“You don’t seem very interested in this,” Cassie said, taking another turn.
“I’ve seen poverty before,” I said. “Like you said, you’re showing me the rest of the story—how little has actually changed for your people since Sarah’s time. But I have to tell you, the place where
I
grew up, Oildale—the ’Dale, the fucking
’08
?—it makes this look like Beverly Hills.”
I grinned, seeing her frown of surprise.
“You know what the difference is between us, Cassie? A hundred and fifty years ago, your relatives were tribal chiefs, the leaders of a proud nation. My relatives? Back then they were probably squatting in some run-down hellhole of a covered-wagon court—or whatever the nineteenth-century version of a mobile-home park was—cooking illegal moonshine instead of crystal meth.”
She pulled into a dirt driveway and stopped the car abruptly.
“I’m glad you’re so in touch with your heritage, Trevor. But, actually, what I brought you here to show you was
this…
”
She clicked on the high beams, illuminating an imposing two-story mustard yellow brick structure with boarded-up windows. Clearly derelict, it sat in the center of a bare, trash-strewn plot of ground the size of three or four football fields.
Without another word, she opened her door and got out of the car.
I opened my own door and watched her back and calves recede, ghostly in the headlights, as she crossed the bare dirt toward the decrepit building. It looked like an old-fashioned schoolhouse, long abandoned, with a little round belfry on top.
Broken glass crunched under Cassie’s heels as her ink black shadow lengthened, stretching up the front steps toward the three shadowy arched doorways beyond. Yellow caution tape, labeled “KEEP OUT” and “DO NOT CROSS,” zigzagged between the columns separating the arches.
I didn’t like Cassie walking around alone in such a sketchy area, where some tweaker could be lurking, waiting to grab her. Leaving the headlights on, I swung the car door shut and followed.
If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own thoughts, I would have figured this part out a long time ago. But I definitely got it
now
.
Earlier, Cassie had shown me why she left: her family’s history and legacy weighed heavily on her mixed-ancestry shoulders. I knew there was even more to it. The way she had skipped over any pictures of her parents, avoiding any mention of how they died, told me a lot. She had also had some kind of boyfriend trouble, too, which was probably the knockout blow, the final straw that drove her away in search of a life with fewer complications.
The rest of the story—why Cassie had
come
back
to Pyramid Lake—was right here in front of me.
In awe of her, I joined her in silence on the threshold of the darkened porch. And I had thought
I
was being clever, getting what I wanted out of Linebaugh? The scale and selflessness of Cassie’s ambition put my own little bit of blackmail to shame.
“When does your new computer literacy school open?” I asked. “You own this building now, don’t you? And Linebaugh’s promised you enough federal education dollars to clean it up, and ensure the program stays tuition-free for everyone.”
She nodded, but didn’t speak or look at me, just gazed up at her future schoolhouse. Even in this light, on her face, I could see powerful emotions at work.
“Computers for every kid on the rez,” I said, thinking it through. “High-speed wireless Internet to every household. All free. You made Linebaugh agree to
all
of this before you came back to work on MADRID.”
Tears glittered in her eyes. She nodded again, unable to speak.
“You’ve done what your great-great-great-grandmother Sarah tried to do but couldn’t. She would be so proud of you. You’re an amazing person.”
Cassie half turned away, and angrily swiped a wrist under her nose. “You don’t even know me.”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “Not really… not yet.” I started to reach for her elbow, then stopped and dropped my arm. “But everything I’ve seen so far, I like.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m glad I met you, Cassie. I’m glad we’re friends.”
“Is that what we are?” she asked. “Friends?”
I nodded. “And colleagues.”
She turned back to face the decrepit schoolhouse again. Her body language was stiffer now.
“Colleagues who can trust each other,” I said. “That means a lot.”
She crossed her arms, and the corner of her mouth turned down. I stuck my hands in my hoodie pockets, fighting the urge to step close and put my arms around her, to brush her hair away from her forehead and hold her until whatever was troubling her went away. And maybe kiss her, too. I knew these weren’t exactly collegial thoughts. I was at risk of getting myself into big trouble here.
“Besides,” I said a bit too quickly, “after seeing what you looked like in high school, I’m curious to find out how often you change your hairstyle.”
“I hate that picture.”
“Why?” There were a lot of things I could have said next—to be funny or mean or to make light of the moment. I could see her bracing for my next shitty comment. But I didn’t want to say any of those things to her right now. I swallowed and instead just told her what I was really thinking. “You were beautiful back then, and you’re beautiful now.”
Cassie stared at me, and I could see her eyes making little rapid movements as she read on my face the truth of what I was feeling. I knew that I couldn’t take it back now or deny it. It was out there. With a sinking sensation, I realized that I had just complicated my life—and hers—at a time when neither of us needed it.
“In Dante’s hell, you really don’t want to know what flatterers get buried in,” she said. But her breathing was rapid and shallow.
My hands came out of my hoodie pockets, and I took a step closer to her.
Then the light flickered and changed, and her eyes widened. We both spun to face the car.
Silhouetted against the headlights, their swinging arms sending long shadows racing across the ground, four beefy figures were striding toward us, closing the distance fast.
I
pushed Cassie back into the shadows of the archway, figuring the less they saw of her, the better. But I could tell they had already seen plenty. All four were big, rough-looking Native guys. Even from ten feet away, I smelled the burnt-oregano tang of weed. Scanning their hands and not seeing a gun, I relaxed, although they probably had knives somewhere.
“This ain’t no no-tell motel, whitebread,” the closest one said. “You can’t be breakin’ in here, even if you got nowhere else to snag your lady, no matter how fine she is.” His long hair looked straggly and greasy. He had a belly on him, too, but his arms and shoulders were thick with muscle.
I looked at my feet and didn’t say anything.
Instead, I waited to see who else would speak up. If no one else did, that meant he was the pack’s alpha dog.
I heard the muted beeps of a cell phone behind me: Cassie, dialing.
“Hey, sweetness, why don’t you step out of there so we can see your little tuatchy properly,” Alpha Dog said, drifting closer. “Who you calling, anyway, your mama? Tell her you came to the old schoolhouse to get a
real
education.”
Cassie grimaced in disgust, holding the phone to your ear. “I’m calling the hospital.”
All four of them laughed, forming a semicircle around us.
“Look, she’s a Redbone, too, and I thought she was all whitebread.” Alpha Dog sneered. “Guess you already know where your tresspassin’ boyfriend is ending up tonight, then, mut. But you’ll be staying and partying with us.
All
of us.”
Reaching behind me, I pulled a long strip of the yellow caution tape loose. Keeping my head down and my eyes lowered, I started wrapping my right hand—palm and wrist, up between each pair of fingers, then looping around the palm again.
“It’s not
him
I’m calling the ambulance for,” Cassie said.
Alpha Dog stepped just inside my space, but I didn’t look up. I tore loose another strip of the yellow tape, wrapping my left hand now. He seemed to be at a loss how to handle me. The weird discrepancy between my submissive body language and my actions was confusing him.
“You think you can take all four of us?” he asked, big fists bunching at his sides. I felt his breath on my cheek.
“Three,” I said.
“What?”
A good head butt is the equivalent of hitting someone in the face with a twelve-pound lead Olympic shot put—especially when they don’t expect it. Alpha Dog dropped in a heap at my feet and rolled onto his back. His eyes fluttered, then closed.
“The
three
of you,” I said, raising my gaze to focus on the rest of the pack. “Not four.”
They stood there gaping, still trying to process what had just happened. Reaching into the pocket of my hoodie, I pulled out a transparent U-shaped rubber mouth guard, thumbed it up under my uppers, and bit down. I looked the three of them over, head to toe, and shrugged.
“I don’t know,” I said, my words muffled by the rubber. “Maybe.”
Alpha Dog was making weird, wet snuffling noises on the ground. His nose was flattened and both his cheekbones looked concave now. I kicked him over onto his side, so he wouldn’t choke to death on his own blood. Then I rolled my shoulders and shook my arms to loosen them up, looking the other guys over some more.
They looked dumb and slow. I reassessed my odds and nodded.
“Probably.”
Then I couldn’t help myself: I grinned at them around the mouth guard.
I think it was the grin that did it. Either that, or Cassie on the phone behind me, saying, “…yeah, just lying on the ground, not moving. I can’t tell how many—at least one person, but it’s dark, so there might be more.”
One of the guys said, “Fucker’s bat-shit crazy,” and all three scattered into the darkness. A moment later Cassie and I were alone, standing over the unconscious Alpha Dog.
“Let’s go,” she said, walking unsteadily back toward her car. “Unless you want to be here when the ambulance and the tribal police arrive?”
I shook my head, pulled the mouth guard from between my teeth, and turned to follow her. As I went by, I planted a heel on the back of Alpha Dog’s hand and—making sure Cassie didn’t see—I ground his palm into the rocks, feeling metacarpals snap beneath my shoe. That ought to keep him from bothering anyone for a while.
Unwinding the yellow tape from my hands on the way back to the car, I considered the situation. Once Cassie’s school opened, with her comings and goings, she would be a regular presence in this neighborhood. I would have to track down Alpha Dog’s name later and impress upon him what a bad idea it would be to ever harass her again. Some of the things he had already said to her were quite ugly.
I hoped he hadn’t upset her.
• • •
Cassie was fine for about fifteen miles. But after we turned onto 446, and the moonlit expanse of the lake came into view on our right, the shakes hit her hard. She pulled over on the side of the road, and covered her face with both hands, making hitching noises. I put my arms around her and just held her, not sure whether she was crying or laughing. I think maybe it was a little bit of both.
I could smell the clean lavender scent of her shampoo. Resting my chin on the top of her head, I stared at the shimmering water and tried not to think about how good it felt to have her in my arms. After a while, she calmed down and pulled away from me.
“That was so stupid,” she said. “I got us into that. I should know better, Trevor—I grew up around here. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “Nothing bad happened.”
She brushed her hair behind her ear and looked at my forehead. “You’re bleeding.”
I probed at the tender spot on my skull, a couple inches above the eye, where the bone was thickest. My fingers came away red. “No big deal,” I said. “Forehead cuts always bleed a lot.”
“That whole thing was my fault, taking us there at night,” she said. “And I’m really sorry. But the way you hit that guy, well… it scares me a little.” Her lips squirmed, and she looked away.
“I thought I handled the situation with a lot of restraint.”
She gave a short bark of a laugh, and nodded. “The crazy part is, I can actually see that. You did. But what I mean is…” Her mouth trembled a little. “…you had
no expression
on your face when you hit him. Nothing at all. Just like you were folding laundry, or waiting for the light to change so you could cross the street. That’s really scary.”
I shrugged. “They were going to gang-rape you. I saw a problem that needed solving. It’s really no different from writing software: sometimes, the simplest and most elegant solution is a brute-force approach.”
Her brow creased. “But now I’m wondering who I’m sitting in a car with. Who I may be getting myself involved with. And how much I’ll end up regretting it.” She turned in her seat, her wide, dark eyes capturing mine. “What kind of guy
are
you, Trevor?”
“A guy you can trust,” I said. “One who believes in the same things you do, Cassie. I’ve been working on Frankenstein—on MADRID—twenty-four seven for the last four years, because I want to fix what’s broken in the world, too—just like you. I don’t care about recognition; if someone else ends up getting all the credit for my work, I’m perfectly okay with that. I just need to make the planet a better place.”
She looked at her hands, which were still shaking a little. “But don’t you ever worry that MADRID could be used to make it
worse
instead? The potential for the government or the military to abuse it is terrifying. That’s another reason why I walked away from this project four years ago. Think Orwell’s
1984
, or
The Minority Report
. I mean, we both want to prevent terror attacks and stop criminals and make the world safer, but what if our work ends up enabling the ultimate Big Brother nightmare?”
“It won’t.” I took one of her hands and pressed it between my palms to calm her trembling. “At least, not for very long…” I smiled. “I’ve thought about this a lot. I can tell you exactly what will happen. In the short term, sure, yeah, we probably will have more people preemptively yanked out of line at airports—maybe even shipped off without a trial to some Guantánamo Bay sort of place. Actually, I think the worst abuses of MADRID are most likely to happen in the private sector: illegal interviewing, monitoring of employees’ emotions—can you imagine how a CEO like Steve Jobs would use this if he was still alive? But in the long term, none of that really matters. A one-sided ‘Big Brother’ phase can’t last more than a few years. Think about the life cycle of every truly useful technology in history. The exact same thing happens
every single time
. Take the Internet, for example.”