The Dirt Walkers

by David Joel Stevenson

  “When the flowers die – or really any plants around here – they release seeds. The seeds make their way into the ground and stay there during the cold winter months. Then when spring gets here, it’s almost like they wake up. So one flower can make ten other flowers.

  “But beyond the flowers, that’s how we plant corn and tomatoes and the other food we grow. We keep the seeds from part of our harvest so that we can plant them again the next year.

  “I mentioned Brother Philip, and he has his own garden and animals, but he talks about all of it like it’s this really deep idea. You should probably talk to Olivia, though. She’s the one that knows that most about seeds and planting, and who everybody talks to if certain plants aren’t doing as well as they should.”

  Talitha’s confused look persisted as they walked the pathway home.

  “I still don’t get it,” she said after a long silence. “Wouldn’t it make sense for the weather to always be warm so that plants can grow all year?”

  “I guess that’s what you can talk to Brother Philip about,” Jonah laughed. “Honestly, I’ve never really thought too much about it, just because it’s the only way I’ve ever known life to be. For my family, we have to be aware of the changing of the seasons so that we know when to harvest plants and when to get ready for the cold.”

  They rounded the edge of a patch of woods, arriving at the Whitfield farm. He led her to their dark wooden chicken coop, weathered by many years of the changing seasons. Lifting a short section of the roof, he pointed to a hen surrounded by tiny chicks.

  “Those have been hatching over the last couple of days,” he said. “We don’t have to teach them anything. When all of the eggs underneath this hen have hatched, she’ll lead the chicks out and show them how to scratch at the ground for bugs and eat whatever plants are still there.”

  Talitha had seen the Whitfields’ chickens many times, but not ones so young. She smiled and asked if she could hold one. Jonah scooped one of them up, much to the chagrin of the mother hen. She stroked its puffy yellow down, bringing it near her eyes.

  “I guess it’s kind of strange to think about,” he continued, “but one hen can lay an egg a day. If we didn’t eat any of the eggs, that means one hen could hatch hundreds of chicks in a year. Eventually that hen will turn into a meal for us. There’s a cycle to everything.”

  Talitha narrowed her eyes again as she looked at Jonah.

  “We’re not eating this chick, though, right?” she asked with a smirk.

  “Oh no – definitely not that one,” he laughed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Word had quickly spread throughout the Midlet, and Reena’s sleeping unit was packed. The laborers had lost hope several generations back, and for many of them this was the first time that they could imagine a life other than the one they had experienced. Even when the videos came from Talitha’s wristile, they quickly accepted that it was a cruel trick. It was much harder for them to believe a truth than a well-crafted lie.

  But when Reena and her small group of supporters whispered through the dingy hallways and sleeping units that some of them had been to the surface, a fervor awakened.

  It was not as easy as the group had hoped. They snuck to service surface hatches because they were not clearly seen on the surveillance cameras that fed to the Central Facility Computer. They traveled in groups of three – two to stand guard while the third would climb the long ladder. The ones who tried to open the hatches were heralded as heroes in the small group, because they knew there was a very real possibility they would not live very long after sticking their head out of the opening.

  But they had no such luck. Every entrance that they came across was welded shut from the inside. They had tried at least a dozen entrances when they found one that piqued their interest; it had a small piece of orange fabric tied to the ladder. In checking out the area surrounding the ladder, they found a similar piece of fabric tied to a grate at the opening of a service tunnel. After following that path further, they found a third piece of fabric below slits in the duct that overlooked what seemed to be an inactive family unit.

  The entire unit was completely overturned, with wall tiles broken and chairs and mattresses strewn about. No one had been there for months. They assumed it was the location of where Jonah’s alleged final showdown with the control officers occurred. Where Quilen Coomy’s daughter was said to have been murdered.

  The surface entrance associated with all of these clues was also welded shut, but they decided that it was the one they should focus on. After telling Reena and Hokmah what they found, they returned with a slightly larger group of laborers with skills in metal working.

  They posted men and women around the bottom of the ladder, superficially grinding on floor grating to simply create noise that would cover up the sounds from the highest rungs. The one at the top of the ladder had a string tied to his ankle, which would be pulled to signal him to stop grinding at the welded hatch if trouble came along. Indeed, a small team of control officers were drawn to all of the noise, but were satisfied with answers of “continued maintenance due to the terrorists’ actions.”

  The control officers who had fought Jonah were required to keep silent about the incident, but they still spread rumors about their own heroics in these very tunnels. As such, this particular group of control officers just took the grinding as confirmation that their fellow officers were just as impressive as they had said.

  After the officers left, the grinding continued until the seal had been broken. The laborer couldn’t wait to lower his equipment down – he quickly opened the hatch and poked his head outside.

  The initial sight was quite disappointing, because while he wasn’t immediately engulfed in flames, he couldn’t see that the surface could actually support life. But as he turned his head to scan the horizon, he saw something that gave him hope.

  A flag.

  Not an ornate or majestic flag, as if it had come from the Upper Levels of the Facility, but rather a crude, crooked organic pole with a single strip of fabric, larger than the one marking the ladder below. It was firmly planted in the ground as if an explorer had declared this piece of surface theirs.

  The laborer quickly descended to his friends. Their orders were to immediately come back to the Midlet after breaking the seal so that the initial team of three could endure the possibly fatal risk of exploring outside. Instead, they all dropped their tools and almost the entire party followed him back up to the ladder. For the first time in any of their lives, they stood on the ground.

  They spread their arms wide, feeling the warmth of the sun and the crisp breeze that chilled their skin at the same time. They sucked in air deeply, for the first time untainted by ChemVapor and carbon dioxide scrubbers, and exhaled while watching their own breath hang in the air. They watched in wonder as a few wispy clouds slowly made their way across the sky. They ran their fingers across the dull colored dirt, disregarding that there didn’t seem to be a living thing for miles. They were alive.

  In the distance they saw another lone flag, almost outside of their sight. It took everything they had not to run after the flag and see what beckoned them beyond it.

  Upon second look, they noticed that the ground all around them was uneven. It did not completely match the acres of cracked plain surrounding them, but – even though it had some time to settle – it had been disturbed. They didn’t know how natural dirt normally acted, but they noted that the disturbance created a strange trail toward the second flag. For all they knew, it could had been moved ten days ago or ten years ago, but it was enough of a sign from the Maker that they ran back to Reena and Hokmah with joy in their hearts and dirt in their pockets.

  There was no scolding that they didn’t follow directions.

  There was only celebration.

  The group recounted their experience with anyone who would listen, and the simple incident quickly became an incredible legend. The dirt was stored in jars in the sleeping unit, and would be show
n if someone had the slightest hint of disbelief. Some still didn’t believe; they had seen dirt in the Facility, of course, gathered from resource harvesters from above the bedrock of their home. Dirt that seemed much darker and more nutrient. But the number that did believe grew daily.

  And today, the people who were trying to listen to Reena were spilling out into the hallway of her sleeping unit.

  “As you all know,” Reena spoke above the crowd, “we are now completely sure that we can survive on the surface.”

  A subdued cheer broke through the audience. The original thirteen were circled around her by the lone wall tile, again covered by more paper which now contained a hand drawn map of the Facility tunnels. All that had been to the surface were scattered close by, engaged and ready to give their account of the ground at any moment.

  “And beyond that, we believe that someone has given us a path to walk away from the Facility. As if someone is outside, waiting for us. We’ve seen throughout the years that when someone has been executed by the leaders, they are incinerated as soon as they’ve crossed the threshold of the opening. We’ve questioned its truth for a long time, but we’re now positive that it is indeed only a show. A group from here in the Midlet – the bravest – stood on the surface before they knew it was safe, and they sit amongst us now to spread the good news.”

  Reena motioned her hand towards the initial group of the “Dirt Walkers,” as they quickly came to be called. “Stand up, and accept the respect that you deserve.”

  As the Dirt Walkers stood, the entire room burst into applause and yells. Smiles plastered on every face, and after watching them revel in their praise for a while Reena raised her hands for calm.

  “I was not part of the initial group, but I’ve seen it for myself as well. I understand full well that I can only be called a Dirt Walker because of the courage and the work of these men and women. More and more of us are standing on their shoulders, and I believe that one day soon, every single one of us will be called Dirt Walkers.”

  Another loud cheer, and another motion for calm.

  “We have a long journey from now until then, though,” she continued. “We have plans, drawn by many of the hands that you see around you, to bridge that gap. It will require many, many more hands to carry out. Before we speak of them, I must ask everyone who stands with us to pledge to this cause.”

  The entire room shuffled until each arm was interlocked, with their right fists over their own chests and their left hand gripping their neighbor’s arm.

  Once the movement had stopped, Reena spoke.

  “We are gathered here to free our people from generations of oppression. We are gathered here to honor those who have died preparing the way before us, and we are prepared to die preparing the way for those who remain. We are no longer simply people who live in the Midlet.”

  Her voice raised for her impassioned final line. “We are the Midlet Rebellion!”

  The whole room erupted.

  The cheers lasted for a few minutes, but a different commotion came from the hallway. Reena raised her hands for silence, trying to look through the crowd to see what was going on.

  “Control officers,” a voice near the door shouted.

  “Kill them!” Many voices yelled amidst the sound of Stunners knocking out several of the laborers in the hall.

  “NO!” Reena screamed as loud as she could. “Do not kill the officers! Disarm them and bring them inside.”

  Three control officers fought their way towards the doorway, knocking out as many members of the rebellion as they could. They swung their black sticks across the faces of laborers who were close, but immediately saw that the number in the room far exceeded what they were prepared for.

  It turned into an all-out brawl. Punches were being thrown from every direction, and the officers defended themselves the only way they knew how – with their Stunners. Several laborers jumped on the black rods, sacrificing their consciousness to allow their companions to connect any object they could against the faces of the officers.

  One of the control officers’ helmets fell off, which allowed a chair to connect to his skull. He slumped over and was immediately stripped of his weapon, armor and wristile. His Stunner was used against the other two officers, who had all but surrendered.

  All three of the stripped men were brought to the center of the room where Reena and Hokmah had moved. The commotion slowly died down as Hokmah raised his hands for quiet after confirming that the unconscious bloodied officers were alive.

  “Friends,” he said just above a whisper. “We are not like the Leaders and the citizens of the Upper Levels. They have used violence against us, forcing us to do what they have wanted for as long as any of us know. As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes violence will be required. As in this instance. But we are not, nor will we ever be murderers.

  “No matter what happens with our rebellion, always remember that we are simply trying to be free of this place – not exacting our revenge on them. The Maker alone should have revenge. And believe me when I say that I expect our desire for justice will come when they try to continue to live without us doing their work for them.

  “Anytime you have the option, refrain from fighting. If you do not have the option, refrain from killing. This will make our journey to the surface harder, I have no doubt. But it will make us better.”

  The room was mostly silent, save for the groans of the beaten and the unconscious waking up.

  “Now,” Hokmah said, looking at one of the control officers who was groggily looking back. “Tell us everything you know about the Regulation Committee.”

  .- -.-. -

  “Officer Mainsley, what is happening?”

  Quilen Coomy nervously spoke into his wristile as Mr. Gisk violently threw something across the room. Several young men and women who were seated at various screens braced for impact, in case the object was going to connect with them. They quickly returned to their screens when it did not.

  “Three control officers, Coomy?” Mr. Gisk’s voice was filled with disgust. “We register over one hundred laborers in that unit and you really thought that only three officers were needed?”

  Quilen lowered his wristile in embarrassment. It was his call, though Gisk had said nothing when he had originally decided to send a standard group of control officers.

  “I’m sorry sir,” he began. “We’ve never had that many laborers in one unit before. And we’ve never felt the need to disburse a crowd because there’s never been so many together. I assumed that they would scatter as soon as they saw the officers.”

  Gisk’s furious disappointment was obvious, despite the way his large body lounged in the padded chair in the center of the room. Quilen wasn’t really afraid of him physically, despite the fact that, whenever Gisk was on his feet, it was if he could crush someone by the simple power of inertia.

  Instead, Quilen was afraid of his words.

  It would only take a single word from Mr. Gisk to destroy his entire life. He had seen it so many times before; committees dissolved, citizens imprisoned, laborers executed. He had known families that just seemed to disappear. All simply from a sound from Gisk’s mouth or a wave of his hand.

  Even though there were other Leaders, none had the same power – and no one ever questioned him. In a society where mere humans were presumed to be equal, Mr. Gisk was divinity.

  And Quilen found himself in another moment where Gisk was unhappy with one of his decisions.

  “Coomy, you are an idiot,” Gisk finally breathed after an uncomfortable silence. “Somehow, you have managed to unite a people that have been happy to live as slaves for generations. Yes, we’ve never tracked so many laborers in the same unit because precautions were made. Why do you think none of them were given wristiles?”

  At first, Quilen assumed the question was rhetorical. But after Gisk stared for a moment, he threw his hands up and widened his eyes as if to scream, Well?

  “Sir, I thought the laborers were never
given wristiles in order to keep resource usage at a minimum, and because their work has never required their use. In addition, that the devices would be too easily broken in their assignment posts.”

  Mr. Gisk sneered.

  “Of course that’s all you thought. You still think like a laborer yourself, and months with your own subcommittee hasn’t improved that at all. They were never given wristiles so that they could never communicate with each other. That’s also the reason their wall tiles only display the information we send to them, and doesn’t allow for sending. We control what they see and hear.

  “They’ve never been able to congregate because there’s never been a reason for them to do so. They get their schedules, they go to their assignment posts, and they barely have enough time to eat or sleep. When they have the idea of disobeying, we show them that we can simply end their lives at will.

  “Whatever you said while you were interrogating them changed things. You were the one that said we shouldn’t be alarmed when we saw a slight increase of their population in sleeping units for short periods. You were the one that insisted that only one of them should be executed, as if that was enough. Where does your loyalty lie?”

  “With you,” Quilen pleaded, rushing toward Gisk’s chair to fall on his knees beside him. He didn’t remember insisting in any of these things, knowing that Mr. Gisk always had authority. Anything that he had said was to try to make his superior feel that he had things under control.

  “I swear by the Forefathers that I’ve done nothing but what you’ve asked me to do,” Quilen continued. “I have only made the decisions I have in order to preserve resources and because until this moment I thought that we could maintain control without further deaths. My actions are only for the good of the Facility, sir. I will send in an army of officers to retrieve those three.”