Sentinel: Activation

Chapter 1

My bones were ready to snap. The film of sweat between my skin and coveralls boiled. My muscles trembled, aching to tear in two. Still, I had to push forward. Pale face, breath barely a desperate wheeze. I had no choice. If I gave in, let myself relax for even a moment, the hundred-fifty-pound cart pressed against my body would roll right back down and crush me. I kept pushing with every fiber in my body, moving it up the incline inches at time. Everything strained, but I slaved on, pulling away just long enough to wipe the sweat from my brow.

Such was the life of a foundry worker in the Internment Zone. There was no getting used to it, no matter how many times you'd slogged through the routine. Day in, day out; dawn 'til dusk. Your pulse was meant to be felt in every blood vessel. The air was always sour and saturated with gases that made the eyes weep and lungs gag. It wasn't uncommon for a few men to die on the job per week. It didn't matter. Not to them. So long as we produced, it meant nothing. We were nothing.

With one last roar of strength, I shoved the cart to the top of the ramp and let its front wheels crash down onto the tracks. Three workers clad in silvered coveralls and reflective face shields rushed to the cart, pulling on either side of it as they barked orders at one another. Barely a moment to breathe, and I was right back up helping them. We hauled the cart until its wheels locked firm. One of the men ripped a rod out from its frame while the rest of us each grabbed an edge. The cargo box groaned and fell onto a hinge. With our collective strength we tipped it over, spilling all the contents onto a ramp along the platform's side. From there, it was ferried into the open gut of an industrial furnace.

One of the men turned away. "Clear!"

An operator at the platform's edge acknowledged and spun back to his control panel. A giant lid rumbled over the furnace, rattling bones as its latches clamped down. Just overhead, a triad of titanic electrodes, glowing white from their last encounter, descended into the metal brew from the lid's central holes. An intense shockwave of screaming heat blew us back. Molten bits of metal spewed through cracks in the lid, igniting anything they touched. We all braced against the blast and stepped back. Face exposed, I took two steps.

The screeching stopped. The furnace settled. The others hauled the cart's box back upright, shoved the rod in place, and unlocked the wheels. The operator shifted the tracks to the off-ramp system, and the group went back to their normal workload. One of them, before leaving, placed his hand on my shoulder and said to me with a smoker's voice, "we got fifteen minutes! Start loading up the next batch!"

Left alone with the cart, I collapsed. It hadn't even been a full shift, and my ribs were already too tight. My heart was beating in my eyes. My sweat pelted the concrete floor like rain as I wondered how in the hell I was going to manage another circuit. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen. I wanted to stay there, groveling and at the verge of breaking apart.

Then I heard them.

They were walking about the facility, keeping tabs on us. Again. My eyes darted through the surrounding brew of steam and soot. Red mist: it was everywhere. None were in sight, but they were always watching. They'd see me.

The mere thought of being caught taking a break was motivation enough to force myself off the floor, using the cart to support my fragile body. I took a quick scan around to be sure I hadn't attracted their attention. The mist drifted away. None were on me. Not yet.

"Great job today, Colton." My skeleton about jumped out. I spun around to find none other than Eddie walking up the ramp. Phew. I hadn't the strength to greet him, and just barely enough to keep my head craned over my shoulder. Seeing I was in no shape to move, he walked around my limp husk to greet me from the front. "You're almost on schedule."