Nearly every time Frida tried to open her mouth, the words clogged in her throat, and she stood there dumb and struggling. They’d been following Micah as he led them back up the path. Is this real? she wanted to ask. Are you really here? Will you let us stay? Instead of speaking, she wandered the Land like a child in a picture-book world: blue sky, brown dirt road, yellow sun, her mouth a flat black line. No text.
Cal was trying hard not to roll his eyes at her. Not hard enough. She could tell he wanted her to get her shit together and help him figure out what was going on, but she was incapable. Her legs still felt rubbery when she walked, and she didn’t think she’d be able to speak ever again. Her hands seemed to belong to someone else, and her mind kept returning to that first sight of Micah, of his green shirt and his long beard.
Her brother!
Cal had already asked him half a dozen questions. Micah hadn’t answered many of them, but that didn’t keep Cal from trying.
“How are you alive?” he’d asked as soon as he could, even with everyone watching.
“It wasn’t a resurrection,” Micah replied, “if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t,” Cal said, and Micah laughed.
Cal said nothing. He looked at Frida, as if pleading for her assistance, but she looked away. The truth was her brain was still playing catch-up. Micah was alive. Her brother wasn’t dead. Micah was alive.
She felt a little sick.
When Micah stepped away from her to greet Cal, Frida had slumped forward and caught her balance just in time.
“So you two are still together,” Micah said.
Cal raised an eyebrow. “Don’t act so surprised.”
“Oh, never,” Micah said, and winked at Frida. “First things first: you guys need to wash.”
“We do?” Cal asked.
Micah smiled. “You might’ve seen a little building on the way in—a kiosk-type thing. We call it the Bath. In there we’ve got antibacterial soap and talcum powder. Even though we also have outdoor showers, you’ll probably feel more comfortable with a little privacy.”
Frida had felt a rush of relief then. Clean. They would get clean.
“I’ll meet up with you after that,” Micah said.
He was already nodding at Sailor, turning away from her. Frida couldn’t believe he was leaving them again, and so soon. He very well might disappear. He’d done it once before.
Her brother looked at her and smiled, gently. “You won’t be gone long,” he said, and because Frida couldn’t speak, she followed Cal and Sailor.
Sailor led them to the Bath. Inside, there were two shallow plastic tubs, the size of foot baths, and two plastic chairs that looked vaguely medical; Frida imagined they’d been used in hospitals, for the sick or elderly, people who needed to sit down while showering. An array of products awaited them on the built-in counter where an employee must have once peered out the ticket window: the soap and talcum powder Micah had mentioned, various creams and lotions. Even a bag of disposable razors; Frida’s heart quickened at the sight of them.
“Where did you get all this?” Cal asked Sailor.
“I’ll get you the water,” Sailor said, and ducked out.
He returned with a bulky canvas bag slung onto his shoulder and two big buckets of water, which he poured into the tubs.
“Sorry for the temperature,” he said. “You’re not on the bathing schedule yet—so I don’t have anything sun heated for you.”
“It’s fine,” Frida said. It was the first complete sentence she’d said in an hour, and she couldn’t help but feel triumphant.
“Wash your feet, pits, and genitals,” Sailor said. “Use the antibacterial soap in the back row, and any of the creams, if you’ve got rashes or something.” He held out the canvas bag, and Frida leaned forward to see what was inside of it.
“They’re clean clothes,” Sailor said. “I think they’ll fit.”
“They won’t be necessary,” Cal said. “I can make do with the clothes I already have.”
Frida crinkled her nose and put her hand out. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Cal, but I’m happy to have something clean to put on. Thanks, Sailor.”
Sailor smiled and handed her the bag. “Anyway, I’m glad Mikey said something right off. You guys are rank.”
“Sorry,” Cal said. “August never has this kind of stuff to trade.”
Sailor looked away, his hand already on the door. “See you in a few.”