Page 9 of Us Dark Few

“Keep moving,” the guard snapped at the little girl, who slowly hobbled to her feet. She grabbed the wheelbarrow and stumbled away, her back hunched over in pain.

“Marcela is down that way.” He nodded his head toward the end of the cavern. “Hurry up, prisoner. Unless you want me to give you a real reason to be late.”

Her heart drummed so fast, the beats blended together in a singular vibration. The guard’s heavy footsteps echoed behind, tracking her like a demon as she headed toward the back of the cave.

Marcela was a heavyset woman with auburn hair pulled tight into a high bun. She scrutinized the prisoners with a steely gaze, ready to pounce at the slightest err in movement. Like the human embodiment of a vulture, scouring for prey.

“I wish all the animals didn’t die in the Great Collapse,” fifteen-year-old Khalani told her history teacher.

“Ah, that is where you are wrong,” Mr. Harroway said. “Animals are not truly extinct, and I’m not talking about the ones cloned and genetically bred for food. You forget about us. Humans are animals. Of course, we like to think of ourselves as lions, the old king of the land. But I see us as more akin to vultures, working in packs to scrounge our way to the top. The buzzards that don’t recognize themselves as one,” he remarked, looking away in thought.

“That’s a little dark,” Khalani said.

Mr. Harroway chuckled. “That’s human history. Darker than midnight. Why do you think we fled underground?”

“Keep moving!” Marcela yelled at several prisoners.

The shrill of her voice made Khalani flinch, clearing the old memory. Marcela wore all black like the guards, but a silver badge on her vest caught the light, identifying her as a prison employee. Marcela’s head snapped up from the electric pad in her hand when Khalani approached.

Marcela pursed her lips in disapproval as she eyed her up and down. “I told them to give me more muscle down here. And they gave me…you.”

Khalani’s brows pinched together, and she opened her mouth, but the woman held her finger up.

“No, no. You speak when I ask you a question. What’s your number?” Marcela asked with a scowl on her face.

“My number?”

“The one branded on you,” Marcela snapped impatiently.

Khalani glared at the scar on her wrist and ground her teeth. “Prisoner 317. I was told to report to you.”

Marcela’s fingers quickly raced over the touchpad, and she scowled at the screen. “I expected at least a builder or a farmer, but they sent me a scrawny girl who worked as a food distributor? I need to make a trip to the Warden,” Marcela muttered.

Her muscles clenched tight and she had to stop herself from fleeing. If Marcela transferred Khalani to another job, she could be assigned somewhere far worse, like the surface.

“When I worked as a food distributor, I lifted heavy boxes constantly,” the words rushed out of her.

Marcela snorted and turned away dismissively.

“I might not look like it, but I’m a hard worker and more than capable of pulling my own weight. You won’t hear any complaints from me,” she stated in a firm voice, lifting her hands in exclamation.

Marcela cocked her head to the side and studied her. Moments passed before she conceded.

“Alright, we’ll see how you do. Go see Prisoner 189 over there.” Marcela pointed to a male prisoner placing hefty rock chunks inside a wheelbarrow. “He’ll be your partner in the tunnels every morning. You’ll follow his lead.”

Khalani nodded and started to head away when Marcela gripped her shoulder tightly. “Don’tmake me regret this. If you let me down, I will send you to the surface for Genesis detail.”

The threat hung in the air like a bullet speeding toward her in slow motion. She nodded quickly, detaching herself from Marcela’s hold.

Prisoner 189 was tall, dark-skinned, very skinny—a prominent feature among the prisoners—and while he couldn’t have been much older than Khalani, he had a soft, boyish face marred by dirt. He held a hand to his lower back and grimaced as he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Um, excuse me. Are you Prisoner 189?” she inquired, rubbing her hands together as she approached.

Prisoner 189 turned to her with tired eyes. “You new?” He bent down to grab another large rock from the pile.

“Yes. Marcela said you’re my partner in the tunnels. I’m Khalani.” She wasn’t going to call herself 317. She refused to give them any more power. It was the most diminutive form of rebellion, but to her, it mattered.

He regarded her open hand and gave her a deadpan stare. “You better put those hands to use and start helping with these rocks. Grab the wheelbarrow over there.”

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