by Diane Cook
She heard his chattering teeth, and she could tell that he was trying to calm them so as not to be heard. But his shivering trembled the skins. And then she felt the creeping warmth he was adding to their world under the skins and she felt a little soothed. She turned from Agnes just enough to take Carl’s arm and rope him toward her. He scooted quickly to her and wrapped one arm around her and Agnes and cradled Bea’s head with the other, protective and tender. She felt his fingers there and thought he might thread them intimately through her hair, but he didn’t. They just cradled her head like a pillow. They smelled of goose fat and of Carl.
“It was damn cold.” He sighed into her hair. And they lay there like that, building heat under the blanket, like a little lost family. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as warm.
* * *
When Bea opened her eyes in the morning, Agnes was staring at her, full of contempt and a mix of other less obvious emotions. Carl’s arms were still around Bea, but because Agnes was up, the scene that had felt sweet last night now looked unseemly. But Agnes’s scorn wasn’t that easy. Bea wished it were. The look was something that made her stomach do loops, and for a moment she thought she must be guilty of something worse. Much worse.
Carl, lost to a dream, squeezed her tighter and nuzzled into her neck. It was so warm under the blanket that they were now both sweating, and she felt stuck to him. She disengaged as quickly as she could.
“Did you hear Carl stumble into camp last night,” she asked Agnes, too brightly.
Agnes squinted. “No.” But Bea could tell she was lying.
“Well, he did and he had this warm pelt, so we all slept under it.”
“Is this one of those coincidences?”
“Excuse me?”
Agnes kicked a stone and stayed silent.
“Don’t get surly with me, young lady.”
“What’s surly?”
“It’s being a brat,” Bea said, and even though she never said such things to her daughter, Agnes winced and so Bea knew her flash of anger had been noticed. The message had been clear. She felt the lovely spell of their night together broken, and resentment that Carl had come at all curdled her memory.
“Good morning,” he sang out, stretching happily under the skin. “Did you hear me come in last night, Agnes? I must have made a racket. And your mom and I talked and talked—”
Agnes walked away.
“Stop,” Bea said to him.
“What?” Carl drooped his face like his feelings were hurt. Or maybe he was mocking her. Didn’t he know precisely the trouble his arrival had caused? The thought was as paranoid as it was potentially true.
Bea heard a birdlike chirp from above the lake. A birdlike chirp that sounded like it came from a man. Then one from a woman. The Community was signaling. From a plateau above their pond, a reflector glinted, the cracked mirror they used when hunting, that was to come in handy for times they got separated, which had never happened before now. Bea chirped back, and then behind her, Agnes howled, “Dad,” like she was being kidnapped. She usually called him Glen.
“Agnes?” his alarmed voice yelled back.
“She’s fine!” Bea yelled, to stomp any budding drama of the reunion.
“Bea!” Glen yelled, relieved.
“Water down here,” Carl yelled.
“Carl?” Glen yelled, his rising tone laying a string of question marks.
Bea saw him appear at the edge. He was standing tall until he spotted them; then he slumped and scratched his head. She waved up ecstatically.
“We’re here for water,” she cried excitedly, hoping to seed in his mind some narrative of how she’d just arrived, found water and Carl, and so there was nothing to be concerned about, all with her flailing arm and her shrill voice.
He waved from the elbow, which stayed glued to his side.
Val appeared next to him and shielded her eyes to peer at them. Bea could see her face squish at the sight of the three of them together, and she turned to Glen, who shrugged. The rest of the Community appeared at the ridge then and cheered.
“Water,” they cried and scrambled down.
Once reunited, Glen’s hugs were tense, and after several unsatisfactory ones she led him off, away from the Community, to a spot behind a large eruption of grasses, laid him down and fondled him. He started off sullen, swatting her away. But he kept his legs loose so she would have no trouble reaching between them when he wasn’t defending himself, and soon there were long stretches between his defenses. He squeezed his eyes shut as though indifferent to what her hand was doing, would scowl to stifle a rising moan, and then swat again. It was a game and it was his reward, and she kept reaching as a kind of penance for something they would never discuss, until finally he was hard and smiling and pulling her onto him. And then she rocked astride him until he was relaxed and she was too.
“You must have a guilty conscience,” he said, but he was happy and she heard no edge or accusation.
“I don’t, actually,” she said. “But you have a tender one.”
She did feel guilty, but not toward Glen. Nothing had happened. It was just survival. It was Agnes she felt unsettled by. She would have thought Agnes understood survival more. Would Agnes be so full of disgust if the situation had been different? What if they’d been hungry, cold, without any bedding, and happened to come upon Carl? What if Carl hadn’t been feeling very generous? Though he’d never acted on his lecherous air, there was nothing Bea would put past him. What if she had to do something she didn’t want to do in order to care for her daughter, for herself? She was doing that right now, under the empty sky in a far-flung land, wasn’t she?
They decided to camp by the pond that night. Carl, Glen, and Juan went back toward the ridge hoping to scare up some meat. Bea watched the men go, saw Glen keep his distance from Carl, speak with Juan, who would then speak to Carl. But when they came back with three jackrabbits, each man swinging one of the animals easily as they walked, Glen and Carl were laughing boisterously, and Bea couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen them laugh together. Out here she often forgot that Glen had been Carl’s mentor once upon a time. He so often seemed to resent people’s appreciation of Glen. But not now, she thought as she watched Carl clap Glen on the back, laughing maniacally at something Glen had said. Glen beamed back at him, almost as though he were the student looking for assurance and so pleased to have found it. They sat and laid their rabbits at Carl’s feet. Bea felt a tingle along her spine, and her eyes narrowed to slits, just as Carl looked up and found her eyes. Still chuckling, he gave her a wink, pulled a blade from somewhere behind his back, and sliced his rabbit shallow and long.
They dressed the rabbits while Debra and Val built a fire, and they spit-roasted the meat. It wasn’t a lot, but it felt good to eat fresh, hot rabbit, and they ate jerky to fill their stomachs the rest of the way.
They searched the spot where the dust storm had hit them and found the Cast Iron and other kitchen items. People had managed to hold on to their personal belongings, their beds and skins, the things that had remained on their backs. A few minutes of hunting and the Book Bag was discovered and dug out. The Manual too. The trash bags they’d been filling since Middle Post were gone.
“If those dunes ever clear, we’re going to get a big fine for that garbage,” said Debra. She tsked, as though someone were to blame.
“Maybe the sand will bury it forever,” said Dr. Harold.
“In a hundred years some scientist is going to be exploring these dunes and he’ll wonder, What amazing civilization was here?” Val’s eyes widened crazily, as though imagining herself there to see it.
“As if this will be here in a hundred years,” said Bea, and then clamped her mouth. She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. Across the loose circle, Agnes squatted, always wanting to be a part of the discussion. Her little mouth dropped open in surprise and Bea felt bad. Don’t ruin this place for her, she scolded herself.
“Bea,” Val said, h
er face empty and confused. “What do you mean by that?”
Stupid Val. Her ignorance made Bea feel as cynical as she’d ever felt, and she quickly forgot about Agnes’s presence. “This is a Wilderness State now,” Bea said. “Before this, it was a collection of small towns and farms that grew alfalfa. Before that, it was ranch land. And before that—you want me to keep going? It’s going to be something else. Just wait.” It wasn’t something she’d thought much about. But suddenly, the notion of this place existing well past their own deaths, she knew in her gut it would not happen. She thought this place lasting until her own death was an absurd idea. Assuming her death was not imminent.
“That’s ridiculous. This is the last wilderness. There are serious laws about this land,” said Val.
“Don’t you think there were laws about those other wildernesses? How do you think this got to be the last one?”
“There are laws, but they can get rewritten,” said Glen.
“Oh, shut up, Glen,” said Carl. “There are laws,” he whined, trying to mimic Glen.
Glen looked pained. “I was just stating a fact that there have been laws—”
“There are serious laws and yet they let us in.” Bea shrugged. “And now look, we just dumped our garbage everywhere. Do you think there’s a law about that?”
“There’s certainly a fucking rule about it,” grumbled Carl.
Val looked a bit stricken. “Well,” she yelped, but had no follow-through. No doubt the conversation had gone too fast for her, Bea thought. This moment had devolved quickly. They must all be tense from the storm, from being separated. They might not always like one another, but they generally worked well together.
“Oh, stop,” interrupted Debra. “The point is, someday some scientist—or maybe it’ll be some construction worker, Bea—is going to dig up a bunch of our trash.”
“And when he sorts through them, he’s gonna find Val’s used tampons,” said Juan. They laughed, glad to have stepped away from an argument.
Val scowled. “I told you I can’t use anything else.”
“I can’t believe you still get your period,” Debra said.
“I’m young,” Val shrieked.
Debra raised her eyebrows.
“I vote we make Val pay the fine if they ever find our garbage,” Carl said.
Everyone waited for him to laugh, capping the joke, but he didn’t. His gaze was angry and fixed on the fire.
“Carl,” Val whined quietly, as if trying to keep the rift private.
“What?” Carl snapped. “If you can’t adapt, there should be consequences.”
Val’s jaw dropped. Bea winced for Val. This was a definite betrayal.
Val roused herself up and walked away from the fire, haughty, angry, and expecting to be followed by Carl. But he remained seated. Bea watched Val disappear beyond the circle of firelight. Her shape shifted from color to shade to gray dots, and then she was gone in the darkness. Bea looked back to Carl and saw that he was watching her. He smirked at Bea over the fire as though sharing the joke with her. When his smirk dissolved, he stared at her until Bea had to look away. She reached for Glen’s hand in the dark, and though they were near the fire his hand felt cold in her grip. She looked for Agnes, but the girl was no longer there. She’d snuck off. Again, Bea felt bad for her cynicism. She hoped she hadn’t alarmed Agnes. She deserved to think of this place as protected. Though Bea thought of it, she realized then, as more of a theme park. That would probably eventually become a landfill or some other necessary thing.
No one went after Val. They gathered warmth by the fire and then, one by one, family by family, went to their beds. Eventually Val stormed back as the fire was being doused by Dr. Harold’s piss. He was usually the last one up because he had no one to bed down with.
“She returns,” he announced, shaking his penis off, tucking it into his pants.
Val beelined into the middle of the circle of bedding each person or family had laid out, past where Bea and Glen had just lain down to bed. She marched straight to where Carl lay, on top of his bedding, his arm tucked behind his head, looking up at the stars in performed reverie. Everyone braced for an argument, for Val’s screech and Carl’s smug, terse retorts, maybe some kicks to his ribs. Their usual spar with Carl feigning the high road and Val taking cheap shots. But instead Val pulled up her tunic and straddled him in one swift movement that reminded Bea of a big cat pouncing. Val strangled Carl as she also began to fuck him. She screamed obscenities while he gurgled and growled. After a moment he tore her hands from his throat and grabbed her hair, snapping her head back so hard that around the bed circle they heard her xylophone vertebra aligning and her shocked, excited gasp. Then Carl’s hands groped at her hips and he thrust her back and forth, grunting angrily, while she clawed at his chest. Their sex was so loud and aggressive that Bea reached for Agnes, to cover her ears, and was relieved to remember that Agnes had slunk off, and was, as far as she knew, not witnessing this.
Everyone under the starlight tried to look at something other than Carl and Val’s glowing shapes fucking vigorously, to listen to something other than their animal grunts and screams. But it was hard to ignore. Bea heard some others trying to stay silent as they touched themselves. Glen reached for Bea and pressed his erection against her, but she pushed him away even though she herself was throbbing. Disappointed, he cupped himself and shrank from her. They both lay awake, uneasy under the stars.
* * *
They supposed the Post was on the other side of the playa, which was now dune-covered. But the playa was large. Larger than they’d thought. They had to stumble through the loose sand. They made slow progress.
After a day they believed they saw buildings. And they had been passing more human debris, the kind of things left by the wayside when a person is nearing home and getting careless: the foil from a piece of gum, a once-blue plastic pen cap that had yellowed. They were certain they saw rooftops glinting ahead.
After the sun slipped fully behind the ridge, they stopped walking and prepared dinner and prepared for darkness. The mountains turned stone-colored.
A line formed at the Cast Iron, but Val cut to the front and exclaimed, “I need more food because I’m eating for two!”
Debra and Juan, stirring the pot, looked at each other quizzically, then around at the others who waited for their portion. Then to Carl, who nodded. They gave her more. Bea shook her head. Val often thought she was pregnant. Bea was grateful she never turned out to be right. Carl and Val individually were difficult to stomach. She was sure Val wanted a child to solidify that union and that power. They enjoyed being at the top too much. Every chance they had, they tried to subvert a Community decision to follow their own idea, and were gleeful when it worked. Leaders shouldn’t enjoy leadership, she told herself. Like Glen said, it should be a role one takes because one feels obligated.
With her hollowed-wood bowl full of stewed rabbit parts, Bea looked for where to sit or stand. Glen was nowhere to be found. Agnes sat close to Val on a log. So close that on the small log there was room for Bea to sit. Agnes, listening to Val prattle on, looked up and saw Bea eyeing the seat next to her. Agnes inched away from Val and widened her knees to try to occupy the empty space. Bea had to swallow a laugh at how childishly cruel her child could be.
Juan walked in circles a few hundred feet from them. He seemed to be talking to himself, gesturing in an orating manner with one hand while holding his bowl of food in the other. Dr. Harold sat in the dirt morosely watching Debra, who was eating with Pinecone and Sister and Brother.
Bea’s eyes eventually rested on Carl, who was already watching her. He sat alone on a log, and when he caught her eye, he patted the space next to him. Where was Glen?
Bea didn’t want to sit next to Carl. She couldn’t stop thinking about their evening huddled together. Actions that she had told herself were essential had become a cringe-worthy offense. But there was no way to refuse a seat next to him now. Where would she go? Sit al
one in a sand dune? A refusal would be obvious. He was watching her for glimmers of shame. She would not show him any. She strode over.
“Hello,” she said cordially.
He nodded, his mouth full. He did not say more. Why had she thought sitting next to Carl would mean something? He had merely motioned for her to sit where there was an empty seat. She sat feeling vaguely humiliated and unsure why.
Across the fire, Agnes slouched now and looked bored as Val made some kind of soliloquy, her hand on her belly and her other hand fondling Agnes’s hair, something Bea knew Agnes hated, and she hated to see Agnes allowing it. She wondered when Agnes would cease to be mercurial. Would she ever be a spritely girl, game and smiling again like when she was very young, before she got sick? Or when they’d first arrived here, when she’d rebounded, eyes dancing, feet running. Making up for the lost bedridden time. She wasn’t that young girl anymore, though, in sickness or in health.
Bea thought about all their original reasons for coming to this strange Wilderness. Had everyone altered their reason for being here by now, or were they still clinging to adventure, health, opportunity? Opportunity for what? Had she? Looking at her daughter’s scowl made Bea laugh at her reason: To keep my daughter well. This was an overture of love to a girl who now seemed to loathe such overtures. She wondered if it was a martyr’s overture too. One couldn’t live like this for unselfish reasons alone. But nothing she landed on felt true anymore. Was fear for her daughter enough?
She wished she could talk to her mother about it. She would write a letter and mail it at Post. Though it was exactly the kind of question her mother would relish. Her answer would no doubt be, No! So come home! But Bea thought she could word it so that her message was clear. Her mother knew when to be practical, but she also knew how to be kind, even if it meant not being entirely honest. It was not something Bea had inherited.
In her youth, her own mother was an uneasy caretaker in a changed world that had become almost unrecognizable to her. In Bea’s early womanhood, her mother had been a bemused friend, questioning Bea’s choices though they were often the choices she herself had made. And now, her mother was most like a mother. At an age when she might have thought she didn’t need a mother, Bea craved hers more than ever. In every letter, even the ones where her mother seemed to have embraced Bea’s mission, she still begged for her return. We’ve become so close, it makes me miss you all the more.