The Loved Ones

Wilson hit the big red button that stopped the conveyor and then used his shovel to push the various limbs and body parts all the way into the crematorium chamber so the door would be able to close. When that was done he reached down to pick up a pale arm which had fallen from the beltway onto the floor. Very recently it belonged to a man, and had been severed at the elbow. The knuckles were scraped and bloodied, and it appeared he had fought someone before the end. Wilson tossed it through the gate and then he hit the green button to trigger the fire door to close and the furnace to light up. It hardly phased him anymore. Only the sight of putrid remains made him throw up now, so he still kept the bucket handy for those occasions when the crews were doing more of the “neighbourhood clean up and reclamation,” as opposed to what was euphemistically called ‘justice duty.’

Using his right sleeve which was relatively clean, at least compared to his otherwise gore-smeared black coveralls, he wiped his arm across his forehead. He coughed into the respirator he was wearing. It was filtering out particulate matter in the air, but wasn’t doing much for the stench. To combat that he habitually smeared some menthol vapor-rub gel under his nostrils, so now he was accustomed to a minty corpse smell, but at least he was gagging less than when he started this hellish work assignment a couple years ago.

Walking along beside the stationary conveyor, he scanned for the glint of any jewelry that might have been missed be the collection crews and other handlers in the supply chain, when a noise from behind startled him. He turned to see his supervisor Gary, in his spotless and pressed green coveralls and hard hat walking up the steps from the Emergency Exit beside the furnace. That door was never used, at least that he had seen. He raised his left arm in a nonchalant wave while his right hand casually slipped the small garden shears he was holding into his pocket. He wondered if someone was trying to catch him by surprise.

“Hey” he said

“Sorry to startle you Will, just taking a shortcut after inspecting Number Five.” Number Five referred to the fifth industrial crematorium that was going to be finished and running later this week. Wilson was the operator for Number Four. One big oven working around the clock.

“Looking good?”

“Ahead of schedule.”

“Niiiice.” Wilson responded in an almost exaggerated approval to Gary’s back as he walked through the door leading to the raised metal gangway that would take him to Number Three. Normally Gary came through that door, and the gangway had its own particular loose metal clanging sounds which normally allowed Wilson to detect anyone approaching well before they entered the room.

Turning his attention back to the bodies he looked for any signs of valuables that might have been missed, his eye was drawn to the glint of something gold when Gary suddenly came back through the door.

“Almost forgot to mention, you have to cover half a shift after this.”

Wilson automatically gave a thumbs up and forced a smile which couldn’t been seen through the respirator, save for the squinting of his eyes, “No problemo.” He was ten hours into a twelve hour shift, now with an additional six added on. He’d fortunately brought some extra dinner and water just in case, as these things tended to occur. There was a time when this would have upset him, but now he didn’t mind the extra time, as it gave him the chance at some precious metals. Free time didn’t mean shit anymore, at least to him.

“Thanks,” Gary said with a wink and a smile before turning his attention to something on the conveyor. Wilson froze. He hoped Gary didn’t see the metallic glint.

Gary paused, then took a couple of slow steps over towards the bodies on the conveyor, his hand reaching out to point at something when he said “Is this your work?”

Fear shot through Wilson like a bolt, and he looked closer at what Gary was pointing at. It was a hand missing a ring finger neatly clipped off, probably with shears like the ones that he also kept in his pocket for much the same purpose. It was almost standard practice for anyone who worked around the dead now, but this example hadn’t been done by him. Some other lucky sob had found that prize, probably one of the loaders. It didn’t matter though, because if they searched him, they would find Wilson already had one ring in his pocket today and his pair of shears. There would be no trial, and even if he plead that this hadn’t been done by him, he was still guilty. Punishment for looting was summary, quick, and final. His eyes went wide and he turned to Gary, and shook his head side to side, but Gary was already laughing and slapped him on the shoulder. Relief mixed with the shock. He was safe for now.

“Relax buddy, you’re one of my most dependable guys. This oven wouldn’t run so well without you.” He said, and turned to walk towards the door.

Wilson collected himself enough to say something “Hey, is Reggie ok?” He asked Gary before he disappeared through the doorway. Reggie was the guy who usually would have been working the next shift.

“Who knows? Maybe you'll see him come through here later tonight.” Was all Gary said as he kept walking. Wilson couldn't tell if he was joking.

Wilson turned and gazed down at the jumble of bodies and limbs on the conveyor as the panic and dread ebbed from him. Most of the blood had drained out of them already, probably in the truck they were collected in if not before that. It was a constant stream that slowed but never stopped for long. Mostly white, but also brown, hispanic, asian, old, young, men, women. It appeared to him they suffered every manner of injury and horror you could think of, although many had simply been shot. They had all once been part of families, brought into the world by hopeful loving parents, raised in communities, enjoyed friendships and birthdays. They had all been “loved ones.” Now they awaited their undignified disposal.

He knew it would only be a matter of time before he too ended up on the conveyor, if he stuck around. The plan had been to collect enough jewelry to use as capital somehow, but he hadn’t figured that out yet. He just needed to get away from here. It was hard to tell if he needed to just get out of the state, or across the country, or even further, as most of the communication tools like cell phones and the internet had been taken out by the war. What networks still existed were only for use by the authorities. Being caught with illicit technology was cause for summary execution.

He thought about the world before all this, before the pandemic, when he was a student studying Sociology, living with his girlfriend Aliya who was at the time working towards a Masters in Women’s studies. When she hadn’t been writing or teaching she was a passionate supporter of social causes, fighting the good fight for the underdogs and the disenfranchised. It was a time when it seemed all the important battles were finally tilting in the right direction, and despite the pockets of bitter resistance, the future was looking brighter. Then the pandemic hit. Even when it almost seemed as though they had come through the worst of it, the fourth fifth and sixth waves finally broke the semblance of civil society. Then there was chaos, and then something kicked off the short war now referred to as World War Three. If the stories were to be believed, Russia and or China had used the opportunity provided by the particularly debilitating sixth wave of the pandemic to strike out at the US and allies, and had paid heavily for their perfidy, but not before striking crippling blows to the United States. In the aftermath, Martial law replaced the free society which had once existed, and survival had become the goal for each day.

When everything changed, he and Aliya went into survival mode and adapted. They dutifully accepted their work assignments and worked their asses off. In the few precious hours they could spend together in the evenings, they shared their dreams and plans of escape. Aliya kept insisting that she wanted to try and get a smartphone. There was talk amongst some of the women she worked with that they could still be used if you found a wifi signal. She was convinced that would be the key to them finding a way to escape. Wilson worried that such stories were honey-traps, and reminded her that getting caught even trying to get her hands on a phone could cost her her life. They argued, quietly. She relented, finally, so she said.

One day she never returned home from her work assignment. The next day he made sure to be at the bus drop-off point for her cohort, but again she wasn’t there. None of the other women would speak to him, as they walked by and avoided his questions and attempts to stop them before a guard told him to leave them alone, and Wilson staggered away back home. He didn’t show up for his work assignment for three days, expecting to be rounded up, but they never came and got him. He finally convinced himself to keep going, on the remote chance she might be able to return, but it was a slim hope. He went back to his work assignment, and they transferred him to crematorium duty.

Tears pooled in his eyes and then spilled over his cheeks. Roused from his thoughts by the cool-down alarm, he looked over the area where he thought he saw something shiny, when it caught his eye again. Moving closer he saw it was a chain around a woman’s neck. She was on her side with her back to him, and he found the small clasp. He took off his gloves and gingerly opened it, then forced his hand under her neck to feed the end around to himself, and holding the chain up to look at it closer he turned his back to the bodies on the belt. It was a gold, heart shaped locket. It looked old, tarnished and scuffed, like it had seen some years. Maybe it had been a token of love once from a suitor, or maybe an heirloom. Opening it he found pictures of sweethearts which looked like they had been taken early in the last Century. He reached up and put it in his left breast pocket. He would save it and give it to Aliya when she showed up, rather than add it to his meagre hoard.

He wiped his eyes as he walked over to the controls and looked at the timer. There was still twenty minutes before he’d have to force in the next load, enough time to search the remains a bit more and grab a quick bite to eat.