up with the person the Council’s chosen for them? What if they fight it?”
“With Marcy, there was no fighting,” Terry says. “Her daddy prepared her well. But these two new ones, I guess the man-of-choice would have to deal with that. I hope it doesn’t come to that. We want everyone to be happy.”
* * *
“What’s your deal?” I say to Dylan. “You travel with us and then work with these freaks to capture us. That’s messed up.”
“You chose to follow my map,” Dylan says. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I didn’t even suggest it. You were heading toward Anchorage.”
We’d crossed paths at the outhouse and when I told him about finding his pack, he just smirked. But I could see the bruises under his eyes. And I bet I’d cracked a couple of his ribs, too.
“Then you just disappear in the fissure?” I ask.
“Sometimes I just need to be alone.”
“Yeah,” I say. “If I pushed someone off a cliff, I’d want to be alone, too.”
Dylan takes a step toward me. “You don’t know what happened.”
“I know that Mike didn’t kill your mom. I believe him.”
“You don’t know anything about Mike.”
“I know he didn’t help capture my sister for this whacked-out, rape-the-young commune. Is this your vision? Is this your idea of basic? It’s bas—”
“The world’s changing,” Dylan says. “And we’re part of the world. If you hadn’t come along, Mike and I would still be up north. Living my father’s dream.”
I shake my head. “You’d be dead. That guy would’ve shot you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that. And you know it, too. Even if you won’t admit it out loud. He raised his gun. A couple hours before that, one of his men killed two girls, unprovoked. I know you can sense things, but even you can’t stop bullets once they’re fired.”
“This place isn’t so bad,” Dylan says. “You’ll see, if you stick around. Right here, we’re making something from nothing.”
“Okay,” I say. “Whatever.”
“It was my dad’s Plan B if things didn’t work out up north.”
“Maybe your dad was wrong. Maybe he had good intentions but somehow his actions didn’t match up to his ideas. Like the guys here. They want to start a community and want it to be fair, but how is what they do fair to the girls? If your dad had a daughter, I bet he wouldn’t want her to be forcibly married to one of these old men. Or if you had a daughter, how would you feel? Or a girlfriend who was married off to someone else? Think about that.”
“You don’t know anything,” Dylan says.
“I know you like Max,” I say. “You going to watch her get married off?”
Dylan stares at me for a long moment, saying nothing. Then he walks into the outhouse and closes the door.
I say through the door, “This is probably the last place Max envisions when she thinks of basic.”
His muffled voice comes through the door. “Fuck her,” he says. “I heard what she said down in the fissure.”
CHAPTER
65
SHOVELS, RAKES, AXES, AND ROPE, all in the tool shed. There are also hammers, but no nails that I can see. And screwdrivers, but no screws. Even an electric drill, which is pretty funny given that there’s no electricity. It’s like the drill is both an antique and a future fantasy.
Stan has pulled Terry off potato duty for the rest of the day to start clearing more land, and Terry got the okay to have me help him.
“This is how we get things done around here,” Terry says. “A little bit at a time. It may not seem like much, me and you against this jungle, but every tree we cut and stump full of roots we pull, the more land we’ll have for planting.”
I grab two axes and hand one to Terry. People are still working on the inside of the marriage cabins, but they’ll be done soon. Maybe in a day or two.
“We don’t waste time,” Terry says. “And we don’t waste energy. That’s how we’ve survived out here so far.” Terry grabs a coil of rope.
I think about the dead bodies in the fissure, and the many corpses I encountered in burnt-out basements while on scavenging missions. Sometimes surviving involves luck. But the harder you work, the more chance you have of being lucky. And it’s obvious that people work hard around here. But all the hard work in the world is for nothing if you’re living in a place that’s so controlling that people can’t even choose when and who to marry.
I follow Terry in the direction of the yellow cliffs to the edge of the maple jungle. Big red leaves grace spiny branches growing from skinny trunks. The first time my ax hits a trunk, it bounces back.
“Strike it at a slight angle until you break through,” Terry says. He swings, and his ax blade hits the trunk at a slight downward angle, biting in a little bit. “This is maple. It’s lots harder than spruce or birch or aspen.”
We stand across from each other and take turns swinging on the same tree until we get some movement, then Terry motions for me to stop. He gives the small tree a push, and it falls in slow motion toward the jungle and gets hung up on another tree.
“We’ll cut down five or six, and then we’ll haul them out with the rope. By that time our swinging mu
scles will need a break. Alternating chores makes it so we’re able to work longer. That’s why we’re taking turns swinging—chopping at the same tree. That little pause goes a long way.”
We do what Terry says, chop down six trees, then both work the rope to get them into the clearing. Even though they’re thin, they’re surprisingly heavy. When I mention this to Terry, he tells me these trees have been genetically engineered for disease resistance, strength, sap production, and rapid growth.
I remember what Wendy and Ellen said about the rapid growth being unnatural. “But how did they get everywhere?”
“I don’t know the whole story,” Terry says. “But Stan said one of the advantages to settling in the Buffer Zone was the engineered trees and how useful they would be.”
I point to the circular huts and marriage cabins in the distance. “They’re good building materials, that’s for sure.”
Terry nods. “And great firewood. That’s what these trees are for.”
“Do you ever wonder what it’s like in the lower forty-eight now?” I ask. “I mean, do you think there’re still schools, and cars, and people using money to buy things?”
“I never much cared for living bunched up close to people,” Terry says. “I’ll take breathing room over a shopping mall or a grocery store any day. But my guess is they’re having some pretty hard times down there. A country like the United States, if it still exists, doesn’t just abandon land and people like it did up here, unless things are dire.”
“Yeah, I guess. But I want to live with people. Girls.” I laugh. “And I want Jess to have a happy childhood. A normal childhood with other kids her age before it’s too late.”
“Normal?” Terry says. “Normal changes with the times and circumstances. You live here long enough and this will become normal. You’ll see.”
I nod and say, “Maybe you’re right. I guess I’ll find out in time.”
Terry smiles. “Wait till spring when we tap some trees and boil the sap down to make syrup. It’s delicious. We’ve already finished last year’s syrup, but next year we’re hoping to double our take and build up a surplus.”
