A Heart for a Heart

They used to call it Park City; known for its great public park system, but everyone knows it as Bridgeport fucking Connecticut. Once a city of industry, now it’s a cesspool. Hell, a pool ain’t big enough to contain all the filth in the goddamned city. It’s an ocean of grime and corruption, and the biggest criminals are the ones with the money.

I hated it there, but where else was I going to go, you know? Bridgeport was all I ever knew, and judging by the statistics I wasn’t going anywhere. Any money I saved went straight to bills, charging batteries, and replacing body parts. It was either that, or malfunction in some alley so that a bunch of delinquents—or harvesters, as they’re called—could take whichever parts of me still had juice. They’re just trying to survive this hellscape we’ve been given so I shouldn’t be too hard on them. A vulture shouldn’t apologize for being a vulture.

Seaside Park used to be nice, or so they say. Not since I’ve been alive but sometime in the distant past. I sat on a bench looking outward toward the ocean. Ahead of me: sludge and washed up garbage, behind me: light pollution and smokestacks. Pretty sight, right? Well, it sure beat my tiny eight by eight apartment without windows. The rich boys repurposed the mall into quarters for homeless folks. They said it was to help them, but we knew better. They didn't want to see destitution on the nice city benches on Park Avenue. It didn’t fit the motif.

Eventually they figured that eight by eight was too luxurious for the homeless and built them five by fives in the projects. They started charging for mall space, and it ain’t cheap. You ever desire to be in a room so small that you’re able to cook while you shit? Well, turns out for the low price of seven grand a month you too can create lavatory cuisine.

But I digress. I was at Seaside Park taking the smog into my lungs when I saw three people walking toward my bench. They each wore a dark grey backpack, a satchel, and a black baseball cap. Harvesters.

I may have been fifty, but I could handle myself in most situations. That night I was worried. I needed a replacement heart shortly and excessive physical activity would cost me. The closer they got the faster my heart beat. I tried to remain calm. When they were twenty feet away I could see one was holding a battery reader.

I pretended that I didn’t care, but I knew better. My pulse quickened. Moments like that made me wish it was my brain that was mechanical. The harvesters usually wouldn’t take anything from a living being without provocation. Vultures don’t usually scavenge a living being. Still they cause unease. And in rare cases they’ve been known to finish off weak prey.

The battery reader was a sign of a harvester’s desperation. It means they had no easy pickings. No folks in an alley way or in the streets; dead or low on juice. My battery was nearly depleted. I was a prime target. Make no mistake I wasn’t irresponsible. I had money ready for a new heart, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to waste what little juice I had left in the piece of scrap metal beating in my chest.

I looked straight ahead at the roiling trash as it ebbed and flowed hoping the harvesters would pay me no mind. I took a deep breath when they were five feet away. They didn’t slow their pace as they passed. I let out a quick exhale in relief making sure to avoid any excessive noise. Then I heard a chirp.

They all turned around.

Do I die here? I wondered.

No, not tonight, I told myself. My son-in-law was bringing my granddaughter Ria over for dinner. Since my daughter died from a faulty heart spending time with Ria was the only thing I looked forward to. I’d put a blanket over the toilet and use it as a seat, give her the one normal chair I had, and we’d laugh and eat and play. Ria always gave me the cutest little squeal of excitement when she saw me. She was worth living for, and these harvesters weren't going to take me away from her.

I knew I couldn’t show any weakness.

“Getting low old man,” the one with the battery reader said, his black cap pulled low over his eyes.

I stood. “I’ve got it handled, but thanks for checking. Got my own gauge,” I said, as I tapped the locket that hung from my neck.

“Taking quite the chance out here, at night, with almost no juice.”

I looked them up and down. “I have enough,” I said. They shared concerned glances amongst themselves. There were more of them, but I had false confidence. When they looked away from me I noticed a white stripe on all their caps. I didn't ask, but I was curious. Was there a rank among the harvesters?

When they looked toward me I said, “I’ll have a replacement tomorrow, I have the means. But again, thanks for checking.” My heart was thumping faster than an endangered rabbit on the run. I stood my ground for a few moments, turned heel and walked away at a regular pace.

I knew that interaction cost me some juice; stress was expensive. I grabbed the heart shaped locket. It ain’t shaped like a mechanical heart, or one of those bullshit Valentine’s Day hearts that don’t look like a heart at all. It’s an honest to God real life human heart, aortas and all. A reminder of what our humanity used to look like… and it keeps track of how many beats I got left before I need a recharge or replacement. It used to have pictures in it, but I repurposed it. Now one side showed Ria’s vitals, and the other showed mine. The only two hearts that mattered.

I wished Ria didn’t have a mechanical heart, but my daughter wouldn’t listen to me. No baby should be forced to have their chest ripped open like that. They feed you all this bull about removing the risk of heart disease. Parents eat it up. When I had a minor heart issue at thirty they put me under and swapped out my living heart for a chunk of metal. No consent.

I miss my heart. I miss not having to think about how many beats I got left before this piece of machinery seizes up. Regardless; it was part of my life. I opened the locket.

Approximately Ninety-seven thousand beats before critical failure.

That gave me one day to swap. I could do it myself. I needed to ensure the the heart in my chest didn’t drop to zero (or I would die), then I had to remove it. The backup system would boot up and allow me a minute to switch the unit. I’d buy it in the morning. But first thing’s first: Ria.

I met my son-in-law, Jasen, outside my apartment. When Ria saw me, she squealed and jumped into my arms and squeezed.

“Grappy!” she shouted. The sweetest thing that ever lived, I swear to you.

Once Jasen left I started supper. Within minutes I heard a rapping at the door. I figured it was Jasen since I rarely had company. I had no windows to peek from, so I opened the door a crack.

The harvesters from the park forced their way into my apartment.

How could I be so stupid? I thought. I pushed Ria behind me.

“Give us the money for your heart replacement,” the lead harvester said.

“No.”

“Still have enough juice?” he said, then smiled, his yellowed teeth peeking out. He looked to his cronies and they collectively chuckled. He nodded toward them, they each seized one of my arms. Then he took Ria. His hand hovered over her heart. He looked at me, expectant. I tried to escape, but if I used all my energy and failed I knew I wouldn't be able to help her. So I gave in.

“The water stained ceiling tile.”

The man released Ria and she hurried to me. He removed the tile, found the money, and counted it. He nodded, then said, “Brace.”

The two thugs strengthened their grip. He took Ria again, but this time he removed her heart. Ria looked at me helplessly, then she lost consciousness. I couldn’t move. Trust me, I tried.

“Don’t take offense, it’s just business,” the harvester said. He opened his satchel, inserted Ria’s heart, then took another out and placed it in her chest.”

“The fuck is this? Stealing full hearts now?”

He pointed to the white stripe on his hat. “New boss, new orders. But he ain’t malevolent. A heart for a heart.”

They pushed me to the floor, then left. I opened the locket to check Ria’s vitals. Twenty-eight hundred beats: about half an hour. I brainstormed as fast as I could. I could steal from a distributor, but I’d need an employee to activate the heart. Same with the hospital. The bureaucracy alone would take two hours. Then I figured it out.

I’d ask a rich boy. I’d owe forever, but it’d be worth it.

I collected my other stash under the sink, grabbed Ria, and hailed a cab. When I got to Charles Burkwell’s lavish Park Avenue mansion, she still had fifteen minutes. I knocked until my knuckles bled.

Eight minutes.

A light went on and the door opened. “Can I help you?” the butler asked.

“Emergency,” I said, as I pushed my way through, Ria still unconscious, “She’ll die if she doesn't see Burkwell.”

The reluctant butler ushered me to an office. I opened the door. The harvester with the white striped hat was handing his haul to Burkwell.

Ria’s old heart was in his hand.

So this was the new boss the harvester mentioned. I wanted to kill them both, but I knew I needed to be diplomatic. “I need that heart. Please, it was just taken from her.”

“Who are you?” asked Burkwell.

I placed Ria on the ground, then stepped toward the desk and reached for her old heart, but the harvester smacked my hand away. I knocked his teeth out of his goddamned mouth. Burkwell tried to stop me. Then they tag teamed me, but I managed to take them both out with a paper weight I found on the desk. I ran to Ria; heart in hand.

A quick jolt ran through her tiny body. She was dead.

It all happened so quickly that I had no time to process it all. Delusional, I fumbled my locket to check. It confirmed what I already knew, no activity. I’ll admit I cried more than when my daughter passed. I ripped some hair from my scalp in anger. I could do nothing to relieve the pain I felt. I rifled through Burkwell’s drawers for a gun. I had to end my life. The thought of living without Ria was unendurable.

Then something occurred to me. I turned back toward the two villains, both unconscious, their chests rising and falling. Life.

That wasn’t fair. So, I smashed the skull of harvester. Then I opened Burkwell’s chest and took his heart. I watched him die.

I placed his heart in my chest, then threw my old one on his body.

“A heart for a heart.”

Physically, it was the best I ever felt. I checked my locket after the new heart synchronized. I was good for a hundred years.

I’m on the run now. Some days I want to give up. I don’t know where I’m going or what my purpose is anymore, but I've got time to figure it out.

And I don’t have to do it in Bridgeport fucking Connecticut.