The Dirt Walkers

by David Joel Stevenson

  “Oh, I don’t care about those three control officers’ lives,” Gisk laughed. “If they are still alive, then I am prepared for them to be sacrificed for our goals. And if they are dead, then we at least know that the laborers are acting without thought.

  “However, if someone is leading them… If there is someone who is drawing them together in those sleeping units, and I suspect that there is, then we need to find them. We need to chop off the head of the snarling dog so that the rest of its body falls slumped into the corner. And if you really are loyal to this Facility, and to me, then you must find that head and bring it to me.”

  “Yes sir,” Quilen said quickly, his chest tightening. The thought of singling out another one of the laborers and killing them brought his nightmares to the surface. But this was his purpose assignment now, after all.

  “I don’t think interrogations will work anymore,” Quilen spoke timidly. “How do you recommend we do this?”

  The large man scoffed.

  “Do you want me to do your purpose assignment for you?” he spat back. It seemed that, if he was able, he would’ve lunged forward.

  “No, sir,” Quilen said, hanging his head in defeat.

  “You’re a Regulation subcommittee chairman, Quilen,” Mr. Gisk yelled. “You have all the resources you need to do a simple task. Prove that you deserve to remain as such.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gisk rocked forward in his chair, taking a moment before he steadied himself on his legs. He was already out of breath. As he walked out the door, he called back, “You have three days. If you can’t resolve this situation by then, prepare to move back into your old family unit. And prepare for a new purpose assignment. Probably with the laborers.”

  After standing in silence by the chair that still held Mr. Gisk’s indention, Quilen let out the breath that he had been holding. He thought he had the power that he had always wanted, but he was still terrified.

  He collapsed into the chair, which was quite large even for him. His subordinates were scattered around the room, still working and acting like they hadn’t heard the exchange. He couldn’t break down in panic or tears, or else he knew they would lose even more respect for him. At least, that’s what he would have done when he was in their position. But when he was in their position, the stakes never seemed this high.

  He scanned the room, looking at the backs of their heads and fingers that seemed to be furiously working. He didn’t know exactly what they were doing, but they were doing it with intention. He thought back to his first purpose assignment, thinking that his superiors would be impressed with how busy he had always seemed to be, all the while knowing that he was faking everything.

  And he was still faking everything.

  He had climbed ladders, stabbed backs, and kissed whoever’s shoes were immediately above his. He had been the best yes-man he could be, never recognizing any consequence as long as it didn’t fall on his own shoulders. But now that he had risen past pandering to superiors, he couldn’t simply rely on following someone else’s orders and blaming them if things went badly.

  And as much as it made him feel important, he didn’t need yes-men and yes-women under him. He needed help. He needed ideas, and people who would passionately carry them out.

  Oddly, he needed someone a little like his daughter. Someone who didn’t care about hierarchy, or about what everyone else in the room thought.

  Gisk was right: he was an idiot. And he continued to dig his hole deeper.

  “Look at me,” he quietly announced to the room.

  The fingers remained in furious movement, as if no one had heard him.

  “Look at me,” he screamed, his voice breaking.

  Every chair spun around, and each face fell from smug confidence to fear. Quilen felt a little better. If he couldn’t feel confident in himself, at least he could make them think he was. And perhaps that’s the only thing anyone had ever done before him.

  “What do we know right now?” he asked.

  After one of the subordinates’ hand lifted cautiously, Quilen growled. “Don’t raise your hand, Doxim, just say it.”

  “Uh, yes sir,” the pudgy young woman said. “I’ve gone over the video from their helmets and the audio from their wristiles. When the three officers came up on the group, the laborers seemed to be celebrating. The officers were spotted before they could announce themselves, and were immediately attacked. The group was intending to kill them, but one voice – a female – seemed to stop them. Their helmets were removed and either destroyed or turned off, and then the same happened with their wristiles.”

  Quilen’s eyes lit up.

  “One woman stopped them from killing the officers?”

  “Yes sir,” Doxim replied. “Well, assuming they are still alive. We don’t know what happened after their tiles stopped working. But it was definitely a female voice that stopped the rest of them yelling to kill them.”

  “Good,” Quilen said, relieved that there might be a focal point – a person he could really blame this time. “And all of you agree that this is how it happened?”

  The room swirled with “Yes sirs” and nodding.

  “Do any of you have a good view of who this woman is?”

  The room was silent.

  “Go back over every moment of the video feeds and try to get a clear image of this woman. If she could stop an entire mob, then she’s the one that we need.”

  If it’s only one more person, and specifically the one who is causing a collective mind to awaken in the laborers, then he could muster up the strength again.

  Just one more execution, he thought, when I’m sure she’s the reason for the trouble.

  “Sir?” a young man timidly asked.

  “What is it, Wexley?”

  “There are video feeds all over the Facility – why are their none available in the laborer levels?”

  It was a question that Quilen had wondered for months now, ever since he was appointed subcommittee chairman and needed to interrogate the laborers. But he had never asked. Questions like this implied that he didn’t know certain things – things that he should know. He had assumed that the lack of wristiles was simply because of saving resources, and that the video feeds must be the same. However, Gisk had just knocked that theory down, and he didn’t have another one.

  “How about you concentrate on the video feeds you do have, rather than wasting my time,” Quilen shot back at him angrily, rather than admitting that he didn’t know.

  Wexley’s eyes widened and he nodded quickly. “Sorry, sir, of course,” he said.

  Even if he was faking everything, yes-men sure did make him feel better.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Talitha continued cooking dinner with Helen’s help. She wiped away tears after a long embrace by Jonah’s mother, who was now adding the onions that Talitha had chopped to a cast iron skillet with butter and lard.

  A few days before, Jonah told Talitha that the Facility hatch was sealed from the inside. That even with a small army, the opening would not budge.

  The news was strange. At first, she wasn’t surprised, and she was honest when she told Jonah that she assumed it would happen, considering no one had appeared since their message. She admitted that she was disappointed, because she had hoped the information she distributed would have more of an impact on the citizens, or at least on the laborers. But she chose the surface and Jonah, and she was still confident in that choice.

  However, as more time passed, she thought about what it truly meant for the hatch to be sealed. Her relationship with her family had always been strained to say the least, but she began to miss them. She began to think about the nuances that might have been tiny signs of love in the midst of their annoyances and disappointments. The way her mother would check in on her just before she fell asleep, or even in the way her father would lecture her on how to be happy. Now that she couldn’t have those moments, she wanted them.

  Maybe just like the surface. For all the y
ears that she couldn’t have the surface, she was drawn to it. It seemed to be perfect without having endured any of its difficulties. The very fact that it was “impossible” to live outside of the Facility made her want it even more. Her parents telling her again and again that to breathe unfiltered air would be instant death simply seemed to tease her curiosity.

  And now, she had the surface. She breathed the air with no problems, and – after a painful transition – could survive off of food that grew from the ground. She was living her dream, which was much harder than she had ever imagined. Despite feeling like an alien, both in terms of how people looked at her and how she looked at her surroundings, she was no longer a citizen of the Facility.

  And as much as she questioned it, she knew that she was accepted here. “It’s not her fault that she never had a chance to learn anything useful,” she overheard on more than one occasion. In addition to Jonah’s family teaching her about farming, cooking and preserving food, other townsfolk had started showing her what they did so that she could understand her new life.

  Doc Thorton saw her as much more than simply a patient now, showing her the ancient books that he pored over for years when in search of new cures. He would make remedies from plants in her view, describing what each was supposed to do. She would stand watching at a distance when a patient would come in, depending on the ailment he or she had. She was still not comfortable with seeing blood, and would quickly leave if it appeared.

  Olivia Nansing walked her through rickety glass buildings that she called “green houses,” which allowed her to grow plants even as the snow started falling. There were large black rocks in the center aisles that she said stored heat from the sun, and a woodstove which she only used on the coldest of days. Olivia talked about the aloe that helped cure the sunburn that she had suffered from, as well as ginger and other plants that helped her stomach start adjusting to solid food. Thick, green vegetation spilled over ridges, despite much of the grass outside turning brown.

  Schultz quickly showed her his wares, but was far more interested in asking her questions about the Facility. They discussed the different versions of history they had heard, and would trade theories about what they thought might be the real truth. He was extremely disappointed that Talitha couldn’t help him in keeping the “fire bulbs,” as the whole town called them, lit. Before long, she was calling them fire bulbs as well.

  She spent a very short time with Brick and Gertrude Pearson, until she was no longer able to handle the heat of the Blacksmith’s workshop. But she watched him begin with scraps from Schultz, and he later showed her the finished product of a cast iron tea kettle.

  The only one that still treated her with contempt was Raymond Cowel, who she hadn’t yet seen without a bottle in his hand. His influence was still enough for the people to be wary of the Facility. Everyone admitted that even though they were fearful and prejudiced against the underground citizens, Talitha was a welcome addition to the town.

  Her new life was quite wonderful, and she was surrounded by people that seemed to love her. But her thoughts in the past few days focused on her family. Did her mother miss her? Did Dawkin even care that she was gone? Did her father at least regret how their last interaction went?

  Unfortunately, with the hatch sealed, these were questions with answers that she would never know.

  “The bread is done, sweetheart,” Helen said as she arranged plates around the knotty wooden dining table. “Would you like me to get it out for you?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Talitha replied.

  Helen had mostly kept the conversation light, focusing on helping to finish the meal. Talitha originally wanted to cook everything by herself as a thank you to the Whitfields, and as a way to prove that she was listening to everything that they were teaching her. But while they exchanged utensils and ingredients, Talitha could tell that questions were trying to edge their way out.

  “So,” Helen finally began. “Are you happy here?”

  “What?”

  Talitha was surprised by the question.

  “It’s okay if you’re not,” Helen continued. “You’ve had a million changes in the last couple of months, so I would understand if you regret coming.”

  “No – that’s not it at all,” Talitha quickly responded, and it was the truth. “You’ve all been so… You’re all wonderful. You’re so nice, and loving, and patient with me. It’s perfect. I’m very happy here.”

  “Good,” Helen said with a relieved smile. “But, I promise I won’t be upset if you tell me that you’re not. I really would understand.”

  “Mrs. Whitfield, I promise you that I’m very happy to be here.”

  Helen smiled at Talitha’s firm stance.

  “Well, I know the onions weren’t making you cry, as I said before,” Helen said, motioning towards the mashed potatoes that had swallowed up the caramelized vegetable. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Talitha hesitated, listening to lard sizzle around frying chicken and looking away. She hadn’t talked to anyone about her thoughts because she didn’t feel like anyone could understand. And she didn’t want to make anyone feel like she was ungrateful. At the same time, she felt that if she tried to keep her emotions inside, eventually they would explode at the worst of times.

  “I really like it here, and I’m so glad I’m here,” she said again, looking back down at the skillet. “But since Jonah told me that the hatch to the Facility is sealed up, I’ve been thinking a lot about my family.”

  Helen waited for a moment, allowing space in case Talitha had more to say. When nothing came, she said, “Sweetheart, that makes perfect sense. I would be very surprised if you never thought of your family.”

  Talitha turned the chicken, continuing to stare at the browning skin.

  “Yeah, but it’s probably not the way you’re thinking. No one in the Facility is like the people here. Even my family— I feel like you and Mr. Whitfield love me more than they ever did, even though you’ve only known me for a few months. And the way that I see your kids interact… Even with the little arguments that they have, I never had that kind of relationship with my brother. I’m wondering if they even miss me. And I’m feeling a little stupid that I miss them.”

  Helen set down the wooden spoon she had just started using to stir collard greens. She moved over to Talitha and hugged her again.

  “Talitha,” she said. “As a mother, I can guarantee you that your mom has been thinking about you every day since you left. She might not have been the greatest at showing it, but I know without a doubt that she loves you. And even with the way your dad treated you when you were locked up in their jail, I would be really surprised if he doesn’t think about you every day as well. Sometimes it’s not easy to be a mom or a dad, so I can only assume they were doing the best that they knew how.

  “People here just live differently than they do down there – you know that. We might be better at showing how we feel than they do in your town. But I don’t think that means it’s possible that your parents don’t love you more than everything else in the world. One day, when you have some kids of your own, you’ll find that out. And hopefully you’ll think back and realize just how much they love you.”

  Talitha squeezed Helen in response.

  “And Dawkin?” she asked.

  Helen laughed.

  “He’s a teenage boy, right? Honestly, sometimes they can be tricky. Even as much as my kids seem to fight, I know they love each other and would do anything for each other when it came down to it.”

  Talitha thanked her as they dropped their embrace, but there was still an emptiness gnawing at her. When it actually came down to it, her father didn’t do anything for her; he didn’t do anything at all. Instead, he blamed her. Dawkin most likely would’ve betrayed her, too. But she forced to think maybe Helen was right, and that it was simply because of the extreme differences from the two “towns.”

  Either way, they were gone.

  “And how about you and Jo
nah?” Helen asked.

  “What?” Talitha said again, slightly taken with surprise.

  “No one is forcing you, you know. Are you still ready to marry him, or do you want more time?”

  “I’m ready,” Talitha responded quickly, surprised that Helen would even suggest it. “I’m ready as soon as we can. But— Is he changing his mind?”

  “Oh, goodness no,” Helen snickered. “That young man is in love, for sure. He has never looked at any other girl the way he looks at you. Sorry if my question made you think anything else. I just wanted to make sure that you know you’re not trapped, sweetheart. You only knew him for a few days before you came to the surface, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to marry him out of obligation. As if you have to do it to pay him back for helping you escape. I’m asking you because I already see you as my daughter, and I want to take care of you just as much as him.”

  Talitha still felt unsure about the conversation, but tried to understand her intention. It was nice to have Helen care about her like that, but it was not something she was used to. And something that she realized she didn’t immediately trust.

  “Why is it that we’re not married yet?” she asked quietly. “When we left the Facility, I was under the impression that it would happen soon after we got here. I know we all agreed that we should wait until I wasn’t sick all the time, but it’s been months since then.”

  There was a pause.

  “Honestly, it’s because of Tom and me,” Helen sighed. “At first, we were afraid for Jonah. You weren’t just from another town – you were from a completely different world. We wanted to make sure that he had plenty of time to make sure that you were who you said you were.

  “And I guess to a greater degree we wanted to be sure of you, too. The whole town – us included – was nervous of everything going on. We’ve lived here for generations with a fear of the Deathlands, and to find out there was a whole town buried underneath it… And not only were you from there, but our son wanted to marry you.

  “We were scared. We didn’t know you then.” Helen put her hand on Talitha’s. “But we do now.”