“You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here in my sight.”

She couldn’t believe this. Oscar was standing next to her, and she saw the expression of horror on his face.

“I won’t run, I promise. I’d just feel better if I could go over there.”

“Well, I wouldn’t,” A.J. said, lifting his rifle a few inches. “And it’s really all about me, you understand? It’s all about the man with the gun. So why don’t you just stay here, where I can see you.”

And so she stayed close, and the others all looked away, and they might have closed in around her except that A.J. stepped up nearly level with them so he could see better. Even though she turned away so she was facing him sideways, she still felt terribly exposed, felt his eyes as she undid her pants and shoved them down and squatted, the cool air a shock against her skin. She was shamed by her nakedness, shamed by the sound of the piss hitting the ground. She felt something taken from her, his greedy appraisal, and she thought she might be sick. She didn’t want to look down and acknowledge her embarrassment, so instead she stared up between the trees. The sky was a darkening blue, open and free; she wished she could be drawn up into it.

When she was done, she stood quickly and pulled her pants up. Oscar touched her on the shoulder protectively.

“That was very entertaining,” A.J. said. “Thank you. A heck of a view. Maybe you and me, we can spend some time together later.”

“Don’t even try it, you bastard,” Oscar said.

“Watch it,” A.J. warned.

“You talk shit about her, and now this?”

“I’m an equal-opportunity guy when it comes to females,” A.J. said. “Besides, the darker the berry—”

“Fuck you.”

“Shut up,” A.J. said, shoving the rifle into Oscar’s belly. Then: “Anyone else need to pee? . . . All right, one more thing I’ve got to take care of and then we’ll go.” He looped a rope around the dog’s collar and led her to the edge of the creek. With the rifle still in one hand, he used the other to pick her up by the collar and flip her on her back in the water. She yelped and cried and struggled but he yelled, “Shut up!” and held her down with his boot, gun still pointed at them. Now he pulled out the bar of soap from the camp and turned her on her side, soaping up her fur where she’d rolled in the carcass. He stepped down so hard he might have crushed her ribs, but the dog lay passive and quiet, eyes wide open in fear and distress. When he was finished, he lifted his foot and removed the rope and the dog leapt up to the shore, shaking the water off, staying away from A.J. Her tail was so far between her legs that the tip of it touched her chest.

A.J. directed them up the trail. For a few moments there was no sound except their shoes breaking twigs and the panting of the dog, who slithered between them. Then A.J.’s voice rang out loudly.

“We’re off to see the Wizard,” he sang, “the Wonderful Wizard of Oz!”

Gwen felt the hair rise on the back of her neck.

“What’s wrong with you guys? You don’t like music? What a bunch of party poopers.”

When they got to the edge of the garden, A.J. tied the dog to a tree and led them between the rows. “Okay. What you’re going to do is tear the plants out. Grab them as close to the ground as you can, so the roots come out with them . . . All right, go on, get working now. And no smoking on the job, ha ha!”

They all looked at him, at the plants, at each other.

“Good thing it’s still so early in the season. A month later, and they’d be taller than you. Now go on!”

Finally Todd, with an expression that Gwen couldn’t read, took a few steps forward, bent over, and pulled up a plant. She was furious at him, unaccountably. Did he think cooperating would help? And she felt guilty for her anger—he was in the same mess that they were. And then she felt annoyed again, annoyed at the guilt, annoyed at her confusion of feeling.

“Good man,” said A.J. “Now, the rest of you, do what he’s doing.”

Oscar sighed and stepped forward, and when Gwen saw this, she gave up and did the same. Tracy glared at A.J., not moving, until he leveled the rifle to her chest.

“Go on, Jap,” he said.

So she stepped forward too, and soon all four of them were tearing up plants, spaced a few feet away from each other. A.J. leaned against a tree trunk and pointed his rifle toward them.

“This used to be our country.” He turned on a big flashlight so they could see in the growing dark. “Fifteen, twenty years ago, when I was a kid, it was all white people up here, or mostly white, and the Mexicans knew their place. But then things started to change. They invaded this business like they’ve done everything else. They’ve come into here, Sequoia, Humboldt, Mendocino. And that’s only California. Some homegrown traitors have even gone into business with them!” With the rifle still under one arm, he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. “But not us,” he said, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. “We had to take a stand. We want our country back. We want to restore my people to their proper place as the head of everything—and send the rest of you fuckers back where you came from.”

He took a drag from his cigarette and glanced at the dog, who looked at him uncertainly, then lowered her head. “The cartel killed a buddy of mine last December when he stumbled onto one of their gardens. Now we’ve killed one of theirs.” He whistled. “This is a shitload of money here, boy. Whew! They’re going to be pissed! But you know, if the fucking US government would only legalize drugs, it would drive all these bastards out of business. We could grow our crops openly and not have to sneak around.”

Gwen heard his rants but only half-listened. Her whole body hurt. The muscles in her legs were tight; her toes felt raw. And her back was pierced through with pain every time she bent over. She felt a growing panic as the night came on, as the forest closed in around them.

They worked for what seemed like a very long time, A.J. allowing them periodic breaks to eat the almonds and peanuts he’d taken from the camp, to have a gulp or two of water. Gwen’s back hurt even worse now, and her hands were raw from handling the plants. A.J. kept the light on them, and the moon was bright, so they were able to see despite the darkness. Time seemed both to expand and hold still, and Gwen had no idea what hour it was. She felt A.J. turn his eyes on her periodically; once he winked at her and leered. She shuddered and avoided looking at him.

She thought vaguely of the strangeness of what she was doing, how the fields in these mountains connected with the violence in Mexico, the murderous rivalries between gangs in LA. She knew people who smoked, of course, but had never tried herself. She had seen what drugs did to too many kids in South LA—robbed them of their senses, and futures.

Finally, Tracy stood up straight and said, “I have to take a piss.”

“Well, go on. But stay right here in my sight.”

Tracy took a few steps through the garden and A.J. followed, stopping about ten feet from her and not far from Oscar. The dog lifted her head and looked up. Todd was to the left of them, and Gwen not far behind. She saw Tracy stop a couple of feet from a tree. Then Tracy pointed suddenly and yelled, “Shit! Watch out!” and they all looked up to see what was there. A.J. looked too, and Tracy slipped behind the tree.

“Hey!” A.J. yelled, too late. He made for the tree but Todd cut to his left and A.J. dropped the light and swung toward him. Then Tracy flashed out between the trees and A.J. raised the gun to shoot, but Oscar came up behind him and struck him with a branch, bringing the full force of the wood against his skull. A.J.’s glasses flew off and he dropped the rifle and crumpled to the ground, and Tracy rushed over and kicked the gun away. A.J. lay there groaning and Oscar hit him again—in his midsection, his shoulders, his head. Finally he was still. Todd bent over and took the phone and José’s handgun from his waistband, and Tracy gave him another kick. She knelt and pressed two fingers to A.J.’s neck.