California: A Novel (29 page)

“What is it? Just tell me.”

“Micah came to my room when the others were outside working. He told me that if I didn’t get in line, there would be no place for me on the Land. He said it would be worse than I could ever imagine. He was whispering. He said the Pirates were still out there, beyond the Forms we were building, and that they’d kill me if they ever got the chance.”

Frida didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t talk back, I just wanted him to leave my room. But he didn’t. Instead he leaned close and whispered, ‘Ogden was yours, right?’ He began to describe my son: the color of his eyes, the birthmark on his left arm, the shirt he was wearing when August carried him onto the bus. I started to cry—how dare Micah threaten me like that? I’d already given him everything.”

Anika was crying now. She wiped her eyes with the back of her arms. “Then he turned and walked away. I had my eyes on his back. That’s when I saw the red peeking out of the back pocket of his jeans. It was just the edge of a bandanna, grazing the hem of his shirt, but as soon as I saw it, I felt that same jolt of fear, and I had to shut my eyes. I should have screamed. I don’t know why I didn’t. Micah had put the bandanna there, so I’d see it, I’m sure of it. He must have heard me gasp because he turned around once more. He actually smiled at me.

“He said Ogden would be safe. All I had to do was attend the meetings and get along with everyone else. With him.”

“And so you did?”

“First I tried to tell Peter what had happened. He said I was overreacting, that Micah was just trying to get me to cooperate. Peter didn’t understand. He said he missed Ogden but had always been afraid for him. Now he wasn’t. He thought I was mistaken about the red bandanna, but I wasn’t, I just couldn’t prove it. And then Micah announced to everyone that I’d be moving to a bedroom with a door and that I’d get to take over the kitchen. He was giving me special privileges like a bribe for good behavior.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Frida said. “Or maybe he was just trying to apologize and make things right after he scared you so badly.”

Anika pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. When she removed them, her eyes were pink, her face drawn and tired. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Micah was being smart, and he knew it wouldn’t take much to bribe me into submission.” She shook her head. “Your brother, he swept in, over us all, and we couldn’t stop him.”

As they finished baking, Frida kept replaying Anika’s story about her brother and the children in her mind. There was no way Cal had any idea what Micah had done; if he had, he would have told her. He’d be too afraid for their own unborn child not to.

At dinner last night, Frida had noticed again how young Sailor looked. Dave, too. And Burke. And the guy she’d waved to on the way back from the shower, Doug. These men were barely out of childhood. The mothers on the Land must have sensed this and welcomed them happily.

Frida was probably the youngest woman on the Land. Fatima had to be in her midforties; Sheryl, too. Pregnancies could happen, but accidents wouldn’t be likely. Kids had been removed from the future.

Perhaps Anika had done the right thing and given Ogden a safe upbringing inside of Pines. And maybe it was easy to give up parenthood for the life Micah offered them. A life of regular meals, warm showers, leisurely afternoons, and a bed. Cookies when they behaved. Maybe the one thing that every parent wants is to be a child again, to be taken care of.

Micah had planned everything, Frida realized. He had foreseen every motivation.

She imagined her own child, small as a fig. He would be good. He would be necessary. Her brother would see that, and he would accept him.

He had to. If not, then what?

Frida wanted to believe that her brother had sent those kids to Pines because he thought they’d be better off. But there had to be more to it. Micah wasn’t selfless. He had to benefit in some way.

Frida was at the trough rinsing the baking sheets when she heard someone whisper hello at the front of the kitchen.

There was Fatima, waving. Anika turned to Frida with a tight smile.

“Good morning, ladies,” Fatima said. “Micah said I could join your baking lessons. He thought you might need some help.”

S
ailor and Dave sometimes missed the meeting the morning after a patrol, and they told Cal he could sleep through it today, too. August had left, and only Peter and Micah remained. But once Cal got into bed, he was restless, and he couldn’t even close his eyes. He was thinking about Frida, about what he’d tell her about the night. He wanted to describe how the Forms shined in the moonlight, how magical they were, and how it felt to see the Land from way up high in the Towers. He thought, maybe, she might understand. She’d said it herself: she wanted to stay on the Land; there was no other choice. Maybe they weren’t fighting after all.

He couldn’t interrupt her in the kitchen, though, not without causing a scene. The last thing he and Frida needed was to draw attention to themselves. He might as well do as he normally did. He got out of bed and put his boots back on.

Inside the Church, Micah lay curled into a pew, his arms crossed, his chin to chest. He didn’t move when Cal walked in; he was asleep. Goose bumps had spread across Micah’s arms, and his legs looked tense, as if they were trying to kick off the cold.

“Micah,” Cal said, and he jerked awake.

He saw Cal and let out a little laugh, then sat up and yawned. His hair hung stringy across his shoulders.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Cal said.

“I was dreaming.”

“You sleep here?”

“Sometimes.”

“Without a blanket?”

Micah shrugged. “A lesson in fortitude.” He stood up and stretched. “Fuck, it’s cold. Good thing you made it out of the Forms. Dave is still impressed. So is Sailor, but, come on, he’s like a toddler at the aquarium. You’re his jellyfish.”

“Micah, they’ve told me some things.”

“I know.”

“These past few days, I’ve been thinking.”

“I noticed.” He raised an eyebrow. “You really want to know how this place works, don’t you?”

“I have to. We can’t be in the dark anymore.”

“‘We’? I told you, what you learn in the meetings is secret.”

“I was on security; it wasn’t a meeting.”

“It’s still sensitive information.”

“Is it? We talked mostly about Plank, which, we all know, only Plankers care to hear about. Dave and Sailor told me Toni was probably a bad recruiter.”

Micah smiled. “They’re right. She fell in love with me that weekend we met, and everything went downhill from there.” He blew on his hands before rubbing them together for warmth. “Though she did enjoy being the only woman in a sea of men.”

“More like a pond of boys.”

“More like pond scum.”

Cal laughed. “And you liked that she chose you.”

“Are you kidding? I loved it. It’s probably why I got so involved. I’d been singled out, made to feel like I was destined, like the Sun King.” He paused. “And it’s probably why I was so devoted to her. At first.”

“‘At first’? You always said you were totally faithful, that she was crazy for being so jealous.”

“She was, but that doesn’t mean she was wrong. I did have a wandering eye. She simply couldn’t hold my attention.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Micah said.

“Where’s Toni now?” Cal asked.

“She’s not in the Group anymore, you knew that.”

“Are you?”

“Yes and no.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Micah stood up and stretched. Cal waited for him to finish.

“Micah?”

“When the Plank boys first joined us, I asked them about the farmhouse. I don’t like nostalgia, it’s useless thinking, but I found myself missing those years, wanting to bring some of that time back. Not that I could ever do that, not really.”

“I can’t blame you for trying,” Cal said. “It was beautiful there.”

Micah closed his eyes, and for a moment Cal saw him as his old roommate. Micah’s cluttered desk and unmade bed, the socks he’d wear two days in a row before changing into a new pair. They’d stay up so late some nights, reading, drinking, talking—about what? T-ball. Adorno. Whose grandparents were weirder. What if they’d been born in 1472. Or 1981. Or 2015. Or tomorrow: “Abort me, Mama” was all Micah would say about that hypothetical. After nights like those, they’d be yanked awake just an hour or two later by sunlight pouring into the room. One time, Micah groaned and threw a sneaker at the window; the shoe bounced off the glass, thankfully. Neither put up a sheet to cover the light or even discussed it. That wasn’t how they did things at Plank.

“Come on,” Micah said now, opening his eyes. “I want to show you something.”

Micah began walking toward the stage, and Cal followed. He no longer felt restless; he was calm, as if he’d slept deeply all night long.

“Where’s Peter?” Cal asked.

“In bed,” Micah said, without turning.

When Micah reached the door behind the pulpit, he lifted his pant leg and pulled a ring of keys from his boot.

“Better than a knife,” Micah said, and turned to open the door.

The door had just one locked knob, but when Micah opened it, there was a second door, also locked.

“Two doors?” Cal said. “Wow.”

Micah wrestled with the lock. “Came like this. It’s mostly for show. Nothing that can’t be bulldozed or blown up.”

“You should know,” Cal said. “Or, no, I guess not.”

“Touché,” Micah said. “But just because I wasn’t killed by a bomb doesn’t mean I don’t know how to make one. Remember how the guys and I used to blow up the empty feed containers?”

“You totally freaked out the livestock.”

Micah hooted. “That’s about all. They weren’t very powerful explosives.”

Cal had to step out of the antechamber so there was room for Micah to pull open the door.

“Here we go,” Micah said, and Cal peered over Micah’s head to see a short, narrow staircase, carpeted with what looked like Astroturf after one too many minigolf games.

Cal wasn’t sure what to expect. Were they headed to the war room? He imagined more maps, maybe a wall of weapons—machetes, machine guns, and sparkling, sharp daggers. Bombs. Bricks of gold.

Micah Ellis as James Bond?
Oh come on, Cal,
he thought.

He took the stairs two at a time, just as Micah did, arms winged, hands not holding anything.

As Cal took in the room he caught himself feeling grateful. No Bond here.

There were books. Real ones, with spines that cracked, pages that you could fold over, underline, tear out, even. Most were hardcover; Cal hadn’t seen those in years, not since he’d graduated from Plank. There was no way Micah would have shown this to Frida.

“Awesome, right?” Micah said.

Pushed against the opposite wall was a ratty couch made of crushed velvet so green it was yellow.
Chartreuse,
that was the word Frida would use. At one end of this couch someone had flung two gingham pillows, badly sewn, probably stuffed with the feathers of a sad, small bird.

On the table in front of the couch was a pile of comic books. Cal thought it was a series his father had collected.

Above them was a skylight, the glass still intact, the weak dawn light streaming through. The steeple’s spire was visible through the glass.

“They put that in when they were rehabbing this place,” Micah said, gesturing above. “It used to lead to the steeple, but now you can’t access it that way. Not much forethought for authenticity, but at least it’s warm in here.”

“You’re lucky the bell’s not there anymore,” Cal said. “Someone would want to climb up to ring it.” A little boy, he thought. “You come up here a lot?” he asked.

“I do,” Micah said, sitting down, “but not as much as I’d like.” He sighed and picked up a pillow. “It’s silly, which is why it’s a secret. It means too much to me to share.”

“That’s selfish.”

Micah shrugged. “Sounds about right for me, don’t you think?”

Cal laughed and walked to the bookcase. He resisted the urge to run his finger along the spines, but he read some of the titles.
The Prince. The Pleasure of the Text. The Waste Land. Bridget Jones’s Diary. A Bereavement.

“
A Bereavement
? Franzen’s posthumous novel?” Cal asked.

“Some are from Plank.”

“And the others?” Cal asked.

“The comics, they’re from Burke’s grandpa.” He paused. “He has no idea I took them and put them here.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Again, sounds about right.”

Cal sat next to Micah and grabbed the comic book. On its cover the superhero wore a mask and suit, its red and blue bisected with black lines, meant to look like spiderwebbing. He was climbing the side of a building.

“My dad used to read these.”

“I know, Cal. We were roommates, remember? You used to go on and on about your dad.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that you didn’t live with the guy, so of course he was godly.”

Cal put down the comic.

“Sorry,” Micah said.

It was the first time, as far as Cal could recall, that Micah had apologized. For anything.

“Micah,” Cal said. There was opportunity here to find out the whole story. This was the moment he’d been waiting for, the moment both he and Frida needed. “If Frida’s pregnant, what are we going to do? Will we be sent away?”

Micah groaned. “You and Peter…”

“Me and Peter what?”

“You won’t let up. You want to know my plan.”

“Do you have one?”

Micah raised an eyebrow. “In a way, yes. But it doesn’t have anything to do with your baby. Who may or may not exist.”

“He does.”

“‘He’?”

Cal took a deep breath. “I know the Land is opposed to expansion, to children.”

“It makes sense, you know it does.”

“Does it?”

“The Land was a mess when we first got here. There were children, but they weren’t doing that well. Almost all of them were underweight. One had a skin infection that needed to be treated. Right after I got here, one girl died of a fever. A fever, Cal. Can you imagine? Almost all of them were still too young to contribute anything, and the adults spent a lot of time looking after them, and they couldn’t get as much work done, couldn’t make preparations for their own survival. That endangered the whole community. Plus, the older ones would be teenagers in a few years, and who knows what would happen then? They might not follow rules or do their jobs. Or they might decide to leave the Land and jeopardize everything.” He paused. “Pines wanted children, and I could provide them with that. The kids are safe, and so are we. Everyone here agreed to the policy.”

“And will that policy remain? The Land’s different now.”

“What I did wasn’t an act of cruelty,” Micah said.

“You can’t send my child away.”

“You’re right, Frida wouldn’t let me.”

“
I
wouldn’t,” Cal said.

Micah said nothing.

“Haven’t you considered passing all this on?” Cal waved a hand through the air. He meant the room, he realized. It was everything to his friend. Even after all that had happened, Micah was his friend.

“An heir?”

“Your word, not mine,” Cal said.

Micah was trying not to smile. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me,” Cal said. “This morning meeting is just ten minutes in. Plenty of time left for you to tell me your crackpot ideas. Just like in our salad days, right?”

Cal expected him to laugh, but Micah had turned inward. When he looked up again, there was something fierce in his eyes, and Cal saw a man who was capable of murder, of beheading, of who knew what else.

“You think I’m just a shill for Pines,” Micah said. “I wouldn’t blame you, if you thought that. I mean, we work with them, so if you wanted to put it that way, you could.”

“Do you put it that way?”

“Depends on who’s asking.”

Micah began to speak in a rush. It was as if Cal had merely reached over and turned a volume knob behind his brother-in-law’s ear, as if Micah had been talking all this time, and Cal just hadn’t heard him.

“I go about once or twice a year. August goes on his own the other times, as often as he can. Aside from bringing them information, we also trade fresh produce and cow’s milk, that kind of thing. You knew that. Sometimes we bring them fish from the stream or barrels of our soil, which I guess is really something else. If you asked anyone on the Land, they’d tell you that Pines loves what we have to offer—the shit we make is
artisanal.
”

“So—what then? August walks into Pines with a bucket of dirt?”

“I wish. The journey is hard, with the state the roads are in, but it’s not impossible once you know the trouble spots. We take the bus. Did you see it, on your trek here?”

Cal nodded. He remembered the pristine school bus.

“We have permits, which are updated at each visit, contingent upon our behavior, our information. There are more people allowed into the Communities than you think. It’s pretty easy to fill out the paperwork.” He waited for Cal to say something, perhaps to express surprise, but Cal said nothing.

“Communities have to communicate with one another,” Micah continued. “It’s obvious, I guess, but I never thought about it until someone explained it to me. It’s more efficient for these guys to work together. Sometimes, at least.”

Cal only spoke because he could tell Micah wanted questions to answer. “Work together on what?” he asked.

“For starters, shipments from outside arrive at one Community, and they need to be distributed to another. People need their coffee from the cartels in Mexico, right? It’s cheaper for a shipment to be delivered to one Community, and then have it exported from there. Easier to negotiate prices.”

A grin crept across Micah’s face, and Cal could tell he was just getting warmed up.

“Communities are all about being private and secure, but in reality their borders are more porous. As long as you don’t draw attention to yourself, you’re good. Our bus looks like the ones all over Pines, so when it arrives, people are happy to look the other way. Most residents don’t want to see outsiders. At all.”

“Is what you have to offer to Pines really so valuable that they let you come and go as you please?”

Micah raised an eyebrow. He tapped his wrist, as if there were a watch on it. “Think about it, Cal. What do the Communities have to offer their citizens?”