Unfolding

by Jonathan Friesen

  “The cells are ours, the cabin is yours. Name’s Eleven.”

  A gust of wind swept over our cabin and Eleven raised the red handkerchief from his neck to his face, filtering out the dust.

  “Eleven,” I repeated, and glanced around the compound. I saw no difference between their cells and our cabin. All identical wooden log construction, with two windows, and large enough for a large man, or two really little ones. Thirty cells surrounded a center courtyard, which boasted only two other buildings.

  “Them’s the meetin’ house, where you’ll be eatin’ for now,” Eleven said, eyeing the direction of my gaze. “And that on the left is the prayin’ shed. You won’t be goin’ in there for any reason.” He looked at each of us. “Clear?”

  “What if I want to pray?”

  Stormi and I turned toward Arthur. It seemed a strange question, as I’d never seen him before at service.

  “You won’t catch flack for that.” Eleven bent over and fisted a handful of reddish dust and threw it into the wind, which drew it back into the sky. “Maybe God’ll hear ya. But not in there. Not in our prayin’ shed.”

  I had no inclination to pray; this was Ma’s territory, and I’d yet to see her prayer on my behalf produce any change to life or limb. I was, however, human, susceptible to all the temptations prohibition brings. Do not go in there? Why not? The shed instantly became the only place here I wished to go.

  Eleven winced and shifted his weight. I recognized the maneuver, and felt for him. “Hope you enjoyed your tour, and your sleep-in. Tomorrow I reckon you’ll be on detail, but of course that all be up to Q.”

  “No, we were promised we’d be gone. Any chance we can see Q now?” I asked.

  “You will not refer to him by letter. You’ll use his name. First and last. And no, not now. He workin’ with the men. I’s only here as my leg makes me fall behind.” He cocked his head, examining me from a different angle. “That back keep you from work?”

  “Some, not all.” I straightened. “I can do pretty much whatever—”

  “Winston told us there’d be nothing asked, nothing required.” Stormi interrupted, like I was so much dust. “We need a day or two to sort things out.”

  “Ain’t heard of a Winston, not in here anyways.” A swirl of sand up and surrounded us. Arthur and I instinctively lifted our T-shirts to cover our noses, but Stormi stood statued in the dervish, unaffected by the choking swirl. Eleven hawked and spit, squinting through the earth. “What are you sorting, girl?”

  The gust moved on. Stormi glanced at me and shook her head, and I read her silencing cue.

  Arthur did not. He lowered his shirt and spit, and then blurted, “We’re on the run.”

  Shut up, Arthur!

  “Course you are. We all run from something. What you all running from?”

  I stepped hard on Arthur’s foot, but truth was on a roll.

  “Gullary. It’s a small town, so you may not have heard of it.”

  Eleven’s face twitched, and he turned a strange shade. He hobbled three steps backward. “Gullary. And how did you come here?”

  Arthur shrugged. “By truck.” But Eleven didn’t bother to listen. He hoofed it toward the prayer shed, took one glance back in our direction, and disappeared.

  Stormi stared after him. “How did we come here, Jonah?”

  Arthur stepped between us. “I think that’s your question to answer, Stormi.”

  We were breaking apart, I felt it. Trust and mistrust fighting it out.

  I hung my head, slowly wrung my hands, and Stormi continued. “Or would you like me to ask the ever-truthful Arthur?”

  It was so complicated, it didn’t matter anymore.

  “Okay. The truth as I know it. It was Old Rickety. And then we were locked in and you were so furious and you wanted to get away and I wanted to get away and I wanted you to stop hating me, so I figured you might if you thought I knew a place. Then Arthur gave me this and I had a place to go.” I reached in my pocket and brought out the chess piece, turned it over in my fingers. “It seemed as good a place as any. It felt like a mystery. Like maybe I knew something you didn’t. For once you didn’t know, it was secret between me and Arthur and—”

  “Tres,” she whispered.

  “Tres. But I didn’t know he was your grandpa, or that he was out to get us, or that we’d end up on a poster. Honest, it was just someplace to go.”

  Stormi started to pace. “So we’re hiding from Tres in the place Tres wanted us to go.”

  “Indirectly,” I said.

  Arthur leaned over and offered his volume-packed whisper. “Technically speaking, it’s a direct correlation.”

  “Thanks, Arthur.”

  He nodded curtly. “Stormi, Jonah has now told you everything. We wanted to reach Bishop, and Tres wanted us there. My question is, why are we here? A lot of this . . .” He gestured dramatically. “It seems to be a result of your doing. I don’t think Jonah wanted to follow Winston at all.”

  I exhaled. “Accusations don’t help, Arthur. I’ll take it. My fault.” I raised my hand. “I picked the town. Didn’t know anything about this place. I don’t know what I knew, seizures picking up as they are. But no matter how we got here, or who brought us here, we’re here, right? We stick together. We stick—”

  Stormi stepped toward me as if to strike, her violent Stormi eyes squinting with hate. Two inches from my chest, she took a sharp left and swooshed by me without a word. Even her breeze was pissed. She opened the cabin door, slamming it shut behind her.

  Arthur winced. “I think perhaps I caused you some trouble just now and—”

  I placed my hand over his mouth. “It’s good it came out. From now on, maybe keep your wonderings about Stormi to yourself. Come on.” I grabbed his arm and pulled. “We need to be gone long before this Q comes back, but first we’re checking that shed.”

  “But you heard Eleven. It’s illegal.”

  “Aren’t you a little bit curious? Why an old man freaked when you mentioned Gullary?” I spun and grabbed both his shoulders, shaking gently. “Why a genius able to place you in zugzwang sent us to this spot?”

  Arthur looked back toward the cabin, and when his face returned, it was all smiles. “A genius and his genius granddaughter. This is Stormi’s doing. But, yes, I’m curious.”

  Stormi exploded out the door, hand extended. “Not funny, Jonah! The truck keys. Now.”

  “I, uh, don’t have your keys.”

  “They aren’t where I left them. How are we supposed to leave if . . .” She froze, eyes frantic. “Give me five minutes.” She raced around the side of the cabin.

  Arthur and I glanced at each other.

  He cleared his throat. “Doesn’t that seem a bit odd to you?”

  “She’s been odd since the day we left. Don’t know what that’s about, but five minutes is all we need,” I said, and walked toward the shed. We reached the door. Arthur turned the knob, and the wooden door swung open with force, catching me square on the kneecap, sending me to the dirt.

  “Arthur, you idiot.” I started to stand, and froze. There stood Q. I didn’t need to be told. He was tall and strong, the muscles in his arms rippling with both power and years. Tanned, bald, and earringed, he looked like a pirate, or like Mr. Clean on Mom’s disinfectant.

  He stretched out an arm and pulled me to my feet as if I were a child.

  “Not for you.” He closed the door gently behind him. “My name is Michael Queene, and you may address me as such. Not Michael as my father did, nor Queene as acquaintances do. And though you will hear the men refer to me as Q, it is used only by those who know me well.” He looked carefully from me to Arthur and back again. “The Hive functions because we have rules and trust. Do you understand these words?” Q folded his arms, and examined my back. “I asked if, as guests, you understand the importance of both those concepts. Have you not been taught?”

  Arthur nodded and folded his hands. I swept the dirt off my jeans.

  “My
question was simple. Has your schooling not addressed issues of propriety?”

  “My ma has . . . Michael Queene, sir,” I answered.

  “Which then begs the question: Why would you ignore your upbringing and the admonition of your own flesh and blood to do what you should not?”

  “I guess I wanted to look.”

  “You are guessing. Turning a true false into a multiple choice. The command is clear—honor your father and mother that it may go well with you in the land. Why did you disobey your parents?”

  His voice was deep and smooth, the kind of voice that places you at ease, even when you’re certain you’re in danger. Almost hypnotic, it was.

  “I guess—”

  “Do not begin with a guess, begin with the truth. Why did you choose rebellion over your Ma’s instruction?”

  “I’m a disobedient child?” I’d not before thought of myself as such, but there seemed little option. Q breathed deeply. “Stand up straight when you speak, posture matters. It communicates confidence.”

  “I can’t.”

  By now we were so far afield, I no longer wanted anything but to see Stormi. Did I say her name out loud?

  “The girl?” Q’s voice penetrated.

  “We don’t know. She ran off,” Arthur said.

  “I see.” Q sighed. “For her own good, I should find her. You should wait in the cabin.”

  “I think so too,” Arthur said.

  “Do not think. Let your yes be yes and your no be no. Say what you know, no more. Let’s rehearse your sentiment again. You, Michael Queene, should go find her.”

  “Yes, you Michael Queene, should go find her.”

  Arthur was gone, trapped by Q’s trance, but again the words from Tres’s note rattled around inside me, took up residence, broke the spell.

  Avoid Q to prevent more loss.

  “It’s time we leave.” I rounded Arthur’s shoulder with my arm and started a brisk walk toward the cabin. Michael Queene made no move to follow, watching us from the front of the shed.

  “We need to find her, and find that Winston, and—”

  Ahead, Stormi raced back into the courtyard. “It’s bad. I hot-wired the truck. But they’ve drained the tank. I wired six more. All drained. Not a vehicle in that garage has a spit of gas in it. Jonah? What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know.” I turned and pointed at Q, slowly striding our way. “That’s Michael Queene—first name, last name, use them both—and he’s in charge of this hive, I know that. Be careful of his voice.” I stared into Stormi’s eyes. “We’ll get out of here if we stick together.”

  I glanced back at Arthur. He was gone, walking quickly back toward Q. Soon, given Arthur’s honesty, Q would know all our friend knew, which was pretty much everything.

  “We don’t leave without Arthur.” I exhaled hard. “Agreed?”

  Stormi let out a low whistle and drew close to my side. “Arthurus hypnotizimus?”

  I forced a smile. “Yeah.”

  Okay Tres, why am I here?

  CHAPTER 12

  I sat with Stormi in silence. Hours alone in the cabin somehow separated us from each other, from ourselves. My mind floated back to her words, words of affection for me. How I would have soared to hear them in Gullary, but the winds had shifted, and she wasn’t the same.

  Maybe I wasn’t either.

  “You think he’s all right?” Stormi spoke to nobody in particular. “He’s been with that guy for hours.”

  “I don’t reckon Arthur can get in too much trouble.”

  Outside, the muffled sound of men’s voices surrounded the shed, and Stormi and I exchanged glances. “We stay together, no matter what,” I said.

  “Like we’re together now?”

  Stormi would never ask that. Not my Stormi, but I got up from Arthur’s bed and sat down at her side, and lied. “We’re fine.”

  The door swung open and Winston motioned us outside. “Come on.”

  I rose quickly and met him at the door. “Why’d you bring us? Why are you keeping us?”

  “Keepin’ you? You came on your own volition. No force used. Once here, we simply ask you to follow the rules set forth.” He spun and strode toward the meeting hall.

  “It’s okay, Jonah.” Stormi joined me, leaning her head against my shoulder. “I kind of freaked back there, but I’ve been thinking, being here has benefits. I don’t think the police will find us. Cartwright won’t find us. Tres doesn’t seem eager to come, or he would have been here already. It’s okay.”

  We walked hand-in-hand across the dusty ground.

  Men streamed silently by us on all sides, either unaware of or uninterested in our presence. They lined up outside the hall. Perfect single file.

  “Three, Seven, Eleven . . .”

  They shouted numbers as they entered the doorway. “Fifty-two, Fifty-four, Sixty-one.”

  Stormi and I paused at the threshold, and then followed.

  Two rows of picnic tables lined the length of the shadowy room. Three stained glass windows provided what little light there was. Arthur marched up to greet us.

  “I’m glad to see you. I’m sorry I left. I told him everything, Jonah. Everything about you and Stormi and Tres. I told him everything. I had to. I’m sorry.”

  I shook my head. “It’s all right.”

  “Sit.” Q’s word dropped all but the three of us onto the benches. We stood surrounded, like uncaged zoo animals. Q leaned back, folded his arms. He appeared more than happy; he was thrilled to make us a spectacle, to see us squirm, and I hated him. I’d been a spectacle my entire life—in Gullary, it was my role. But no longer. Stormi stroked her necklace. She needed me, and here, far from the parents I had disobeyed, I felt a twinge of new, of strength.

  I straightened as best I could and glared back at Q.

  Stare away. I am Jonah Triumphus.

  “Bow your heads.”

  “I will not bow to you,” I whispered.

  “Dear Lord,” Q began.

  Oh.

  “Help us know right from wrong. Help us choose right.”

  The room erupted in unison, “Help us know right from wrong. Help us choose right.”

  “Amen.” Q gestured to three chairs next to him, and soon we were seated, Arthur on his right, Stormi and me on his left.

  Men spoke in hushed tones, ignoring us completely, all except for Winston. I caught him glancing our way.

  “Jonah, where’s Tres?” Q asked.

  “I told you we don’t know,” Arthur interjected, and quickly fell silent.

  “Who’s Tres?” Stormi asked.

  Q took a long drink. “There is a stupidity that comes off as simple ignorance. This is forgivable. Then there is a stupidity that is truly stupid. You, Stormi, are walking the path of the latter.”

  I cannot express how deeply his words shook me. Stormi had been called unnatural and odd, but nobody questioned her intelligence. She was the smartest one in every room, in control of all that transpired, and we all knew it. All but Michael Queene.

  “Jonah, again, I ask you, where’s Tres?”

  “Who’s Tres?” Stormi repeated, reaching for a roll.

  How the question irked Q. The muscles around his face tightened, but only for a moment. Later, I would realize the battle Stormi waged here on my behalf, but we rarely understand such wars as they transpire.

  Q dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Are you familiar with King David and his prideful attempt to number his soldiers?”

  Of course she wasn’t. I knew David had whipped a pebble at a giant, but that was it. Stormi hadn’t been to church, well, ever.

  Stormi stood up. “I will tell you all a story.”

  I will not forget the next five minutes. A hall silent, except for Stormi, sharing a tale I’d never heard, of a general named Joab, charged by King David to count David’s soldiers, a move which apparently displeased God mightily. So much so that God presented David with one of three calamities as punishment. Door number one: thr
ee years of famine. Door number two: three months of fleeing from David’s enemies. And door number three: three days of a plague sent from the hand of God himself. David chose the plague, and seventy thousand men gave up the ghost. There likely would have been more casualties, but God held back the hand of one angry angel.

  “Three days of plague,” Stormi repeated, “that was it—three days. Then God showed mercy. We’ve been here one day now, after two more I expect to be mercifully released.” She cast her terrible Stormi gaze at Q. “I would think you, Michael Queene, a man so bound by Scripture, would attempt to follow the principles found there, wouldn’t you?”

  Not a soul moved. Stormi sat down, reached for her water glass and took a sip. Q cleared his throat. “Tres’s whereabouts are all that matter to me. You are here only until I know.”

  Stormi’s eyes flashed. The space between sky and ground where lightning passes through? That’s where I was. “Tres’s whereabouts are all that matter to me as well, but I might have a better memory if you told me more about him.”

  “Have not your parents taught you to respect your elders?” Q regained his footing, and having slipped into his parental obedience quicksand myself, I stepped on Stormi’s foot, tried to keep her from moving forth. She’d done so well.

  She kicked me. “Orphans aren’t taught. Dead people don’t teach anything.”

  Stormi never spoke of her birth parents, except in an occasional stolen letter. Were they dead? Suddenly, I wanted to know.

  “You’ve never been more wrong. I’ve simply been eager to speak with Tres for some time.” Q shifted. “It’s my understanding he’s been unavailable.”

  “Not to Jonah.” Arthur chose this moment to be Arthur.

  I tossed a roll at his head, but Q intercepted it, placed it gently on his own plate.

  “Jonah, you really don’t know where you are, or why you’re here, do you?” Q leaned back. “The Hive runs with precision and order. These two qualities bring my men comfort and some semblance of peace. This is my job, my calling. You can see why visitors may cause needless unease.”

  “Send us away, then.” I leaned forward. “You want to find Tres, we don’t. Send us away.”