It’s Go Time, Daisy

“How am I supposed to cry myself to sleep if you’re going to sit there judging me?”

I shuffled in my sleeping bag and gave Marnie a stern, unappreciative look. Her judgmental eyes stared back at me. They weren’t really eyes, they were x’s I drew on her fabric head when the second of her sewn-on eyes had fallen off.

Otherwise, she looked as good as could be expected for a doll I found two hours into a 30-foot garbage pile rummage. She lacked empathy, smiling through my triumphs and defeats, but she was the only face I had seen in 8 weeks. I sniffed a little to break the silence. Then I felt kind of bad for snapping at her.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered and turned to face up to the ceiling. It wasn’t a ceiling, it was boxes. I basically built a box fort in an old, abandoned storage building. But it was very homey now and Marnie had no idea how hard I worked putting it together. It took me almost the whole time I’d been there to get the perfect layout.

“Callie loves forts,” I told Marnie. “And mom would love our string lights,” Our solar-powered string lights were the best thing in the fort.

I pushed the sleeping bag off of me. It was getting hot. “Shut up just, just shut up!” I told my thoughts. “Ugh, not you” I waved at Marnie. Her purple dress was worn and ruffled. I took some breaths and reminded myself not to picture my mom and my sister’s faces too much. I had to stay focused, and it would only set me back if I worried about them.

I tried to sleep, but I was far too anxious with anticipation. I grabbed Marnie, crawled out of the fort to the main area of the building and began climbing up a vent shaft from the inside. It was the only thing that made me feel relaxed. When I calmed down a bit, I started to get ready for the garbage truck. That garbage had been my lifeline. All my tools and supplies came from those trucks. All my food, all my hope, and tonight, after 2 months of planning and waiting, I was going to get back into that hell hole to get my mom and little sister the same way I got out—on that truck.

At dusk, I stood on the roof, with half a binocular looking toward the mountain-like walls that completely enclosed the Protectorate. I was as ready as I could ever be. I went over my plan in my head. I was in all black clothing I had pieced and knotted together from other items, since black clothes weren’t allowed there.

The lights of the truck finally appeared in the distance, coming from the Protectorate only about 18 kilometers of flat ground to the west. I had no contact with the inside besides that garbage. With nothing else to go on, that garbage was proof of life.

I got out in one as a fluke, but since then tracked them and I knew exactly where that pile was going. I slinked down the building’s external piping then stayed low and ran, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth.

I made it there with time to wait for the truck, which was ideal. I looked up at the dark sky, the moon was just a sliver, and I could have kissed it for not being full tonight, that would have been too bright.

A light flickered in the pile adjacent to me. My heart started pounding. I was alone in a desert of dust and the truck was still heading this way—there was no explanation for a flicker. Frozen, I searched the pile, the hammer of my heart deafening my ears. I saw it again. No, it couldn’t be. I moved forward carefully and kept my eye on it. When I reached it, a smooth reflection trickled across it, tracing its shape as if the light itself were alive. I knew what it was. It faded into obscurity again and I reached out to feel it. I pulled it into what little moonlight there was—it was my mother’s silver heart-shaped locket on a silver chain. I couldn’t believe that I was staring at it. It was like a dream. I opened it. Me on one side, Callie on the other. She hid it under the floor in our quarters because my dad had given it to her. How was it possible that I had found it? They must have confiscated it. I looked back to see where the truck was. The hollow beams of each headlight led its path toward me. I lowered myself and put the locket on, tucking it under my shirt and tying a piece of black cloth from my wrist around my neck to keep it in place and out of view.

The truck arrived and emptied its contents exactly where I knew it would. Three trucks a night seven days a week, one after the other, never at the same time.

I ran to the side of the truck and waited for the driver to check that everything was emptying properly. Why didn’t he leave? They only ever sent one driver. I never understood why he didn’t just drive as far away from the Protectorate as he could until he ran out of gas.

The bed was raised, and this was my moment to get in behind the cab before the driver was back.

“It’s go time, Daisy.” I said to myself.

I crouched down on the frame and found myself clutching the locket as it rested on my chest. In a few moments the truck was empty, the driver released the hydraulic lift, and the truck bed began to lower down towards me. I had to push so tightly against the cab to not be crushed. I pressed back and held onto the hand bar on the passenger side to steady myself for the ride.

The driver shifted into gear and the truck lurched forward. No turning back now. He picked up speed and I could feel that the gas pedal was all the way to the floor.

I lifted my fingers on the hand holding the bar one by one to let the wind dry the sweat that was accumulating as we got closer. The thick treads on the tires made a repetitive sound as they spun on the dirt below, like a metronome in quadruple time. I focused on it and closed my eyes to steady my breath.

We reached the service entrance of the Protectorate, and I felt the clunk of the gate as it opened to let us in. Once inside the warehouse the driver pulled to a stop and I slipped below the truck, hiding behind the front passenger wheel as he turned it off. He jumped down and adjusted his pants. Keys clanked against his belt buckle, and he slammed the door shut.

When he was safely out of the room, I spotted the truck positioned below the garbage chute and ran to it, staying low. I stopped there for only a couple seconds to catch my breath and look for cameras. It didn’t look like I would be seen but I had no way to be sure, I had to take the risk. I jumped onto the back of the dump truck and into the pile of soft, rotten garbage. I reached for the mouth of the chute pulled myself up, bending my arms to brace my body so I could tuck my knees in and start the climb I had been practicing for. Like an accordion folding up and stretching out, I climbed steadily until I reached the third floor. I came to the opening covered by a hanging rubber panel and took a deep but quiet breath. I just had to get out of the garbage room and down the hall, our quarters were only two rooms over.

Voices sounded from the hall. I felt the rush of adrenaline kick in as I heard the heavy metal door to the garbage room open. Face-level with the chute door, I shifted my grip to my forearms, which I had wrapped with soft cotton, released my legs and as silently as possible, let myself slide down about 4 feet out of sight. I stopped myself and the flap slammed open as a bag flew in, hitting the back and then dropping. I barely had a second to move, the bag hit me in the head hard and I head butted it back to let it fall through my legs. Something hard in that bag hurt, and it enraged me. As soon as it was clear I pushed out of the chute and without any hesitation left in me, ran from the garbage room through the dark, wet, dilapidated hallway to what used to be my quarters. I tapped my four fingers on the door in quick succession over and over. Callie used to do it to bug me. I stopped and waited a moment, I had shoved myself in the door frame to remain out of view but a guard would be back for rounds any second.

“Mom,” I whispered. “Its me.”

I heard a rustle, and the doorknob began to rotate.

“Its me,” I whispered again.

The door opened and I looked down. Callie. She looked weak and startled, wearing a dirty, oversized t-shirt and shorts that looked like pants on her. I quickly covered her mouth in case she started crying.

“We’re going now. Is mom—” I began to ask her.

She shook her head in two quick movements. Her eyes filled with tears.

The shake of her head confirmed what I had so feared every day I was gone. At once I couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe, could barely stand. I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her toward me, to comfort her and to hold me up. I looked down at her, so tiny, smaller than she should be. She was all I had left. They had taken everything else from me.

I had no time to fall apart if I wanted to make it to the second truck. The third truck was my insurance policy, and I didn’t want to be on it unless there was no other choice. I grabbed her and lifted her into me, and then I turned and just ran to the garbage room. I moved the flap on the opening and began to climb into chute, lifting her in with me. It was cramped, but I was able to hold her up and guide us in a controlled slide.

As we reached the second floor, I heard the garbage truck start. I had taken too long; it was about to leave. I had to let us drop.

“We’re gonna drop, kid.” I warned her.

“No,” she cried softly.

“No sound.” I whispered as I hugged her and pulled my legs in. We fell fast. I felt my legs hit the garbage pile first and the truck was starting to move, so we slammed down into it. Callie whimpered when we landed but forced back a cry. I grabbed what I could beside me and as fast as possible and rolled us under the garbage, out of sight.

The gates squawked open. Every moment in these walls felt like an hour, with so much time for any little thing to go wrong. I held Callie and shifted the garbage on top of us to access some air.

As I heard the gates close behind us and felt the truck’s speed gaining, kicking up a cloud of dust, I began to breathe again, tears welling up. He went faster and faster.

I placed my hand on the locket and held Callie tightly. I think we made it.