*

The next day, Carl organized a chore day. He set up stations for all the major duties of the Community, and the Newcomers visited each and learned what would be expected of them day to day. There was some anticipation but mostly dread on their faces as almost all the jobs were dirty and smelly and maybe they worried they wouldn’t be any good at them. They watched Debra stitching the stiff sinew thread through the tough hides to make new moccasins. She put out her hands so they could feel her calluses. The group that prepared the sinew thread had hands that would smell of animal insides until it wore away, which never happened before they needed to make more. The hide preparers sweated and coughed under the smoke. The smokers coughed and sweated in the smoker tent. And if carrying things seemed like a better deal than this hand labor, the Newcomers saw that the people who most often carried the Cast Iron and the Book Bag were bent-backed and stiff when they got up out of their beds in the morning.

“Why do you carry all these books? Haven’t you read them all by now?” asked Patricia.

“Yes,” said Dr. Harold, who was demonstrating different ways of carrying the Book Bag.

“Why keep them?”

“So we can read them again,” Debra said with a curtness she mostly saved for Dr. Harold. He noticed and flashed her a smile. He often carried the bag because Debra liked books.

“It’s good to have the history with us,” said Glen with a nod.

“Why?” Patricia scrunched her nose.

Glen smiled. He opened his mouth, closed it. He smiled again. Agnes realized he didn’t have an answer. No one had asked before.

Finally Carl jumped in and said, “History is good, is it not?” They treated it like a rhetorical question. No one answered.

“Well, what about this big pot?” Linda said. “I can’t see how carrying something this heavy is worth it.” She tried to lift it off the ground, grunting with exertion, but couldn’t budge it. Linda was small. Almost as small as Agnes.

“It’s worth it,” the Community said in almost perfect unison, and Frank blushed.

The Newcomers murmured, understanding that the job of the pot carrier was important. But nobody would look at Dr. Harold, his arms around the cumbersome Book Bag.

Carl clapped. “Okay, now, hunting.”

The Newcomers shuffled into line. Carl had set up a target down the beach. A pile of logs and a piece of hide stretched across it.

The Community had two working bows, so the Newcomers took turns. Each archer’s arrow went in many different directions, and none came close to the target. It was an easy target too. Agnes could hit it without drawing her bow back very far. Not even the women with their small nimble hands were any good. Not even Jake, Agnes noted with disappointment. Maybe she could teach him.

“We’re better with guns,” Frank said, grimacing. His arrow flew toward the water.

“Guns don’t last out here.”

“Oh?”

“You run out of bullets quick,” snapped Val.

“Can’t we just order more?”

“We don’t order things here,” said Val.

“Delivery is unpredictable,” said Glen, chuckling.

Agnes knew he’d meant it as a light comment, but several of the Newcomer adults rolled their eyes. Maybe they thought Glen was laughing at them. Or maybe they thought he was foolish. The Twins and Jake stared slack-jawed at Glen.

“Look, we all need to be good at things in order to survive,” Carl said. “Some of us will be better than others at things. That’s okay. As long as everyone pulls weight of some kind. But it helps if we all know how to do all the jobs.”

The Newcomers nodded. It was clear they liked Carl more than anyone else. They already looked to him for answers.

Carl continued, “Even though only some of us will become regular hunters for the Community, we all have to get comfortable with the bow and arrow. What kind of training did you do before you came here?”

“Training?” whispered Helen.

“Yes, training. I assume you all knew that bow hunting was the norm. Even if it’s just that you read some books on archery . . . anything.”

Carl looked around at the Newcomers. No one said anything.

Carl clapped. “Well, okay. It doesn’t matter. When I’m through with you, you won’t need guns.”

Carl bowed to Patty’s mom. “You are, again?”

“Patricia.”

Carl looked at Patty. “And you’re Patricia too?”

Patty’s mom opened her mouth to speak, but Patty screamed, “I’m just Patty! And she’s just my mom!”

Patricia snapped, “Calm down.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a long phew. She turned to Carl. “Why don’t you all just call me Patty’s mom then,” she said, letting out a peal of laughter that didn’t sound like laughter at all.

“Okay, Patty’s mom, I bet you did something to prepare, didn’t you?” Carl winked.

“I read a few books.” Patty’s mom raised her chin, triumphant.

Patty guffawed. “No, you didn’t.”

Carl turned to the sullen, skinny girl. “And young lady, what did you do?”

“Nothing. I’m a kid.”

Celeste snorted. “You’re a young lady.”

Patty and Celeste laughed and laughed.

“Quiet!” Carl’s eyes flared. The Twins immediately fell silent and traded looks of disdain. But Agnes could see them blushing too.

“Show me your hands,” he demanded.

They thrust out their hands.

Carl grabbed one in each of his hands, squeezed each, prodded, turned them over, clasped their forearms, and then slapped their palms.

“Ow,” they said in unison.

He squeezed their arms. Hmm-hmming to himself. He pulled on their fingers and pressed his thumbs into their palms.

“I think we’ve got some naturals here,” he said. Patty’s parents and Celeste’s mom applauded. The Newcomers straightened, as though excited that their own had impressed Carl.

“Do you think you young ladies can hit that target?”

They scowled.

“I think you can,” said Carl. He waited for them to fill the silence. He was in teacher mode, but Agnes imagined he was not used to teenage girls.

“What do you think?”

Celeste rolled her eyes angrily.

“Just tell us what to do,” Patty muttered.

Carl handed them each a bow and arrow.

The first arrows they shot dropped at their feet.

“This is stupid,” Patty said.

Carl handed them new arrows, and Celeste stomped her feet in protest. “Mom!”

Her mother had a growling voice, hoarse, as though screaming was a large part of her life. “Celeste,” she said, “just do it, for fuck’s sake.”

Celeste’s arrow went wild to the right, as did Patty’s.

“Again,” Carl said.

“No,” Celeste screamed with the fury of an animal caught in a trap. Her shrillness made Agnes’s ears pop. But despite her protests, she drew back her arrow alongside Patty. Agnes was fascinated how they could look so furious and so bored at the same time.

The Twins let their arrows fly, barely looking at anything. But the arrows sailed right through the heart of the target. Their arrows almost split each other. Seeing this, Celeste’s fury disappeared and she was pure boredom once again.

Agnes thought they might be the most beautiful people she’d ever seen. The Twins’ fury was sudden and unbounded. It was messy and illogical, and she didn’t know enough words to describe how it made her feel. But she knew it was powerful. And she knew that somewhere she had this power in her as well. She tried to think when she’d ever observed animals with such unexpected ferocity and she wasn’t sure she had. Because while animals became ferocious for obvious reasons, she couldn’t quite figure out what the Twins’ emotion was born from.

“Again,” Carl said.

Celeste didn’t scream this time. She just rolled her eyes and drew back, as did Patty. Figuring out how to do it had anesthetized them. They both released sighs that Agnes had only seen dying animals emit. They nailed their target.

“How did you two get such good aim?” Carl asked.

“Slingshotting rats,” said Celeste.

“You saw rats?” Agnes asked, amazed. “In the City?” She’d never seen any animal in the City.

“You probably lived in a nicer zone than we did,” sniped Patty.

“But I didn’t even know there were any rats left in the City.”

“Oh, then you definitely lived in a nicer zone than we did,” Celeste said, and the Twins roared.

Carl shook his head. “Doesn’t explain anything. Slingshots—it’s a whole different set of muscles.”

Patty said, “Well, they were pretty big slingshots.” She raised her chin proudly, just as her mother had.

He looked at Celeste.

“They were pretty big rats,” said Celeste, dead straight.

Carl chuckled. Delighted, he clapped his hands and said, “Can’t say it matters! Time to hunt!”

He put his arms around the Twins chummily, and they immediately slunk out from under him and back together like magnets.