shock to Victor's system. He started frantically
rubbing his arms, looking back at the familiar faces trailing behind them like
zombies, but then directed his gaze down, afraid he would stumble.
Crunch finally let go of Victor’s arm and led them
forward, with one more guard closing the group at the back. Watched so closely,
the prisoners remained silent, and the only things Victor could hear over the
constant buzz of the bees far away were gasps and clattering of teeth. He
looked down to the grass beneath his feet, trying to disconnect from his body
so that the cold wouldn't affect him as much, but without much success.
“Ya gonna get grub and eat it on the way. Already
wasted ‘nough time,” Crunch grumbled. Victor already felt eyes drilling holes
in his back. He sighed, too tired after the sleepless night to care. He wasn’t
even hungry yet after yesterday’s feast, but he understood he wouldn’t get
anything else until dinner. Crunch took them to the Feeder where some of the
female prisoners distributed bread and soup to a long line of men and women
separated by a row of chairs across the hall. It was clear no one wanted the
sexes to mingle. The guards stayed at the entrance to drink their tea, urging
the prisoners to hurry through the hall where workers ate their sparse
breakfast sitting on the naked floor. The air smelled of grain, carrot and
milk, nothing exciting, rather bland, but at least it was a warm kind of smell.
They didn’t even get the luxury to sit down. The
moment they got their rations of bread and soup, the whole group was ordered to
march away from the living quarters. One good thing about it was that the
battered metal bowl was warming Victor’s fingers, but he couldn’t stop the
sinking feeling pooling in his gut. Was this how he would live and die? He
refused to agree with that.
As they were leaving the Feeder, he noticed one of
the men at the entrance could barely hold his bowl, one of his hands swollen,
with big red weals all over. It reminded Victor of the back of a flesh-coloured
toad. Jacob leaned over to Victor’s ear before he could flinch.
“A rotter stole his glove in the Hive,” he
whispered. “If it doesn’t heal in a week, they’ll cut it off.”
“What?” exclaimed Victor, his whole body tensing,
but he slouched without another word when a guard ordered them to be silent.
No one spoke as they made their way towards a
long, wooden structure built along the woods. Victor glanced at Crunch’s broad
back, greedily finishing up the thin, vegetable soup and using the bread to
scrape all the residue from the sides of the bowl. He really wanted to speak to
him, to speak to someone normal. It wasn't something he could call his fellow
prisoners. Most of them came from Bylondon, or other seedy places he would
never visit on his own.
The smell of animals and their faeces was
unmistakable. The building was huge, very long, each pen holding several pigs
crowded together. Each one was far better nourished than the people taking care
of them, but they still reacted to humans entering the pigsty by pushing at the
walls of their pens with demanding grunts. Victor opened his eyes wider,
shocked by their shaking ears and assaulted by the smell. He would never eat
pork again.
They were all asked to leave the bowls outside,
and as soon as the whole team was standing in a neat row, guard number two
started instructing them on their tasks in short orders as Crunch watched on,
leaning against a wall. Victor’s heart sunk when he realized he was really to
work with pigs. He’d eaten their meat and occasionally, he even saw their heads
in the butcher’s display window, but he never expected them to be such a bunch
of insistent beasts! They smelled and made noises that sounded like a very bad
case of the runs. In London, he never encountered edible animals that were
alive.
He was scolded for not being attentive enough, but
it didn’t take long until they were all assigned jobs. Victor
rubbing his arms, looking back at the familiar faces trailing behind them like
zombies, but then directed his gaze down, afraid he would stumble.
Crunch finally let go of Victor’s arm and led them
forward, with one more guard closing the group at the back. Watched so closely,
the prisoners remained silent, and the only things Victor could hear over the
constant buzz of the bees far away were gasps and clattering of teeth. He
looked down to the grass beneath his feet, trying to disconnect from his body
so that the cold wouldn't affect him as much, but without much success.
“Ya gonna get grub and eat it on the way. Already
wasted ‘nough time,” Crunch grumbled. Victor already felt eyes drilling holes
in his back. He sighed, too tired after the sleepless night to care. He wasn’t
even hungry yet after yesterday’s feast, but he understood he wouldn’t get
anything else until dinner. Crunch took them to the Feeder where some of the
female prisoners distributed bread and soup to a long line of men and women
separated by a row of chairs across the hall. It was clear no one wanted the
sexes to mingle. The guards stayed at the entrance to drink their tea, urging
the prisoners to hurry through the hall where workers ate their sparse
breakfast sitting on the naked floor. The air smelled of grain, carrot and
milk, nothing exciting, rather bland, but at least it was a warm kind of smell.
They didn’t even get the luxury to sit down. The
moment they got their rations of bread and soup, the whole group was ordered to
march away from the living quarters. One good thing about it was that the
battered metal bowl was warming Victor’s fingers, but he couldn’t stop the
sinking feeling pooling in his gut. Was this how he would live and die? He
refused to agree with that.
As they were leaving the Feeder, he noticed one of
the men at the entrance could barely hold his bowl, one of his hands swollen,
with big red weals all over. It reminded Victor of the back of a flesh-coloured
toad. Jacob leaned over to Victor’s ear before he could flinch.
“A rotter stole his glove in the Hive,” he
whispered. “If it doesn’t heal in a week, they’ll cut it off.”
“What?” exclaimed Victor, his whole body tensing,
but he slouched without another word when a guard ordered them to be silent.
No one spoke as they made their way towards a
long, wooden structure built along the woods. Victor glanced at Crunch’s broad
back, greedily finishing up the thin, vegetable soup and using the bread to
scrape all the residue from the sides of the bowl. He really wanted to speak to
him, to speak to someone normal. It wasn't something he could call his fellow
prisoners. Most of them came from Bylondon, or other seedy places he would
never visit on his own.
The smell of animals and their faeces was
unmistakable. The building was huge, very long, each pen holding several pigs
crowded together. Each one was far better nourished than the people taking care
of them, but they still reacted to humans entering the pigsty by pushing at the
walls of their pens with demanding grunts. Victor opened his eyes wider,
shocked by their shaking ears and assaulted by the smell. He would never eat
pork again.
They were all asked to leave the bowls outside,
and as soon as the whole team was standing in a neat row, guard number two
started instructing them on their tasks in short orders as Crunch watched on,
leaning against a wall. Victor’s heart sunk when he realized he was really to
work with pigs. He’d eaten their meat and occasionally, he even saw their heads
in the butcher’s display window, but he never expected them to be such a bunch
of insistent beasts! They smelled and made noises that sounded like a very bad
case of the runs. In London, he never encountered edible animals that were
alive.
He was scolded for not being attentive enough, but
it didn’t take long until they were all assigned jobs. Victor
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