Chapter 113

SHELLEY SCRAMBLED in an attempt to climb out of the giant trash bin. She was waist-deep in garbage, which luckily was composed mostly of discarded scrap paper and classroom supplies. She cringed and gagged when her hand went into a wad of discarded chewing gum, however, and she wiped it clean as well as she could against the metal side of the bin.

The bin seemed to be rolling on an electronic track, moving at a slow but steady pace deeper and deeper into unknown territory. Shelley couldn't see much, given how high the sides of the bin were, but she could see parts of some of the taller buildings and shuttle tracks she passed. She didn't recognize any of the buildings, and she had no idea what direction she was going. It felt like she had been moving for hours, although she had no way of gauging how long she actually had been in there.

The trash chute back at the church grounds had sent her gracelessly flailing down into the bin, which seemed to move on a timer. It was evident that no one staffed the immediate area, because Shelley screamed and cried for help until her throat went raw and no one seemed to hear her. If there were any people nearby, they certainly did not make themselves known.

The bin was filled with too many flimsy materials for Shelley to be able to pile them up and climb, although she did make several attempts before she realized the futility in it. She tried springing up against the sides, scaling the smooth walls, and even knocking the entire unit off its track, but every attempt she made to escape ended in failure. She eventually gave up, exhausted and emotionally spent, and fell back against the trash to watch the sky slowly move over her.

A thick cloud overhead held an uncanny likeness to Kurt's face, and Shelley stared at it in disbelief. Of all the shapes a cloud could take, the one right overhead had to look like her dead brother. Slowly, the face changed as the cloud drifted in the light breeze. The image grew angry. A heavy gust of wind whipped by overhead, and Shelley could have sworn that she heard Kurt's furious voice: "You!"

Shelley cried out, cringing and covering her face. "You're not Kurt!"

She waited for the voice to return, but it did not. The wind died down, and the only sound that remained was the creak of the trash bin wheels slowly rolling along the rails. She peeked up at the sky, sighing with relief as she saw that the face in the cloud had dissipated into an indistinguishable mass of random shapes.

She caught a whiff of something foul, and then took a few deep breaths in attempt to place the smell. She looked in all directions, and she noticed that there were no more visible buildings. The smell grew stronger, and as the bin continued along its track, it occurred to Shelley that she was moving along the outskirts of the local dump.

Shelly quietly listened, staying completely still, as the bin suddenly jerked to a halt. All was silent for a moment, and then Shelley heard a handful of voices coming from outside.

"Hello?" Shelley called.

"There's someone in that one!" a young male voice cried out.

"Hello?" Shelley yelled, hitting the side of the bin.

"Lean against the wall, toward my voice!" the young man called back.

"Okay!" Shelley leaned against the wall, tightly shutting her eyes. There was a loud click, and then the bin slammed to its side. The piles of trash spilled over her and onto the ground, and Shelly scrambled out of the bin. She held onto the icy ground for a moment, her head spinning.

"Are you okay?" a young man asked.

Shelly looked up, gasping at the sight of the small deviant group. They all wore hard hats and carried shovels. She saw the shovels and considered the damage they could do if the men decided to attack her, and she screamed. She pulled herself to her feet, dizzy and shaking, and grabbed her bag. Two men tried to assist her, and she took a pathetic swing at them both with a terrified growl. The men all quickly backed off, grumbling at her detestable manners.

She staggered back, running into a pile of trash just recently stacked, and then she scrambled into the path and ran off. The men laughed as she hurried away, their voices carrying past the mountains of trash as she quickly moved to put them behind her. She tried to keep from crying, but she felt her will deteriorating. Finding herself suddenly on the deviant side of town, possibly even in a neighboring district with no idea how to get home, she found herself dizzy with fear. She shook profusely, unsure what to do or where to go.

She could not see any signs of civilization anywhere. Knowing she could run into more deviants at any time, she stayed along the cusp of the dump, searching through the trash piles for a suitable weapon. She hoped to find an old hammer or a steel pipe, but she decided to settle for the time being on a piece of cinder block. She put the chunk of cement in her bag, and then swung it around a few times to get a feel for her new weapon. Satisfied, she continued forward with the dump to her left and nothing but overgrown, empty fields on her right.

The sun peeked through the clouds, and Shelley could feel its warmth against her cheeks despite the chill that persisted in the air. She did her best to ignore the growl hitting her stomach. Thirst soon compounded her hunger, and she knew one of the two would have to be satiated soon.

She stopped to search for a clean patch of snow in the field when she heard a rustling nearby in the tall grass. Certain that one of the young men she passed at the trash had followed her, she went vigilant and still. She considered what terrible deeds he had planned in that sick, deviant mind of his, and knew that it was up to her to put him in his place. She readied her bag and held her breath as the rustling drew closer. She saw two deviant eyes emerge from the grass, and a sudden impulse drove her to swing her bag with all that she had. The cinder block met the back of the young man's head, and he collapsed with a surprised cry.

Shelley's hands shook violently while she watched the blood seep onto the snow-spattered ground, and she knew right away that she had killed him. At a closer glance, she realized that the young deviant couldn't have been much older than she was, and he had been completely unarmed. Distraught and exhilarated, Shelley dragged the body back into the cover of the tall grass. She stared at it for a moment, watching its glassy blue eyes stare aimlessly up toward the heavens.

"This one's one for my mom," she said, her throat growing tight. She spat on the body, and then hurried back to the path. She began to cry again, screaming out her frustration as she forced away the immense guilt that filled her over what she had just done. She saw the blood on her bag, and her entire body froze. She felt dizzy, and then she found herself on her knees. She continued to stare at the blood for a moment, sobbing, when suddenly she realized that she was laughing.

She picked herself up and continued down the path, pulling her bag back up over her shoulder. She looked across the field, wondering how many more deviants were hiding in the overgrowth. She picked a random spot and entered the field, pushing aside tall grass and slushy masses of snow. She walked aimlessly through the grass for some time, and then she came upon a small clearing that had a tiny, three-walled shack and a recently extinguished fire pit. A clean pot and pan sat beside the smoking pit, and a stash of rice and canned fruits sat just inside the shack. There were blankets on the dusty ground, and a pile of clothing in the far corner. A pail of clean water stood next to a plastic bin of mismatched dishes and silverware, and strips of dried meat hung from a hook on the ceiling.

Listening carefully for the sounds of others approaching, Shelly hastily searched through the plastic bin, finding a large, well-sharpened knife worth adding to her bag. She helped herself to the dried meat, gazing at the drab plywood walls and considering leaving her mark.

Finding her permanent marker, she went to the flimsy wall and began to write. She came up with a simple poem off the top of her head, slowly chewing on the meat as she carefully yet quickly placed her words:


Thanks for the food,

sorry to be so rude,

I hope you rot in hell.


Finishing a handful of meat, she signed the wall in large, fancy letters. She drank as much water as her stomach would allow, and then moved to look through the small selection of canned fruits.

She threw three cans of peaches into her bag and pilfered the rest of the dried meat before stepping out of the shack. She opened one of the peach cans, eating the sweet fruit with her dirty hands. She glanced out over the field, contemplating her next move, when she spotted a small bug moving across the ground in front of her. She squashed it with a quick stomp of her foot.

Tossing the used fruit can to the ground, she chose a random direction and began to walk.