California: A Novel

by Edan Lepucki

  “Anika, put down the gun.” Cal stepped forward. “Frida and I can leave the Land tomorrow morning if that’s what you want.”

  Anika turned to him. “Okay, go. But don’t expect us to help you like we did the Millers. We were protecting them. We cared about them.”

  “Why didn’t you take Ogden somewhere on your own?” Frida asked. “What kept you here?”

  “Frida,” Cal said. “Stop.”

  Anika didn’t speak for a moment, just kept cradling the gun. She looked up. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a child out here? Before Micah and the others arrived, we were barely living. It took everything I had to nurse Ogden. And after that he still had to be kept warm, and entertained, and I had to sing to him when he couldn’t sleep, and I had to make sure the water I drank wouldn’t kill me, or that a Pirate wouldn’t kill me. The list went on and on. All I had to offer my son was fear and exhaustion. Ogden didn’t deserve that.” She paused. “Sandy was born to be a mother, and she was brave. If Micah was going to protect only one family out there, it had to be the Millers. They’d live as we had always wanted to. Purely.”

  Anika seemed to fall into thought, and Cal said, softly, “You don’t have to tell us anything more.” Frida wanted to smack him; he thought he was appeasing Anika, but Frida could tell that the woman wanted to unburden herself.

  “You know,” Anika said, “Peter went to see the Millers not too long before they died. I’d asked him to do it. Go check on our friends, I said. Please. I missed Ogden, and I suppose missing him made we wonder about Janie. I wanted to make sure she was okay. August said she was, but I never trusted him. And I guess I can’t trust Peter now, either, because neither of them told me about Garrett. Their little happy family.”

  She laughed.

  “What’s funny?” Cal asked.

  “You two are scared I’m going to shoot you when you could very well be poisoned in your beds. Give it three, four years.”

  “The Millers poisoned themselves,” Cal said.

  “Are you sure? Peter told me tonight that Micah went to see them before they died. Before that, Micah had never gone to visit the Millers—he preferred to act as if they didn’t exist.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Frida said, though she did. Somehow, she knew Anika was telling the truth, but still she wanted to strangle her for speaking it aloud. There was only so much Frida could bear.

  Anika cocked the gun. “Maybe I’m wrong. What do I know?” She looked at Cal. “How do I know you didn’t kill the Millers?”

  “I’m not a murderer,” Cal said.

  Anika raised an eyebrow. “How can I be sure?”

  It was like Cal had been sucked into the air by some unnameable force, and Frida watched as his body swept the space between him and Anika. He grabbed the gun from her hands and slammed its handle against her face. Anika didn’t make a noise as she fell to the floor.

  “Cal!” Frida cried out.

  He was already pulling off Anika’s purse, yanking it so that the strap ripped free. “Take her flashlight, and wait for me at the bottom of the tree.”

  She dropped the book and took the bag. She was crying as she picked up the flashlight.

  22

  For once, his wife listened to him. When he heard Frida’s feet hit the ground below, he turned back to Anika, who lay at his feet with a hand to her face. She was moaning softly.

  “I told you to put down the gun,” he said. He didn’t know if she heard him. He still felt that clobbering rage. How dare she corner him and Frida and then suggest that he was the one to kill the Millers?

  He was glad it was too dark to see her face clearly; if there was blood, he couldn’t make it out. He didn’t want to see what he’d done to her. She was moving a little, which meant she must be okay. He hadn’t knocked her unconscious.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” he said.

  She groaned, this time more loudly. With one hand, she pushed herself upright.

  “Stay where you are,” Cal said, but Anika wasn’t listening. She was trying to stand up. He couldn’t let her.

  “Stop,” he said, and raised the gun at her.

  Anika kept moving until she was upright. Cal knew she’d never do what he asked, not now, not ever. And even if he and Frida got away, Anika might yell for the others on the Land to go after them. He needed to stop her.

  Cal swung the gun through the air, and it landed against Anika’s face for a second time. He thought he could hear the crunch of her cheek against the metal and, a second later, the crack of her head against the wooden floorboards. It was its own gunshot.

  Cal felt his chest moving up and down, and he put his hand there, to still it. He waited to see if she would get up again, but she didn’t. He knelt down and found her wrist and waited for her pulse. There it was; she was still alive. He hurried down the ladder.

  Cal took the flashlight from Frida’s hand and pulled her away from the tree. They couldn’t run across the open field, or they’d be discovered. People might have heard the altercation in the woods, the noise traveling across the Land, shaking everyone awake. They would want to know what had happened. They’d be here soon.

  If Cal and Frida went west, they’d eventually hit the Forms where they’d originally met Sailor. All they needed to do was get through those, and then they could return home. Maybe they’d spend a few hours there before heading out again. They should have that much time. Once the Land discovered Anika’s injury, they might come after them.

  “Please stop crying,” he said as soon as they were on their way.

  Frida was sniffling behind him, sucking in her whistling breath.

  “It was either her or us, Frida.”

  He quickened his pace, pointing the flashlight into the trees beyond. Frida was right to be crying—what he’d done to Anika was brutal. He meant to slow her down to protect his wife and child, but in the moment he hadn’t thought about what would happen to Anika after tonight.

  “Please,” Cal said, but he wasn’t sure what he was asking for. Some forgiveness maybe, or just some space to focus. He had to focus.

  From the Tower, he’d realized how small this stamp of woods was. They’d hit the Forms soon enough, as long as they kept walking in the right direction. He would not think of what had just happened, what he was capable of. He pointed the flashlight ahead of them and walked carefully forward.

  The first Form had been built into the woods so that, from afar, it looked like another tree. It had even been built straight up, rather than curved, and it resembled a thick and sturdy trunk. When they got close enough to see what it was, Frida reached for Cal, and they stopped. The Form was filled with crushed rusty soda cans and other trash. It smelled vaguely of metal and sour milk.

  “Not much of a Form,” Cal said.

  “You mean Spike,” Frida whispered. She squeezed Anika’s bag between her hands.

  He nodded. “Spike.”

  They made their way carefully around the base of it, and as they did so, Cal said, “I saw a map of this place. Sailor showed it to me.” Frida didn’t reply, but she continued walking behind him, as if she trusted him to lead. She had stopped crying.

  The second Spike came a few feet beyond where the woods stopped. Cal knew the broken-glass border wouldn’t begin until they were a third of the way through, and he hoped by then he could get a handle on where they were. They just had to move forward—he was pretty certain they were moving west.

  He didn’t know what they would do once they’d escaped. Where could they go? He imagined Anika lying unconscious in the tree house.

  “Just walk,” Frida whispered.

  The Spikes hulked over them. His flashlight shined on a bald bicycle seat, then a rocking chair with only one curved leg. Miniblinds, dented and bent.

  He pictured them back in the Millers’ house. It would feel empty without the things August had brought for them in the duffel bag. Frida would realize she no longer had her father’s sweater or her abacus o
r her favorite dress. And then what? She would walk around the room with its metal table and crowded shelves, her eyes roaming. She would seize upon something new to treasure. They both would. Cal remembered his pillow, waiting on the bed in the Hotel, and something in him sagged. One more thing, lost.

  It was cold and their breath was visible in the air. Cal had the gun in the pocket of his coat, and he felt its weight, and hated it.

  They were walking fast, too fast, and Cal realized he didn’t know where they were. Somehow they’d been on a descent, and now he couldn’t see anything but what was right in front of them. A wall of Forms. Of Spikes. He didn’t care what was in them, or what they were called. They didn’t look familiar, they were built just inches apart, and suddenly Cal wasn’t sure which way to go.

  He grabbed Frida’s hand. He was unable to admit that he’d probably taken a wrong turn. Even now he was a coward and a liar. “This way,” he said, and turned them around.

  They circled a smaller Spike, just taller than Frida, its tip capped with a saw, teeth sharp in the moonlight. He tried to see the maps in his mind, but there was only blankness. Maybe Micah had unwittingly told everyone the truth—he’d sent Cal and Frida out here to die.

  “Frida,” he said.

  “I know,” she said.

  He knew she was just as scared as he was, and yet neither stopped walking. They had been lured into this labyrinth; they were under its spell.

  Someone cleared his throat.

  It was a man, Cal could tell by its gruff animal quality. Whoever it was, he was nearby, watching them, waiting. He would pounce.

  Cal did not grab for his gun. Instead he said, “Run,” and pulled Frida away from the sound.

  They ran between the Spikes, turning one way and then another. The Spikes seemed to grow taller, and he thought he saw them swaying in a wind he didn’t feel, bending to its will like trees and skyscrapers.

  Frida was saying his name, but he didn’t listen, he was dragging her as far as he could from that man.

  They ran until Cal’s arm caught on something sharp. Barbed wire. He felt like a piece of paper, torn in half. Frida cried out as if she, too, had felt the sting.

  “Calvin.” It was a man’s voice.

  He stopped, and looked behind them.

  August stood with his arms crossed. He wore his sunglasses, even in this darkness. He didn’t look cold. He looked like he had never been cold in his life.

  “You’d better come with me,” he said, and Cal knew it was over.

  He gave up his gun and the flashlight, and Frida finally surrendered Anika’s purse. In silence, August led them away, his own larger flashlight bobbing up and down with each step.

  At first Cal thought they were headed back to the Land—for what, Cal didn’t want to imagine—but when a few of the Spikes began to look familiar, he realized he and Frida had encountered them the day they’d arrived. So August was taking them away from this place.

  Cal turned to Frida, whose face looked calm in the dark, even beatific, and he decided to follow her intuition. Cal wished he could feel as certain.

  “Careful now,” August said, when they approached the broken glass in the ground, but he would give nothing else away.

  When they reached the last Spike, August said, “You’re okay now.”

  “Thank you.” Cal was ready to shake his hand, but August was gripping the flashlight and made no move to let go.

  “Anika,” Frida whispered.

  “I know,” August said.

  “Shit,” Cal said. “How did you find out? Does everyone know?”

  August smiled. “You really think she went up there without telling anyone?”

  “Why didn’t you stop her?” Frida asked.

  “Micah wanted it like that. He knew Cal would handle it. Anika was getting to be trouble for us.”

  “I only hit her with the gun,” Cal said. “I didn’t shoot.”

  “You did just enough,” August said. He took one hand off the flashlight and patted Cal on the shoulder like he was a goddamned dog.

  Cal’s ears burned. “It wasn’t a little trick I did for you.”

  “Please stop,” Frida said, and Cal didn’t know whom she was talking to.

  “Can we go home then?” Frida asked. “Just like before?”

  August shook his head. “You can’t go back there, not with everyone on the Land so upset. It wouldn’t be safe. Besides, the Millers’ place is going to be occupied. Peter isn’t happy with us. He thought we could convince the others to let in a child.”

  “And because Micah disagreed, he’d rather live on his own?”

  August shrugged. “It’s not Peter’s choice to make. I suppose we’ll find out what he’d rather do when he’s apprised of the situation.”

  “I don’t understand,” Cal said, but he did. Micah would bend the Land back to his original vision. He had to get rid of detractors, Peter included.

  “Where will we go?” Frida asked.

  “The bus,” August said.

  “The school bus?” Frida suddenly looked scared.

  “Don’t worry,” August said. “We’ll talk there.” He started walking again.

  Cal knew immediately where they were going.

  In a few minutes they reached the bus, parked in the middle of the field as if it were a perfectly normal place to find it. Cal wondered if the goldenrod they’d seen on the way in was still there. He’d find out tomorrow when the sun rose. Unless they were leaving right away.

  August opened the accordion door. “After you,” he said.

  Frida climbed in first and, as if this were a field trip, sat in the second row. Cal followed her only when she tapped on the window and called his name.

  “Hurry,” August said.

  The inside looked just as it should: the aisle carpeted with ribbed rubber, the rows of dark green seats, that close-body smell. Cal sat next to Frida, and she dropped her head on his shoulder.

  August ascended and immediately went to the first row of seats. He pulled up the bench seat and from its innards retrieved a blanket and two cans of beans. “I have a can opener around here,” he said. “After we eat, we’ll get going.”

  Cal shook his head.

  “You have to eat,” August said. “You’ll need the energy.”

  “Where are you taking us?” Frida asked.

  “I’ll tell you on the way,” August said.

  “Wait,” Cal said. “I have more questions.”

  August sighed. “If it’s about how we travel by bus, that’s easy. I’ve got a vat of cooking grease in the back. This is a diesel. Again, I’ll explain more once we’re on our way.”

  “It’s not that.”

  August raised an eyebrow, but he was listening.

  “What happened to the Millers?”

  “Oh, darling,” Frida said. “Don’t let Anika get to you.”

  “Stop, Frida,” he said. “August? Tell me. Tell us.”

  August pulled out the can opener and handed it to Frida. She took it and squeezed the handles. She wanted the story, too, Cal saw.

  “No one but me was supposed to have contact with Sandy and Bo,” August said. “I’d told Micah about the boy, and we’d agreed to keep him to ourselves.”

  “Why?” Cal asked.

  “Why not? Who would benefit from that information?”

  “You wouldn’t want everyone thinking they could just start a family out here,” Frida said.

  “When Sandy told me she was pregnant, I delivered a large canister of protein powder and a stethoscope and a kit to read her glucose levels. I had to risk a lot to get that to her. Without me, and the stuff I gave them—traded, my ass—there would have been no kid. Sandy would’ve hemorrhaged during birth. Even if they both survived that, the kid would most likely have died his first year.”

  Cal wondered if Micah knew what August had done for the Millers, or if keeping it from him was part of the risk.

  “Peter went to see the Millers, without any
of us knowing. Well, Anika knew. She requested he go.”

  “Was he angry when he found out about Garrett?” Cal asked.

  “Like you wouldn’t believe. He came back demanding to know why he’d been kept in the dark. He was in the morning meetings, after all, and Micah had always claimed to be totally transparent with him. He and Micah spoke privately, I don’t know what was said. But it apparently hadn’t totally appeased Peter because he came to me.”

  “In private?” Frida asked.

  “He wanted to talk about the Millers coming back to the Land, with the two kids. It was absurd. Seeing Garrett must have flipped a switch in him—made him think about Ogden.”

  “What then?” Frida asked.

  “Peter left the Land again, not long after we’d spoken.”

  August was now looking beyond them, as if waiting for someone to stop his story.

  “He returned the next day. He wouldn’t talk about it with me. He flung himself into things after that. Into morning meetings, governmental concerns. Even Micah’s ideas.”

  “The plan,” Cal said.

  “What plan?” Frida asked.

  “Nothing,” August said.

  “What is it?” Frida asked. She was looking at Cal.

  “Just, you know,” Cal said, his heart clanking in his chest. He couldn’t tell her, she’d freak out. “Micah wants to build more Forms.” It was a feeble lie, but it was all he had.

  “Yeah,” August said. He was talking to Frida, but his eyes were on Cal. “Peter got really into security issues.”

  Frida said nothing.

  “Micah was angry when Peter returned the second time,” August said. “They were in the tree house for over an hour, easy. Whatever happened on Peter’s visit had Micah worked up. The next thing I knew, I was saddling up Sue, and Micah and I were going to Sandy and Bo’s.”

  “Anika said my brother never went to see them,” Frida said.

  “She’s right. He rarely spoke of them. He acted as though they were like any other settlers in the area. But when Peter came back from that second visit—”