Fifteen FifteenKenny’s tired muscles scraped the shovel across the ground as he scooped manure into a bucket. The stench nearly gagged him. How can people stand to live like this? The snorting of a horse drew his attention.
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” said Kenny, scratching his shoulder.
He had been working in the stables since early morning. Fuming that he had been reduced to manual labor, Kenny lazily scooped more poop into the nearby bucket. Tired, he dropped his shovel and sat down on a barrel.
Mr. Callors walked into the building. “Tired already?” he said when he noticed Kenny taking a break. “You’ve barely gotten started.”
“The work is exhausting,” said Kenny.
“Most hard work is,” said Mr. Callors. “Now the agreement was that you would clean out all of this manure before the end of the day. If you don’t, I’ll have to rethink your wages.”
“You can’t do that!”
“On the contrary,” said Mr. Callors, “I can. You promised to clean this place up in exchange for 300 coins. Now, if the work gets done, I’ll pay you what is owed. But if it doesn’t, then you will only get paid for the work you actually accomplish.”
“That’s not fair,” said Kenny. “This is hard work. I’m dirty and sweaty. And this place smells. I’ve never done this work before.”
“That much is evident,” said Mr. Callors. “Get the job done, or you can leave right now and I’ll hire someone else.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to work here,” said Mr. Callors.
“What am I supposed to do if I lose this job?”
Mr. Callors looked at Kenny with no sympathy. “Find something that caters more to your delicate sensibilities.”
Angered at being treated like a commoner, Kenny kicked the manure in front of him.
“I see they got you working like a common animal,” said Bert as he swaggered in with his bottle of liquor. “Hard work, but little pay. Not fair is it?”
“No, it’s not,” said Kenny, throwing down the shovel. “Who are you?”
“Bert.”
“What are you doing here?” asked Kenny.
“Just come to check on the newest member of our little society,” said Bert.
“Oh.”
“I heard what you said to Mr. Callors. For a while now, people like him have been making money off the backs of desperate folk like you.”
“What are you saying?”
“Well, with the right person, we could even out the playing field so that all benefit and not just a few.”
“Why should I listen to you?” asked Kenny.
“No reason, really,” said Bert. “I’ve been here many years and have never been able to better my circumstances because people like Callors and Sampson don’t understand me. They don’t understand the nature of addiction. They think that everyone should work hard to get what they want from life. But they don’t understand that not everyone is capable of hard work, but they still have needs.”
“What do you want from me?”
“You could help those of us who have not been able to rise up. You understand us.”
“I don’t know,” said Kenny.
“Think about it,” said Bert.
Dana carefully filled a jar with some preserved apples and sealed it. She had never realized how much work canning involved, but she saw the merit in it.
“That’s good,” said Minny as she wiped the jar clean.
Dana smiled. “So you do this every year?”
“Yep. It’s the best way to stock up food for the winter. Though Sampson has our orchard in a place that is temperature controlled, I still prefer to be prepared.”
“Prepared?”
“One year, the electricity failed and we lost most of our crop. That was a lean year.”
“Well, it’s fixed,” said Sampson as he walked inside. He had been on the roof repairing one of their solar panels and their battery source. Karl had developed a technology to draw power from water, but Sampson always liked being prepared. He figured if he had more than one energy source, then when one failed, the other would make up the difference.
“But I need to get a new ionizer,” said Sampson.
“I can get it,” said Dana. “I have to go to town anyway to see how Kenny is doing. I can stop by the hardware store and pick one up.”
Sampson gave Dana the keys to his truck and some money. “You be careful with my truck.”
“Oh, please,” said Minny. “Sometimes I think you care more about that stupid truck than me.”
“Not a scratch,” Sampson said to Dana.
“On that rusty old thing?” voiced Minny.
“I promise,” said Dana, taking the keys.
Dana hopped into the vehicle and slammed the door shut. She inserted the key into the ignition, glad to be driving a vehicle while not fleeing from a bunch of officers.
She rammed the truck into gear and steered it toward town. The setting sun showered gorgeous orange and red rays over the land. Despite its barrenness, Dana thought the dusk looked beautiful. It had been a long time since she had stopped to admire it.
She arrived into town 10 minutes later and parked near the hardware store. Hopping out of the truck, she noticed Kenny sitting in the bar with Bert and a few others. Curious, she studied them a moment, deciding to ask him about it when she finished her business in the store.
“Evening, Mr. Harris,” said Dana to the store owner.
“Why, hello, Dana. And how is the future trader?”
“I’m not a trader yet,” replied Dana. “I’ve only been on one run, and you know I can’t go on any more until spring.”
“Well, when you do go out with Malcolm again,” said Mr. Harris, “try and find me a carbonator, will you?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“I need an ionizer. Or actually Sampson needs one.”
“Aha,” said Mr. Harris, browsing through his stock, “For that weird generator of his, I suspect. Well, it just so happens that I have one. Here.”
Mr. Harris placed it in a bag and gave it to Dana. She handed him the money and inspected the merchandise, making certain it was what she needed.
“Thank you, Mr. Harris.”
Dana waved and left. She placed the ionizer in the truck and glanced back at the bar window. Looks like they’re breaking up. Not certain what they were up to, Dana walked over, reaching the door just as Kenny exited with Bert.
“Hey, Dana,” greeted Kenny.
“Kenny,” said Dana.
“I’ll see you later,” said Bert, unusually sober.
“What were you doing with him?” asked Dana.
“Bert and I were discussing a few things with some other people.”
“What things?”
“Like how it seems that certain people always have money and are at the top of society, while others are at the bottom.”
“And what would you know about that, Kenny? You were always at the top back home.”
“But we had true equality in Dystopia.”
“You really believe that?” Dana looked at her friend concerned. She and Kenny always had their differences, but deep down, she knew he was not a bad person. Or, has he changed?
“And why were you talking to Bert?”
“He was explaining to me how things work here. Sampson seems to have a monopoly on the government.”
“He was elected mayor and spends most of his time leaving people alone.”
“Yeah, but no one ever challenges him.”
“But no one is stopping them from doing so,” said Dana.
“Well, he has all that property and is the sole provider of food to this town. Why should he be the only one?”
“Then start your own farm,” said Dana.
“And haven’t you noticed that certain people seem to have all the wealth in this society?” continued Kenny. “And there are others who always seem to have nothing. Some of them are unable to work.”
“But they’re not starving,” said Dana. “When a person falls on bad times in this place, the rest of us band together and help them get back on their feet if they want it.”
“But you don’t help Bert.”
“Bert is a drunk,” said Dana. “He spends all his time drinking and begging for a handout. People have offered him work, but he doesn’t want it.”
“That’s not what he says.”
“Kenny,” Dana faced him, “I don’t like where you are going with this. This is a good place where folk can be left alone to live as they see fit. No one here lives in fear of being arrested or their homes invaded by officers. A person here can work their way up if they choose. Or they can spend their days sitting on the sidewalk drinking and complaining about how unfair life is. Decisions are not made for them.”
“You sound like the members of the resistance,” Kenny’s eyes darkened.
“And you have spent your entire life living in luxury, while speaking about fairness and equality of income.”
“That’s not fair and you know it.”
“Was it fair that my parents were murdered?” Dana challenged. “Is it fair that back home, people’s lives are determined for them?” 
Dana heaved a huge sigh. “Kenny, you’re my friend and I know we disagree on things, but please, do me a favor. Stay away from Bert and whatever he is talking you into doing. He’s bad news.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kenny.
“Kenny, I know you have lost everything and that you’re scared. Bert is the sort of person that preys on such sentiments.”
“I miss home,” said Kenny.
“I do too.”
“Really?”
“I don’t miss the officers or all of the rules, but I miss the people. I miss Elsie and Sanders. And not a day goes by where I don’t think about Jesse and Nana. Did they ever escape the fire?
“If you really want to go back, then I will take you back.”
Kenny studied Dana’s eyes. “You would, too.”
“I need to get back,” said Dana. “Um, Sampson has a spare room that you are welcome to use. Coming?”
“No, one of the guys here offered to let me stay with him.”
Without warning, Kenny kissed Dana on the cheek. “You take care of yourself.”
Dana stood frozen, staring after him. Where did that come from?