CHAPTER ELEVEN
Despair. That was the first thing I felt as I stepped down out of the train car and joined a lonesome line of homeless people. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and even if I did it wouldn't do me much good.
We were at a slave labour camp.
A good distance away was a camping site, with one large tent and multiple small tents pitched around it. We were in a wide, rocky valley surrounded by bush on either side. The train station we were at was merely an entrance to the valley.
Those things weren't what made me realize it was a labour camp; no it was the slave laborers who set off a painful weight in my chest and made me spiral into depressive understanding. I don't know if they were homeless or not, but there were at least ten people I could see, hobbling around the bush, dressed in rags, and looking defeated as they carried things or pulled wagons full of supplies behind them.
My eyes widened in shock as I realized that they weren't just hobbling around because they were tired, instead, on the legs of the workers nearest to me, I could see that they were chained around the ankles. I felt a rush of sympathy for them, and them with growing horror I realized what I was probably here to do.
Suddenly a soldier hit me upside of the head.
"Move faster." he growled. "Stop watching the filth."
I felt the strongest urge to punch him; and I probably would have if it wasn't for the heavy gun he had held in his left hand. So instead I picked up my pace and followed my desolate peers towards the biggest tent, and the closing of our fate.
As we approached the huge tent, which blocked whatever scene was behind from sight, two seemingly government officials exited the tent along with another soldier and a woman wearing an apron, a cook perhaps.
The officials walked leisurely towards us, seeming totally at home amongst this travesty. I scowled. I'd known the government was up to something nasty, and here was proof.
They stopped at the soldier who was leading us and gave some orders I couldn't hear from my position, but by their gestures and the evil looks on their faces I'd say they were saying something like this:
"Oh, these are homeless people? Perfect! More slaves for us to use to our unfair advantage! Quick, get them in the tent and chain them up and beat them, as that's only fair because they're filth. Now go!"
The officials stopped talking, and, indicating the line of homeless that I was sadly a part of, made the gesture for us to file towards the tent, and so we did.
The officials stayed behind, but the soldier and the cook followed us into the tent.
As we passed through the folds of canvas, we entered into a large room, with poles supporting the roof, a dirt floor, a few metal picnic tables set up, and one doorway leading to another room in the tent, probably some form of kitchen.
"Alright, now line up!" the soldier barked at us, and we fell back in order.
He paced along the line, stopping at each person and looking them up and down, weighing their strengths and weaknesses. The cook followed behind him, but stepped forwards to examine the people with her hands, trailing their muscles, body fat, cheeks, as if seeing how fit we were.
Eventually they stopped in front of me, and as the soldier watched me as the cook lifted my chin up, checked in my eyes, squeezed my arm, and felt my stomach. I locked eyes defiantly with the soldier the entire time. Then the cook nodded to the soldier and they moved on.
Once they were done examining everyone they moved to the side and conversed amongst themselves. I glanced around warily. All of us in the line were standing anxiously, fearful of what could happen to us.
"So, this is the new working stock!" a new voice greeted my ears, and I, along with everyone else, turned to see that a man in an army sergeant's uniform and a stern expression had just entered the tent. I assumed that he was one of the people in charge here, especially from the way that the soldier and cook immediately stood up straight and saluted politely.
"Yes sir." the soldier replied. "We're just dividing them into their groups now."
"Good job, private." the sergeant said with a look of approval. The soldier nodded and ducked his head as his boss walked past him to survey us. "Well, fair citizens, my name is Sergeant Staner." he addressed us after a moment.
None of us spoke a reply, and I felt fury begin to course through my veins. How could he call us 'fair citizens' after having just referred to us as 'working stock'? How could he act so good-natured when he was forcing us into slavery? How did he even live with himself?
"You probably have a lot of questions and queries about where you are, what you're doing here, etcetera, etcetera." he began, his hands held proudly behind his back as he strolled parallel to the line of the homeless. "I am here to telll you all that you need to know, and nothing more. First off, you are at a confidential government camp, and over the course of the forseeable future you will all be working either at the mining site behind this small camp, or here in camp doing the cooking and cleaning and any other jobs that need doing. This is because your lack of ability to get a home or a job. This camp supplies both those things for you, and you'll be serving your country." he finished with his fist placed over his heart. I felt even angrier, as he was saying all these things like they justified our enslavement. After a moment of tense silence, he fixed each of us with a cold, heartless stare. "Any complaints?"
I glanced around to see everyone else shaking their heads fearfully. Why weren't they as angry as I was? Well, as long as he was asking I would take the chance to make myself heard.
"Well actually sir-" I started but was immediately cut off.
"What's your name?" the sergeant asked me harshly but curiously.
"Destiny, sir, and-"
"Step forward Destiny." I was cut off again by Sergeant Staner, who now stood in front of me.
I obliged, putting my foot forward and standing face to face with him. "As I was saying-"
The sound of a sharp slap rung out as his hand collided with my face. I felt a stinging pain flaring in my cheek as I fell to the ground, off-balance. Shocked gasps erupted from all the others in line as I tried to pull my head off of the ground and look up. My vision was hazy and from the warm and wet feeling I suddenly had on my face I assumed my nose was bleeding. Putting my fingers to the skin above my lips I found that I was correct; it was bleeding.
Sergeant Staner tapped his foot expectantly beside me. "I said, any complaints?" he growled menacingly.
I didn't know when to stop. I pushed myself up on my arms. "Yeah and I sai-" The sergeant's boot came down on my back, flooring me once more.
It felt like I was dying; my head was pounding and a haze of redness blotted my vision. I knew that my face would end up bruised and I had probably sustained some sort of injury. What was wrong with that sergeant? And more importantly, what was wrong with me?
The person beside me helped me slowly get to my feet. I raised my head slightly to face Sergeant Staner, and he stared back with his jaw rigid.
"Message understood?" he asked coldly.
I nodded as minutely as possible, my head thumping loudly as I did so.
"Good." the sergeant replied. "Now for the rest of you, let this be a lesson. If you step out of line, or try anything funny, you will be punished. Don't forget the reason why you're here."
Everyone nodded, trembling. Sergeant Staner smirked and then adressed the soldier and cook who'd been standing idly by throughout.
"I'll let you get back to organizing them now that I've taught them the basics."
The two nodded as well, each mumbling a 'yes sir' as he left the tent. Then they came to stand in front of us.
"Alright, so as the sergeant said we will be splitting you up, according to your general strength and endurance." The soldier explained without obvious emotion. "Those of you for work in the mine will come with me for a bit of a trek further down the valley to the actual site, and the rest will stay here and be assigned your jobs, understood?"
We all nodded, after seeing me bashed up everyone was even more scared than before of what they could do to us. I had to forcibly restrain myself from saying anything, as my common sense didn't seem to be responding well today.
Quickly and effectively, us homeless people (and now slaves) were split into the two groups. Naturally as I was younger and smaller I got to stay behind and do domestic jobs, despite feminism having won my gender the right to do any kind of work we wanted years back. I knew that here though, all the rights I'd taken for granted all my life were non-existent and I would have to do as I was told.
The mining group headed off desolately to be chained and begin their day of labour. The cook moved along the line, and fixed what looked like a computer chip to each of our necks before pressing a button. When she got to me and attached the chip to my neck I felt a stinging pain and jerked my head up straight in reaction to the pinch.
"This device I am clipping to your neck is a tracking device as well as a restraint." the lady explained once she finished with everyone's chips. "All of your fellows at this camp have one attached to them. If you try to take it off you will be electrocuted, if you go beyond the bounds of the camp you will be electrocuted, and if you somehow manage to escape without severe injury it can be used to track you. Understand?"
Everyone murmured their assent.
The cook's expression seemed to soften for a moment as she took in all our terrified faces, but it dissapeared before I could be sure of it. She turned away and gestured for us to follow her into the large kitchen-like room. As each of us entered we stared around in surprise. All the technology in there was old-fashioned; wood-fired ovens, a way-too-small sink connected to an internal water supply (so no pipes), and a draw overflowing with rusted, old cooking tools. Even the furniture was all wooden. Clearly the govenrment hadn't wanted to waste any money at all on this camp. I mean, nowadays technology was at its peak. Everything was easy, compatible, portable and worked perfectly. So it showed the government's lack of care that they were employing slaves to work in conditions for work that could have been managed by technology, though it would be marginally more expensive.
Oh whatever, it didn't matter. All I knew was that with this lack of technology, we would have our work cut out no matter how many of us were assigned kitchen duties.
"This is where the majority of you will be working for the forseeable future." the cook explained, pulling out from behind a supply cabinet a rack of aprons, presumably for us to wear. "You will have jobs such as collecting water from the well nearby, collecting firewood for the ovens, fetching and carrying basic supplies for the miners, and preparing food for every meal of the day." she glanced at her wristwatch. "Dinner will be being served in a few hours, so everybody get ready for work, chop chop!"
We all hurried to the rack, and pulled off an apron each. The cook directed us one by one to get ingredients or utensils, but stopped me when I moved forward.
"Please, go get yourself cleaned up before you touch any of this." she told me with a look of clear disdain, then pointed at an opening in the tent canvas. "There's a washroom through there."
I nodded, looking around me in distraction, still not believing this was really happening to me.
"GO!" the cook ordered, and I scuttled off.
Once I washed the blood of of me, I started work.
That was the beginning of the most torturous days of my life, and I knew that they weren't going to end any time soon.