by Edan Lepucki
“Deborah had grabbed for Randy as soon as she could, but when Micah started, Randy began to cry and pull away from her, as if the Pirate were his father. Micah ordered Randy to follow him out to a Form and made him hang up the head. Micah left it to rot into a skull. There were a few more skirmishes with Pirates after that, but never on the Land proper. By the time they stopped altogether, there were five heads hanging from the Forms.”
Neither woman spoke. Frida searched for something harmless to ask.
“You said you built more Forms?”
“We did. We hadn’t thought of them as security, as a gate to keep people out, until Micah suggested it. We also built the lookout Towers. We worked for months. Aside from using all the inessential stuff here on the Land to add to the Forms, August had begun leaving and coming back with discarded items for us to use. He was going to Pines—that’s when we found out about that. I remember my hands then; they were shredded from all the manual labor. I was glad the kids missed that.”
“You haven’t told me what happened to them. Where is your son?”
Anika looked like she might throw up, and Frida glanced at the window to check the dawn’s progress. The sun was about to rise. When Anika spoke, her voice was low and quiet. “It’s almost dawn. Morning Labor is about to start.”
“Just hurry and tell me now.”
Anika shook her head and grabbed the bowl of dough. “You can’t make me rush a story like that. Let’s knead this before it’s too late.”
16
At the morning meeting, they convened in a circle on the Church’s stage. It was so cold, they covered the icy metal chairs with blankets before sitting down. August had returned the night before; now he held a clipboard stuffed with yellowed loose-leaf paper and a pencil that he’d sharpened first with a knife and then, when that wasn’t quite sufficient, his teeth. Cal had to admit, the guy did look pretty tough gnawing at the lead. As usual, they spent half an hour reviewing Labor assignments, all of them outlined in August’s notes, and then Sailor told them about his meetings with the team leaders. Cal had been deemed a strong critical thinker by the construction team leader, though he was “unnervingly quiet.” Sailor raised an eyebrow at Cal as he said this. “And everyone in the kitchen loves your wife,” he added.
“What’s going on with the baking?” Micah asked.
“Please don’t stop them,” Sailor said quickly. “That coconut cake she made, and her sourdough? I mean—wow.”
“It didn’t occur to me that I should stop them,” Micah said. “As long as Frida wants to keep doing it, that is.”
“I’m sure Anika has a whole baking regimen in place—kneading, baking, calisthenics,” August said. “Poor Frida, I wouldn’t want to work for that woman.”
Cal wanted to say that his wife enjoyed her baking sessions with Anika, but he held himself back. Frida hadn’t had a friend in so long, not since Sandy Miller, and it was obvious that her time in the kitchen had helped her. To Cal, Anika seemed stiff and humorless, but Frida could draw out the fun in anyone. Hell, she’d done it with him.
“Makes me nervous,” Peter said, and Micah looked up at him quickly. Cal thought he detected a slight shake of Micah’s head, or maybe in his eyes, a speechless no. He wasn’t sure what they were worried about: that Frida would tell Anika about her pregnancy?
August changed the subject so deftly, Cal hardly caught that he was doing so. In moments they were onto other mundane matters: who wasn’t cleaning up after themselves in the Bath; what still needed to be done for winterizing; if there was enough meat on Snorts, one of the pigs, to butcher him.
When they got to questions of agriculture, Cal leaned forward. These past few days, he’d found himself loving this part of the meeting. It made him think of his job back in L.A., working with the volunteers to make sure the crops they’d planted were thriving.
“We want to reorganize the garden next spring,” Peter said, “but we have no real plan of action.”
Cal realized that everyone was looking at him.
“It’s a mess,” Dave said, and Sailor groaned. “If we lose another crop of lettuce, I’m going to—”
“Plus, the seeds,” August said.
“Sailor,” Micah said. “Tell Cal what you’ve got.”
He had heirloom seeds, Sailor explained, from his uncle in Charleston, South Carolina.
“Stuff you haven’t ever seen before, stuff that hasn’t been grown commercially for three, four hundred years,” he said. “He gave them to me when I left for Plank. I hoarded them when I first got there, don’t know why. But I brought them here. We should use them.”
Cal couldn’t help but feel giddy. He’d read about seeds like these.
“I’d be happy to take a look.”
The men, even Micah, beamed. That was it then: they needed a farmer for their Village People. This was why Cal had been invited into the circle of power.
They’d moved onto plumbing. There was a question of making the work mandatory for everyone, including themselves. “If we do it without complaint,” Peter said, “it’ll set an example.”
All the men begrudgingly agreed.
“The truth is,” August said, “the job can’t be voluntary anymore. Nobody wants to do it.”
“Latrine digging isn’t that bad, especially compared to maintaining the outhouse,” Dave said, and Micah held up a hand, wincing.
August turned to Cal. “This is glamorous, isn’t it?”
“Certainly is,” Cal replied, and August laughed.
Cal was relieved when the meeting ended. Even the discussion of security, plans to build three more Forms, and adding another man to the night shifts proved a snore. Part of him was glad the meeting had been so boring; he wouldn’t be compelled to talk about its tedium with Frida. When he’d finally learned about Pines two days earlier, about how August traded with them, Cal had been glad for the keep-quiet rule. It kept him from repeating to Frida what she might not be able to hear. It had been a relief.
Before Cal left the meeting, Micah winked and said, “Fun, right?”
Micah had used that word, fun, so carelessly. The meetings weren’t about fun. They were an opportunity: Cal had been invited to peer behind the curtain. At least Cal was learning how the Land worked. Frida didn’t seem that interested anyway.
The truth was Cal was biding his time. He had plans to ask about the recruitment process. It seemed a harmless topic, outdated as far as he could tell, since the Land’s philosophy was about containment, not expansion. He wanted to know who had lured Dave and Sailor here and why.
Toni had been the one to tell Micah and Cal about the Group. It was during her visit to Plank, after they’d gone to the street fair. Her cousin had eaten two funnel cakes and a fried candy bar, and as soon as they pulled onto campus he’d opened his door to throw up a murky soup that made Toni ask if she should call someone for help. To Cal’s delight, the boy had shaken his head and stumbled away, leaving the two roommates alone with the girl every other Planker was dying to talk to. Or at least smell. Someone had whispered it was jasmine oil she wore; someone else had seen her shampoo bottle in the upstairs bathroom. “Peppermint bark,” he’d reported, and the news was whispered from one ear to the next.
In other circumstances, Cal probably wouldn’t have given Toni a second glance, but this was Plank. No female students. No Internet porn. No neighborhood girls to fantasize about. Not even a female professor since he’d started. Sometimes it felt like Cal’s desire would eat him alive; he fell in love with trees, a certain horse, a washcloth in the farmhouse bath. Not that masturbation helped. That was just the body, turning inside out.
Toni was short and athletic, no breasts to speak of, her long brown hair tied into a ponytail at the top of her head. She seemed to like Cal, but only in the way you might like a boy you were babysitting: because he said funny things and went to bed on time. With Micah, she was different. Cal could tell by the way she laughed at Micah’s jokes, and the way her voice
went higher when she addressed him, as if she wanted to sound more feminine. She seemed to drink in everything he said.
The three of them were leaning against the car, staring at the stars. Toni had asked Micah to point out constellations, and the only reason Cal was still there was because Micah didn’t know shit about stars and had said so.
“I hope my cousin won’t get you in trouble for going to the fair,” Toni said to him.
Micah nodded. “For that stunt? Definitely. We’ll probably have to clean up goat poop for three weeks straight.” He was lying, of course, but Toni didn’t need to know that.
“Reminds me of some friends I have in L.A. In Echo Park. They’re always pulling these crazy stunts,” she said.
She and Micah commenced a conversation about neighborhoods and geography that, at the time, didn’t make sense to Cal. He had looked back up at the stars, and the stars behind those stars, and then at the farmhouse. He thought he saw Plankers, perched at their windows, watching them.
“Anyway, my friends do this thing,” Toni said, raising her voice a little. She wanted to bring Cal back into the conversation, he realized.
“They call themselves the Group,” she had said.
“The Group?” Cal repeated.
Micah crossed his arms.
Her friends had created it, Toni explained; she’d met them while hitchhiking from Seattle, her hometown. “Or maybe they aren’t the founders. It’s all very nebulous,” she said. “It’s a performance group, but with a political edge. They do some amazing, thought-provoking stuff, and so far they’ve managed to get away with it. It’s probably because people aren’t sure who they are, but everyone loves their stunts.”
Micah had uncrossed his arms by then. “What kind of stuff do they do?”
“It’s better if you see for yourself. Get to a computer,” she said, “and look them up.”
She and Micah were standing closer now. Cal knew when to make himself scarce. He interrupted their conversation to thank Toni for taking him to the fair. “Have a nice night,” he’d called as he walked away, but they weren’t listening.
That night, Cal slept in the stable beneath a blanket that smelled like hay. He never thought he’d see Toni again, and he didn’t think his roommate would, either. But after that, Micah found a way to get off campus and to a computer and learn about the Group, and he and Toni started a correspondence.
Cal preferred not to think about the rest of that semester. How Micah began reading Guy Debord and a slew of other French writers, then some anarchists Cal couldn’t keep track of. There was even a small blue book written by an anonymous committee of writers and, predictably, the continual rereading of Marx. And then, who knew what else? Micah began asking others at dinner, “What do you believe in?” He was excited about returning to his hometown and seeking out the Group. “How will you make money?” Cal had asked once. Micah shrugged as if the question, and Cal’s pragmatism, bored him.
After they’d both moved to L.A., Micah invited Cal to a meeting of the Group. Cal had told himself he wasn’t interested in the Group’s stunts. He wasn’t, but he also didn’t want to see Toni. Not that he carried a torch for her or anything; it was just that he didn’t want to feel like a little boy around her: blushing when she spoke to him, feeling jealous when she paid attention to anyone else. Cal didn’t know then that Toni and Micah would become an item, and that she and Frida would become friends. Frida had no idea they’d met Toni at Plank; Micah and Toni had asked Cal to keep that secret, for reasons that Cal didn’t think too much about. But every once in a while it was hard not to ask himself the uncomfortable question: if Toni had been interested in Cal back at Plank, would he have joined the Group instead of Micah?
Now, Cal couldn’t stop imagining Toni marching onto the Land, unannounced. She had disappeared from L.A.; maybe she would reappear here, just as Micah had. Cal and Frida would have a chance to find out what had happened to her.
Perhaps she was the recruiter, and always had been.
He would ask Micah and the others, and they would tell him because he was one of them now. He’d just need to give it a little while. He reminded himself to remain silent, to listen, until the right moment presented itself.
* * *
The next morning, August held up a new secretarial prop, this time an old-school reporter’s notepad, which fit like a Device in the palm of his hand. “It’s time to start plans for the next journey. I’ll probably go in a few weeks, so I need to get another list going. Of needs.”
Cal had quickly learned that a journey meant a trip to Pines. Not to be confused with a round, which referred to August’s regular survey of the areas around the Land. From what Cal had gathered, there were only a few settlers scattered in a hundred-mile radius. All were peaceful, and few interacted with one another. On a round, August’s job was to make sure the settlers stayed put. They were not to go exploring. On a journey, August avoided these settlers; he had but one goal, and it was to get to the Community.
“They’ve asked us to report on the rate of disease,” Micah said.
“What’s the concern?” Peter asked.
“Probably isn’t one,” Micah replied. “They just want to feel smug that their mortality rate has leveled off. You know, that they’re truly protected.”
“I’m sure they’re vigilant about possible viruses,” Sailor ventured. No one responded.
“Let’s ask them, straight up, why they need that information,” August finally said to Micah. “They’ve been more forthcoming lately.” Micah nodded. August held up the reporter’s notebook and said, “And what do we need from them?”
Sailor leaned forward, his eyes rolled up to the ceiling, as if he were trying to recall the capital of some far-off country. “Housekeeping needs vinegar and another set of mops, if we can get them, and we’re low on iodine tablets. Anika wants the baking crate replenished.”
“Of course she does,” Dave said, and snorted.
“She does have a lot of requests,” August said. “Remember when we got her ChapStick with SPF? It was hard to get one tube, but once she had it, all the other women wanted one for themselves? We don’t want another situation like that on our hands.
“This list will be tough, too. Last time I was there, it wasn’t easy getting the iodine tablets. The demand is so high. They’re paranoid about the water supply. Lord knows why, with their filtration system.”
“Water at Pines tastes like a motherfucking swimming pool,” Micah said.
Everyone laughed except Cal. He knew he shouldn’t be shocked by the conversation, but this was the first time he’d witnessed the men make plans for a journey. They were being so casual about it. And why not? The facts seemed simple: August trekked to a Community, to Pines, to procure the Land’s supplies. And to get those supplies? They provided information: the rate of disease, who might be a threat, who was out here. Could that be all? It seemed too easy.
August said they could revisit the list of needs the next day, and the men fell silent.
“Now that August’s back,” Micah said after a moment, “the Vote is upon us.”
“Only one or two are uncertain,” Sailor said.
“It should be unanimous,” Peter said. “Even if it doesn’t have to be.”
Cal didn’t want to know how Micah planned to convince people to vote a particular way. Something to do with denying requests for supplies from Pines, perhaps.
On his way out of the Church, Peter called Cal’s name.
Cal hung back and let the others step outside ahead of them. Once the two were alone, Peter asked, “How’s Frida?”
“Great. She really likes Anika, actually. I know you guys think she’s sort of schoolmarmish, but she’s been welcoming to Frida.”
“I see,” Peter said.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just let me know if anything changes.” He ran a hand along his chin, which was peppered with stubble. “She’s a tricky one,” he said after a moment, and Cal di
dn’t know if he meant Anika or Frida. “Any changes in Frida, physically speaking?”
“I think she’s showing, but she says I’m nuts.”
“You are. She isn’t.”
It made Cal feel strange, imagining Peter watching Frida, eyeing her body for that tell-tale rise above her belly button. It wasn’t his job.
“You’d like a kid here,” Cal said. It seemed obvious to him now.
Peter laughed, but it was too big, too horsey, to be convincing.
“Everyone would,” Cal added.
“Not everyone.”
“I’ve thought about what you told me before,” Cal said. “How Micah can change.”
Peter had started walking toward the open door. “It’s not that he can or can’t change,” he said quietly. “It’s more that he isn’t the person he projects himself to be. Not exactly.”
“No shit. He faked being a martyr.”
Peter shook his head. “No, I mean, he isn’t only serious, he isn’t only tough.” He smiled. “Just look at how he treats Frida. With her, he’s a softie.”
“Only with her.”
“Maybe, but maybe not.”
Cal thought they were done talking, but then Peter said, “You’re acting differently around Frida.” He spoke so earnestly, Cal couldn’t be angry.
“I am?”
“You seem distracted, like you aren’t paying attention to her. You don’t want to make her feel vulnerable, not at a time like this. She needs to know you’re there for her, so that she doesn’t confide in anyone else.”
“She knows.”
“I don’t mean to pry,” Peter said. “We just want to make sure she’s happy. That’s she’s ready for the Vote.” He seemed about to say something else but stayed silent.
Once they’d reached the doorway, Cal had to close his eyes against the sun. When he opened them again, Peter was already walking away.
