Off the Grid (20 page)

Sheridan looked around at the other eight volunteers in the shed while the man named Ibby addressed them, and she thought:
I don’t think I like any of these people
and I want to go home.

She fought the feeling, tried to tamp it down. Just because she was uncomfortable, she thought, she shouldn’t just pack up and leave. Plus, given the circumstances of their arrival the night before, it might be difficult and embarrassing.

She’d been quiet at breakfast while the others talked, making do with a gentle nodding of her head if someone addressed her. There were discussions about inequality, racism, oppression, trigger warnings, but most of all about the fact that their government was spying on them without their permission and it must be stopped. Sheridan was mildly sympathetic with that topic, but she questioned herself. Why had she agreed to come and what was she going to do there? She assumed it would be illegal just by the way the other volunteers talked to one another.

These were the kinds of long-into-the-night discussions she’d
heard and participated in on campus and off, where the answers to all of the problems were simple and easy if the idiots in authority would
just listen to the students who had it all figured out.

At the time, she thought, the talk was exhilarating. It was wonderful to be in the company of bright, articulate people who knew more about the world than she did and never missed an opportunity to remind her of that. But something about the endless “salons” had worn off over the years. She couldn’t decide if she’d moved past them, or if they’d left her behind, dog-paddling in her shallow pool of small-town ignorance.

Even Kira, who was usually quite vocal on just about everything, had kept her head down and spooned tiny bits of watery scrambled eggs into her mouth. There was no bacon or ham, and the coffee was weak.

A male with a wispy growth of beard and a stocking cap pulled down over his ears for style but not warmth had stabbed a fork at Sheridan and asked, “This your first time?”

“My first time what?”

“Your first time here. I don’t remember seeing you before and . . . I think I’d remember.” He smiled and she realized he intended it as a compliment.

“It’s my first time,” she said.

“How’d you find out about what we’re doing here?”

Sheridan indicated Kira, who seemed to be in a world of her own. In her pickup on I-80, Kira had told her that she’d learned about the deep web through some other campus activists. The deep web, Sheridan learned, was a hidden category of the Internet filled with content that couldn’t be found by normal search engines. That’s where she’d located the secret site devoted to stopping government
spying and saw the call for volunteers. Kira had completed a questionnaire and submitted an application, and three weeks later, the approval arrived.

“Haven’t seen her, either,” the man said, as if Kira couldn’t hear him.

“I’m Seth,” he said.

“Sheridan,” she replied, deadpan. She didn’t want this to go anywhere.

“I’ve been here most of the volunteer weekends, although I have to say our living situation kind of sucks now. We used to sleep indoors on bunks. I’m not much of a tent guy.”

Neither is Kira,
Sheridan thought.

Kira, who was normally as pale as a blank sheet of white paper, looked almost translucent as she sat slumped, barely eating. Sleeping in the tent in a sleeping bag had apparently taken a lot out of her.

Seth asked, “Are you two, you know, together?”

“Not like that,” Sheridan said.

He warmed to the response. “So you’re . . .”

“No.”

“That was fast,” he said. A note of distaste entered his voice. “You know, we’re all here for the same thing. We’re here to further the cause. Sometimes, you know, people bond together.”

He chuckled, but his eyes weren’t laughing along. She realized she had answered so quickly she had offended him. She imagined that he enjoyed the bunks and the camaraderie. And whatever else he could get from girls like her.

“You kind of look like you’re not sure you’re into all of this,” he said, leaning forward.

“I’m keeping an open mind.”

“Good, that’s good,” he said. “You don’t want to be ‘Lindsey’d.’”

“Lindsey’d?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he said, looking around to see if he’d been overheard and keeping his voice low.

•   •   •

S
HERIDAN TRIED
not to be so judgmental about the other volunteers, but they looked like losers to her. They were made up of sixth-year seniors and off-campus lifers from colleges in Colorado, Utah, Montana, and Wyoming majoring in fields that ended with the word
studies
. Rather than complete their degrees, they lived in an alternate world of activism, conspiracy, and the elusive quest for social justice.

She realized as she stood there that she really wanted no part of them and she resented Kira for inviting her along because she had camping gear. And she was angry at herself for accepting.

The only bright spot, she decided, was listening to this guy Ibby. He was impressive: caring, impassioned, charismatic. He was a born leader, and he could inspire others to his cause, including her. She felt herself being swept up in his patriotic fervor.

Plus, he was a falconer. Just like Nate.

Still, though, she planned to leave at the first opportunity.

•   •   •

T
H
E NIGHT BEFORE
had
been an adventure, but the feeling was wearing off fast.

They’d arrived at the Mustang Café on I-80 promptly at seven in the evening, as per the instructions Kira had received. One by one,
other volunteers had arrived and Sheridan could tell from their interaction that they obviously knew one another. A bartender named Cooter poured draft Coors Lights and served deep-fried cheese and vegetables on plates. Potent marijuana smoke hung in the air. The guys who had brought it said they had just bought it legally across the border in Colorado.

Sheridan instantly regretted that she’d arrived wearing her day-to-day clothes: jeans, cowboy boots, hooded University of Wyoming sweatshirt. She stood out among the others who, like Kira, wore primarily black.

The volunteers had brought in their backpacks and duffel bags and stacked them in a pile near the door. They milled around the small dance floor, smoking and drinking and trading stories about what they’d done since they’d last seen each other.

Sheridan leaned in close to Kira and asked, “What happens now?”

Kira barely shrugged. She didn’t look back at Sheridan when she said, “We’ll find out, I guess.”

“I’m really not sure about this.”

“Come on. Don’t chicken out now.”

“Where are we going? Do we all drive somewhere in a pack?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did they bring all their gear in here?”

“Why do you keep asking me questions I can’t answer?” Kira said, annoyed. Sheridan got the impression Kira didn’t want to be perceived as anxious or uncool—like her friend in the University of Wyoming hoodie.

“Can I help?” came a female voice from behind them.

Sheridan had turned and was face-to-face with an attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties who had clever eyes and
a sly smile. Although the woman was dressed in jeans, a fleece vest, and hiking boots, she looked out of place.

“I’m Jan,” the woman said. She thumbed through a sheaf of papers on a clipboard. “Which one of you is Kira?”

“I’m Kira,” her friend said.

Jan nodded, and said to Sheridan, “I’m sorry, but you have to go.”

“Why?” Sheridan asked. “Go where?”

“Wherever you came from,” Jan said. “You haven’t been vetted. We’ve got a strict policy about that.”

Even though Sheridan was having second thoughts, she felt embarrassed. Kira looked crestfallen.

“Look,” Kira said, “I asked online if she could come. Whoever was on the other end didn’t say no, so I thought it was cool.”

“It isn’t,” Jan said.

“She’s my friend,” Kira pleaded. “She’s my
ride
. I can vouch for her.”

She gestured to the outdoor gear. “This is all her stuff. I don’t have any of my own. I’m not an outdoors person. I don’t even drive. Come on,
please
?”

Kira was pitiful and looked to be near tears. She was also persuasive.

Jan stood there looking at them for a long moment. “I’ll make an exception only because we desperately need people and she’s vouching for you,” she finally said to Sheridan. “Several of our longtime volunteers got themselves in trouble at a protest in Boulder, so we’re shorthanded. I’ll need you to fill out an application. It has a confidentiality clause that says you can’t reveal the nature of our work or your part in it. Among other things.”

Sheridan was of two minds. She didn’t like to be singled out and
rejected, but at the same time her enthusiasm for this experience had rapidly waned. But she couldn’t simply abandon Kira.

“I’ll do it,” Sheridan said. Kira was relieved.

After completing the form and grudgingly listing all of her personal information as well as agreeing to the confidentiality and legal liability release requirements, she handed it back to Jan.

Jan looked it over and was apparently okay with it. She read from the form and said, “Sheridan Pickett and Kira Harden. Both of you are first-timers, so welcome. As you can imagine, we’ve got to be careful how we do things. But first, I’d like to officially thank you both for coming. You don’t realize how much we appreciate your help.”

Sheridan nodded.

Jan looked at her wristwatch and said, “Now that it’s getting dark out, we’ll get started soon.”

“Doing what?” Sheridan asked tentatively. She felt Kira glare at her, but she didn’t look over.

“First, does anyone know you’re here or what you’re doing this weekend? Any friends, relatives, acquaintances?”

Sheridan and Kira both shook their heads.

“Good. Second, you’ll both have to leave your cell phones here. Don’t worry, they’ll be safe. Did you bring any other devices? Laptops, iPads, anything like that? Anything that can transmit or receive data?”

“No,” Sheridan said. Kira shook her head.

“No weapons or anything like that, either?” Jan said.

Sheridan handed over her pepper spray.

“And no intoxicants of any kind. We have a zero tolerance policy about that—for your own safety. You’ll be around heavy machinery
and equipment and we don’t want anyone getting hurt. I hope you understand.”

“What about the weed?” Sheridan asked, chinning over her shoulder toward the smokers.

“They know the rules. They’ll leave it here.”

“Kind of harsh,” Kira said. Sheridan knew that Kira liked to light up before breakfast every morning.

“Harsh but safe,” Jan said breezily. “If you can’t do it, you know where the door is.”

Kira looked down at her heavy boots and said, “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m cool with it.”

Jan continued. “In a few minutes, some of our team members will arrive from the desert. You’ll leave your car here and they’ll take you to our location. Can either of you drive a four-wheeler?”

Kira looked to Sheridan with a blank face.

“I can,” Sheridan said. “I learned to drive an ATV with my dad.”

“You look like you could,” Jan said with an appreciative smile. “You two can go together, then. Just don’t lose sight of the team leader out there in the desert. If you get lost, you might stay lost. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Sheridan said.

“Okay then,” Jan said, patting them both on their shoulders as she slid past them toward the other volunteers, who greeted her like a long-lost friend.

“What in the
hell
have you gotten me into?” Sheridan asked Kira.

Kira shrugged. Then: “Thank you for coming. You’re much cooler than I thought.”

Sheridan almost said,
No, I’m much dumber than you thought.

•   •   •

S
HERIDAN
LOVED THE RIDE
across the desert in the dark. The wind whipped her hair and the air smelled dry and foreign. Kira was behind her on the seat with her arms around Sheridan’s waist.

Once they left the café and the distant interstate, it was a dark and lonely world: no lights, no roads, no power lines or other signs of human encroachment. The ATV tires kicked up dust and at times Sheridan chose to hang back far enough so that she could see and breathe better. But she never lost sight of the twin taillights of the lead four-wheeler. Her roommate’s head was buried into Sheridan’s back, and at times Kira squeezed so hard Sheridan had trouble breathing.

An hour out, she was surprised to find that she was second in the pack and the other volunteers were behind her. She’d noticed before they’d left that a few of the “team members” who delivered the four-wheelers had stayed back at the café, presumably to help load gear and return to the “location” in the truck. And presumably to have a few beers with Cooter as well.

•   •   •

P
UTTI
NG UP THE TENTS
in the dark produced a lot of grumbling. Sheridan had brought a headlamp and she used it to set up hers. Kira was worthless with that kind of chore. She simply stood there, shifting on her feet from side to side, holding her sleeping bag until the tent was tight. Once Kira was inside, Sheridan lent her lamp to a couple of volunteers who were still struggling with their tents.

When she climbed inside and zipped the flap closed, Kira was
deep into her bag. Her voice was muffled when she said, “I’m covered in dust. My eyes are full of grit. I forgot my toothbrush.”

“You’ll live.”

“I know I won’t sleep. All I’ll think about is that I have to pee, and when I do, a wolf will eat me.”

“There are no wolves down here.”

“A bear, then.”

“There might be a bear,” Sheridan said.

“Oh, great. Did I ever tell you I
fucking
hate
camping
?”

“I would have guessed that.”

Sheridan fell asleep with a smirk on her lips.

•   •   •

B
UT NOW
,
AS SHE LISTENED
to the one named Ibby say that this should be the last weekend they would ever be needed and that by this time next week what they’d done would be known around the world, Sheridan briefly closed her eyes.