“You need to go where the kids are.”
“Kids?”
“Yes, the kids. Teenagers and twentysomethings are far more aware of how climate change is going to affect their future than anyone else. All those old geezers in the legislature? They don’t care because they’ll be dead before things get bad.”
“Avery!”
“It’s true. Every time we say Greenland’s ice will be gone by 2100, everyone over forty shrugs. They’re not going to live that long, so why give up any creature comforts now? The teens and twentysomethings, on the other hand, might still be here. They’ve been hearing about the problem since they were in diapers. They’re not asking if climate change is going to affect them; they’re asking how bad it’s going to be. How will it affect their jobs, their health, their ability to get married and have kids? Will there be enough water when they’re older? Enough food? Will all the fish be gone? What about animals and birds?”
Elizabeth nodded. “What’s your idea?” Walker could tell Elizabeth had a whole new level of respect for Avery.
“We’re going to tell those kids the most effective way to get their message to Congress,” Avery said. “And they’ll do it.”
Elizabeth turned to Walker. “What do you think?”
“Give her everything she needs.” Avery had a way of connecting to young people and a savvy style of video production he was sure would strike a chord with them.
“I’m sure Renata and Eve will help when they see what I’m doing,” Avery said confidently. “They’ll go after the older voters.”
“I hope this works,” Elizabeth said.
“Walker? Avery?”
They turned when Hope came in.
“It’s your turn,” she said, holding up her phone. “Star News just announced before the commercial break they had things to tell their audience about you.”
“Are you watching that stupid station all day, every day?” Avery asked her.
“I can’t stop,” Hope admitted. “It’s like watching a train wreck, gruesome and disturbing and something you can’t turn away from. Every time I think they’ve said the craziest thing they can think of, they say something else, and it’s even crazier. It’s like those old tabloid magazines on steroids.”
“Those old tabloid magazines still exist, you know,” Elizabeth told her.
“Do they? It’s been so long since I’ve been to a supermarket I don’t even know anymore. Anyway, I update the website with our side of the story each time they do a segment, so I have to watch.”
“Let’s talk about Walker Norton,” the blonde TV host said as the commercials ended on Hope’s phone. “The enigmatic Indian.”
“Enigmatic Indian?” Elizabeth repeated. “Are these people from the nineteenth century?”
“I believe they’re called Native Americans these days, Marla,” the male host said on the screen.
“Have you ever noticed how picky everyone is about what they’re called now, Paul?”
“I have. Lot of fuss about nothing if you ask me.”
“They have to be from the nineteenth century,” Avery said. “That’s the only explanation for how ignorant they are.”
The man held up a sheaf of papers. “Walker Norton and his purported fiancée, Elizabeth Blaine, are from the Crow reservation in southeast Montana,” he intoned.
“They’ve got such normal names,” Marla pointed out.
“You’re right; I expected something more… I don’t know… Indian-sounding.” Paul’s face creased in earnest confusion.
Avery put a hand to her forehead. “I can’t watch this.”
But she stayed exactly where she was.
“You don’t expect people like Walker and Elizabeth to be interested in sustainable living, do you?” Paul went on conversationally.
“What the hell should people like us be interested in?” Elizabeth asked Walker.
“Really?” Marla said on the screen. “I mean, one could say the Indians—Native Americans, sorry.” She made a face. “Are the first sustainable people. It’s not like they were driving cars around before we got here.”
“Right. They didn’t have roads or running water or—”
Walker quietly took the phone from Hope’s hand and turned it off.
All four of them stared at each other.
“What do we do with that?” Hope said. “What do we do with that level of stupidity? A whole network trying to make us look down on or even hate each other—pretending to be national news?”
“We stop pretending the world makes sense,” Avery said. “We stop being surprised and start getting to work fixing things ourselves. And we look around for other people who are ready to help.”
“We need the kids?” Elizabeth prompted.
“We need the kids.”
“We need an extra pair of hands. I’d like Avery’s help, if you don’t mind,” Avery heard Clay say two days later.
“We’re supposed to keep to our cohorts,” Hope said. She was helping Avery with the chickens, Walker was tending to the goats and Elizabeth was slopping the pigs, all within eyesight of one another. Avery had been online a lot in the last forty-eight hours, putting out videos and memes on all her social media channels and encouraging her followers to do the same.
“She’ll be in the building cohort for the rest of the morning, and we’ll deliver her back to you at lunch,” Clay said.
Avery straightened. She’d been trying to pet a black-and-white speckled hen she’d named Nora months ago, but the hen wasn’t having it. “I don’t mind lending the building cohort a hand this morning.” She figured Clay wouldn’t have come asking if he didn’t need her. Behind him was Curtis, Clay’s father, Dell, Harris and the real Nora, carrying baby Connie. Daisy brought up the rear. They were taking the rules about traveling as a pack seriously.
“I’ll finish up here,” Hope assured her.
“What are we building today?” she asked Clay as they headed for the cluster of tiny houses arrayed on the slope outside the bunkhouse. She bit her lip when he led her to the one that was designated for Walker. She hadn’t let herself think about the possibility of sharing it with him for a long time, even after she’d learned the truth about him and Elizabeth.
Now the prospect of a future with Walker hit her squarely in the chest. She’d spent some nights in this house when it was unfinished
