California(52)

But he didn’t see any Plankers. Strangers stared back at him, and his new startling hope flew, startled, out of him.

A couple of people weren’t knocking, he realized. They held up their index and middle fingers—Plank’s signal for disagreement. He turned back to Micah.

“Please come speak to me individually afterward if you don’t agree,” he said.

To Cal’s surprise, none of the dissenters stood up to protest. This was a civilized bunch. That, or Micah had power over them. Maybe here on the Land, democracy was merely dress up, merely a dance. They had the stage lights for it.

“I promise,” Micah said, “we’ll vote on this very soon.” He smiled. “Until then, I urge you to get to know Frida and Cal. I’ll be putting them on the Labor schedule. They’ve been living on their own out here, so they’re strong, and resourceful.”

Cal realized Micah was serious. They’d been welcomed, albeit temporarily, to this place, just as Frida had hoped, and he had feared. They’d be put to work, which was clearly important here; Micah was already discussing the Morning Labor controversy. Cal and Frida would become part of this world. Frida would be pleased. Cal wasn’t sure what he felt. They had squash back home that would soon need picking and a bed more comfortable than the sack of straw Micah had given them and a house that fit the two of them, a third when the time came. If Frida ate enough, their baby would be healthy. August could bring them special goods, if needed. Clearly, the Land had access.

Maybe that’s what troubled him. This wasn’t a ghost town at the edge of the world. They were connected to something larger.



After the meeting, they ate more of the same bean soup in the dining room with about thirty others. The Land dined in two shifts, Micah explained, and some, if they were too hungry to wait, prepared simpler meals in their own houses. The room was lit with candles and a single solar lamp, far brighter than the ones Cal and Frida used.

Once they were seated, Cal asked Micah, “So does everyone here know about Plank?”

Micah shrugged. “About as many as in the real world. Which is to say not many.”

“But the fist knocking…”

“You noticed?”

Micah’s pretend ignorance made Cal throw down his spoon. “Don’t act like you don’t owe us answers,” he said.

Micah took another mouthful of soup. His eyes shot left and right as he did so, and Cal could tell he was trying to gauge the tension, the interest, in the room. He didn’t want the visitors to cause a scene. Cal was willing to do a lot more, if it got Micah talking.

“Mikey?” Cal said. “Tell us what the hell is going on here.”

Micah didn’t answer, just sat there, silent. Cal made to stand up, but then Frida’s hand was on his.

“Later,” she said. She nodded to her bowl of soup, and to his. “Let’s wait, okay?”

“Yes, she’s right,” Micah said. “It’s dinner, and we should just enjoy it.”

Frida brought her spoon to her mouth and ate. He hated how content she seemed, that happiness she couldn’t conceal.



The next morning, when they were alone, Frida changing into the clothes Fatima had dropped off for her the night before, Cal tried to talk about the turkey baster.

“Why didn’t you tell me we had that?”

She shrugged, but he waited. She couldn’t play mute for good.

“Tell me. Frida?”

“It was fun to have a secret,” she said. “And I didn’t want you to take it from me.”

“Why would I take it from you?”

“To use.”

“I don’t mind if you give it to Micah,” he replied.

“Don’t be jealous.”

He grunted. “I’ll try not to be.”

She didn’t reply.

“Just think about it, babe. These people have batteries and razors—sharp ones. Last night Sailor was carrying one of those glow sticks they used to use at raves, lighting his way. They’re not desperate for things, not like we are.”

“I’m glad you can finally admit it. We’re desperate.”

“You think the baster will impress him, but it won’t.”

She looked at him like he was the lowest human being.

“I’m not interested in impressing him.”

She straightened her shirt, which fit her loosely. He was reminded of the first time she’d worn Sandy’s clothes. He’d never told her how much it upset him.

“Did you hear what I said last night? In the Church?”

She looked up, waiting.

“There aren’t any kids here. No babies, either.”

She didn’t answer, but her face said: Don’t ruin this for me.

“It’s not as if they were in day care, Frida.”

“What do you want me to say? You think we’re in one of those fantasy novels you read when you were little because you didn’t have any friends?”

“No, Frida, please. I’m not talking about some impossible future world. I mean something perfectly logical…”

“Like what? That the tribe can’t get pregnant? Like the world is seriously ending? Please.”

“It just worries me.”

“Stop worrying, okay? Just for a while.”