Machine God: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Final Draft)

Sun slave

Finally there.

The hatch opened up, the soldiers pushed us out. We walked inside the ruins of yet another desolated city sector. Up high in the endless azure sky throned the fireball AKA the ever glowing sun. The heat burned up the air and turned it into a thick mass beating our lungs.

Ten hours of digging under the scorching sun?

This was hotter than hell.

And now the superior roared his lovely voice to remind us.

"Move it. You're on a schedule."

The map updated on our commcuffs. Soldiers took the lead, told us to walk in a straight line which they guarded.

I wasn't a digger, I was a damn prisoner.

Carried the right suit, the gear and soon the same attitude of a downtrodden. Still, this was my first day, and I couldn't give up hope. My goal was to adapt and see what opportunities arose, if any. As long as the stars were shining on the firmament, I had a reason to go on.

"Hurry."

"Yes."

We climbed through an opening in a wall and treaded into a compound next to an industrial-style building. Mountains of rubble, tech trash and other unidentifiable stuff seemed to scratch at the sky. This was some kind of forsaken disposal site, and my instinct had a pretty good idea of what was going to happen next.

My co-diggers craned their sleepy heads at the superior and waited for his next command, although everyone must have known what we needed to do. The superior stretched his smug grin.

"Yes, you have thought right. For the next nine and a half hours, you're going to rummage through the trash to find valuable pieces for our beloved Bulwark. You're allowed to take a break in four hours. Rations and water will be supplied to you."

A sigh went through the digger audience.

Ten hours of searching through the rubble while the fireball cooked you up.

Ten hours of sweating your soul out while the stench penetrated your nostrils.

The soldiers carried helmets with full face shields, but nothing protected us diggers from the stench and the sand dust in the air.

One could assume our lives weren't worth much.

Go figure. The man in charge yelled again.

He was seriously trying to beat Orden in the competition for the most nerving voice ever.

"Well, what the hell are you waiting for? You just had a breakfast ration, which should provide you with enough energy for the next hours. Go to work—for the greater good."

"For the greater good," the diggers said.

Well, mumbled, to be exact.

I couldn't find one poor bastard who was looking forward to this, but we had no choice.

Obey or be swayed.

The superior divided us in three little teams.

He added one last thing,

"In case you find something rare, something which you can't explain, just call me. We take care of everything."

Whatever.

I was ordered to pick the trash mountain near the compound wall, finetuned my metal gloves and boots. And started to selectively move pieces away, looking for the goods. Most of the parts came from outdated gear—some equipment pieces from industrial machines of unknown origin. I recognized a couple of vehicle fragments, lots of useless trash from factories and even more concrete and steel pieces eaten away by time and rust. What could possibly lie around here that was useful to the Bulwark Cluster?

More silly questions that I pushed away.

Five minutes into the 'work', I felt the sun frying my gear. My sweat fall wetted the garment underneath the miner suit, sizzling me pretty good. The soldiers patrolled the area and watched us diggers, making sure everyone worked and no one fled. One soldier shot his grapple gun and ascended to the fourth floor of an adjacent building. He carried a similar rifle like Ceedee, so he was probably setting up his sniper spot. To either kill enemies or us, in case we tried to flee.

No one knew.

Except for one thing: danger lurked everywhere.

Nathan slaved away a few trash hills next to me. Every other load, he sent a hostile glance over to my position. If the sun burned my back, his glance beamed through my flesh like a Technoid pulsar shot.

So much hatred in his iris.

And I was just trying to do the right thing.

For everyone.

"Hey digger, go back to work."

A heavy glove grabbed my shoulder. A soldier stood next to me and posed in his impressive desert-colored armor. He must have watched me very closely.

"I was just distracted."

"Obviously. Now focus on the task. If I catch you pausing again, you won't receive your ration today."

"I was—"

I stopped my sentence right there. It was needless to talk to Orden, it was twice as useless to argue with a soldier.

"Yes, sir."

The soldier nodded and resumed his patrol.

Hawking other idle diggers.

Marching with pride and showing off in his armor.

With a last glance up the azure sky, I wiped the flood of salty sweat from my forehead and rummaged through the trash mountain. Ripped a piece of cloth apart and stuffed it into my nose to battle the stench. It worked, but now the dust stuck to my sweat and started itching underneath my gear.

Half an hour had passed since the start of the shift, and I was already complaining and feeling the discomfort.

Here's to my new life as a slave.

Could it become any worse?

Oh yes.