Dieback

There was a silence that caressed the sharp edges of The Gutter. It breached over the dusty outcrops and spilt into the valley below, stealing with it the echoes of a life that once was.

The Girl knew only The Gutter, a place that was dry and burnt, a place that crouched on the great horizon of City.

The morning sun had returned from its three-day map around the stars and nestled into the amber sky proudly. Each day she pulled her planets closer and closer, spreading fire in once lush lands. It was said that the sun used to hide and could be blocked by a flippant hand shielding a face, now she was everywhere; a burning vastness that dominated the suppleness of the sky. Both a reminder and a promise of the damage that had been done, and the debut that needed to be paid.

The Girl ’s fingers grazed the grit of the barren desert floor, digging at the earth with the bloody ends of her fingers. She squatted in the shade of an outcrop, barely able to fit in the silhouette of shelter as the sun roasted down. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, not really. It was just a game she and the other children played to pass time between meals. They would span out across The Gutter and forage for anything of value; for anything other than dust, rocks, and bones.

The Girl scooped up a handful of the brittle gravel in her palms and flicked through the shrapnel. Nothing. She threw it over her shoulder. There was never much to do, there was eating and sleeping and waiting for City. She lived free range in the dustbowl of The Gutter, to want for anything more would be gluttonous. She knew that. But she couldn’t stop herself from imagining a life beyond that place, imagining the shiny things that City would have, all the new places to seek and find.

But there were more of them now. More than she could ever remember. She liked playing with the others outside before morning, but not when she missed a seat at meal, or when she was forced to share her cot. The Girl had learned that as many came, just as many would leave. Everyone’s time to head into City would come. She just had to be patient for hers.

Under her foot, wedged against the callused flesh of her toe something caught her eye. It was smooth and shiny, with no edges that poked or scratched. The Girl carefully reached for it, worried it may recoil at her touch. Delicately she scooped the stone from the dirt and placed it within her palm, mesmerized by the symmetrical beauty of the granite.

Raising her head, she whistled out into the empty air. A mop of auburn hair poked up from between an outcrop and The Girl waved him over, shrieking with delight. Her friend scampered through the rocks and dried thicket, using both his hands and feet. The Girl opened her palm to him, revealing the treasure. His eyes widened and reached out to touch it. She pulled her hands away.

He drew a line down his forehead to his nose and then clenched his fist over his heart, share?

The Girl touched a bent knuckle to her chest and then twice to her chin, mine.

The black band looped on her wrist vibrated. A heavenly voice opened with a giggle. The sun is up, it’s time to go inside. We have prepared a meal for you to enjoy. The voice giggled again. The sun is up, it’s time to go inside. We have prepared a meal for you to enjoy. Drool pooled in The Girl’s mouth, under her tongue and in the gaps between her teeth. The sun is up, it’s time to go inside. We have prepared a meal for you to enjoy. Another sickly giggle and then silence. The Girl abandoned her half-dug holes and headed back to the shelter, running the best she could on bare feet, desperate to not miss out on a feed. She thought about the feast that would be laid out for her, the mounds of white mash that piled down the long benches, the pastries filled with warm spice and sugar, the large jugs of lard that never emptied. Heaven, The Girl thought, it’s just like heaven.

-

The car hovered slightly above the ground; the dust cast its in wake just beginning to settle. The back door opened and three people exited, moving hastily from the cool, sterile air of their shiny vehicle into the shelter of The Pen. He waited inside for them, his back to the door and his hands gripping the railing that overlooked the troughs below.

“We spoke this morning on the phone,” the man said, turning to greet them and extending his hand, “Inghams.”

“Charmed,” the other man replied, keeping his hands gripped behind his back. He was accompanied by two women, one most likely a mate, the other younger and out of place; she protruded from their pairing like a bone through flesh. Her hair was a wild mess of lilac curls and her eyes almost entirely black, so black they matched impeccably to the dark ink that covered her skin in swirls and jagged lines; winding around her arms and traveling over each finger.

Inghams twitched at the sight of the design on the back of her hand. The deep carving of ink that displayed a heart encased in a wire locket. He knew that symbol, he remembered it often. He treasured it in the middle of warm nights then the loneliness of The Gutter struck the hardest. The insignia of The Bath House Lustrea was a sight no man would ever easily forget, yet to see it so far from the Red District of City surged a feeling of unease in his gut.

“You may remove them, the air is clean out here,” Inghams said, gesturing to the thick coverings the trio wore across their faces.

The couple looked at each other. “How can you be sure?” the man questioned.

“We complete tests every day, sometimes almost three times. We can assure you the air is pure. We have our Mother Sun to thank for that.”

The couple looked wearily to the third woman who provided a single nod of reassurance. They slowly complied, however the woman kept her gloves on and used her hand to daintily cover her mouth, while the other one fanned her face frantically. Small fans spun on the ceilings but did little to cool the blistering heat of The Gutter. City, in all its candescent darkness, did not know the savagery of the heat that blistered in The Gutter. Those who lived in City only knew the incessant blanket of night and the pulsating beat of galvanism. A power that offered a lifeblood more virulent than the heat of the Mother Sun; should one ever look beyond their nose to question it.

Inghams spied the trio out the corner of his eye, sizing them up. The couple were older, even by City standards. With slight creases between their brows and in the corner of their eyes. Their eyes had not even started to yellow, and their backs appeared to remain straight unaided. They were almost able to hide the byproduct of their home, one might easily be distracted by the rich golden of their hair, cut sharply to their collar bones, or the soft silks that the woman wrapped over her shoulder or the diamonds that man wore around his neck. Inghams had seen these kinds of people before, sniffed their desperation the moment they descended the rods of City and ventured into the gouged earth of The Gutter. He knew the wealth that stood beside him, and apparently, judging by the locket tattooed into her flesh, so did their accomplice.

“I think you will be pleased with what I have available for you,” Inghams said. “This is a real good deal, I don’t offer it to anyone, only friends.” He summoned the couple forward to peer over the railing. “It's one hundred percent organic out here, too. Did you know that? Folks think we use some kind of alterant, something from City. But it’s all natural out here, straight off the land. Come, see.” The couple crept forward gingerly, linking their hands with each other’s as they did so.

Two long tables ran from either side of the open stable below. Piles of thick white mash layered the table as the children sunk their hands in and ravenously stuffed the starch into their mouths. They hardly had time to swallow before another handful were plastered over their mouths and down their throats, then another, and another, and another. The thick starch of the mash filled their mouth like paste and struggled to slide into their throats. Often, if one had been too eager, their food would resurface only to be consumed once again.

As the tables began to empty and the dinner dwindled down, Inghams cussed to himself that the couple didn’t arrive later into the morning. “Why don’t we discuss this in my office?” he said, motioning for the couple to follow him. Their eyes were fixated on the scene below. On the screeching and the hissing, the snarls and grunts that erupted before brother turned on sister.

“They are...savages,” the woman gasped, turning away just as blood began to shed.

Inghams simply shrugged.

“What are those noises?” the man added, disgust rippling across his brow.

“They don’t talk,” Inghams said, “at least not like you and me.”

“Don’t or can’t?”

Inghams dragged his hand across his jaw. “They have other methods of...eh... communicating.”

The couple look towards each other, eyes wide. A silent conversation unravelling between them.

“That won’t be a problem,” a voice from behind said. The third female had stayed silent until now. She lingered at the edge of the group, learning back against the rusting tin walls. “There will be no need for them to communicate with….”

“...her…” Inghams answered.

“Yes...communicate with her…” she continued. “Bring her to me.”

-

The Girl padded barefoot and blindly behind a man whose name she had never thought to learn. He led her through a series of tunnels she had never been through, or even knew existed. He stopped when they came to a door disguised into the paneling of the tin wall. He turned a key into the lock and ushered her inside.

A woman stood with her back towards the door, staring out the small cut-out in the wall that overlooked the deep desert valley. The Girl had never seen someone look like her before, she couldn’t tell if it was excitement or fear that began to dwell in her chest.

“I’ll give you some time to confirm the arrangement,” the man said to the woman. “Then we will need to discuss the units.”

The woman only nodded. When the door closed, she turned to face The Girl. Her eyes skimmed her, narrowing as they traveled over the bulges in her stomach and the swelling of her thighs. She chewed on the inside of her mouth; a fetal idea beginning to grow.

Life had, for so long, balanced on a serrated edge. Humans believed in the arrogance of their existence and failed to recognize the chaos of their own creation. A life that was created from slaughter knew only that of slaughter. What an easy knife to wield when one knows it is never their meat offered at market.

“Did they give you a name?” The woman finally asked, picking at the dirt out from under her nails. The Girl responded. She dragged one hand across the other and then touched two fingers to her chin, Piggy.