The Cull

Nothing could prepare you for the smell. It felt solid, permeating all senses at once. Eden tried not to breathe, but their body refused to cooperate, causing them to gasp and take in more of the fetid stench of blood, viscera, and pain. The tunnel was dark but lit enough to make out the walls covered in metal fencing and the meshed ceiling of barbed wire. A body pressed into Eden from behind and they stumbled slightly, using their hand to catch themselves on the fence and realizing it was slick with a slightly congealed liquid. They wiped their hand on their hip and felt the dirt from their naked skin roll into little gobs on muck.

Eden wondered when this would be over. The authorities had come early that morning in a large, battered old truck with a cattle trailer attached, and many members of the Greengate Village commune had been gathered up at machete point and stuffed into the trailer. Had Eden known that was the last time they would breathe fresh air and feel the warmth of the sun on their face, they would have savored each moment. Humanity was poignant in defeat and yet there was always hope for victory even if the hopes were false.

Once inside the cattle trailer, they had sat scrunched in a corner on their heels. The old ones, with their arthritic bones and weakened bodies, needed more room to sit, and Eden knew her duty to them. The others sat like Eden, as they were all younger. Most of them were harvesters but there were a few minders, such as Eden. There had been no one under the age of twenty in the round up, and as they all jostled down the rutted dirt road, Eden understood what was happening. Their best friend, Avery, had been loaded next to last, but Eden had caught a glimpse of recognizable bright red hair. Somehow it did not help to know Avery was there too.

The drive had taken until mid-day. None of them knew where they were because leaving the commune was rare. Each commune was meant to be as self-sufficient as possible and while there were traveling traders who came to visit and hawk their wares, those visits were irregular and were dependent on many factors beyond Eden’s ken. The truck had stopped in the courtyard of what appeared to be a factory. There was a faint and persistent whirring sound in the distance and a short waft of something that seemed elemental and feral, but otherwise there were no obvious clues.

Everyone sighed when the truck came to rest and the diesel engine turned off. They waited in silence; their stillness that of prey hoping to avoid the hawk. An old one had flicked an authority in the shoulder as he stood guard with his back to the trailer and had received a warning slash of his machete towards their hand and a glob of spit on their smock. “I only wanted a cup of water,” the old one mumbled plaintively, as he poked the spit with his gnarled finger and tasted it.

Eden looked away. As a minder, their job had been helping with all the daily tasks of domestic life. Making sure that britches, shifts, and smocks were cleaned on the line by a finishing broom and feeding the babies dabs of ground meal cooked to a paste with water and salt were all pieces of their day. Taking care of the old ones was a particular privilege and to see one treated badly hurt more than a corrections whip to her back. So this is the cull, they thought.

The elders left a lot of details out when they spoke of the cull. The elders had said those chosen were to be honored by the ancestors for their sacrifice. In the century since climate change became a known environmental issue, humans had gone from skeptical to panicked to resigned and now to pragmatic. Their misunderstanding of Darwinism allowed entire societies to ruthlessly kill anyone, who could not produce enough for twenty. Survival of the fittest had been taken to an extreme because there seemed to be no other way to ensure humanity’s continuation in the face of extinction. Apparently Greengate Village had survived well enough to be pruned, like trees in an orchard. Eden knew that pruning helped the trees bear more fruit, but they wondered if in this case too much had been cut.

There had been rumors, little frissons of news and gossip that passed through with the travelers, the tinkers, and the occasional outlaws. The entire southwestern half of the country had experienced years long firestorms, which killed tens of thousands and also destroyed all the crops. Eden knew that much of the more exotic foods, such as avocados and limes would not be found for a while, if ever again. There had been bad hurricanes in the southeastern part of the continent, but it had long become marshland and swamp leading into tidal estuaries. The people, who had stayed, lived on boats and mostly subsisted from what fish and reptiles they could catch. They counted on collecting rainwater for drinking because the ocean had salted their wells.

Eden had not heard much from the middle part of the country for a while. The traders seemed to avoid it. The tales they told over a cold bowl of bean stew were unfathomable. A drought had come nearly two decades ago, and at first the people had adapted, drilling deeper wells and becoming experts in the use of gray water. It had seemed like they were best situated to thrive in an increasingly hostile environment, and people spoke about their resourcefulness and resilience. When the third-hand news started to change, the middle was already in far too much trouble. A mold had taken over every crop, covered every tree, and sickened every animal, including the humans. The ones left had become feral and cruel. Strangers generally did not make it out alive; they were too valuable dead.

The officials had mostly given up on the middle and left it alone, but that had curtailed what little trade there was. Transport was dependent on a loose system of pack mules, barges, and the occasional truck along the northern or southern borders. People could walk, of course, but that left them more vulnerable to attacks from hungry predators. Sometimes the officials would send authorities out to clear a fresh path or exterminate any threats in the area, but these efforts were sporadic. The whims of the officials had become capricious in the face of catastrophe, so it was better to keep one’s head down and not draw attention to oneself or one’s commune.

The smack of jackboots on concrete got Eden’s attention back to the present. There were maybe twenty uniformed authorities surrounding the truck, waiting as two cautiously unlocked the back gate of the cattle car and lowered the ramp. Eden had a brief thought of escape; squeezing between bars on the transport and wriggling free but the wall of men around the truck made her resigned to moving forward. “Out! Move! Let’s go!” they began to shout, roughly pulling old ones to their feet and pushing the more able bodied down the ramp. Eden felt the rough tunic of one of the authorities as he brushed up against them. They noticed that his face was young but his eyes were mean, so they looked away to not draw attention to themselves. The air suddenly felt chill, perhaps from the previous crush of bodies clearing out of the cattle car, and Eden shivered.

Outside in the courtyard, they were lined up and counted. “I’ve got fifty-seven!” shouted the young authority Eden had seen earlier. There was some glint in his eyes that Eden suddenly recognized as pride, and their stomach turned. Sucking in their breath and swallowing hard to keep from retching, Eden marched silently behind the others. Avery was now somewhere up front close to the young authority whose fish eyes were still easily remembered. As they entered through the gaping sliding door of the eastern wing, sudden darkness temporarily blinded them, but they were not alone, as everyone else kind of shuddered to a stop while their eyes adjusted. Eden fingered the heart-shaped locket they had worn since their thirteenth birthday, and they closed their eyes for a moment. Her grand-dame had given it to her as a rite of passage. “It is for protection,” her grand-dame had whispered conspiratorially, as her worn fingers struggled to open the clasp. “If it ever comes off against your wishes, I will know and find a way to help you.” At the time, her words had struck Eden as promising but now they wondered.

Some authorities yelled for them to keep moving, so they did. Entering a bright room that blinded them briefly again, they noticed a dumpster in the corner and some little spaces along one wall partitioned off with curtains. There was a tall woman, who stood on a small pedestal, and once everyone was inside she said, “Thank you for joining us. To the right you will notice areas to remove your clothes. We will give you fresh ones when you have discarded your garments in the bin. Please do not dawdle. It is considered impolite to be late. Form a line. Let’s go!”

The people clumsily queued up, uncertain who should go first or if there was an advantage to waiting. Finally Eden was able to enter a “dressing” room and undressed with their back towards the wide gap in the curtain, praying that they would be unnoticed. They exited, sucking in their core and standing up straight as they carried their clothes to discard. The bin was piled high by that point, and Eden carefully placed their things on top as if keeping the clothes safe mattered. The attendant handed Eden a clean white smock with a tie around the neck. “Open in the front,” she said, as she nudged Eden forward with her elbow.

Everyone was milling through a narrow door that had a sign saying “Human Resources” on a plaque next to it. As Eden entered, they noticed a faint stench; it was something recognizable but they couldn’t quite place it. The hallway had a slight downward slope, and it appeared to curve around itself, going deeper and wider with each step. Eden saw Avery a few steps ahead and managed to sidle up to her, giving her hand a little squeeze once beside her. Avery looked over at her friend, her eyes wide but her expression resigned. There was a faint track of tears running down her cheeks, but in the fading light, her sorrow went unnoticed.

The stench had deepened, permeating everything. It made Eden want to retch. A person behind stumbled into them, and they reached out to grab the wall and noticed it was a little sticky. Before they could scream, the tunnel came to an abrupt halt. A door slid open and ahead was a room with a large stone table surrounded by a semicircular amphitheater filled with people sitting silently. A cloaked figure in the shadows announced, “We begin” and the people cheered.

“First we call Eden Greengate to the stage. Come forward, my child.”

Eden glided into the room, feeling weightless and adrift. A few steps in rough hands came around their neck and as they twisted to fight or escape, they screamed, “No!” and scraped their nails on bare skin.

Other hands pulled them back, picked them up, and forcibly lay them on the stone table. “Remove the locket, shepherd,” the voice continued, and with a painful yank, Eden’s locket was gone. “The blade, shepherd” was the last thing Eden heard before a searing light cut through their core.

The voice of their grand-dame was felt, not heard. “Eden, you are home. You are safe.”