California(117)

Frida wanted to ask, Isn’t that what we are? but she didn’t. It was another thing she’d keep to herself.

Frida had intentionally chosen to sit at the back of the bus; she knew it would make her sick, but she wanted to be as far as possible from Cal and August’s conversation. They had spoken intently for the first half of their journey. Before starting the bus, August had told Cal he could still be of assistance to the Land. “Inside Pines,” he said, “you’ll have your eyes and ears on the ground.” Frida could sense Cal deliberately not looking at her as August spoke. And could she blame him? Her brother had killed their friends, and August had stood by and let it happen, and Cal was still willing to work with them. But she understood. They were going to be parents. Cal just wanted to keep their family safe.

August had nodded at Cal and said, “There’s a role for you inside. Micah’s been thinking about it since you guys arrived.”

Frida didn’t know what they were talking about, but it was probably about Micah’s plan. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t about building more Forms.

Frida was relieved she couldn’t hear them talking over the engine. She didn’t want to know. She could only think about the baby and how they were being spirited away from Micah and the Land and the Millers and Anika’s wounded head. They were headed for a safe place. It would be safe, right?

Cal was so invested in his conversation with August, he barely glanced out the window. Frida couldn’t take her eyes off the world; it looked even worse than it had on their way out of L.A., as if, in their time away, it had slipped further from care.

The sky was gray above them, and the bus jostled over dirt and rocks and chunks of asphalt. Sometimes there were woods on either side of them, and sometimes the trees thinned out, turning black and shriveled, leading to soulless, empty spaces that reminded Frida of desolate parking lots. They once passed a gas station, dead. Someone had ripped out the hoses, and a fallen streetlight cut the convenience store in two. Occasionally, they passed houses, but they were falling over, deflated, covered in ivy, their doors knocked off, their roofs collapsed. A dog with xylophone ribs stalked an uneven porch. Frida hadn’t seen a pet in years, but this wasn’t anyone’s pet. No one would return here. Not ever.

Frida kept thinking of Anika. How badly had Cal hurt her? And when Frida wasn’t thinking about Anika, she was thinking about Jane and Garrett.

Whenever these dark thoughts came into her mind, Frida went back to the brochure August had given her. It made her feel better, boasting photographs of beautiful yet modest homes in a number of styles: California bungalow, Spanish Mediterranean, French countryside. They were so new, they seemed to glow off the page. Thanks to our cutting-edge workout facilities and well-maintained bike paths, our valued citizens live active and healthy lifestyles. Just wait until you try our Good for You! Diet Plans?, offered in each of our six shopping districts. The brochure said the population at Pines was capped at 10,500 for another five years or until the Community could build more neighborhoods and plazas to expand. We want to maintain a small-town feel. Come home to us!

Curled into the back of the school bus, her legs smashed into the green vinyl seat in front of her, Frida had laughed at that. But she had to admit, other things excited her: Enjoy a different cultural event every night of the week, from classical-music concerts to lectures on obscure typefaces.

Cal would like that.

Take advantage of our speedy, hand-delivered correspondence system, and our Quality Interaction Centers?, where friends can meet face-to-face for stimulating conversation and a variety of antioxidant teas. At Pines, there is no time but quality time!

Pines residents hadn’t eliminated technology from their Community; they just didn’t celebrate it. Once you’re done with work, why spend time in front of a screen? Maybe they lacked the resources, the satellites, the cell towers, but it didn’t matter: they had transformed a flaw into an asset. Pines was supposed to remind you of a bygone world that no one living had seen firsthand: cookouts and block parties, paperboys and school recitals. Daddies who took the trolley home, mommies who put up their own wallpaper.

August had started the bus as soon as he’d eaten a little and filled the tank. As he turned on the engine, he’d said, “To everyone in Pines, Micah is dead. You must proceed from that notion.”

Cal had looked at Frida then, as if she might not want to cooperate, and she’d nodded. Giving up her brother once more was a relief, actually.

They had seen no one else on the way. “God willing,” August said, “it’ll be just us until we reach the first checkpoint.”

As they approached Pines, August admitted to getting permits for Cal and Frida on his last trip. He hadn’t acquired entrance papers in years, he said, and Frida thought he must be thinking about the children he’d transported from the Land. “I got them from Toni,” he said.

“Toni?” Frida said.

“She’s on the inside here,” Cal said slowly. “I should have told you.”

“Too late for that.” Frida was supposed to be upset, and she was, but she’d learned so much in the last few hours, this couldn’t compare. Toni. Frida couldn’t suppress a smile. Her old friend.

Now Frida and Cal were a young couple, recruited to come to Pines because Frida—now Julie—was with child, and because Cal—now Gray—could be of assistance in their Education Department. To Cal, August had said, “You’ll be able to get to know those inside who are assisting us. And you’ll see who might be questioned by authorities, should trouble arise.”