Blaze understood those rules, as they were much like the ones in the prison, but Gabe’s voice was low and calm, which threw him.
Gabe didn’t sound mean, and he wasn’t shouting like he was trying to wrestle control before any trouble broke out. Rather, he was quiet, and Blaze had to follow close with the group so he could hear Gabe, as it wouldn’t do to fuck up so early in the game. You had to know the rules of the game to play it.
“Here is the supply building,” said Gabe, pointing to a Quonset hut, which was next to the wooden kitchen building. The silver-gray curves of its roofline shone dully in the afternoon sunlight. It had a pair of double doors that reminded Blaze of barn doors. “And here is the cook’s tent, and the team leads’ tents. The first tent along this row is mine, if you ever need me.”
Gabe pointed along a row of green canvas tents nestled among a line of pine trees, which were so thick the tents could only be partially seen, their green edges blending in with the woods, the paler canvas strung overhead looking like casually draped cream-colored wings. Wooden rails along the sides almost disappeared into the branches of the pine trees.
“What’s with all the fucking weeds?” asked Kurt, kicking at the dense grasses and weeds they were currently standing in. “Sorry,” he said, when Gabe calmly turned to look at him. “Raising my hand. What’s with all the fucking weeds?”
“Thank you for raising your hand,” said Gabe. “That’s what we’re here for. My team will clear undergrowth so that paths can be created. We’ll also cut down old trees and dead bushes, and use a wood chipper to make mulch out of all that.”
“With chainsaws?” asked Wayne, raising his hand with a grin.
“And axes, hatchets, hacksaws, crosscut saws, even clippers. Whatever’s necessary.” Gabe smiled, seemingly at Wayne’s eagerness at the idea of it. “Next week, we’ll have a herd of horses coming through, so you’ll be tasked with helping to take care of them.”
“Cool.” Wayne smiled in return.
Blaze looked at his hands. He needed his hands soft and supple for picking pockets, though really he was too old for that kind of task. Besides which, his mom had been pushing him all year to start a floating poker game so he could take the game anywhere the law wasn’t and scalp the players for all they had. Except he wasn’t so good at poker, and if his hands were wrecked, there was no way he could even take on something like that.
“Do we get gloves?” asked Blaze, raising his hand. Only to find Gabe’s attention fully on him as they stood in the knee-high damp grass.
In prison, to have the kind of attention Gabe was giving him would be bad news. But here? Blaze didn’t know, so he held real still and put on his best I’m-harmless-and-only-asking-questions face.
“And hats and sturdy boots, whatever you need,” said Gabe. “Your tents are in among the trees over to our left,” Gabe gestured behind him. “But first, let me show you where the facilities are.”
They hiked again through the grass, going between two lush stands of trees. Amongst the trees on either side, Blaze glimpsed a few more green tents, but Gabe was striding on, so Blaze hurried to follow. The hems of his jeans were damp through and his thin sneakers were soaked by the time Gabe stopped at a fence line, newly built out of wood, that was just a tad taller than head height.
“Toilets on the right, and showers are on the left,” said Gabe. “Come on in and take a look, and then I’ll drop you at your tents, where you can try on your gear, put away your stuff, and settle in a bit.”
They clustered behind Gabe as he went through the open doorway to what looked like a large shed, open to the air, with a slanted roof overhead and a carefully laid flagstone floor beneath. There were five porcelain sinks on one side. Then, on the other side, were five free-standing wooden structures that looked like outhouses. But when Gabe opened the door to the first one, the inside was a little more upmarket than Blaze had been anticipating.
There was a bench made of wood, but instead of a simple hole, there was a nice white toilet seat with a lid, and there were metal vents high on the slatted wooden walls. And, perhaps best of all, stacks of soft-looking toilet paper, still wrapped in plastic and of a brand much, much nicer than the prison used.
“We’re on a compost system,” said Gabe. “There are five stalls, so no waiting. Once we get going, perhaps toward the end of summer, we’ll build five more of these on the far side of the compound. And over here—”
Gabe shut the wooden door and led them along the flagstone path to another large shed, which had five wooden structures, each one with a thin door, which Gabe opened. Behind the door was a dressing area with a cement slab for a floor, and a little blue and white striped curtain that led to a rustic shower.
Except, when Blaze looked closer, he realized that the shower head was a high-end, brushed nickel kind, which was supposed to make you feel that you were standing in a rainfall. Definitely pricey. And definitely part of some big fake, because while everything looked rustic, he was starting to see that beneath the surface, the facilities were anything but.
“They’re like sheds,” said Kurt with a hasty wave that was obviously meant to stand in for raising his hand. “How come they’re not like regular showers?”
“Yeah,” said Tom, following suit, looking up at the slanted roof to where, through the gap all the way around, could be seen trees and sky. “It’s like we’re outside. How come we gotta be outside all the time?”
“The purpose of the valley is to create a retreat,” said Gabe. “Up the hill from us, on the other side of that slope, is the Farthingale Guest Ranch. They’re expanding into this valley to create a retreat for people who want to check out from their hectic lives. But instead of, as with the guest ranch, having them go on cattle drives and take horse riding lessons, they’ll be slowing down, having meals in the mess tent, taking long walks along the paths that we’ll create for them. Doing a little bird watching or canoeing on the lake. Stargazing from the ridge, once we get some lookout towers built. We had contractors get the job started. Our job this summer is to help finish the retreat, to shape it. In future summers, we think, we’ll have parolees like yourselves come out and further develop the valley, and also do maintenance on the paths and structures.”
“So you’re going to exploit us ‘cause we ain’t got any other options.” Kurt’s chin jutted out in a mulish way.
Gabe paused, his dark gaze fully focused on Kurt in a way that made Blaze shiver. Gabe might seem easy-going but it was clear to see, at least to Blaze, that you wouldn’t want to get on this guy’s bad side cause he’d rip you a new one before you could blink, and he’d never say a word to warn you.
“Just to be clear, Kurt, and everyone,” said Gabe. “You voluntarily signed up for this program. Your other alternatives were the military, or to try to make it on your own with a parole officer you would check in with once a week. You chose this.”
Gabe looked at them each in turn.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “These are rustic living conditions, and in your view they can’t be much better than in prison, but I assure you they are. I could stand here all day and try to convince you of that, but keep in mind this one fact: once the retreat is up and running, rich folks from the city will pay good money to shower with a breeze around their ankles, or to sleep in a tent with the scent of pine all around them. So do me and yourself a favor and consider what you think you need to complain about. Come next summer, there will be a waiting list to get in here, I guarantee you that. And if you have any complaints or concerns—real ones, I mean, not imaginary ones—then bring them to me and we’ll work out a solution. Got it?”
When they didn’t answer him, he asked again, “Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” they all answered in unison, and when he gave them a glare, they said it in a different way. “Yes, Gabe.”
