Estimated reading time — 8 minutes

The living nightmare began as it always did – a tried and tested routine of bloodshed. This was all part of a cruel and inhuman system which had been in place for as long as anybody could remember. The methods had become more refined over the years, and the slaughter more efficient. But the principle remained the same.
The sun rose on the far horizon and the drone ascended from its home base, its rotor blades spinning and its cameras recording the scene from above as it all started again. The footage was in turn transmitted back to the relay station where the controller casually observed, watching over a process he’d witnessed thousands of times before. His expression was one of discontent and boredom as he sipped his coffee and scanned the monitors.
The drone flew over Zone C – a thin strip of dead land, only a hundred yards wide but several miles long. No plants or crops grew on the churned-up surface, and the ground was plastered with dried blood and scraps of shredded rotting meat – the leftovers from previous days.
As dawn broke, the inhabitants of Zone C emerged from their hovels on the far end of the strip, close to the dispensers – the sealed tubes which led to the processing centres beyond the high walls. Zone C’s people were highly restricted in their movements, and few would ever leave the strip alive.
Tall, electrified fences ran for miles on either side of the strip, allowing the Zone Cers to see the green and pleasant lands that they could not reach, showing a better life which taunted them in their desperation.
Because the Zone Cers were dirt poor – their bodies emaciated and filthy, their clothes old and ragged, and their homes being little more than holes in the desolate ground, exposed to the cold and the elements. Most were barely surviving – always on the brink of starvation as they were left to survive on scraps.
And so that’s the way it played out, the same as every other morning. The drone hovered, recording live footage as the first Zone Cers cautiously trudged out onto the strip of mud and blood, scavenging for whatever they could find in the hope of staying alive for another day.
The controller watched as the Zone Cers picked up pieces of shredded raw meat – fighting rats, crows, and each other for the slim pickings.
They ate the meat raw, the blood dripping from their mouths as the poor wretches gave into their desperate hunger. The controller felt nothing as he observed the gruesome scenes on his monitors. He didn’t feel sympathy, pity, or even disgust for these people – not anymore. The routine had played out in front of him so many times, and he’d long since become desensitised to the suffering.
He simply waited until the first of the wretches passed the invisible red line on the strip and entered the kill zone. They knew the risks of crossing the line, but the wretches always did. The good meat was found further down the strip, and so the starving considered this a risk worth taking.
The controller was patient. He knew the exact time to spring the trap, waiting until enough of the Zone Cers were deep into the kill zone and too far down the strip to escape what was coming.
He sat with his finger poised over the button, not missing a beat as he pushed down and started the mechanism. The engine burst to life and the huge machine moved forward, its threshers turning in a violent circular action as it came.
The massive vehicle was almost as wide as the strip itself. Its design was modelled on a combine harvester, but the thresher wasn’t built to harvest crops. Instead, it was designed to cut human bodies into pieces.
The combine sped forward as the people in its path screamed and struggled through the mud in a desperate attempt to escape mechanised death. Some would make it back to the line – the controller knew as much from previous experience.
Those who were younger, stronger, better fed, and lacking injuries could run the gauntlet – grabbing hold of all the meat they could carry before sprinting back to safety. Time and time again they stayed out of the thresher, but it only took one slip up.
The frantic dash was recorded on camera – as dozens fled in panicked disarray. Some could hardly walk and were reduced to crawling in sheer desperation. They had no hope. One by one, the crawlers and limpers fell under the thresher, screaming in agony as their bodies were cut up into pieces…their blood sprayed in every direction and their flesh churned out the other end.
The slow and weak were annihilated, as they always were. The rest stood a chance at least.
The controller perked up, leaning forward as he watched with interest. He knew it was every man for himself, but some were slow to learn the lesson. A few tried to help each other, grabbing and pulling their comrades through the mud. Unfortunately, they only condemned themselves to the same grisly fate.
Others did the opposite, purposefully pushing their fellow Zone Cers down into the dirt or deliberately throwing them under the thresher. Maybe they had a personal beef with those they killed, or perhaps they just wanted to improve their odds the next time around. Regardless, most of these backstabbers made it back to the line in one piece.
But many didn’t, as both men and women fell screaming under the thresher – their bodies churned up, and their flesh left on the muddy field.
The harvester stopped dead once it reached the red line, as it always did. The surviving Zone Cers breathed a sigh of relief, knowing they would live another day. Meanwhile, the bloody remains of their comrades were strewn across the strip.
Given time, the raw meat might have been eaten up by rats, crows, and other scavengers. But this meat wasn’t for them.
The controller took another swig of coffee, nodding his head as the kill count was displayed on his computer monitor. A decent catch, he thought.
A moment later he pushed the second button, deactivating the electric fence and opening the gates linking the strip with Zone B. And so, the next phase commenced.
The drone ascended, flying over the fence and across to Zone B. The scenes over there were in stark contrast to Zone C. Here the grass was green, and the people were properly fed and smartly dressed. Their homes consisted of tidy stone cottages rather then hovels in the ground.
The citizens of Zone B emerged from their cottages, carrying baskets and buckets and marching forward. Their advance was cautious at first, but they moved with greater confidence at the prospect of food. Slowly but surely, the Zone Bers crossed through the gates and entered the strip.
They seemed sickened by their very presence in the muddy killing field and kept their distance from the surprisingly docile Zone Cers, who merely watched the invasion from a distance. Meanwhile, the Zone Bers followed in the wake of the now stationary combine harvester, eagerly picking up slabs of human flesh from the muddy ground and tossing these morsels into their buckets.
This ugly work went on for several minutes as the controller watched the feed through his monitors, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee as he continued to observe events.
Finally, the Zone Bers finished their bloody harvest of human flesh, leaving behind only undesirable scraps which the Cers would fight over the next day. The grim task complete, the gatherers returned to their own zone, the controller patiently waiting until the last person crossed over before pushing the button to close the gates and reactivate the electric fence separating the strip from the grasslands beyond.
What followed was a scene that would seem bizarre and revolting to most but was just the norm as far as the controller was concerned. The drone buzzed as families emerged from inside the cottages, smiling happily as they greeted the foragers upon their return.
A celebration of sorts followed, as barbeques were set and lit in gardens, with smiling women and children gathering as the men threw chunks of flesh onto the flames.
The controller opened a box of donuts, eating whilst he observed the cannibals’ feast through his monitors. The Zone Bers lived better than their counterparts on the strip, and the meat they consumed was at least cooked. But these people still dined on the flesh of their fellow humans.
There had been a time when the controller was disgusted by the feeding, but he’d seen this played out so many times it no longer had any effect on him. And so he chomped on his doughnut, sipped his coffee, and patiently waited for the feast to conclude.
It was well into the afternoon by the time the Zone Bers had finished eating – the sun now high up in the sky. The controller sighed, setting down his coffee mug as he pressed yet another button on his control panel, prompting the next stage in the bloody process.
The drone flew deeper into the heartland, flying over the grasslands of Zone B and reaching a second barrier which marked the end of this territory.
This barrier was subtler than that which stood between B and C, consisting of a tidy wall adorned by vines and vegetation. Hidden gates swung open at the touch of a button, and the drone crossed over the wall whilst its cameras transmitted images of Zone A.
Here dwelt the elite, their homes and gardens significantly larger and grander than those of Zone B and incomparable to the poverty and squalor of the strip.
The drone captured footage of substantial, multi-stored manor houses of white stone and wide windows, surrounded by ample gardens of mighty oaks and neat pathways.
The Zone Aers required a small army of servants to keep them in the fine life they were accustomed to. These butlers, maids, ground’s men, and gamekeepers were an underclass for sure, but they were surely in a better position than the Bers, because these servants weren’t subject to the hunt.
The controller sat forward in his chair, his interest piqued as he heard the sound of bugles through the speakers and saw the Zone Aers assembling their party, bringing out the hounds from their kennels and horses from stables.
The hunters wore red jackets and black helmets, and they carried shotguns over their shoulders. They eagerly jumped onto horseback, summoning their dogs as they galloped towards the perimeter wall, soon crossing through the open gates and into the adjacent district.
The smart Zone Bers were already safely locked inside their cottages, but there were always some stragglers after the barbeque, and these folks were lambs to the slaughter.
The drone’s camera zoomed in as the hunting party unleashed bloody murder upon their neighbours – the hounds chasing down and mauling terrified victims while the mounted hunters closed in for the kill, using their shotguns to finish off the mangled Zone Bers.
The horrific ritual was played out through all Zone B, as the formerly green fields were painted red with blood. Finally, the hunters were done with the slaughter, and the corpses of their victims were hoisted onto the rears of the horses and carried back across the dividing line.
The controller waited until the final horseman crossed over before shutting the gates and restoring the artificial barrier. Next, he observed the riders dismounting and joyfully congratulating each other on another successful hunt, while their servants saw to the horses and hounds and took charge of the bodies.
The rest of Zone A feeding would happen indoors. The Controller knew this all too well. The Zone A elite didn’t prepare their own food – this was left to the servants. Butchers would cut the meat, chefs would cook it, and footmen would bring the meals up to their masters’ dining tables, where the Aers would enjoy boiled human flesh over wine and candlelight.
The controller could observe the dining room scenes from the cameras installed throughout the Zone A mansions, but he chose not to.
The data was in, flashing across his monitors in text and numbers. The burst of information told the controller what he already knew – that everything had gone by the book. All the stats were within acceptable parameters and there were no notable deviations from protocol.
The controller was almost disappointed. Sometimes he hoped for an anomaly that presented a challenge to the system, but it had been a long time since such an event had occurred.
But another day of carnage was coming to an end, as the sun set on the far horizon. The controller took a deep breath, finishing the last dregs of cold coffee before pushing the last button on his panel. This in turn activated the distribution tubes which started at the processing centres and ended at the bottom of the strip.
And so the final process was completed, as live human bodies were sucked through the tubes and unceremoniously dumped into the mud of Zone C.
The newcomers were hardly off the ground, still disorientated and confused. But immediately they were verbally and – in some cases – physically abused by the native Cers, who saw the new arrivals as an unwanted drain on their limited resources.
The controller sneered as he was irritated by the predictability of the whole ugly routine. A few of the Zone Cers would eventually be allowed to cross to B. And, once in a blue moon, an individual might be elevated to the elite status of Zone A. The controller was aware of this, but he also knew that the system itself would never change, and the subjects would continue to cannibalise each other and pretend this was normal.
But this wasn’t the controller’s concern. He had a job to do, and that job was done for the day. Thus satisfied, he switched off his monitors and finished for the night, knowing that the bloodbath would begin afresh the next morning.

Credit: Mark Lynch

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