B
“We’re digging a new type of hole
this morning,” the Camp Commandant – ahem: Mayor
declares as he steps into our dormitory.
He’s
shorter than I imagined, but has a booming voice. Maybe his presence
is the reason we haven’t been hit yet. The Guards always
break someone’s bones first thing each morning. To make us remember
where we are.
As if
anyone could forget.
The
announcement makes us stiffen up more than usual. There are only
three types of holes in this concentration camp – ahem, Reform
Village: latrines, trenches and -
We’re
all starting to panic. Why would we dig the third type of hole
if all of us woke up?
Breakfast
is the same as always: gruel. Everyone woke up, and everyone’s
lining up for breakfast. Every number is called out – and answered
to – when it’s time to pick up our tools.
Mine
doesn’t come up for the Pedal Crew, whose job it is to foot-operate
the cycles which turn the bellows that control whatever Pangolin
Scales are still operational. I’ve been demoted. And my work
detail’s building a new fence.
* * *
It bothers me that other prisoners
will be digging the third type of hole. And I’m not relieved that I
technically won’t be in the Village today, because of the
uncertainty of not knowing how that hole will be filled.
The people in my new work detail are
marched out to the new demarcation. An electric, barbed-wire fence:
that’s what we’re putting up today. And those have to be tested.
Above all else: survive.
One of us is going to be thrown onto
the wires. To see if there’s enough voltage passing through it to
kill a human being.
A gunshot rings out: we all know the
Camp Commandant’s pistol; it’s the only one that hisses when
fired.
Someone must have looked at him
funny: now there’s a body to line the bottom of the third type of
hole.
“Get to work!” One of our
Overseer Guards barks when the hissing bullet’s echo has
dissipated. He does not have to repeat himself.
There are vehicles approaching: at
first we think someone from the Government is paying us a visit. But
VIPs wouldn’t come in Military trucks. And they wouldn’t step out
of their vehicles to salute the Guards who challenged them.
They must be fresh recruits:
transferred in their new grey uniforms to keep the Reform Village
“safe”. And they’ve come bearing gifts, “for our
own protection”.
Portable machine gun turrets: not
automated. Robots use up too much resources – which is why we don’t
even use drones for Pangolin control any more – and the experience
would get the Guards ready for active duty...should they be called
upon to serve the Nation.
They’re setting up more turrets
outside the new fence. Pointing towards the Camp because it’s
obvious who they’re meant to fire at. And I keep thinking they’ll
need to test the machine guns as well.
After that damn fence.
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C
