Chapter 27 #3
So I keep going.
One pouch after another.
Stuff. Seal. Stack.
The drone of anger fades, drowned out by the mechanical motion of my hands. Stuff. Seal. Stack. The sun arcs higher, blistering the back of my arms. My shirt sticks to my skin. A fly buzzes around my face, but I don’t bother swatting it away. Kade is still working, singing as he goes.
I fill my first tray. Then a first row on the second tray.
By mid-afternoon, the sun scorches and my back screams, but I’m moving on autopilot.
By the time the second tray is about full, there is still a mountain of food left.
I can barely feel my fingers, and twine cuts into my skin.
The tie on a pouch snaps, and I curse under my breath, retying it slower, tighter.
When a new cart arrives, overflowing with food, the deliverer says, “Add it to the excess.”
The Mercyenforcer nods toward the field like this is nothing. Like throwing away food that could feed an entire district is routine. “Get those crops out of the ground too.”
Get past the trial. Get a ship.
There are five rows of root vegetables he wants me to pull up.
So I do it.
I switch to ripping food from the ground, perfectly good food that could probably stay here longer, tossing it onto the heap of harvested vegetables, each thud heavier than the last. Squash.
Beets. Carrots. One by one. With every row I clear, every vegetable I toss aside, I’m not just following orders.
I’m helping them starve my people. And I’m starting to get good at it, finding a natural rhythm.
I don’t know which is worse—what they’re asking us to do, or how easy it’s becoming to do it.
When the rows are done, and the trays are done, the sun is low in the sky. Everything hurts. And there are still massive piles of food left.
“Now burn it,” the Mercyenforcer says.
Something in me jerks sideways. I hesitate, waiting for a shift in tone, some correction, some unveiling that this isn’t real.
But it doesn’t come. I take a log from the small fire and walk over to the pile of food, and it feels like sleepwalking.
Some vegetables are warm from the sun, covered with bugs.
The smell of soil still clings to their roots.
Get past the trial. Get a ship.
I throw the burning log on the food, and it becomes a pyre.
The Mercyenforcer is already walking off like it’s done, like this part doesn’t matter. He grabs a tent and some bedding out of his wagon and tosses it at me. “Once it’s all burned out, you’ve passed.”
“So I sit here and—”
“Yes. Watch what you’ve done.” He climbs in his wagon and rides off. Smoke stings my eyes. I can’t tell if they’re watering from the heat or if I’m crying. Kade jogs over with his bedding and tent and claps me on the back. I tighten my fist to stop myself from burying it in his ribs.
“Axira?” he asks.
But I don’t have words for him. I don’t have words for anything or anyone. All I can do is stare at the flames. They devour everything—hissing, cracking, spitting up sparks. I keep my gaze locked on the fire, forcing myself to watch. Forcing myself to feel.
“There’s a reason he has us doing this,” Kade says, pushing the log in deeper to swell the flames.
“We just have to trust him. Let’s make camp for the night over here.
” He moves in that direction. But I can’t.
I can’t pretend with him, of all people.
Not right now. Either he believes the script we’ve all been fed: this is for order, for balance, for the good of the island; or he’s superb at acting like it.
His tattoo of the Benevolent’s face suggests it’s the former, not the latter.
Every snap of fire consuming what could’ve saved someone feels like something inside me breaking. How many piles of food burned like this one? How many people told themselves they were just following rules? Just doing their part. Just handling plants.
That’s how the Benevolent wins them over, giving them Heartfillers, convincing them he is generous and good.
He does his dirty work not with monstrous acts, but with small ones.
Quiet ones. With ordinary people and quotas.
With smiles and shoulder pats and the promise that it’s not really that bad. Fear isn’t his angle, familiarity is.
Smoke curls in my hair, the stench of scorched food clinging to my clothes like a stain I’ll never scrub out. The smell is the promise of starvation, suffering, death.
“I’m going to sleep over here,” I tell Kade. “On my own.”
“Being close might make the night go faster.” He stares too long, flashing open his hand with the Scents that were on our food trays.
“I’m sure. I just want this over. I just want it done.” I lock the doors to the transport, securing the food inside.
“It’s done at sunrise,” Kade says. “When we get back into those transports.”
“Then I just need to get through the night.” I turn my back on him. It should be easy. Just wait. But the moment the words leave my mouth, something trembles deep in my gut, telling me that is naive.