CHAPTER 1 A knock sounded on the front door just as Franz cracked two eggs into a skillet. He looked at the clock, surprised. No one should be at his house at 5:40 in the morning. Assuming Ned had forgotten his key, he answered. His friend Geordie was there, bundled up in his shabby winter coat. His brown bangs were glued to his forehead with sweat, and he was breathing heavily. He’d probably run to Franz’s place. “Hey,” Geordie said. “Hi. Don’t you work soon?” “Yeah, but not for, like, twenty minutes. I’ll be fine,” Geordie said in that fast, excitable way he often spoke, as if he couldn’t get his thoughts out fast enough. They hadn’t talked much in the past six weeks, since their last bad argument around Thanksgiving. Geordie apparently hadn’t wanted to initiate conversation, and neither had Franz. “Why are you here?” he asked. Geordie frowned. “Nice to see you too.” “You came out of your way to stop by before work. There must be a reason.” Geordie still seemed annoyed, but he said, “Well, I was thinking about something this morning, and I need you to do me a favor. I don’t have time right now. No questions.” A year ago, Franz would have agreed, but things were different now. “You have to tell me why.” “No.” Geordie’s tone was firm. “Just help me out. Please.” He gazed at Franz with his big brown eyes, the way he always looked at his mother when he wanted something from her. As the youngest in his family at fifteen, he could get away with it, but Franz—who was a year older and a lot less prone to give in to Geordie’s crap than when they were younger—didn’t understand why Geordie thought the look would still work on him. For some reason, it did. “Fine,” Franz said. “What is it?” “I need you to check the barrier.” “Check it for what?” “I don’t know. Make sure it’s still there.” Franz stared at him, trying to figure out why Geordie would think it wasn’t. The invisible barrier surrounding Juneau had held fast for as long as anyone alive could remember. Everyone in the city was stuck there, trapped in a bubble encircled by mountains and water. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Franz asked. “No questions.” Geordie glanced over his shoulder at the distant clock tower in downtown. “I need to go or I’ll be late. Just do it. Please.” He ran off, leaving Franz looking into the icy darkness. Fresh snow coated the ground outside. Beyond that, Gastineau Channel was a steely black. Franz’s house sat beside it, built on a stretch of dirt that had been underwater before the appearance of the barrier. The air coming off the channel was so cold that the insides of his nose had already frozen. He dreaded going out, didn’t want to think about spending hours fishing. He started to close the door, but a voice from the dark called out, “Wait.” His older half-brother, Ned, came into view, his long black hair and pale skin shining under the waning moonlight. Though Ned’s mother had been white and Franz’s had been Yup’ik, they looked alike, with narrow faces, long dark hair and dark eyes, and somewhat large noses. They both resembled their father, Bob, more than they liked. Franz stepped back to let him in. Ned closed the door quickly, shutting out the cold. “Did you stay at Sherri’s?” Franz asked. “Yeah,” Ned said, shivering. He took in Franz’s clothes and frowned. “Where are you going?” “Fishing.” Franz remembered his eggs and hurried to the stove. Luckily, he’d had the heat low enough that they hadn’t burned, but the yolks were harder than he liked. Ned looked at them over Franz’s shoulder and said, “I’ll eat them if you don’t want to. I can make you more.” “That’s okay. I’ll do it.” Franz put the eggs on a plate and cracked two more into the pan while Ned cut a couple slices off their loaf of bread. Out of the corner of his eye, Franz could see Ned watching him. “What?” he asked without looking up from the eggs. “It’s really cold.” “I know.” “You don’t have to go,” Ned said, his tone careful like it often was when they spoke. “I’m getting an extra shift tomorrow because one of the guys is sick. That could make up for today.” “Yeah, unless you get sick too. It’s fine.” They sat at their rickety table and ate in silence. Ned kept glancing at Franz’s plate to make sure, like he always did, that Franz ate enough. It annoyed the hell out of Franz, but he never mentioned it because there had been a time not too long ago when he’d gotten thin enough that even Doctor Kraft had been worried. When they were done, Franz started to gather the plates. “I’ll wash the dishes,” Ned said. “So you can get going, I guess.” “Oh.” Franz set his plate back down, overcome by the feeling of guilt that came every time Ned tried to be nice. “Thank you.” Ned smiled. Franz wanted to say more, something kind, but nothing came to him. He bundled up as best he could in his worn brown coat, ratty sneakers, and furry trapper hat, the last of which was the only article of clothing he owned that was adequate for the weather. Mid-January wasn’t prime fishing season—the fish weren’t nearly as large as in the warmer months—but there was never a shortage of them. Franz understood from books that it hadn’t always been common to catch certain kinds of fish by the shore in Juneau, and the fact that he could meant the fish must have been as trapped as the people. It was some strange anomaly of the city, one of many that had allowed them to survive after they were cut off from the world. It was frigid out, cold not only from the temperature but from the humidity coming off the channel. It would have been nice to take Ned’s advice and stay home, but if Ned had to miss even a day at his desk job in the housing office, they might be short on their rent. Franz had never been to the Community House, the government’s solution to homelessness that allowed people to work off their debt, but Ned had gone on a tour once. He’d described it as dark, sad, and full of demoralized people. Maybe they’d made one mistake, taken one day off, and had gotten behind on their rent and failed to make it up. Franz’s rods and tackle box sat on the channel side of the house, next to the makeshift sink Ned had helped him construct when he’d moved in. He gathered them up and headed north. As he walked, he thought about Geordie’s strange request, trying to figure out where it had come from. They’d all been trapped in Juneau for seventy-five years, since 2015, when a tsunami had raced through the channel and destroyed part of the city. Afterward, when the water had receded, the three thousand remaining residents had discovered the barrier. Because of the disaster, the Juneau Franz knew no longer resembled the tourist destination it had once been. It was more like pictures he’d seen from the 1930s: downtown was smaller, there was no longer anything north of the Juneau-Douglas Bridge, and all the structures along the shoreline, including the cruise ship docks and the Waterfront Promenade, had been wiped out, replaced by fields of dirt that stretched between the city and the water. The barrier now blocked their passage to the forest east of town, the forest on Douglas Island to the west, the airport and suburbs up north, and everything south of the cruise ship terminal. There was no sign anything had changed, no reason to suspect anything had happened to the barrier. But Geordie must have had one, or he wouldn’t have asked. He rarely did anything without a purpose. Franz crossed a swath of dirt that had once held buildings and roads and headed for the very northeastern edge of the barrier, where the fish congregated. It was close to the trees, so he wouldn’t have to waste time going out of his way to check on the barrier. The spot had once been a small harbor and was right by the road that led to the airport. It was the furthest anyone, including the fish, could get from town. Franz set his things by the water and stood on the shore, wishing he didn’t have to be there. The thought of sitting in the cold for hours was exhausting. He told himself to stop being childish and went to the edge of the forest. The trees were only feet from him, out of reach on the other side of the barrier. Like all the evergreens in the forests surrounding Juneau and on Douglas Island, they were black, more like shadows than real trees. He placed his hand against the barrier. It was hard and smooth like glass. Despite the freezing air, it was warm, as if there were a fire inside. He wondered, for the thousandth time, if it was as empty as people thought. Since the tsunami, the forests had appeared uninhabited, no longer full of wildlife. The only animals anyone had seen were the fish in the channel and the chickens, cows, pigs, and goats in town. But the absence of life in the trees didn’t make sense unless the forests were cut off from the rest of the world too. It was a possibility Franz didn’t like to think about. He lowered his hand and went back to the water. As he looked at his rods and box, he was overcome by a desire to not be there. He didn’t want to be irresponsible, but he also didn’t want to be cold. Maybe Ned was right that it would be smarter to wait until later. It was too early for there to be even a hint of light in the sky. Despite knowing it was a bad idea, Franz gathered up his things and left, too tired and annoyed to care. Instead of going back the way he’d come, he went west to a little community where the town’s population of Inupiat people lived. It sat near the channel, just north of the Juneau-Douglas Bridge and Franz’s neighborhood. There were five houses, just as small and crappy as his but better cared for, that encircled a large fire pit surrounded by benches made from driftwood. Like Franz’s neighborhood, they were in an area that had been underwater before the tsunami. If the water level rose again, all their houses would be wiped out. Even though it was early, the community’s bonfire was lit. A few figures sat around it, toasting what looked like slices of bread on sticks. Franz wondered if one of them was Freddie, the community’s unofficial leader. Franz liked Freddie, but the man was a bit like Ned: always concerned about Franz’s health, both mental and physical, and about how much time he spent alone. When he got closer, he saw that one of the figures was Danny, Freddie’s seventeen-year-old son. It was unusual for Danny to wake up that early, so Franz assumed he’d stayed up all night. He stopped just outside the circle of firelight, close enough to feel some of its heat, and tried to figure out how to get Danny’s attention without alerting the others. Thankfully, Danny noticed him. He lifted his chin in greeting and jogged over, smiling. Because he and Franz were both Alaska Natives, they had similar dark hair and eyes, but otherwise, they looked completely different. Danny’s hair was short and neat, while Franz had kept his long since childhood. Danny, though not much taller than Franz, worked out, so he was bulkier. Even at his healthiest points, Franz had been thin. And Danny smiled more. A lot more. “Hey,” he said when he reached Franz. “Why are you hiding over here in the shadows? You know you’re welcome to hang out with us.” No matter how much Freddie and Danny insisted he was one of them, Franz had never felt like it. None of them were native to Juneau—the descendants of people who had been visiting from other parts of the state when the tsunami hit—but ever since Franz’s mother had died four years ago, he’d been the only Yup’ik person in town. None of the Inupiat people knew what it was like to be that alone. He opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t know why he was there, why he hadn’t just gone home. He said the first thing that came to mind. “I just wanted to let your father know I might not have any fish for him today. I’ll be starting late, and I have a couple orders in town to fill first.” Danny shrugged. “No big deal. He always likes when you bring some, but he doesn’t expect it, you know?” Franz could have left it at that, but he hesitated, wondering if Geordie’s behavior would make sense to someone else. “Have you talked to Geordie lately?” he asked. “No. I haven’t seen him in a long time, actually. What’s he up to?” “He came by my house this morning and was acting strange.” Danny’s lips curled in a smile. “Geordie always acts strange. He’s a strange dude.” Franz let out a breath, trying to stifle his annoyance. Danny could never take anything seriously. Suddenly, Danny frowned and asked, “Wait, what time is it?” “About 6:30,” Franz said. Danny’s expression grew a little panicked. “What day is it?” “Wednesday.” Danny groaned. “Fuck me. I’m filling in for someone at work today. Why did I volunteer to do that? That is so unlike me.” Franz didn’t want to make him feel worse, but he said, “You have to be there pretty soon, right?” “Half an hour,” Danny said. “Dammit. I thought it was, like, two. Dad’s right. I need to go to sleep at night like a normal person.” He shook his head, then refocused on Franz. “Sorry. What was Geordie being weird about?” It didn’t seem like he was in any kind of hurry to get to his job at the dairy. Franz didn’t want to make him late, but he knew Danny would insist on staying until he told him what was going on. “He asked me to see if the barrier was still there.” Danny raised his eyebrows. “The barrier-barrier?” “Yes.” “The barrier that’s been here for seventy-five years.” “Yes.” “The barrier that’s existed his entire life, and your entire life, and my old-ass dad’s entire life?” Franz said, less patiently, “Yes.” “Why would he ask you that?” “I have no idea. I thought you might know.” “No one knows why Geordie does what he does. Did you check it?” “Yeah. It’s the same as always.” “Huh.” Danny looked across the channel at Douglas Island, his expression thoughtful. After a moment, he said, “Interesting. Also interesting he asked you to do it so freaking early. Couldn’t he have gone after work?” Franz hadn’t thought about that. It added to his irritation with Geordie. “Yeah, probably.” “Typical Geordie,” Danny said. “If he won’t tell you why he asked, you need to spy on him. You can be sneaky. You’ve got those quiet feet, like a ninja.” Franz never knew how to react when Danny said stuff like that, and he was too tired to figure it out. He just said, “If you see him around, maybe try to notice if he’s being weird.” “Weirder than usual. Got it.” Franz started to walk away but turned back. “Please don’t tell your father about this.” “What, Geordie losing his marbles or you sneaking around by the forest?” Danny grinned like it was all a big joke. Franz wished he hadn’t said anything. Now Danny probably would tell Freddie just because he thought it was funny when his father got into Franz’s business. “Any of it,” Franz said. “Not a word. You can trust me.” Danny gave him a salute and rejoined his relatives. As soon as Franz stepped out of the warmth of the fire, he shivered. He hurried south along the water, hating the familiar feeling of soaked socks and frozen toes. Just after he passed the Juneau-Douglas Bridge, something large and dark swooped out of the sky. He jumped and sucked in a breath, his heart pounding. The thing perched ten feet away on a weathered piece of driftwood: one of many that had littered the shore over the last couple weeks. Franz crept closer, squinting in the semi-darkness. It was a large bird, mostly brown with a white tail. Its hooked beak and talons marked it as a bird of prey. A chill crept up Franz’s back. He didn’t understand where it could have come from. It turned its head to look at him, picking him out from the clutter of houses, clotheslines, and chicken coops like it knew he was there. Its eyes glowed unnaturally blue against the dark sky. Franz was overcome by a feeling that the bird wasn’t just a bird. It spread its large wings and took off, lifting the wood into the sky even though it didn’t look big enough to hold its weight. It crossed the channel and disappeared into the forest on Douglas Island. Franz jogged home and dumped his fishing stuff by the outside sink. When he got inside, he was surprised to find Ned still awake, sprawled on their sagging couch, reading. Ned looked surprised too. “You’re back.” “You were right. It’s too cold. I’ll go in a couple hours.” Ned smiled. Franz was worried Ned was about to attempt some kind of brotherly conversation, and they didn’t know how to have those anymore. “I’m going to sleep for a bit.” He kicked off his soggy shoes and went into the bedroom, where he lay on his back for a long time, staring at the water-stained ceiling and thinking about the bird that shouldn’t have been there.
CHAPTER 2 Dorota looked out the window onto a bright, sunny morning—a nice surprise for January. Her younger siblings, Marta and Lev, were driving her insane with their bickering, so she bundled up and took a Jane Austen novel outside to read under the back porch. The ground sloped down steeply there, leaving enough room for her to sit. It wasn’t as easy to scoot into the spot as it had once been. Dorota was narrow and thin, but she’d gotten tall, so it was a tight squeeze. Her shoulders skimmed the underside of the porch, and she had to hunch over her knees to avoid snagging her short orange hair on the wood. When she was little, she’d used the spot to play, but now it was only for reading and hiding from her siblings. Her neighborhood was her favorite place in the city. It was up in the hills above downtown, affording them what would have been a beautiful view if not for the dark forests. Some of the houses there were from before the tsunami, but others, like hers, had been built more recently, when the old ones had been damaged beyond repair. According to her father, their house had replaced one that had collapsed in high winds a couple decades earlier. The mixture of the old and new made the neighborhood more interesting than most of the others in town. It was cold sitting in the snow, but blissfully quiet. The sun warmed her face enough to be almost pleasant. The steep hills leading down to town, which had been slick earlier, were mostly melted off. Content, she opened her book and settled in. Before she finished the first chapter, the front door burst open. Two sets of feet stomped along the side porch until they were right over her head. Dorota let out a resigned sigh. “Can you make Lev shut up?” Marta asked. “He won’t stop talking.” “Bite me, pipsqueak,” Lev said. Dorota heard what was clearly the sound of a fist hitting something, and Lev cried out in pain. She crawled out from under the porch and stepped onto it so she wouldn’t be shorter than her siblings. Marta crossed her arms over her chest, her face set in the annoyed expression that was her default. Her long, wavy red hair was scraped into a messy ponytail like always, and she was dressed in her standard flannel shirt and jeans. She might have been intimidating, even at only thirteen, if she wasn’t under five feet tall. Lev, who was about to turn eleven and was already taller than her, loved to make her mad by calling her “pipsqueak.” Lev had inherited their father’s looks—blond hair, brown eyes, and a wide face—while Marta and Dorota looked more like their mother. Marta, especially, was like a miniature, angry Caroline. Dorota thought it was sad neither of her siblings had really known their mother. Lev had been five when she’d died and had very few memories of the time before that, and even though Marta remembered more, she never wanted to talk about her. She’d always preferred their father. Lev was scowling and rubbing his arm. “She hit me,” he said, as if Dorota hadn’t been there the entire time. She put her hands on her hips, trying to look stern. Marta smirked. “You two need to stop,” Dorota said. “Do you think Dad would like that you’ve been fighting?” “What, are you going to tattle?” Marta asked. “Like a little kid?” She threw a pointed look at Lev. He stuck out his tongue. “Please just stop,” Dorota said. “But she wouldn’t let me talk,” Lev said. Marta rolled her eyes. “Why should I when you’re just asking a bunch of stupid questions?” “They’re not stupid.” Dorota sighed and picked at her thumbnail, a nervous habit. “Okay, Lev,” she said. “What is it?” “I just want to know what’s actually in the forest.” Marta gestured to him. “See? Stupid.” “No, it’s not,” he said. “Yes, it is, because there’s nothing in there. How do you not know that? Literally everyone else knows that.” Lev looked at her like she was an idiot. “I know what people say, but I want to know what’s actually true, dummy.” “You’re a dummy.” Dorota cut in before they could get going. “You know nothing has ever been spotted in there, Lev.” “But that’s just so boring,” he said. “David and I wanted to check out the barrier, but his mom heard us talking about it and flipped out. She said we shouldn’t go near it.” “You shouldn’t,” Dorota said firmly. Lev threw his arms into the air. “But why? It’s not like we can get through. Why is everyone so worried if there’s nothing?” “I don’t know,” Dorota said, frustrated she couldn’t provide a better answer. “Just stay away from it, okay?” Lev sighed. “Lame.” “Told you,” Marta said. “I wasn’t talking to you.” “I wish you wouldn’t talk at all. Your voice makes me want to knock myself unconscious.” “Oh my god, please do that.” Dorota closed her eyes, trying to hold on to her patience. Playing referee in their arguments had gotten old years ago. “Actually, you know what’s in there?” Marta asked. “Spirits. Evil spirits.” Dorota gave Marta a look she hoped conveyed her annoyance. Marta ignored her. “If you go near the barrier, you’ll be captured and won’t ever be able to leave.” She shrugged. “I would miss you for a couple days, but then I’d just be relieved.” “Marta!” Dorota snapped. Marta fell silent, but Dorota knew it wouldn’t last. She turned to Lev. His lips were pressed together, eyes narrowed. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or scared, but knowing him, it was a bit of both. She squeezed his shoulder. “You know the stories about spirits are just myths, right?” “Mom believed them,” Lev said, a quiver of worry in his voice. “Yeah, but Mom was nuts,” Marta said. “Like, actually crazy.” The worry vanished from Lev’s face. With a tone of fake sympathy, he said, “I’m sorry that’s what she passed on to you.” Marta glared at him. “Screw you, you little turd.” “Okay.” Dorota lifted her hands in surrender. “Lev, go play at David’s. Stay away from the forest. I’m serious. If I find out you’ve gone near it, I’ll tell Dad.” Lev smirked at Marta and ran back into the house. A second later, he tore off down the snowy hill, wearing his coat and hat. “He’s so stupid,” Marta muttered. Dorota decided not to engage. “You need to leave for class soon.” “I’m not going. I already know how to sew and bake, and I can study laws and Juneau history at home.” “You never do, though.” “I didn’t say I would. Just that I can.” Dorota shook her head. “Marta, it’s required. Besides, they teach you about work, too. That’s important.” “I already know where I want to work.” Dorota frowned, surprised because Marta had never mentioned that. “Where?” “The clothing factory,” Marta said. Dorota’s surprise turned to confusion. “Why there? Everyone says it’s depressing and smells weird.” “Look at me.” Marta gestured to herself. “I’m a munchkin. Who else is going to hire me? The hydroelectric plant? Should I go chop down some trees?” “You don’t even need to get a job when you turn fourteen, Marta. Dad makes enough money.” “For now,” Marta said. “But what if he gets fired? All we do is sit around being lazy all day. We can get off our butts and help out.” “We do errands. We go to the market, wash the clothes, clean the house, make food. All that needs to get done, even if we aren’t paid for it.” “So, we’re housewives,” Marta said. “Dad’s housewives. That’s what you want?” Dorota was done. Struggling to keep her voice calm, she said, “You’re going to class. We can talk about this later.” “Yeah, I’m sure we will.” They went inside. Marta threw on her old brown hoodie, the closest thing she had to a coat since she’d outgrown hers the previous winter. Dorota felt bad because she hadn’t been able to find Marta a new one. She took her own pale blue scarf off the coat rack and held it out. “Wear this. It’s cold.” Marta wrinkled her nose. “Ew, no. Babies wear that color.” Dorota didn’t lower the scarf. After a few seconds, Marta groaned, snatched it out of her hand, and flung it around her neck. While Dorota put on her own coat, Marta asked, “You’re coming again?” like she had many times over the last year, since she’d hit her preteen stage and had gotten somehow even grouchier than before. “Yes,” Dorota said. “Why?” “I’m walking you.” “I’m a big girl, Mommy. I can find downtown.” “Dad wants me to walk with you. You know that.” Marta huffed and stormed over to the door. “You two are so smothering. I don’t need you to babysit me.” Dorota followed her outside, annoyed. It was always the same with Marta. Everything Dorota did was wrong in her eyes. At seventeen, Dorota was in charge of keeping her siblings safe when their father was at work, but Marta didn’t want anyone hovering over her and treating her like a child. They went down the first steep hill. The road, like most of the others in town, had long ago crumbled into dirt. When they reached the pathway below theirs, they cut over to the long metal staircase that would take them straight to downtown without having to wind through the curvy streets. As they walked down it, Dorota said, “Tell me how the government officials get money back into the system.” Marta rolled her eyes. “No. No more quizzes. This is why I hate walking with you.” “I’m trying to prepare you,” Dorota said. “Betty will get mad if you don’t know.” “So? She’s always mad anyway.” Betty, the butcher’s wife, taught the city’s youth education classes, which were required for everyone ages eleven to sixteen. The classes were generally considered a joke, but the officials had started them fifteen years ago, after closing the schools. Marta always insisted they only held the classes in an attempt to pretend they still cared about education. Dorota had “graduated” from the classes five months ago, when she’d turned seventeen, and had learned barely anything. She and her friend Sita had kept a running tally of how many times they’d been taught to make bread over the years. Eighteen. “Just tell me,” Dorota pushed, determined to do some good for her sister whether she appreciated it or not. “By stealing from us.” “Marta.” “Well, they do,” Marta said. “They take all the money and screw everyone else over.” She stopped walking and looked at Dorota. “Did you know people have to pay taxes on babies?” “Yes, I did.” “Well, why the hell should you owe two hundred dollars for a baby? It’s not like they do anything.” Marta continued down the stairs. “The officials tax poor families for every child they have, but do they pay taxes for their children? I’ve asked, but no one seems to know.” “You shouldn’t ask questions like that.” “They shop at the fancy market in town and eat whatever they want while poor families are putting their children to work as young as they’re allowed because they can’t afford food.” “Where did you learn all this?” Dorota asked. She didn’t remember getting that kind of information in her classes, which were biased in favor of the wealthier residents. Marta shrugged. “Geordie March. He’s the youngest of five siblings and is super poor because his parents can’t work, so he knows what he’s talking about. See, this is why we need jobs. To pay our own taxes.” Dorota smiled. “Dad can afford to pay our taxes. He’s been doing it our entire lives. It’s fine.” “Well, you know what? I want to do it anyway because it’s such a stupid law. And you know the government officials can fire their assistants any time they want, right? They don’t even have to say why. What if they decide Dad is getting too old?” “To work at the library?” Dorota asked. “I doubt that.” Marta barreled on. “What if they just fire him and he can’t find another job? What if we blow through our savings? Mom’s dead, so we’re the only ones who can help.” “We will,” Dorota said. “Not if we don’t make any money.” Marta stopped walking again and gave her a pleading look. “Can we just do it? Please? I feel like a baby not having a job. And we can’t keep leeching off Dad forever.” Dorota suppressed a smile. “We aren’t leeching off him. But fine. We can talk about getting jobs if you’re so worried about it.” Marta looked at her in surprise. “Really?” “Yes. You’re right that we can do more. We’ll divide the chores and make a schedule. It’s about time Lev started helping, anyway.” Marta scoffed. “Good luck with that.” The staircase led to a little alley between two abandoned storefronts in downtown. When Dorota and Marta reached the street, they turned toward the water and headed to the bakery that was used for classes. The usual crowd of a dozen or so kids was waiting outside. Marta slowed, a sour look on her face. Dorota was shy, always nervous around new people, especially boys, but Marta’s social issues were not caused by shyness. She could talk to people, but she didn’t want to. She said having to smile and make small talk was a form of torture. Any time Dorota tried to convince her to get to know the other kids, Marta insisted she preferred being alone. Dorota scanned the crowd and spotted Geordie March, who she remembered from before she graduated. He was fifteen, right between her and Marta in age, and was outgoing and friendly. He had often tried to draw Dorota into conversation when she’d been in classes. She’d been too shy to say much but had always liked him. “Have you and Geordie been talking a lot?” she asked. “Kind of.” Marta sounded bored. “He’s nice, right?” “I guess. Kind of annoying, though. Like, does he have to be that cheerful all the time? And he always asks me about you, like you two were best friends or something. Did you ever even talk to him?” “Yeah, some.” Dorota flushed at the thought of Geordie asking about her. “You don’t like him?” Marta just shrugged. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve been talking to someone,” Dorota said. “Why are you so worried about it?” “Because I don’t want you to be lonely.” “I’m not.” Before Dorota could argue, Betty stuck her head out the door to announce the start of class. Marta groaned and slipped into the crowd of students, not making eye contact with anyone. As Dorota turned to leave, she noticed Geordie hadn’t moved toward the door like the others. He was staring west, toward the channel and Douglas Island, his expression empty. Dorota’s skin crawled. The island scared her more than any other place in Juneau. Sometimes, eerie fogs rolled across the channel from the island, obscuring it and making it even creepier. She always tried to avoid being down there after dark. Geordie’s friend, a guy Dorota had never spoken to despite being in classes together for five years, was waiting near the door, watching Geordie with his brow furrowed. “Geordie,” he said. Geordie blinked and looked back at him. “Huh?” “We’re late.” “Oh.” Geordie shook his head as if to clear it. “Sorry. I’m tired.” His friend’s expression didn’t change. “Why did you ask me to check the barrier?” Geordie said, “Later,” and hurried past him into the bakery. The other boy glanced at the island, then followed.
CHAPTER 3 While Marta was in class, Dorota went to the trade market. The building sat on the edge of Gastineau Channel at the foot of the Juneau-Douglas Bridge. It was a ten-minute walk from downtown, past the dairy and the poor neighborhood where Geordie lived. The market was housed in a rusting metal warehouse with huge, glass-less windows that had to be shuttered to keep out the cold. Inside, the walls were lined with old metal trash cans that had been converted to fire pits. Because it was so cold and clammy that day, Dorota wasn’t surprised to see all the fires burning. She went to a table near the front door where Jake Day, a tall man in his early thirties, sold and traded clothes, shoes, dishes, housewares, tools, and other assorted junk. Dorota’s family had traded with Jake for twelve years, since he’d taken over the table after his father’s death. His wife, Julia, sold food at the table next to his, and between them, Dorota could always get everything she needed. Jake was generally a nice person, but he was moody, often stressed out by his customers. Dorota could always tell how he was feeling by his hair. When he was agitated, he ran his hand through it constantly until it stood on end. It was messy that day, so she smiled when she approached the table, hoping to put him in a better mood. Jake gave her a tired, humorless smile. “Hey, Dorota. What can I do for you?” “I have some old pants of Lev’s that don’t fit anymore. We need to size up.” She had seen people haggle endlessly with him over their goods, but she didn’t bother. She knew that although Jake couldn’t give her as much as her things were worth because he needed to make a profit, he wouldn’t try to rip her off. As they were finishing their trade, Julia joined them at the table, fiddling with one of her limp brown curls and looking toward the center of the market. She was almost a foot shorter than her husband, so when she elbowed him, she hit his rib. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice flat. Dorota smiled. Jake often seemed annoyed with his wife, but everyone knew that most of the time, he was putting on an act. “Look at Jeannie,” Julia said. Dorota followed her gaze. A skinny, middle-aged blonde woman stood in the aisle between two tables. Her clothes were so worn they were almost colorless, and her sallow skin made the bruises on her forearms and cheek stand out. “Who is that?” Dorota asked. “Jeannie Barton,” Julia said. “She’s a friend.” “Is she?” Jake asked. “I like Jeannie.” “She’s Adam’s wife.” “So she must be evil, right?” Curious, Dorota cut in. “I’ve heard the name Barton, but I can’t remember where.” “You were probably in class with her son, Alex,” Julia said. “He’s about your sister’s age. His dad, Adam—” “Is a criminal,” Jake said. “And an asshole.” “He is. But Jeannie’s not.” Dorota’s confusion must have shown on her face, because Jake said, “Adam sells alcohol and guns out of his house in the channel neighborhood. We try to stay away from him, but Julia insists on talking to Jeannie.” Dorota had learned in her classes that alcohol and guns were on a list of goods that were banned in the city, but she’d never thought much of it. The idea of someone actually selling them made her nervous. Julia gave her husband a look and said, “She’s a nice woman who married a complete piece of shit. Cut her some slack.” She lowered her voice and added, “I mean, look what he did to her.” “Her husband did that?” Dorota asked, looking again at the woman’s bruises. “He does it sometimes when business is bad,” Julia said. “If I was bigger, I would fuck him up. I know karate.” Jake rolled his eyes. Julia noticed and said, “Screw you. You know it’s true. I’m going to go make sure she’s okay.” Jake raised his eyebrows. “Really?” She raised hers, too, in an imitation of him. “Yes.” “Why?” “Because I’m not a dick.” “Not wanting you to go doesn’t make me a dick.” Julia scrunched up her nose. “Yes, it does.” Jake flipped her off. In response, Julia smiled and headed toward Jeannie. Without thought, Dorota followed. When Julia touched Jeannie’s arm, the woman jumped and turned to her. At the sight of Julia, she relaxed. “You scared me,” she said. Her voice was deeper than Dorota had expected for someone who looked so insubstantial. “Sorry,” Julia said. “Are you okay?” “Why are you asking?” Jeannie’s tone was steady, not painted with any emotion. Julia opened her mouth, but unlike at Jake’s table, she couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. Jeannie understood anyway. “I’m fine.” She turned back to the table she’d been browsing, which held an assortment of brown and white eggs and was unstaffed. There was a basket on the table for people to put payment. The merchant, Duffy, must have had a huge amount of trust in his customers. Dorota knew Jake would never leave his goods unattended. “I know you don’t like talking about it,” Julia said softly. “I just wanted to check on you.” Jeannie looked at her, her expression less hard for a second. Then she noticed Dorota. “What do you want, girl?” It was unnerving the way her tone never changed. Dorota said nothing, uncomfortable as she always was when people looked at her like they didn’t like her. She hated confrontation and hated anyone thinking bad things about her. “Jeannie, this is Dorota,” Julia said. “Her father works at the library.” Jeannie’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Your mother was one of those religious imbeciles. I saw her all the time going to the church.” Behind Jeannie’s back, Julia mouthed an apology, but the words didn’t bother Dorota. Even as a child, she’d known her mother had an almost cult-like devotion to the city’s strange religion, which worshipped a nameless spirit they believed had created the barrier. She remembered it causing a lot of arguments between her parents. Jeannie turned back to Julia and said, “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” She brushed past Dorota and out the front door. The burlap bag slung over her shoulder looked limp and empty, as if she’d forgotten to get what she came for. Dorota followed Julia back to her table to get the pants from Jake. When their trade was done, she headed back to downtown, thinking about Jeannie Barton. She couldn’t imagine how it must be to live with someone who would hurt her. She wondered if Adam hurt their son, too, but tried to put it out of her mind. With nothing else to do, she sat by the building across from the classroom to wait for Marta. She must have dozed off, because the door opened sooner than she would have expected. Students filed out, Marta in the lead. She made a beeline for Dorota, walking as fast as her short legs would go. Dorota stood and was about to head for their staircase when Geordie came out. He was chatting to a boy she didn’t know, smiling and at ease. Dorota searched his face for any sign of the blankness she’d seen in his expression before, but there was none. Geordie waved goodbye to his friend, and then his gaze fell on Dorota. Her cheeks flared with embarrassment at being caught staring at him. She wasn’t comfortable with boys looking at her, no matter the reason. When he gave her a warm smile, her stomach turned. She averted her eyes and hurried Marta up the street. *** After class, Franz left the old bakery and scanned the dispersing crowd for Geordie. He found him standing twenty feet from the door, looking up the street that led to the hill neighborhoods. Something fuzzy and pale blue was hanging out of his coat pocket. Franz joined him and asked, “What’s going on?” Geordie turned to him. He didn’t seem lost in his head the way he had before class. “Do you remember Dorota?” Franz frowned, confused enough to ignore that Geordie hadn’t answered the question. “Who?” “Dorota Flood. You had classes with her for five years. She’s only, like, six months older than you.” Geordie often teased Franz for not paying attention to the people around him. Normally, Franz thought Geordie exaggerated the issue, but now he wasn’t sure. He didn’t remember the girl at all, and Geordie was talking about her like he should. “I don’t know who she is,” Franz said. “She graduated a few months ago. Tall, thin, red hair?” Franz vaguely remembered an older red-haired girl, but he couldn’t picture a face. “What about her?” “Nothing.” Geordie stuck his hands in his coat pockets, a content look on his face. The response annoyed Franz because it obviously wasn’t nothing, but it didn’t seem important. He looked around to make sure the other students had gone and asked, “Why did you ask me to check the barrier?” Geordie’s smile turned to a frown. “Did you?” “Yes. It was there. Obviously.” “Cool,” Geordie said. “Thanks.” Franz raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?” “I don’t know. What else do you want?” Irritation flared in Franz like it did so often with Geordie. “An explanation. What was the point? The barrier has never broken.” Geordie’s lips pressed together, a tiny motion that meant he was concealing something. “What?” Franz asked. “What what?” “You did the thing with your mouth.” Geordie laughed. For a moment, it made Franz feel stupid, like he was mistaken. He reminded himself that Geordie was full of shit, good at manipulating people’s emotions. “I didn’t do anything,” Geordie said. “You’re being weird.” Franz shook his head, done with the conversation. “Next time, do it yourself. Leave me out of it.” He headed up the path to Old Juneau, the neighborhood closest to downtown. It was nicer than the other hill neighborhoods, far nicer than where Franz and Geordie lived, and was inhabited mostly by government officials and business owners. Geordie followed. “You don’t need to be moody about it. I just heard some guys at work talking about how the town council skipped their barrier inspection this month, so I thought it would be good to check.” “If it was as easy as going to any random point and touching the barrier, I’m sure someone else would have figured it out despite a missed inspection.” “Why are you like this all the time?” Geordie asked. “I thought asking would be a way to try to mend things with us, you know? Get past what happened in November.” Franz stopped, angry now. “How would asking me about the barrier accomplish that, especially when you’re not even telling me why? You haven’t talked to me outside of class in months even though you’re the one who was an asshole.” “I know I was,” Geordie said, sounding more impatient than sorry. “That’s why I’m trying to fix it.” Franz glared at Geordie instead of saying an actual apology would be a start. Geordie glared back. “Anyway, you can’t say anything about not talking because you never talk to me about anything anymore. What’s your problem?” Franz clenched his jaw, trying to push down his anger. He hated when Geordie tried to get a rise out of him. Aside from that, Geordie knew all about his problems. Before he could speak, Geordie said, “I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Almost every single time I go into the market, Freddie asks me if you’re okay.” Guilt turned Franz’s stomach. While it was easy to blow Geordie off, he’d never felt right doing it to Freddie. “I talk to him all the time.” “To give him fish,” Geordie said. “You don’t talk about how you’re doing.” “I don’t need to talk about how I’m doing. I’m the same as always.” “Yeah, that’s the problem. I get that what happened to you was bad, but it was four years ago, and you still haven’t gotten over it. I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me about it.” “Why would I when a few weeks ago, you said you didn’t want to hear about it anymore? Or when you say things like ‘get over it’?” “God, Franz, that’s not what I meant,” Geordie said, clearly frustrated. “I just meant it’s time for you to stop dwelling on it. It happened, and it sucked, but if you don’t let it go or move past it or however you want to phrase it, you’re going to be stuck not talking to anyone for the rest of your life.” Franz didn’t know what to say. Geordie was right. Franz had moved in with Ned when he was fourteen, the youngest he was allowed to leave his legal guardian, and he’d spent the last three years trying to erase everything that had happened with his parents from his mind: the way Bob had constantly beaten and ridiculed Franz’s mother, Gertrude, until she’d taken his gun and shot herself. That Bob had then turned his anger on his children. That Ned had left. Geordie, like almost everyone in their neighborhood, had known about it. Franz had shown up at his door so many times that year with a bloody lip or black eye. Back then, Geordie had been less of an asshole. When Ned had failed to visit Franz for fear Bob would come after him, too, Geordie had been the one to offer Franz a place to stay when he needed to get away. Franz didn’t understand what had happened. After a moment of silence, Geordie sighed and said, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m just worried about you. Everyone is.” Franz nodded, but he still didn’t know what to say. He’d grown tired of the conversation. “I need to go. I want to get some fishing in before it gets late.” Geordie gave him a careful smile. Franz knew Geordie would start speaking to him again and resigned himself to it. Maybe he didn’t need to stay angry. Maybe Geordie really hadn’t meant to be cruel. “I’ll see you later,” Geordie said. He walked toward their neighborhood, pulling a small, worn book from his coat pocket as he went. Instead of following him, Franz continued up the path into Old Juneau. He’d delivered fish there many times and knew his way around, but he never felt comfortable there. The residents of Old Juneau didn’t like poor people in their neighborhood. He went straight to the library, the only place in the area he visited for reasons unrelated to work. The city’s libraries had all been destroyed in the tsunami, but enough books had been salvaged to open a new one, in a big, older house partway up the hill. Franz opened the heavy wooden door and went inside. The overhead lighting was dim, but the large arched windows let in an abundance of daylight. Shelves lined with books filled the room, emanating a comforting smell of musty paper. Franz immediately felt more relaxed, despite the fact that three or four of the neatly dressed patrons were casting him unfriendly glances. He approached the information desk in the center of the room. A tall blond man in his thirties was at the desk, bent over an open book. Franz had spoken to the man, Harold, many times. Even though their conversations were usually centered around books, he’d learned that Harold had three children and lived in the hilly neighborhood north of Old Juneau. Franz had been up there to sell fish, so he knew the houses there were larger and nicer than his. They didn’t get the same wear from the channel. Harold looked up when he approached and smiled. “Hello, Franz. Finished the Emerson already?” “No. I’m looking for books on birds of prey.” Harold frowned. “I don’t get many people asking for that. Let me look.” He went to the card catalog behind the desk. After sifting through the cards, he wrote down a series of letters and numbers and handed it to Franz. “You’ll find all the books about birds in this section. If you need something more specific, let me know.” “Thank you.” Franz went into the rows of shelves and found what he was looking for near the back of the library. He took out a few books on birds of prey and sat on the floor to look through them. He started with a book on Alaskan birds. A few looked similar to what he’d seen, but they weren’t large enough. He replaced the book and searched two more, both about birds of North America. There was nothing in them, either, so he expanded to books on birds of prey around the world. After going through a few more books, he found a picture he was almost positive matched the bird he’d seen. He looked at the heading and frowned. It was a White-Tailed Eagle, which, according to the book, was one of the largest eagles in the world and native to Europe and Asia. Franz scanned the page to see if they were also in the US, but there was nothing aside from a note that the eagles occasionally wintered near the Aleutian Islands, which were hundreds of miles away. He closed the book, confused and irritated he hadn’t found a clear explanation. That evening, after dinner, Franz went to the Juneau-Douglas Bridge. It was rarely used since no one wanted to go to Douglas Island, but some of the dyers from the clothing factory, including Geordie, had to go over there to wash the dye pans away from town. They usually went after hours so it wouldn’t conflict with their other work, but they didn’t get paid for that extra time. Geordie had never once complained about it, despite having to wash the pans on one of his days off, but Franz thought the city officials expecting people to work for nothing was more evidence of their disregard for the poorer citizens. It was one reason he’d never gotten a government-controlled job. He crossed to the middle of the bridge, where the arch was at its highest point, and scanned the shore on both sides of the channel. People were walking around in his neighborhood and near the market, going about their business, but the island was still. The towns of Douglas and West Juneau had been obliterated in the tsunami, so all that was left on the island aside from the forest and mountains was some driftwood and a long expanse of dirt. He looked up and down the shore and realized there was less driftwood than usual. Normally, the ground was littered with it this time of year, but there were only a few pieces left. Franz thought of the bird carrying the wood into the forest. Maybe it had taken more. He stood on the bridge for over an hour, until his nose grew so cold it hurt. Though he hadn’t expected to see the bird, he was disappointed. He’d hoped that if he saw it again, its presence would make sense.