Dystopia

by Janet McNulty

The next day, Dana awoke like everyone else and put on her clothes, ready to work in the Waste Management plant for another day. She ambled into the eating hall with everyone else, wishing for more sleep. The clinking and clanking of spoons barely registered. She shuffled through the line with the rest. More glop. This time it was red. She didn’t want to know what was in it.

  As Dana sat with Elsie and Sanders, an extra slice of bread appeared on her tray. Curious, Dana looked up. Mad Dog stood there, holding his tray. He never said anything, but Dana understood the message. It was for Tony.

  She smiled in appreciation. Words were not needed, as they had come to an understanding.

  “Morning all,” said George as he sat down.

  Dana noticed a slip of paper with the insignia of an eagle on it. She reached for it for a closer look, but George snatched it and buried it in his pocket.

  “What—”

  “Nothing,” said George in a tone that indicated he did not want to talk about it.

  Dana let it drop. Whatever he was involved in was none of her affair.

  “Listen up!” yelled Officer Burroughs.

  Silence fell upon the room.

  “I have two very important announcements,” continued Officer Burroughs, “First, we need people to go to the agricultural district to pick up their discarded material. George Saule, Dana Ginary, and Lionel Hoffman, you just volunteered. Second, the president will be visiting later this week. I am certain you will all wear your best attire and show her the respect due. Remember your position and we will have no discourse.”

  Dana groaned. She had never volunteered to pick up more garbage, but “volunteer” was a meaningless word in her world. She also did not look forward to meeting the president. Dana didn’t know much about the woman, but figured she was just like everyone else who held a position of power.

  “That is all for now,” said Officer Burroughs as he snapped his electronic pad off and left.

  “Saule, Ginary,” said an officer. “Let’s go. You have your assignments.”

  Dana looked down at her half-eaten breakfast. Looks like I go hungry again. She pushed her bowl to Sanders, while George gave his to Elsie. Someone should at least be able to eat it.

  Together, they stood up and walked to where Lionel—Dana had never met him—stood waiting with another officer. The two officers led them to a truck parked just outside. A hint of a chill rested in the air, informing Dana that summer was ending and winter was coming.

  “In,” ordered the officer, pointing to the back of the truck.

  They obliged. Five officers waited for them inside, each armed with guns. Dana sat on a seat that felt like it had been made out of sharp rocks and concrete. A huge jolt bounced her as the truck sped forward. Her head ached from the movement.

  Jerking side to side, Dana’s stomach felt queasy as she vainly tried to hold down her meager breakfast. Unable to hold it any longer, she turned away from the others and vomited. Feeling better, Dana took her seat again. No one looked at her. She guessed they had seen it all before.

  Dana peeked through the small opening in the canvas roof of the truck. They had left the city and entered a more rural area. She had never been to the Agricultural District, but knew that it lay away from any signs of civilization. Those within the Agricultural District were even more removed from society than the ones in Waste Management.

  Tall fences with spikes on them appeared. Dana looked at the deadly fences. Guard towers swung past the truck.

  “George—” Dana began.

  George put his finger over his mouth, telling her to keep quiet.

  “No talking,” barked one of the officers.

  Dana sat back in her seat. Why is everyone on edge? She didn’t understand the change in their demeanor, but knew something was terribly wrong.

  The truck rolled over a huge bump in the road, causing Dana to bump her head on the ceiling. She rubbed the sore spot. Suddenly, she pitched toward the front of the truck as it stopped abruptly. Righting herself, Dana wished she could leave.

  The back of the truck opened up, allowing sunlight to spill inside. The officers jumped out first.

  “Out! Now!”

  Cautiously, Dana and the others hopped out of the truck. They lined up next to it. Armed officers stood everywhere. The place was more of a prison than Waste Management.

  Ragged people stood everywhere. In open fields were men, women, and children. They dug holes for planting, raked, and watered. Ladders nestled beside each tree in the orchard as people stood upon them, picking apples and dropping them into a basket. One man put an apple in his pocket.

  “Hey, you!” yelled an officer. “What do you think you’re doing?” He yanked the man off the ladder and beat him repeatedly with the butt of his weapon. Once finished, he walked off. Those watching did nothing, turning back to their work.

  “That is what happens when you steal from the people,” said a uniformed man. “My name is Officer Verikruse. I run this establishment. You three must be from Waste Management.”

  Dana, George, and Lionel remained silent.

  Officer Verikruse continued. “Normally, we do not have our dumpsters emptied so soon, but with the president’s arrival, we must make a good impression.” He flicked his hand. Another officer ran over. “Take them to the dumpsters. See to it that they are quick.”

  “Stealing from the people?” said Dana. She bit her tongue, wishing she could take back her comment.

  “Pardon?” said Officer Verikruse.

  “You said that that man was stealing from the people, but he probably worked to keep the tree alive and then harvests the fruit when it is ready.”

  “What is your point?”

  “Well, isn’t he people?”

  Officer Verikruse roared with laughter. “He is a laborer. Sent here because the career board felt his talents would be of use here. But these crops belong to the people of Dystopia. If anyone takes more than his allotment, then he is stealing.”

  Dana looked around at the half-starved laborers toiling in the fields. Many wore forlorn expressions. Whatever hope they had, whatever dreams they had, had died.

  “This way,” said the officer that led them to the dumpsters.

  On the far side of the district were 10 huge dumpsters, each overflowing. Dana gagged on the stench.

  “Just ignore it,” said George.

  Choking, Dana breathed through her mouth, hoping that it would reduce the effect of the smell. It didn’t.

  Together, the three pushed the dumpsters one at a time to the lift. Dana’s muscles strained from the effort. The heavy dumpsters screeched and squealed as they pushed, their wheels refusing to turn.

  Once on the lift, George jumped into the control room. He worked the lift, heaving each dumpster up and emptying their contents in the waiting dump truck. The deafening noise hurt Dana’s ears, despite her efforts at covering them.

  Armed guards watched all of their movements. The hairs on the back of Dana’s neck prickled the longer their job took. She wanted to leave.

  After the final dumpster had been emptied, George set it down carefully and shut off the machine. “She’s all ready!”

  The driver of the dump truck waved, started the engine, and took off.

  The armed officers escorted them back to where the truck that had brought them waited. Dana watched as people worked tirelessly to produce the food that fed the cities of Dystopia.

  “Come on!” yelled a man with a whip.

  Five men strained to turn a wheel that worked the irrigation system which watered the fields. Momentarily, Dana wondered why they didn’t use a modernized system. Then, she understood why. With the amount of people living there, the officers needed work for them to do. Men took the place of machines.

  “Hurry up!” yelled another officer at her.

  Dana stopped dawdling and sprinted forward.

  Shouts and yells rose up. Stopping, Dana turned to see what the commotion was. A man had dropped his bag of brussel spro
uts and ran for the fence. He came straight for Dana, heading for the spiked fence. An officer pulled out his rifle, aimed, and fired. The single shot filled the area, echoing off the trees and surrounding hills.

  The fleeing man paused from being hit in the back. Staggering, he took a few more steps before collapsing. Instinctively, Dana caught the man. His vacant eyes stared back at her as he died in her arms, blood pouring from his wound.

  Gently, Dana laid the man on the grass. She closed his eyes, unsure of what else to do. Dana surveyed the faces around her. The laborers all turned back to their duties, except for one woman. She must have known him, thought Dana.

  It seemed cold to leave his body there, so Dana folded his hands on his chest. Despite the eyes that watched her, she peeled off her jacket and covered the body.

  George’s hand wrapped around her arm. “Dana, come on.”

  Dana didn’t move. How could she?

  “Dana.” George hauled her to her feet and dragged her to the truck. They walked past the officers that watched them. Despite her better sense, Dana glanced back at the man that had died before her. Two officers tossed her jacket aside and carted his corpse away, allowing his feet to leave tracks in the mud.

  “One day,” said Officer Verikruse to Dana, “you will all learn that there is no escape from this.”

  Dana gawked at him. She started to open her mouth, but George pushed her into the truck, cutting her off. He and Lionel hopped in behind her.

  The diesel engine of the truck roared to life. A sharp lurch told her that they had moved on, going back to her life as a waste-rat.

  Chapter Ten