The Smaller Evil (5 page)

ARMAN WAS HALFWAY UP THE
trail to the meeting hall when someone came sprinting up behind him. With no warning at all. Before he could turn to look over his shoulder, the person flew past, grabbing for his arm as they went. Whoever it was tried dragging Arman along, pulling him into a run. He was willing to go, only his body did things all wrong. He took one step only to have his shoes tangle, throwing him to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

Landing hard in the dirt, Arman had the wind knocked out of him. He was working to catch his breath when the person who'd grabbed on to him in the first place started to laugh. They crouched beside him and pulled him up to sitting. Arman blinked and stared, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Jesus. It was
Kira
.

Beautiful Kira.

She was still laughing. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey,” he said, pressing his hand to his lungs. “That
hurt
.”

“Maybe you want to try not falling on your ass next time.” Kira leaned forward, so close that her soft braids brushed against Arman's cheek, causing his heart to leap, among other things. She'd never touched him before. Not on purpose, and he waited, eagerly. Maybe
she was going to kiss him—stranger things had happened today—only she didn't. Instead she reached to brush the dirt and leaves from his hair. And she did it vigorously, like he was some ragged pup too filthy to come inside. Like
she
wasn't the one who'd put the dirt there in the first place.

He ducked away. Kira was more hyper than he'd realized. “Stop it.”

She grinned a wide Cheshire grin. “Fine.”

“Where've you been? Why weren't you at dinner?”

“I
was
at dinner. I saw you sleeping in there, by the way.”

Arman scowled. “Well, where's Dale?”

She shrugged.

“Kira . . .”

“Where were
you
this afternoon?” she asked, and under the light of the moon, her eyes were bright, glittering. “You ever going to tell me about that?”

Arman bit his lip. She meant when he'd gone off with Beau. Of course he couldn't tell her about
that.

Kira grinned wider, crawling to her feet. She reached her hand down to help him up. “See? We both have our secrets. Things we aren't willing to tell.”

Arman let her pull him to standing. Kira wrapped her arm through his, an act of closeness that melted his irritation if not his injury. They began to walk, and Arman absorbed the thrum of her energy. He didn't push the secret issue with her because his stomach was hurting, a tight, crampy pain he knew well and deeply resented. Why had he eaten so much? And drank that tea with milk in it? Just thinking about the meal now made him feel gross, swollen and queasy, like a fattened lamb.

That's when Arman lifted his head and stared up the hill toward the dome building.

At the open doors.

At the wood smoke puffing from the chimney.

“Hey, Kira,” he said.

“Hey, Arman,” she replied.

“What do you think about all this? What do you really think's going to happen here?”

“We're going to learn to make our own lives. Determine our own fate. Isn't that the point?”

“Yeah, but isn't that something you were already doing? I mean, back home, you've always seemed, I don't know . . .”

“I seemed what?”

“Lucky,” he said.

She cocked her head. “That's a funny word.”

“I didn't mean—”

“No, I know what you
meant
. It's just . . . well, you know who my dad is, right?”

“Sure.” Of course he did. Everyone knew. Kira's father was one of the most famous civil-rights attorneys in the state. Maybe even the country.

“Yeah, well, he's pretty used to having people do the things he tells them to. And Dale's one of the things he told me not to do.”

“Oh,” Arman said. Then: “Because he's white?”

“Because he's
nineteen
. Also he didn't finish high school.”

“So you think Dale's worth running away for?”

“I'm not running
away
, kid. I'm here to find myself. To find out how to be better than myself. Aren't you?”

He didn't answer. They were almost at the domed building. Kira was practically skipping, but for Arman, the closer they got to the entrance and the glowing light and the crowds of people all hustling to get inside for a ritual he longed to be a part of but didn't understand,
the sicker his stomach felt. He didn't like uncertainty, he realized. Hell, he didn't even like attention.

You like Beau, though
.
And you can do this. Be who you want to be. For once in your damn life.

So Arman squared his shoulders and set his jaw. Tried to stand up straight, despite the cramping in his gut. This was what he was here for, after all.

To change.

To
evolve
.

“You look nervous,” Kira whispered as they approached the threshold.

“I am nervous,” Arman whispered back. “I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter.”

She laughed. “You're funny.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “You remember that thing Lord Summerisle says at the end of
The Wicker Man
?”

Arman shook his head. He had no idea what she was talking about. “That's a movie, right? I never saw it. What does he say?”

Kira grinned her Cheshire grin again. “‘Reverence the sacrifice.'”

• • •

Arman wasn't sure what he expected to find inside the meeting hall. Something churchlike, perhaps. Something sacrificial and reverent. Like a space filled with pews and a pulpit. Or maybe something resembling the auditorium at his school—humble in its simplicity—a round room with a stage surrounded by folding chairs and ugly fluorescent lighting. Or hell, maybe they'd just sit on the floor with their legs crossed while Beau stood before them and talked. That'd be fine with him, Arman thought. It was Beau he'd come for.

Nothing else.

But when he and Kira walked inside, no one was sitting anywhere. Instead the place was jammed wall to wall with people standing in small groups and clusters. They laughed and talked and milled about, like it was the easiest thing to do. Like this was a cocktail party. Or a fun night out. Or anything but what it was.

But what was it?

Kira took Arman's hand and pulled him through the crowd. Winding through strangers, with everyone so tightly packed, the panic creep of closeness came over him. It knotted his throat and watered his eyes. Made him feel light-headed. Music was playing, something upbeat with a swing to it, but Arman didn't know where she was leading him. He squeezed her hand and tugged, wanting her to slow down, but she tugged back harder, pulling him deeper into the throng. Arman held on, feet lurching forward in the proper way, but he let his head fall back. Let himself stare at the ceiling. The dome roof was vaulted, towering skyward, and built by interlocking wood beams, an intricate cribbing that formed a dizzying geometric pattern. Between the beams was negative space, open to the outside. Moonlight and cool air drifted down from the heavens.

“Kira,” Arman tried to say, but his voice couldn't be heard over the crowd. They moved deeper into the hall. His shoulders and hips bumped against strangers. His forehead grew wet. He was trapped, he realized, in a crush of friendly humanity. He couldn't escape if he wanted to.

Kira, on the other hand, was clearly in her social element. She greeted people with an openness Arman couldn't help but envy. She made it look easy, being among strangers and being noticed; she waved and hugged and spoke with people she hardly knew.

Snippets of conversations swirled around Arman's head as they cut across the room. He couldn't catch everything he heard, but what he
did sounded weird, unnervingly so—bizarre stories about past lives and encounter groups and strange somatic practices like craniosacral massage and some sort of energy transfer that required knowledge of auras. Arman was baffled. Living in Santa Cruz, he was used to a lot of fringe types and their New Age ideals, but that wasn't the kind of stuff Beau was into.

Was it?

Finally they reached the dome's center. Here, a stone fireplace roared with flames, sending plumes of smoke up a narrow chimney that vented through the very top of the structure. The fire's heat warmed Arman's legs, his chest.

He looked at Kira.

“I don't feel so good,” he said.

“Shhh.” She let go of his hand and put a finger to her lips. Arman opened his mouth to say more, like how he might faint, right here in front of everybody, and how that would embarrass him, so maybe he should go do his wilting outside, be separate, be the way he always was. But he realized the whole room had fallen silent. Everyone was turned toward a side entrance, on the opposite side of where they'd come in. Arman turned, too.

It was Beau. He was here.

He stood on a chair in order to be seen.

“Hello,” he called to the crowd, and when the murmurs of return greeting died out, he said, “Nice night, isn't it? Why don't we go for a walk?”

• • •

Trudging back outside into the cool breeze and heavy blackness of night, Arman felt sicker. Sick enough that he fantasized about slipping away to find a bathroom or a secluded spot in the woods where he could bend over, stick his fingers down his throat, and be done with all
the food that churned inside of him. Be done with whatever was making him feel so awful.

It was actually something Arman was doing semi-regularly of late—the making-himself-puke thing. It wasn't a good habit, obviously, but he only did it because he got so many stomachaches, not because he wanted to be skinny or anything. He restrained himself, though, because people were watching and also, it would be a waste of good Adderall. He had a limited supply.

The entire group made their way down into the dark meadow. They hiked along a narrow path that cut through the long grass, then headed up toward the north side of the compound, winding into the dark forest. On all sides, the towering trees drew in close. Then closer. There were no lights here, and Arman kept his sense of time and space by following the shuffling feet of the people in front of him. That was probably how they were moving, too, as well as those who came behind him. It was interesting, he thought, the way a mass of individuals could move as one. Without even meaning to. Maybe that's what the term
hive mind
really meant: not a single consciousness split among many, but rather, a bunch of small parts doing their small bits until the accumulation of those bits worked to create a whole.

They kept walking. Farther and farther. Until Arman's legs hurt along with his stomach. Until his heart felt sore and rattled, unused to so much exertion. Where were they going? What would happen when they got there? The trail stretched on and on, leading them up, up, up toward the starlit sky.

Kira stayed close to Arman as they hiked, although she wasn't touching him anymore. She walked alongside him without saying a word. Every so often, he caught her twisting her head over her shoulder to glance into the darkness behind her. Arman was curious about who
or what she was looking for. Maybe like his fear of his stepfather, she was picturing her overprotective father hunting her down. Dragging her home. But before he could open his mouth to ask, the answer appeared. Like an apparition.

Or a wish fulfilled.

“Hey,” Dale said easily, stepping out of the night gloom to fall in line beside them. He had jeans on now, not shorts, but other than that, with his red eyes and foot-dragging stride, he looked exactly as Arman remembered.

Kira made a noise of contentment at the sight of him. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

Arman couldn't help himself. He stared at Dale as they walked.

“What is it?” Dale asked.

“Where'd you come from?”

“Back there.”

“Well, where've you been? You weren't at dinner.”

Dale shrugged. “Nowhere, man.”

“You had to be somewhere.”

“Just needed some time to myself. That's it.”

Arman frowned. When he put it like that, maybe Dale's disappearance really wasn't all that weird. No one had said anything about meals or activities being mandatory, so why did Arman assume they were? Maybe it was his
assumptions
that made him feel like Dale was doing something secretive and bad, not Dale's actions. What was it that short guy at dinner had said to him?

We make our own stories here.

It stood to reason that went for expectations and assumptions, too.

Didn't it?

“Well, why are you here now?” Arman asked.

“Quarantine. Didn't want to miss it.”

“Wait. You know about Quarantine? Is that what we're doing next?”

“Next?” Dale stared at him. “Dude. It's what we're doing
now
.”

“Huh?”

Dale pointed. The group had reached its destination, it seemed, the whole hive mind mass coming to a stop in a wide clearing that sat at the base of a giant moonlit boulder. Arman tipped his head back and gaped. The rock was
massive
. At least fifty feet high.

“What
is
that?” Arman breathed.

“That's Echo Rock,” said Dale.

ECHO ROCK INDEED.

A man who wasn't Beau positioned himself at the front of the group. Held his hand up for silence. To Arman, this guy looked like a gym teacher, with a beer gut and a carefully trimmed beard. He also didn't wear any of the gauzy clothes Arman had come to associate with people working at the compound. Instead, he had on rugged jeans and hiking boots, and he asked for everyone who was new to the community that day to come forward.

Arman hesitated. He was pretty sure that meant him but didn't want to be wrong. Not with everyone watching. However, when he saw all the people who'd been in the van with him earlier walk up to the front, he quickly followed.

“You'll be coming with me,” the man told them. “And when we get to where it is we're going, I'm going to need you to do exactly as I say. Without question and without hesitation. Do you understand?”

Arman nodded. He intended to follow all the rules. Of course he did. But the person standing next to him gave a loud snort of derision.

Everyone turned to look.

It was Dale.

Stupid Dale.

Before the man in hiking boots could say a word or respond, the crowd parted, like a curtain pulled back, to reveal Beau as he strode to the front of the group, hands clasped before him. When he got there, he turned and stood calmly, the silvery wash of moonlight striping his face. One by one he contemplated the new arrivals.

“Tonight marks the beginning of Quarantine,” he began. “An initiation, of sorts, but an unusual one. This is not a test of your worth to bring you into our fold. This is not an act of humiliation meant to make you crave our approval. Quarantine is a chance for
you
to accept us. For you to open your mind as wide as the earth and as deep as the sea, to take in all that we have to offer and to receive our gifts.”

Arman tried peeking at Dale to see his expression, if he was open to anything, but it was too dark.

Beau continued, the cadence of his words far more soothing than their content, “Now, I know that none of you know where you're going, but you're going to find yourself there, nonetheless. That's the beauty of Quarantine. It's the beauty of Evolution. But for this initial part of the process, you should also know that
listening
will be your most important skill. In fact”—his lips twitched—“your very life depends on it.”

• • •

They headed into the trees and left the rest of the group behind. Arman figured he was screwed. Listening had never been his strong suit, no matter how hard he tried. He lagged at the back of the hikers, but from what he could tell they were no longer following any actual trail, just tromping through brush and scrambling over mossy boulders, making their way around the back of Echo Rock. The peak reared above them, a declaration of sorts. Stretching toward the heavens.

Blocking the stars.

Arman felt dizzy again. Where were they going? What would they do when they got there? He couldn't imagine.

But maybe that was the point.

“We're here,” the man in front called out, after a few more minutes of trudging through darkness. They'd risen above the tree line and stood backed against the sheer cliff wall, exposed to the wind gusting off the ocean and into the mountains.

“Oh, shit,” breathed Dale. “You've got to be shitting me. There's no way. No fucking way.”

Well, that didn't sound good. Arman put a hand to his brow. Strained to see what it was that was so disturbing. It took a moment, but he found it: A set of climbing ropes dangled from the top of Echo Rock down to where they stood. The man with the hiking boots had bent down and was beginning to pass out harnesses and climbing helmets. It was pretty clear what they would be asked to do.

Or told, really.

Dale's normally sleepy eyes were the size of Frisbees. “They can't seriously expect us to do
that
. To climb up there. I mean, they can't. It's not safe. It just isn't.”

“I don't think it's all
that
far.” Arman gazed upward. He'd climbed the rock wall at the Y before and from what he could tell, this distance wasn't much higher than that. Of course, this wall also wasn't inside or well lit and had no pads below. But it had to be safe or they wouldn't be doing it.

Right?

“Shhh!” Kira put a finger to her lips. “I'm trying to listen.”

The man began his lecture on safety precautions and how to make the climb. Arman did his best to absorb the information. He wasn't afraid of heights, not like Dale, but he definitely understood what Beau meant about listening now. His life
did
depend on it.

All of theirs did.

The first person to make the ascent was an older woman who had the misfortune of having worn flip-flops. In a way that was good since Arman figured if she could make the climb, he could, too. But he held his breath watching her navigate the rock face. She slipped a few times, her shoes unable to grip the footholds, but the man with the hiking boots coached her from the ground. Persuaded her to keep going.

Dale whirled to face Arman. “What do you think we'll have to do when we get up there?”

“I don't know,” Arman said.

“You don't think there's a zip line, do you? Please tell me there's no zip line.”

“I don't think there's a zip line.”

Dale snapped, “You don't know that!”

Arman scowled, but didn't answer. Whatever. There was no reasoning with fear. And besides, shouldn't Kira be the one trying to reason with him? She was his girlfriend, after all. Only Kira wasn't anywhere near them anymore. She'd pushed her way toward the front of the line.

The first woman made it to the top safely, signaled by a tug on the rope. They couldn't see her at all in the darkness, but the man in the hiking boots waved Kira forward. She clipped in, listened to last-minute instructions, and started to shimmy her way toward the top.

As the remaining members of the group dwindled, Dale began blowing air through his fists.

“I can't do this,” he whined. “What do you think'll happen if I don't do it?”

“They might send you home,” Arman offered.

“That's it?”

“Come on, you don't want that.”

“What I
want
is to not die.”

Arman sighed. “You know what my dad used to tell me about fear?”

“What's that?”

“‘You only fear what you believe will kill you, never what will.'”

Dale stared at him. Then: “Your dad sounds like a dick.”

Arman shrugged.

The man in the hiking boots snapped his fingers. Called Dale's name. Arman expected a huge scene or a full-blown panic attack, but to his surprise Dale threw his shoulders back and walked forward. He grabbed his harness and began to step into it.

“Let's get this shit over with,” he muttered. “I'll probably be in therapy for the rest of my life.”

“Wait. So you're going to do it? You're actually going to do it?”

Dale gave Arman a shaky thumbs-up.

“But why? What changed your mind?”

Dale threw his hands in the air. “Jesus, man. Why do you think? You just said it's not going to kill me!”

Arman couldn't argue with that. If there was one thing he knew, it was the power of magical thinking. So it was with a tingle of pride that he watched Dale make the climb, slowly but surely, and when it was finally his turn, the last to go, he looked at the man holding the belay rope and gave a shy smile.

“Kind of cool that I was able to help him,” he said, pulling on his helmet. Fiddling with the strap.

“Sure,” the man said.

“So what do I do when I get up there?”

“You'll know.”

“I will?”

“I just said you would.”

“Too bad there's not an easier way up.”

“Oh, there is.” The man gestured eastward. “There's a trailhead about a quarter mile on. It's steep, but walkable.”

Arman was confused. “Well, why aren't we using that?”

“Why do you think?”

“Because it's scarier this way?”

“Because always taking the easy route means forgetting there could be others. Maybe better ones. You can't know unless you try.”

• • •

Pride, it turned out, was a fleeting emotion.

This was the reality Arman faced as he stood perched atop a giant boulder on the very edge of Echo Rock. He hovered high above the clearing where the entire rest of the group—Beau included—stared up at him, and far beneath the soft moon that hung like a beacon in the velvety sky.

Illuminating his failure.

Whatever goodness he'd felt after helping Dale was gone. Long gone. And Arman understood what he was
supposed
to be doing, now that he was here and it was his turn. Now that the other climbers had left, already following the eastern trail back down to the clearing in one big group. They were the ones, as Arman had crawled, gasping, over the final precipice and unbuckled himself from his harness and helmet, who'd told him where to go and what to do.

Only they hadn't told him
how
.

So he did nothing but stand there.

He watched the wind rattle the trees below.

He watched the needles fall from the branches.

State your truth
, they'd told him
. State it loud.
And why was that so hard? Why would it be easier for him to run and hide or claw his skin
or simply swan dive to his death rather than do what was being asked of him?

His knees trembled, but he kept standing there. Right on the edge.

But Arman also kept
thinking
. Of what he'd left behind. Of what he'd found in the short time he'd been here.

Like the cook's affection.

Like Mari's kindness.

Like Beau's blind faith in him.

And he thought of the people below. Surely they already knew the truth about how pathetic he was. Standing up here for so long, it wasn't something he could hide.

So it doesn't matter what you say
, he told himself
. Speak or don't speak.

No one's listening anyway.

That's when Arman took a deep breath and leaned forward. He cupped his hands around his mouth and then he shouted out the words he didn't want to admit, but which lived and breathed in the rawest parts of his being.

A moment later, on the wide wings of the dark night wind, a hundred echoing voices from the clearing below rushed Arman's truth right back at him.

“
I don't belong here!
” they cried. “
I don't think I can change!
”