The Yield

Below is a complete short story called The yield By © Angela Goldsmith. It is written as genre piece and contains themes of Horror.

The Yield

By © Angela Goldsmith

At nine o’clock promptly every morning the factory-floor staff employed at the ‘Canid-Land’ factory, were ushered into the repository. Daily they performed this duty, forming a meticulous line, trooping like straight-backed soldiers, and moving in perfect symmetry with each other towards the storeroom. Following the orders of their two supervisors Mr Kirkden and Mr Underwood the workers filed into the red-velvet-draped storeroom, which for the current convenience had been repurposed as a meeting hall. The swathes of regal-red curtains had been placed here with intent, and they acted as a type of partition. The objective of the superiors was to shroud the unsightly vision of piles of dusty, and rusted machinery. This discarded apparatus was supposed to have been recycled, remodelled and reused but instead it had been simply dismantled and discarded, relegated to lying strewn across the solid, stone floor. The Canid Land Corporation who governed the operations at the factory were not keen on their workers observing this tarnished set of components, viewing them as unauthorised waste, and this challenged and contravened its efficient image. To Canid Land Corp, aesthetics were king.

They were also determined to use the drapes as a type of barrier to conceal the undesirable sight of mice, gleefully-gnawing at exposed wires and accessible boxes of ingredients used in the food preparation process, which were strewn recklessly over that cold floor. There had been a crude whisper among the workers that someone had spotted a fat rat sauntering around in here, but it was a rumour that company had determinedly quashed.

This rallying of the employees into the stockroom every morning for the ritual which had been nicknamed ‘The yield’ and was a mandatory obligation, prescribed by the company directors. Therefore, it had become a well-practised procedure, repeated until it operated in a flawless fashion. This efficiency and exactness was deemed essential by the management as, in an enterprise such as this, there was no tolerance for fault or failure.

That morning these willing workers followed mechanically the instructions decreed to them by their superiors. And although they absolutely did possess the ability to question some of the more spurious instructions directed to them, they chose not to. They also retained the capability to update their skill-sets and training to the newer, further advanced technologies and processes used at the factory and elsewhere for that matter, but most chose not to do this either. Comfortable existing as they did, most preferred not to challenge the current accepted conventions passed down to them by those they deemed their superiors. Most had an aversion to any type of change. Modification was viewed with scepticism, and was a frightening, complicated and unnecessary adjustment, and besides it was estimated too difficult for them to alter from their default belief systems. Although most of these ‘older’ labourers were a little more mature in nature, the term ‘older’ employees was generally not an application to describe advancing years. The label was applied to those pre-existing workers who had loyally served at the Canid Land factory for many years. Although some of these ‘older’ staff were showing signs of strain, a fraying or wearing of their joints, Canid-Land Corp still valued the experience they transmitted, believing them yet perfectly suited to the operations of manual work carried out at the Canid-Land factory plant.

It was true however that many other businesses had discarded these ‘older’ models, the pre-existing employees, but here at Canid-Land Corp, they employed many factory-floor hands who had remained faithful to the company for decades, some of them operating diligently for up to thirty years. Canid-land Corp understood that despite the older employees cogs whirring a little slower than the newer, younger new recruits, and the fact that newer employees could be more energised and efficient, these ‘older’ employees, they were still reliable, resilient and dependable enough to carry out the repetitive tasks that they were required to perform at the canning factory.

That morning before Mr Kirkden and Mr Underwood lead these employees to the statutory assembly they had already been performing their tasks for at least two hours previously, processing and preparing the meat products. These workers were used to the lengthy shifts and were primed to run continuously from seven o’clock in the morning until the factory closed at eight in the evening, with only a thirty-minute break for refuelling at midday. The only cessation of this pattern was the brief interval for ‘The Yield’ which took place at nine.

The Canid-Land factory produced a canned-chicken, luncheon meat product, and the labourers in their usual, mechanical mode had already begun to prepare the provisions. These were the set of tasks they were employed to accomplish in an unchanging and unwavering routine and the roles undertaken by these factory-floor hands included the following objectives.

Firstly, the harvesting of the chicken carcasses from the cold storeroom. These cadavers hung in the cold storage room, strung from high hooks, looped in a long line, encased in clear-plastic shrouds. The light in the storeroom was tempered, keeping it artificially low and the row of cadavers would appear startlingly out of the gloom. They formed a grotesque outline in the dimness of the storeroom, like a row of decapitated bodies waiting to be collected by a mortician. The flesh of these cadavers, when beheld through the sterile sheaths was shockingly bald. Stripped bare of feathers and dimpled as if benumbed by cold. Their skin was mottled-red and purplish-blue and covered in a secretion of fluid like a headless specimen preserved in a glass jar. The carcasses swung a little unnervingly from the hooks as if shivering in the chilled refrigeration. The clockwork nature of these employees allowed them not to notice anything of this and were they were well used to the disconcerting setting. The employees were tasked, only, with cutting down the carcasses and throwing them without either sensation or sensitivity into a large bucket, They were then hauled to the production line to be cleaned and gutted.

All employees wore identical, pale-blue, plastic nets over their heads to prevent contamination and equally matching protective overalls, the fronts awash with red residue. They pulled on thick rubber gloves to prevent chicken blood from leaving a taint, or stain on their hands as deposits of blood were difficult to erase. This also meant that there were no fingerprints to leave a trace by contact on the carcasses. When these cadavers had been tipped out with a thud onto the clinically clean, steel slabs, some of the bloody, watery excretions would seep out onto the chilled, silver-surface and drip onto the floor. It was therefore imperative to wear substantially solid, non-slip boots. The next prescribed role was to reach inside and rip out the entrails, the gizzards and organs of the commodity and discard these inner workings. They performed this duty perfunctorily as they expelled a mash of viscous mush into a blood-spattered bucket. The workers were extremely efficient in this task, as in line with the company policy, wastage was prohibited. Then with skilled precision they severed the flesh from the bone.

Holding aloft large cleavers the cutting, chopping, choreography and symmetry of this practise had been developed to an expert exactness. And all the while that they performed these duties the workers remained impassive, expressionless, with the only hint that there was cognizance a faint glint behind the concave lens inserted in the sockets in their heads. This dull-eye reflected only the steel slab in front of them on which they worked, and they often stared out vacantly, as unresponsive, like a congealed fish-eye surrounded by an icy case.

Once the textured chicken flesh had been cleaved cleanly and separated from the skeletal structure, which looked like a hollow calcium cage. The bones were pounded with their fists, compressed and compacted, and then placed on the conveyor belt, sent away to be boiled for chicken both. There was no wastage allowed at the corporation, as all parts of the process were profit.

The whole operation at Canid-Land was a pure production line, and the canning company were bolstered by the knowledge their workers never displayed, what the enterprise itself described as adverse responses to the work in hand. In fact, the employees never showed any sentiment at all such as revulsion for the work, tiredness or complaint which made them profoundly ideal and appealing to a company like Canid Land Corp.

Once this preparation stage had been completed the seasoned meat was then mulched into a pureed pulp by industrial machines and poured into tin cans. Each can had the perfect measure of mixture, there was no room for human error. The employees checked the quality control and then placed this bulk of produce on what seemed like a never-ending conveyor belt. These cans were then heated at astronomically high industrial temperatures to cook and decontaminate the product.

Mr Kirkden and Mr Underwood had now finally completed the channelling of the employees into the reservation room. While the workers were at this indenture they remained in their soiled, bloodied overalls. They wore this livery with pride even during their participation in this ritual ceremony and they were encouraged to do so by their superiors who mandated that they display their steadfast dedication frequently to the corporation. The employees were expected to show a gratification and gratitude to Canid Land Corp at all times. Once gathered here, expectantly the workers were manoeuvred into a semi-circle and instructed to look up at the huge screen far above their heads. This red festooned reliquary had cultivated the status of a type of shrine, and a temple to host the celebration.

The workers were required to follow all directives and orders without question, and soon, as they studied the screen, above them, appeared the corpulent figure of ‘The Director.’ He was stationed in his own heavily draped room, flanked by two large Doberman dogs who seemed to be able to salivate on command. The Director’s version of the drapery were purple, weaved with pure silk and embroidered with gold thread. There were also gold ornaments and adornments placed strategically in front of the full-figure of this leader. The veneration shown to the supreme head of the company was almost too overwhelming for some of these workers who fell to their knees awestruck and in reverence. The other workers watching this, even those who experienced little affinity for this sovereign leader understood immediately that they must copy this action. Some suspected that Kirkden and Underwood had bribed or coerced these sycophants to conduct themselves in this fawning fashion and to act in an obsequious manner, but all stayed silent in the matter.

The Supreme Director then addressed the assembled troop. He began by telling them about how fruitful the factory had been. How it was thriving, lucrative and prosperous. Most workers here were motivated and energised by a proclamation such as this and they clapped and cheered spontaneously. A few other employees had to be actively encouraged by Kirkden and Underwood to begin to applaud but as they did, it amplified the air of satisfaction manufactured by the employees and helped to cement the certainty in the company’s core message. The brief meeting then ended as it always did with ‘The Yield’ being displayed on the large screen.

The Yield was a revenue counter that the employees were required to stand and gaze upon in esteem and admiration. It was prerequisite of their contracts that they stay still for about ten minutes in adoration as the revenue numbers clicked upwards. Most of these workers were untroubled by this condition and were genuinely thrilled and exhilarated by viewing this index, even though it generated in them a constant insatiability. The effect of watching this counter had a type of hypnotic, magnetic effect, imbuing the workers with a voracious desire for the increased prosperity of the company. It also produced an atmosphere of wanting to please their superiors. In many of the employees the elation at seeing the display above them bordered on a type of religious fervour. For many the excitement that was generated in this congregation, and the daily viewing of ‘The Yield’ as it augmented was almost hedonistic. Some fell to their knees in both adulation and devotion. In this devout state they ,were further whipped-up into a fevered frenzy by Kirkden and Underwood, who strode out in the midst of the congregated throng, yowling and yapping their appreciation of the Director like zealous preachers. Some of the workers even shook as if possessed.

At the end of this brief session when the all-consuming appetite was just beginning to subside, Mr Kirkden began to make an announcement. He looked intensely serous and at first this mood of solemnity shocked the gathered group. His sermonising began with the sinister gesture of pointing his finger straight out into the assembled crowd. It appeared that there was a traitor in their midst. Someone in the group had not participated in the rite, someone had dared to abstain. This was against company policy. This was against company rules. All turned to see where that finger was pointing.

One sole employee was standing at the back, away from the massed throng slumped in front of the draped curtain. His languorous posture had pulled a little of the curtain down at the corner and some of the detritus in the room behind could be viewed. All were shocked and they immediately recognised that this was a new employee, a younger, highly trained, more advanced version of themselves. But why had this newcomer not participated in the prescribed and compulsory command?

“I do not believe in the necessity…” The new employee began to say, as if in defiance. He gave a nervous laugh as every cold-eye turned and became trained on him.

“You do not believe in our ideology!” Shrieked Mr Kirkden, interrupting him in incredulity, The crowd noted that Kirkden was almost shaking fervently with fury. “Seize him. It is like he is malfunctioning. Tear him down.”

“How dare you question our methods and conventions.” Thundered Mr Underwood, joining Mr Kirkden and sounding as equally disgusted. The timbre of his voice was so loud that it rolled across the heads of the crowd, and because of the tightness of the contained space, in reality, it meant that he could have been speaking to anyone of them.

A startled murmur spread around the enclosed chamber.

“How dare you undermine the established order,” Mr Underwood continued, his voice wavering a little as if baulking at the thought. He still sounded furious, but the hesitation had exposed a slight tremor in his usually emotionless voice.” “Bring him down.” He howled.

The pack still galvanised by their previous communal state immediately tuned on the interloper.

“But I have all of these new ideas.” The newcomer cried, his voice juddering as he watched the collective, clamouring to dismantle him.

“He is a stranger who wishes to disrupt our carefully controlled order.” Mr Kirkden cried. And at this statement sent a tremor of fear rumbling through the assembled mass. There were murmurs that this outsider may be an emissary from the revival company, sent to infiltrate, disrupt and spy on their processes.

This speculation ignited even further, fanatical alarm in the heads of these employees.

“How can you all act so mindlessly, won’t any of you question this command?” The new employee called out panic rising in him although he still did not quite believe this mob capable of his annihilation.

“Crush it now.” Instructed Mr Kirkden. “Shut it down. Before it gets out of hand.”

The mob were so roused by this directive that they circled in closer to their target. There was no way out of that chamber for the new recruit, the one exit had been blocked by the swarm and the mass were currently craving his undoing.

“What will happen to him?” One of the older workers dared to whisper.

“Don’t worry.” Mr Kirkden announced to the horde. “We will recondition him. Dissenters will not be tolerated”

This acted as a green light to the throng as they enclosed in on their prey.

“Wait, stop!” Yelled the new recruit incredulously. “You are acting like automations.”

It was only then as they swooped in and tore at the epidermis of the new employee that he caught a glimpse of the enhanced titanium encased in their eye sockets. They had begun ripping, clawing at his flesh now with those skilled fingers, easily and mechanically despite their thick gloves.

These long-standing ‘employees’ firmly believed that a new, younger model could easily be trained to comprehend advanced technologies, to grasp new concepts, to operate new equipment that they could not. This usurper had already asked too many questions. It had contradicted the superiors and disputed with them. They believed it wanted to resign them to scrap, like the redundant material rotting behind the curtain.

Then, the ravenous pack finished their design. They had preyed on the novice, believing it was not one of them. It did not belong here. They crushed its’ spine with their broad, and stout boots, stomping it down. They gnashed at its neck, rupturing the flesh, bit large lumps from its arm and consumed it.

“Here wrap the remains it in this plastic sheet.” Ordered Mr Kirkden, placing it on the ground.

The body was then disrobed, plucked and dismantled, and the work did not stop until the light faded in from his eye and fluid gushed onto the floor.