THE DIRT
WALKERS
DAVID JOEL STEVENSON
Copyright © 2016 by David Joel Stevenson
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN-13: 978-1530673957
ISBN-10: 153067395X
www.DavidJoelStevenson.com
Cover Design: Michael Hutzel, FoxFuel Creative
Cover Photo: Asaf Eliason, Shutterstock
PROLOGUE
Talitha Coomy stood at the edge of a wooden countertop, sobbing.
Careful that she didn’t cut anything but the onion guided by her left hand, her chopping motions were extremely slow. She had only been eating solid food for three months, abruptly weaned off the mushy Food Substance she’d consumed to survive her prior sixteen years. As such, the task of preparing a meal was overwhelming. Her skin was covered with a blotchy brown dusting of acorn flour from the bread that she had already placed in the wood fired oven, which was also heating the Whitfield family’s small home.
She was hoping that she could blame her tears on the onion – she had been told that cutting one would make her cry, and it definitely did contribute to her watery eyes. The onion, however, was not the cause.
She missed her family.
Talitha hated that it was true, considering that her father had completely disowned her for the sake of saving his own reputation. But still, she missed the familiarity of his voice. Even the endless lectures of how happy she should be with the comforts that had surrounded her.
She now recognized just how comfortable she was then.
Talitha released the knife and washed her hands in a basin filled with water nearby. She wiped her face with the corner of her apron as she moved across the kitchen and sat on an old wooden chair at the table. She fought to subdue the sobs with little success.
A moment later, Helen Whitfield walked through the back door, and – noticing the weeping girl at her kitchen table – rushed over to her.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Helen gasped while kneeling and wrapping her arms around her.
Talitha shook her head. “It… It’s just the onion,” she lied.
Helen pulled back with a knowing smile on her face, locking Talitha’s tear filled eyes in hers.
“Talitha,” she soothed. “I’ve cut many an onion in my day. I can tell the difference.” She embraced the young girl again.
Talitha cried, knowing that she couldn’t tell Helen the reason. Everyone had been so kind to her, nicer than anyone had been in her whole life, and she didn’t want to seem ungrateful.
“Will you help me?” she asked, defeated.
“Of course I’ll help! It was so nice of you to offer to cook dinner by yourself – but I was worried it might be a little too much too soon.”
Talitha held on to her tightly, soaking Helen’s red hair with her tears. She quietly whispered, “Thank you.”
CHAPTER ONE
[THREE MONTHS EARLIER]
“Talitha – I know it’s hot, but I promise you’ll feel better if you keep the blanket over you.”
Jonah pushed his bicycle forward with Talitha lying in the trailer attached behind. She continually threw the blanket off her body, exposing her no longer pale skin to the sun. They had camped in the field and Jonah was feeling much stronger after a good night’s sleep and a breakfast of berries and wild potatoes.
Talitha was not.
Not long after the first bite of apple she had ever eaten, she complained about her stomach and ran into the woods. Jonah started running after her but she begged him to leave her alone. At first he was afraid that he had done something to upset her, but then realized that her body did not know how to handle the fruit.
After she embarrassingly walked slowly back to the bicycle, he urged her to drink the rest of the water in his canteen. Unfortunately, the food that remained in his satchel had been there for three days – the length of time that she assumed that he was dead – and the cornbread had started to show signs of mold. He didn’t think spoiled food would be the best thing for her if she couldn’t even digest a fresh apple.
It didn’t take long before she could barely walk at all, but by that point the sun was near the horizon. Before it was completely dark, Jonah searched the edge of the woods for anything edible that might be mild enough for her to handle.
This morning, she had already thrown up twice, and was barely making any sense. The only things he could really understand were that her head hurt and she had never been so hot before – even in the rooms that were heated to scare the Facility citizens about what the surface’s conditions were “really” like. And she was quite confident that she was dying.
He tried to arrange the contents of the makeshift trailer as comfortable as possible for her, and repeatedly tossed the blanket over her to protect her from the sun, which she resisted. He filled his canteen as often as he knew of a water source, but he had a hard time keeping her hydrated.
Finally, after the sky was once again flirting with the colors of the sunset, they reached the edge of his town. A distant neighbor was pumping water into his pigs’ trough with his son when he saw a wounded Jonah laboring to move forward. He ran to help and sent his son to fetch Thomas Whitfield and Doc Thorton after noticing a foot and hand protruding from the trailer.
The neighbor brought them both inside, and Doc Thorton arrived on horseback before a basin of well water was drawn. All of the Whitfields were not far behind.
“Jonah – what happened to you?” the town’s doctor asked, motioning toward the deep wound peeking out from under the bandage on his arm. “And what in the world are you wearing?”
Jonah was in a daze. He was exhausted from the journey and his stomach was roaring at him, but he was unaware of himself.
“Help her,” he simply said, holding Talitha’s hand while she laid unconscious.
Doc Thorton had tasked Jonah’s sister, Lillian, with dabbing a cool, wet washcloth on Talitha’s extremely sunburned skin. “We are, Jonah,” Doc reassured him.
He had earlier leaned over to Helen, whispering, “draw a cool bath at my house – this girl is burning up.”
The commotion moved to Doc Thorton’s home, transporting all of them in the neighbor’s horse and wagon in the cool night. Once there, Helen, Lillian and the doctor stripped Talitha and submerged her in the bath in order to reduce her temperature.
Jonah and his brother Harrison sat on the front porch while their father stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane. Jonah’s feet and hands fidgeted as he ate and drank his fill.
“Bud, I know you’re concerned about that girl,” Thomas finally said, “but what on God’s green earth is going on? You’re completely beat up, and she has the worst sunburn I’ve ever seen. And you’re both wearing— Well, I’m not sure what you’d call what you’re wearing, except it looks like silver frog skin or something. If I had realized that this is the way that you’d be returning after we talked about a girl from another town, I’m not sure I would have encouraged you to put yourself on the line for her.”
Jonah glanced past his father, trying to see inside the house. He had a lot to explain, but he couldn’t think straight until he knew that Talitha was going to be okay. He barely heard his father speak.
Thomas shifted his body to intercept Jonah’s vision. “Jonah,” he demanded, trying to get his attention. “Tell me what is going on.”
After taking a long time to settle down, Jonah told his father and brother everything. How he went into the Deathlands after a wounded deer and stumbled upon the hatch. How he wandered in a metal maze before watching Talitha
’s family through the slits in the wall. He talked about his interaction with the citizens of the Facility, of Food Substance, and of the moving pictures that covered every wall.
He told them about what ensued after trying to convince Talitha that he was from the surface – how he was nearly killed trying to protect her. And finally, he spoke of the journey that the two of them made together after climbing the ladder to escape the Facility.
Thomas’ face was worried from the moment Jonah mentioned the hatch in the Deathlands. Throughout the story, he asked why Jonah hadn’t told him beforehand. Jonah had no answer to that question. For every other question, however, Jonah gave as much information as possible.
Lillian ran out to the front porch. “She’s awake – she’s asking for you, Jonah,” she said excitedly.
The three Whitfields quickly rushed inside, but Thomas and Harrison were turned away and told to wait outside. “She’s in a bit of shock,” Doc said. “She’s already somewhat frantic with the faces she’s seen. She only needs a familiar one right now.”
Jonah moved to the cot that the doctor and his mother and sister had moved her to. Talitha had been clothed in a nightgown – a strange sight for Jonah, considering he had only seen her in the skin tight silver suit exactly like the one he was still wearing. For some reason, he was surprised at how beautiful she looked in the plain clothing, realizing her beauty had nothing to do with the setting of the Facility.
“Talitha?” Jonah breathed as he sat at the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”
Her cracked lips spread wide into a weak smile, tears filling up her eyes, as she pulled Jonah’s cheek to her own. He could feel the heat radiating from her red skin.
“I was afraid that something happened,” she said, exasperated. “I thought I was back in the Facility, and that I just dreamed of us escaping together.”
Jonah softly kissed her burning forehead, careful not to cause pain to her already blistered skin. “I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving you.”
He held her as she wept until she fell asleep.
.- -.-. -
“What can you tell me about Jonah and the girl known as T?”
Quilen Coomy sat in a chair across from another nameless, faceless laborer. Two control officers stood behind the silent temporary prisoner, and two more by the door of the interrogation unit. The laborer’s dirty face looked nervously at Quilen, hesitating. The contrast of their clothes was obviously meant to distinguish their status – Quilen’s smooth silver uniform and her loose, ragged fabric.
Quilen was incredibly thrilled to be the Chairman of the Regulation Committee’s newly formed Counter-Terrorism subcommittee. At first, it made the whole debacle almost seem worth the trouble. Not only had he been able to keep his family out of the limelight for the most part, Mr. Gisk had been so impressed with how he handled everything that he immediately handed down a promotion, “as long as this kind of loyalty continues.”
Quilen and Gabet even enjoyed the sympathy of their fellow citizens after a bulletin was posted about how Jonah and his accomplice had killed their daughter while trying to escape.
Of course, they didn’t escape according to all Facility-wide bulletins. As far as the public knew, “T” broke into the medical facility where they were holding Jonah and injected him with a powerful drug, which somehow resurrected him. While attempting to get away, several control officers cornered them near the Coomys' Family Unit, driving them inside. While there, they took Talitha as a hostage, and murdered her out of spite when they realized that there was nothing they could do.
No one in the Facility questioned it, considering they had it all on video.
Everyone involved in the production of the falsified video, and anyone who had any sort of interaction with the real Jonah and Talitha, were given three options: keep your mouth shut and be handsomely rewarded, spend the rest of your life as a laborer or a slow, painful death.
Most didn’t even need to be told the last two options, but they were given to solidify the importance of staying silent.
Quilen and his family not only received the flattery that comes with a promotion and the sympathetic attention that comes with losing a “beloved daughter” in a terrorist plot – they were also quickly moved into the largest Family Unit in their sector.
His wife Gabet had taken it quite a bit harder, though she found some consolation in the fact that through his new position she was given access to spy on all of her friends from the privacy of her own wristile. The joy of gossip and blackmail often helped her block out the memory that she even had a daughter. Except for the welcome condolences, of course.
It had only been just over a week since Jonah and Talitha disappeared – though Quilen wasn’t positive where they had gone. Mr. Gisk assured him that it would be impossible for her to ever be seen again, and Quilen trusted him unconditionally. He was okay with all scenarios except the one where his daughter returned and exposed the truth.
But even with all of the prestige, Quilen was worried that the misery of having to talk to dirty, uncivilized laborers would prove to be too much. He soon found out that he was wrong.
He snapped his fingers in front of the laborer’s face, trying to end whatever deliberation was going on in their mind.
“Hello?” he sarcastically sang.
The laborer, known as Reena according to the words on the desk in front of him – not that it mattered – finally spoke.
“I have only heard the names on the news bulletins,” she said.
“Why did you take so long to answer, if that’s the case?” Quilen asked. The more he questioned the laborers, the more confident he was in his ability to pick up on little clues that generally weren’t really there. The best part of his new job was that he loved making people squirm.
“I have heard of you, Mr. Coomy,” Reena responded, reserved. “You’ve made a name for yourself throughout the Midlet.”
Quilen smiled, despite the reference to the laborers as the Midlet. Apparently, after years of the laborers working amongst red-hot machines, cleaning disease-infested animal cages, and burning their skin with the harsh chemicals of the Sanitation Ducts, they formed a deep self-respect that didn’t make sense to him. They would tell each other stories about being “in the middle of it,” and started wearing it as a badge of honor, since there was nothing else about it that was honorable. It was shortened to Midlet and adopted as their preferred title, which was never used by anyone outside of the labor class.
Quilen had only discovered this after starting his rounds of interrogation, and he wasn’t comfortable with them actually enjoying any part of their lives. Or the fact that they had a sense of self-respect. But he did enjoy that he was earning their respect through every outburst against one of them restrained in an interrogation unit.
“And what do they say about Mr. Coomy amongst the laborers?” he probed.
Another enjoyable conversation.
“I mean no disrespect sir, but they say you’re a dangerous man,” Reena divulged. “They say you’re very powerful, and that men and women in the Facility do whatever you say. And that we should be careful not to make you mad, because— Well, because your anger can only bring trouble to the Midlet. But, I truly mean no disrespect.”
A mischievous grin involuntarily spread across his face. It only took a few days of flexing his chairman muscles to realize what he had been missing for his previous fifty-two years. For a man who had spent his entire life feeling like he was always at the mercy of his superiors – not even powerful enough to complain about simple inconveniences without repercussions – the power he had over the laborers felt intoxicating.
“No disrespect taken, girl,” Quilen said condescendingly. She was at least in her mid-thirties. “In fact, I’m glad you’re aware of my… Intensity. Otherwise I might be inclined to think you would lie to me.”
“Oh, no, no, Mr. Coomy,” Reena shook her head with her eyes wide. “No, that’s the last thing I would do.”
“So you truly don’t know anything about the terrorists,” he continued, leaning in. “So if I question your family, they have nothing to hide?”
“Well—” she started. “I know what the news bulletins say, and I’ve seen the message that they forced your daughter to send. But I know that it was a lie – that the reason they had her send it was because they knew they were going to die, and were just hoping to stir people up. I’m very sorry for your daughter, by the way. I don’t have any family left, so I know that it must be very hard for you.”
“Yes, well,” Quilen said, not finishing his thought. He didn’t enjoy sympathy from the laborers.
He glanced over the information on the screen in front of him. Sure enough, she had no family left after various Facility accidents took their lives. He didn’t care – he just wanted to confirm her story.
“Did it work?” he finally asked.
Reena looked surprised.
“Did what work, sir?” she asked.
“Like you said – they forced my daughter to send the message from her wristile to try to stir things up after they were dead. Is there any trouble brewing amongst the laborers?”
“No sir,” she quickly responded. “It was a very cruel thing for them to try to send the videos, and nobody believes them. Now, the only video that is going around is the original – the one they edited their version from.”
Quilen nodded satisfyingly.
When it was discovered that a video had been sent from his own daughter’s wristile, using Jonah’s as a controller, he had quickly insisted that they discredit it. A video of a faked hostage situation and the “unedited” version of Talitha’s messaged video were his idea – and he was very proud of that.
The Technology Maintenance Committee and Diplomacy & Sensitivity Committee were used to working together often to create videos to frame whatever the Regulation Committee wanted to publicize, so they had the experience to make it look flawless. A subcommittee of twenty spent twenty-three hours solid making the new videos. They then spent another two days creating contextual videos, so they would be ready in case someone tried to refute anything that was publicized. Though they knew no one would, for fear of retribution from the Complaint Committee.
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