Dissidence (7 page)

Before the sun even peeks over the horizon, the door bursts open, and all around me people start getting to their feet and shuffling out of the room. Without the slightest idea what’s going on or what I should be doing, I follow them. We’re directed to a large, open-aired pavilion, with only one solid wall running along the back, and served what looks like week old, burnt oatmeal. My stomach rumbles in response. It’s been a while since the last time I ate, and burnt oatmeal is looking suspiciously like filet mignon. It tastes, however, very much like burnt oatmeal. I choke down nearly half the bowl before a harsh voice cuts through my concentration.

“Hey, Newbie.”

I assume that would be me, unless I’m not the only sucker stuck in this hellhole since yesterday. I glance over without lifting my head, refusing to acknowledge my new kid status in front of everyone else. It doesn’t do me any good though because a hulking guard is already headed in my direction. He doesn’t bother repeating himself, just wraps his hand around my hair and tugs me from my seat. He wrenches my head sideways and back so that I am mere inches away from the most bulbous nose I have ever seen in my life. His dark eyes are narrow slits as he glares down at me.

“Are you deaf, Newbie?”

I shake my head, which is difficult with his hand still fisted in my hair.

“Good. Let’s go then. I
t’s time for your welcoming ceremony.”

I’m half dragged, half shoved to the rear corner of the pavilion where two other guards are waiting. A swift kick to the back of my knees sends me crashing to the
floor,
the only thing holding me up at all is bulbous nose’s fist in my hair.

A small fire pit warms this corner of the pavilion, banishing the morning chill. I watch as one of the other guards pokes at the embers with a long metal rod, trying to figure out what exactly a ‘welcoming ceremony’ might involve. When the guard removes the rod from the fire, I catch a glimpse of a series of glowing red numbers and letters.
Now I wish I didn’t know.

My scalp screams in protest as I wrench my head away from the guard. He bends lower to reclaim me, and I manage, somehow in my flailing, to connect with his face. He jumps back with a yelp as blood starts pouring down his chin. I try to get to my feet, but the other two guards are on me too fast. I wrestle against them, but they keep me restrained while bulbous nose recovers, and then I feel his hand on the back of my head again. It’s so large that the heel touches one of my ears while his fingertips brush the other. My neck is sore from the pressure as he forces my face downward and pulls my hair to the side. 

Clutching the material of my pants, I grit my teeth and try to prepare for whatever is coming. Nothing could have prepared me though. The agonizing pain sears through my body and I gag on the scent of my own burning flesh. A scream escapes my lips before I can stop it, and the guards snicker down at me. They release my arms, and I slump to the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Welcome to the camps,” one of them scoffs. “Get up. It’s time for work.”

I angrily swipe the tears from my face and stumble to my feet. I’m sure as hell not going to give them anything else to laugh about. The rest of the room is getting up as well and making
their way towards the door. I join the queue and shift from one foot to the other anxiously waiting
to see where we go from here
. The adrenaline coursing through my system is almost enough to mask the blazing pain radiating down my neck every time my hair brushes against it.

We’re herded like cattle toward a smooth expanse of mountainside not far from the dorms. A huge opening has been carved into it
, and without delay we’
re driven inside. It’s cold, and damp, and dark, and, admittedly, fascinating. That is, until I try to figure out just what we’re doing in here. Then it mostly becomes terrifying. I’m inside a mountain with a few thousand other people, and absolutely no idea why.

Slowly my eyes
adjust, but between the barely-
there light seeping in from outside and the massive amount of bodies
around
me, it’s nearly impossible to make out my surroundings. From somewhere near the front of the herd comes a high pitched squeal. Elevator shafts, a whole bank of them line one side of the massive cavern we’re in.
As soon as the gates are opened, people begin shuffling forward. I have zero desire to get anywhere near them, but being so tightly packed together, it’s impossible not to move with the crowd
. The next thing I know,
I
’m
stuffed into one of the elevator cars
along
with a couple dozen others.

Before we
be
gin
our descent into hell, I catch a glimpse of a faded sign hanging precariously above the elevator banks.
It reads ‘
Permatech
’
. What the hell is
Permatech
? I squint to try and get a better look, but the faded paint and low lighting make it impossible.

With a sudden lurch the elevator begins its slow plummet into darkness. Squealing cables lower us deep into the ground encased in nothing more than a rusted metal box. Each time I start to think we couldn’t possibly go any further, we do. My ears pop, and the complete lack of sensory perc
eption is disconcerting. There’
s no light here at all, making it impossible to see. The only sounds are that of our mixed breathing and my pounding heart. Finally
,
a trace of light appears below us and grows increasingly brighter as we draw nearer. The lift grinds to a halt, and the door swings open with a high pitched groan that echoes all around us.

I’m pressed forward by the others and find more guards awaiting us just outside the lift. The light is coming from the glow of lanterns hung intermittently from the roof of a long tunnel stretching out before us. It’s a mine. We’re in a freaking mine. As soon as the thought occurs to me
,
a pick is slapped into my hands by one of the guards. I suddenly find myself wishing for a barred cell or even that damn train car again. What exactly do they expect me to do with th
is thing? I’m not exactly in pea
k physical condition. I’m a
baker
for crying out loud.

“
Ya
better keep
movin
’
,” a mountain of a man behind me whispers, giving me a little nudge forward.

He’
s easily over a foot taller than me and he looks like a solid mass of muscle. Glad I didn’t steal his bed last night. My eyes slowly adjust to the lighting as we file down the tunnel.  All at once
,
we come to a stop
,
and I nearly crash into the woman just in front of me. Everyone turns to face the wall
simultaneously
like some kind of macabre choreographed dance and I’m left stumbling to keep up. A guard roars for the w
ork to begin and immediately I’
m overwhelmed by the sound of picks colliding with rock. It’s deafening and my head is already beginning to throb to the heinous beat.

I lift the pick over my head and notice the same word ‘
Permatech
’ scorched on the handle. I pull it down as hard as I can into the
wall in front of me.
Pathetic.
T
ruly pathetic.
It barely makes a dent.  Rocks and shiny bits of metal are flying
everywhere
. The big guy beside me is making excellent progress
,
and even the petite woman to the other side is getting the job done. Well
,
if she can do it . . . I take another swing at it, literally, and the second attempt is just as useless as the first. 

I
take
a
moment to study my neighbors. T
ilt
ing
my body slightly
,
and adjust
ing my grip on the pick, I lift it again and
try
to
mimic their movements, but I’m distracted by a commotion further down the tunnel.
A guard is shouting at an older man with thin arms and graying hair about his
work progress. That doesn’
t bode well for me. Instead of focusing on my work and not becoming the next poor sap on the guards hit list like I should, I continue to gawk as the guard yanks the old man away from the line, with a well-placed fist to his face
that
sends him crashing to the ground. My brain, which seems to have abandoned me completely, isn’t fast enough to stop the gasp from escaping my lips and, just as I knew it would, it draws the guard’s attention.

Chapter 7

“What are you looking at?”
So much for not being a sap.
I try to look away, but it’s already too late.
“Who told you to stop working?”

“Nothing . . . No one . . .” I stammer over my words as he comes up behind me.

“Looks like you’re having some productivity problems yourself.” He sounds a little too happy about that fact. “Maybe you could benefit from a lesson in efficiency as well.”

My shoulders hunch up around my ears as I prepare myself for the blow I can only assume is headed my way.

“It’s her first day.” My neighbor’s voice is much softer than I would have expected from someone his size. He continues to swing his pick, never moving his gaze from the wall in front of him.

“Well then, let this be your lesson. If that entire section is not mi
ned by quitting time, then you’
ll pay the price for your incompetence.”

I don’t want to think about what
kind of price that may be. Even a
s the guard moves off further down the tunnel, a deeper fear takes root.
This entire section?
I’m supposed to hack up this entire section of wall
today
? I’d be lucky if I could accomplish that in my
lifetime
.

I’m adjusting my grip once again in an effort to do better
,
when another pick collides with my section of wall
,
and a huge chunk of rock drops away.
Mountain Man to the rescue.
I shoot him a quick glance that I hope says everything I can’t say out loud, ‘Thank you. I owe you. Please don’t let my pathetic excuse for muscles get me killed.’  

He must get the message loud and clear because for the rest of the day, every other swing he takes
,
when we’re not being supervised, fall
s
onto my section of wall. Somehow
,
with our combined efforts—
okay, mostly just his effort
,
really—
we manag
e to finish both sections
and on time. The final hour of the day is spent collecting the loose debris and piling it into small, gray carts. By the time we begin our trudge back to the surface
,
my entire body aches, and I’m astounded that my feet haven’t fallen off.

Dinner consists of small chunks of meat covered in a thin, filmy layer of some kind of gr
avy. It doesn’t really matter. A
nything would
taste
great at this point. Apparently
,
they don’t believe in lunch breaks in this place
,
and I haven’t had anything to eat since my half bowl of oatmeal at breakfast. Add that to the physical toll of the day
,
and I’m completely famished.

I glance around the pavilion for somewhere to go with my meal and spot the guy I’v
e been working beside all day—
he’s kind of hard to miss. In the brighter light of the dining pavilion, I’m surprised to see that he isn’t much older than me at all.
A year or two at most.
He looks like he could have been carved from the mine himself, with his rock hard muscles showing through his thin shirt, and chiseled features. His sandy hair flops into his eyes as his broad shoulders lean
over his dinner bowl, elbows planted on the table in front of him.

When I collapse into the seat beside him, he glances over at me
,
and I notice his eyes are a bright green unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

“Hey, Girlie.”
He nods at me with a slightly crooked grin.

Nicknames.
G
reat
,
I
love
those.

“Hey.” I nod back, and fidget with my fork. “Thanks . . . for your help today.”

His shoulders bounce with silent laughter as he turns his attention back to his own food. “You’re
gonna
have to build up those muscles fast, Girlie. I can’t keep doing my work and yours forever,
ya
know.”

“Why don’t you cut the kid some slack?” The woman who’s been my other neighbor all day takes the seat across from us.