by Ann M. Noser
Two by two, we transport all the bodies to a great room, loosen the straps holding them to the stretchers, and carefully place them on the wide conveyer belt. We roll in Gus’s storage unit full of supplies. He double-checks all the bodies again and collects their toe tags. After we finish, thirty-six bodies lie waiting to be consumed by fire. I glance ahead at the opening to the Incinerator. The air is heavy. We’ve only been here a little over an hour, and my skin already feels as if it is covered in ash.
“Creepy, isn’t it?” Gus follows my line of vision.
I nod. The gaping cavity is built of a reddish-black metal, almost resembling an open mouth. I wonder if this is on purpose, someone’s sick sense of humor. The room is blasted hot, and I’m sweating so much from the labor and the heat that I feel like I’m being slowly cooked both inside and out.
“Now what?” I ask.
Gus hands me a water bottle. “Here, drink this. Looks like you need it.”
I gulp down half the bottle before pausing for breath. “I don’t know how you’ve done this all these years.”
He takes a small sip of water. “This isn’t the easiest part of the job, but it has to be done. And I like it to be done right.” He gestures to the bodies awaiting cremation. “These people deserve respect. That’s why I’m here.”
The Overseer, dressed in what appears to be a fireproof yellow uniform, steps forward. “All set?” he asks.
“Yes.” Gus taps the toe tags bulging in his pockets. “All thirty-six bodies accounted for.”
“You’re staying to watch as usual?” the Overseer asks.
“Of course,” says Gus.
“Her, too?” The Overseer points to me.
Gus doesn’t look for my approval before he answers. “Yes. She’s staying, too.”
After the Overseer leaves, a moment of panic sets in. What if watching this brings back the nightmares of my father burning to death? I don’t want to go back there, to wake up in cold sweats, gasping for air, gagging on my fear. Just as I decide to tell Gus I can’t stay, the fires begin.
A whooshing sound fills the air, clogging my ears.
My heart stutters as I stare at the gaping hole.
Blue turns to orange. A great ball of fire flickers to life within the open mouth.
My mouth feels dry.
With a hum, the flames climb the walls.
The heat hits me, toasting my face. I force my shoulders to relax. I must watch this. I have to. I can’t pretend Dad’s accident didn’t happen.
The bodies move forward on the humming belt, each one dropping into the mouth with a dragging sound, then a hungry crinkle echoes as the flames lick up the sides of the body bag. One after another, the corpses disappear forever. My jaw relaxes. The air smells like the one time Mom left a pan on the burner too long.
I turn to Gus. “Thanks for taking me here.”
“And thank you for the help.”
I place a hand on his arm. “No, I really mean it.”
Gus presses his lips together, looking uncertain.
I rush to reassure him. “I feel like I finally got to say goodbye to my dad. He would’ve been brought here. And someone like you would’ve taken care of him, respectfully, like we did with all the bodies today. I’m glad I finally got to see what happened.”
He opens his mouth, but I interrupt.
“Because now I finally know the truth.”
s bodies feed the Incinerator, Gus and I close the fasteners on the empty stretchers. With the pull of each strap, I feel a rip inside my chest saying goodbye to my father. The Handlers come and go, collecting the double-decker stretchers and rolling them back to the truck.
As flames devour the final body bag, Gus turns to pack the supply cart. He stuffs a wad of identification tags into a drawer and slams it shut with a clang. The tools snap into place in the top drawer. Gus’ key clicks to lock the cart. The Handlers grab the last stretcher and hurry off.
“Time to go,” Gus announces. “Help me push.”
The supply cart bounces across the rugged floor. Metal tools clink inside as we roll alongside the conveyer belt. Halfway to the end of the belt, the whole thing jerks to a stop. I run smack into it.
Gus yanks on the handle to no avail. “It won’t move. It must be caught on something. Have a look, will you?”
I peer underneath the cart. “The front wheel’s stuck in some sort of grate.”
Gus squeezes past me, jimmies the wheel, and pops it back out of the groove. “That should fix it. Let’s go.”
He steps back around as I peer between the metal slats. It’s pitch black down there. I can’t see a thing.
“What’s the grate for?” I ask.
“It’s a drain in case they have to turn on the emergency sprinklers.” He points overhead at extensive plumbing.
A Handler calls in from the exit. “We’re fully loaded.”
Gus waves. “We’re coming.”
We reach the transport truck where the Handlers load the supply cart for us.
Gus elbows me then gestures toward lights in the distance. “There’s the start of the Plant Production facilities.”
Glowing greenhouses stand in parallel rows, stretching far into the dark night. I envision myself working inside one, wearing a shiny, white laboratory jacket over green scrubs, watching as seedlings grow into fruit trees in fast motion. A lost dream. But with every loss there is a gain. There would be no Gus for me in Plant Production Sciences. I would be one worker out of a hundred, probably nobody special or important.
I clear my throat. “How many greenhouses are there?”
“I don’t know. Must be hundreds of them. Maybe more.”
“They seem to go on forever.” I sigh. “I’d love to see inside one of them.”
A Handler slaps the side of the truck. “Get in. It’s time to go.”
Gus gestures for me to step into the vehicle first. We both sit, the door locks, and the truck rumbles off.
“I’ve been in there.” Gus nods in the direction of the Plant Production facilities.
“Really?” This is the first I’ve heard of this.
“Sure, lots of times. Ben worked there until he died nine years ago. Things have probably changed a lot since then.”
“What did he do?” How I wish I could’ve met him. Gus doesn’t usually talk much about his relationship with Ben. I never push the issue because I know how painful it is to think about someone you love when they’re gone and never coming back.
“Ben worked in research. He developed a lot of their most productive food lines.” Gus pauses to rub a hand over his tired face then mumbles. “Still it wasn’t enough for them.”
I suddenly feel like I don’t know Gus at all. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes flicker toward mine then away. “This is a very touchy subject for me.”
Before I can stop myself, my gaze scans the back of the truck for hidden surveillance.
Gus chuckles. “Don’t worry. No one bothers listening to what the dead have to say. Nobody can hear us in here.”
I raise my eyebrows, not sure I believe this.
“I’ve checked this truck over a million times. Never found a thing. ‘Course you’re usually not with me, and nobody’s interested in listening to an old man talk to himself. That’s one benefit of getting old and never retiring. I’ve been doing this job for too long for anyone to care about me.”
My eyes widen. “You don’t want to be watched, either? I thought you liked The New Order.” Gus has never talked this way to me before. Of course, we’ve never met anywhere else other than work—where cameras monitor our every movement.
“I can appreciate what they’ve accomplished: clean energy, the end of war, equality independent of gender, race, or orientation.” Gus examines his hands. “But…”
“But what?” I lean closer.
Gus chokes out his next words. “They wouldn’t allocate Ben any more pain meds. At the end, when his suffering was the worst, he�
��d used up his Lifetime Medical Allowance. And mine as well. Which is why I can never get sick.” He turns to me, smiling weakly. That’s Gus for you, still making jokes when his heart is breaking.
“He died of pancreatic cancer, right? That’s really painful, isn’t it?”
His eyes well with unshed tears. “I’d taken him home by then to save on hospital beds. It wasn’t fair to the others, they said… but he preferred to die at home, anyway, looking out the window.”
“How did he manage without pain meds?”
Gus pauses. “He didn’t. I found another way—the Underground Market.”
“Did you really?” I whisper. “You could’ve gotten into so much trouble.”
His eyes turn cold. “You’d do the same for someone you loved.”
Now, it’s my turn to pause. “Yeah. You’re right. I would.”
He smiles only a little. “I know you would.”
I lean against the wall of the truck, fiery images of the Incinerator flashing through my mind. After ten minutes pass by, I yawn.
“Poor little Silvia. You’ve been up too long. If you lean into the bench like so”—he demonstrates the position—“you can sleep without much chance of falling off.” Within minutes, Gus’s soft snore adds to the metallic lullaby of the rattling tool cart and double-decker stretchers.
But I can’t sleep. My mind races. Gus sounded just like Dad tonight. I wonder if he goes to “meetings,” too?
My heart clenches. I’d never survive if I lost them both.
he transport vehicle stops with a jolt, flinging me to the floor. I grit my teeth and brush the debris off my hands then rub my banged up knees.
“Are you hurt?” Gus stands and offers me a hand.
“Just my pride.” I stand as the locks pop, and the back door swings open. The double stretchers clank down the ramp and across the floor as the Handlers unload them in a rush.
“You look exhausted.” Gus puts an arm around me, leading me into Mortuary Sciences.
Half-asleep, I lean against his shoulder, grateful to have someone taking care of me for once. He escorts me into his tiny office tucked between the main prep area and storage. The room is barely big enough for his desk, computer chair, couch, and bookshelves. Large windows look out into the prep room.
He smiles kindly. “Why don’t you catch a few more hours of shut eye then work a short day before heading home? You can start your day off a half day early.”
“But where are you going to sleep? Don’t you want the couch?”
Gus shakes his head and hands me a thin blanket. “No, I’m perfectly happy with my chair.”
I drop down and stretch out on the sofa, glancing around at the familiar surroundings. Maps, thumbtacked into floor-to-ceiling bulletin boards, cover the walls. Gus is as crazy about maps as he is about rock ‘n’ roll. Some of his maps are of real places such as the Museum of Fine Arts. My favorites are the story worlds like Narnia and Florin. There are even maps of places that used to exist like old state forests and wildlife areas. Arrows and lines are drawn across each map, leading me to nowhere and everywhere all at once. My sleepy gaze follows these imaginary paths until I fall asleep.
The next morning, I slog through the motions of prepping the most recently delivered bodies.
“Hang in there,” Gus cautions after I drop the same clipboard twice in a row. “Are you sure you want to go running today?”
“Don’t worry.” I yawn. “It’ll wake me up.”
He snorts. “Or do you in.”
After every corpse is tagged and bagged, he releases me from duty. “You better go get that run over with before you fall asleep standing on your feet.”
I grab my bag. Just hiking up the staircase takes twice as much effort as usual. Maybe I am too tired to run today. But then I think about actually running outside, and the stubborn part of me won’t give up this opportunity.
After I change in the locker room, I find Liam waiting for me near the front steps of the gym.
“You look terrible,” he says with a grin. “What did you do? Forget to sleep for a week?”
“No.” Why does he have to say that? I don’t need an extra reminder of how tired I am. “I worked all night, delivering bodies to the Incinerator.”
That shuts him up for a second.
I do some lunges to stretch out my hip flexors while Liam fiddles with his watch.
“Aren’t you even going to stretch beforehand?” I ask.
“Nah, I don’t need to.” He taps the huge square screen on his wrist. “Darn it. I can’t get this to work right.”
“What is that, and why are you wearing it?”
“If I can ever get this to work, you’re gonna be so jealous and want one of your own. It’s so awesome. It shows your pace, heart rate, calories burned, and has a built in GPS.”
“I don’t really care about all that. Let’s see how this goes today, okay? I’ve never run outside before. I’m kind of nervous about it, actually.”
“How much different can it be?”
As soon as we start, my legs feel disconnected with my body. I keep glancing around, distracted by all the voices and people. Even though I’ve been running for a long time on a treadmill, it’s like I’m running again for the very first time. This is so awkward with my feet slapping heavily on the ground. Why do my footsteps sound so loud out here? I never noticed them inside. I force my shoulders to relax. It doesn’t matter how much noise I make.
As soon as we reach the park, I inhale the heavenly smell of lilacs. I’m finally getting the hang of this running outside business by the time we reach the mulched trails. But the uneven terrain causes my ankles to bend and pinch out to the sides.
“Why is this so hard for me?” I ask. “I swear my ankles are tired. I’ve never felt that before.”
He slows the pace but only a little. “You’ll get used to it. I’ve heard it takes weeks to build up ankle and calf strength on a different terrain.”
“This feels so strange. And why can’t I focus? I keep looking around instead of just ahead.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re practicing, right?” He grins. “Let’s repeat this loop one more time and call it a day.”
“Okay.”
At the end of the loop, we stop, panting. I lean over to catch my breath and stretch my hamstrings.
Overhead, a deep voice drawls. “Hey, Liam, I thought you said you were in shape. Both your little sisters could beat you, and they’re only nine and eleven.”
I glance up, sweat dripping down my hairline, and brace my hands on my knees to support my ragged breathing. A tall man shakes his head at Liam. He narrows his impatient, dark hazel eyes, like a troubled prince in a fairy tale.
“I thought you wanted to meet for coffee, that you had something important to tell me,” he says.
“I do.” Liam wipes sweat off his brow.
“Okay.” The stranger glances at me then looks away as if already bored. “Then why’d you bring her?”
Liam chuckles. “She’s not a spy, you idiot. She’s helping me.”
“Oh, I get it,” the tall man scoffs. “She’s just another one of your stupid girlfriends.”
“I am not!” I stand, hands balled on hips.
The instant our eyes meet, I notice everything about him: how one cheek has a slight dimple; how the sunlight catches on the green and gold flecks in his eyes; how his clothes are rather unusual for Panopticus. Where did he get them? Black combat boots, cargo shorts, and… No, it can’t be—a green scrub top under an unbuttoned faded jean jacket.
He works in Plant Production.
“Oh, really?” The stranger examines me again, this time showing interest. “Then who are you?”
“I’m not even his friend. I’m his running partner,” I stammer. “He roped me into training for this race together…” My voice trails off. Why do I care what this guy thinks, anyway?
I change the subject, going on attack. “How do you get away with wearing that if y
ou work in Plant Production?” I motion to his ironically-attractive outfit, my gaze catching on the well-defined musculature of his legs. My cheeks flush. Look at that gastrocnemius. What kind of workout does he do to get muscular calves like that?
He laughs. “You’ve got a problem with the way I dress?”
“No…” I pause, my thoughts muddled. “But I thought everyone who worked there had to dress the same.”
He steps toward me to whisper, “If you make yourself a valuable enough player in the game, you can wear whatever you want.”
He smells slightly sweet, like the foamy, rich soil Dad used for planting. My mind flickers back to helping him out on the Community Deck, dividing and repotting his giant fern.
Liam clears his throat, and I return to present day, backing up a step and struggling to get my heart rate under control.
“You weirdo.” Liam punches the guy’s shoulder. “Silvia doesn’t want to hear all your stupid theories on life. Quit being rude.”
He narrows his eyes. “It’s not rude to tell the truth.”
“With you, dude, everything is rude.” Liam laughs. “Ignore him, Silvia. That’s what I do.”
The stranger adjusts a setting on his bike. “So why did you force me to meet you here if you’re just going to ignore me?”
“I need you to help me with Mom,” Liam wheedles.
He groans. “What now?”
“Are you two brothers or something?” I ask, interrupting what sounds like the beginning of a lifelong argument.
“No. Franco’s just my cousin,” replies Liam. “He’s not cool enough to be my brother, and those two little sisters waiting at home to attack me are more than enough, let me tell you.”
I crack a smile, imagining them pestering Liam, shadowing him from room to room. “I hope they give you as much trouble as you give me.”
Franco raises a hand to cover a smirk. “Okay, I believe you now.” His eyes catch mine as he jabs a thumb towards his cousin. “You’re much too clever to be one of his girlfriends.”
