Collection Day

The hovercraft roared over the treeline, hulking steel against a bruised gray sky. The rotors thrashed, a violent, mechanical pulse, as the Collectors, clad in shiny black armor, spilled out onto the cracked earth.

“Collection Day!” Commander Hu sang, his voice crackling through the comm system and echoing through the steel hull. Kufu stood fast and readied his weapon. The door opened with a hiss as early morning sunlight poured inside.

"Unload!" Commander Hu called.

Their boots thudded and pounded the floor, first steel and then earth, as the villagers beyond cowered behind huts and crates.

The Collectors burst forth from the hovercraft like terrible ants, busy and bustling. They moved with ruthless efficiency. One yanked a sack of withered potatoes from a woman's trembling hands. Another snatched a clay pot, its contents spilling onto the dust, staining it a muddy brown.

Kufu watched, his stomach clenching. This was once his home. None of them knew that, of course. When you joined the Collectors, any life you once had was washed away like soot in the rain. He’d been on more than a dozen of these runs. More than a dozen Collection Days, each of them vicious, but none like this.

Then he saw her. Willow. She stood apart, her chin lifted in a gesture of defiance he remembered so well. Even after all this time, the fire in her eyes was unmistakable. It was Willow, unbent, unbeaten, untamed. Thunder crashed in the distance as a wave of memories crashed over him.

It was a Collection Day like this one, many years ago. The sun beat down on their bare backs as the two of them, scrawny saplings in a field of oaks, snuck through the tall grass. Mrs. Rosen had fallen ill, so they had hidden away a few armfuls of food and medicine and were determined to find a place to hide before the hovercraft left.

Willow had a knack for hiding. She was always the last caught in hide-and-seek. But on this day, something gave them away, perhaps the swaying of the grass as they crawled through it.

"Who’s there?" A Collector’s shout, sharp as a blade, shattered the quiet. 

Fear, cold and slick, slid down Kufu’s spine. He glanced at Willow, her eyes wide and dark. He pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shh," he breathed silently. Then he stood up, his arms raised.

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s my aunt. She’s sick.”

“Come here,” the Collector barked.

Kufu stepped forward carefully as Willow crouched frozen. There were some words exchanged but Kufu could never recall them. Collectors did not permit explanations or negotiations. They dealt only in force. They pummeled him, each blow a dull thud against his ribs, his back, his skull. Then, as he blood mixed with the dirt beneath him, they gathered the food and medicine, and marched away. But Willow, hidden amongst the stalks, was safe.

“She’s a feisty one,” a Collector crackled. Kufu stared back at him as a light rain began tapping on their helmets.

Willow, cornered, lashed out. Her small fist connected with a Collector’s arm, a surprising show of strength. The other Collectors swarmed her. One grabbed her arms from behind as another lifted his weapon, ready to strike her. But Willow reared back like a bucking horse and kicked hard, her foot cracking his visor. He dropped his rifle and staggered back.

“Enough,” a deep voice sounded. Commander Hu approached, the red cape of his rank swimming behind him. “What’s going on here?”

"The girl is resistant," a Collector reported. Hu studied her for a moment. Another cry of thunder roared out as the rain fell harder. Hu's cape billowed as he turned on his heel.

"Execute her," Hu said, his voice flat. He looked at Kufu. "You. Do it."

Kufu’s heart hammered against his ribs. Feeling his hands tremble, he quickly stood straight and nodded. He walked toward Willow, each step heavy. He saw the fear in her eyes, the desperate plea, felt the mud squelch beneath his boots.

“It’s…you…” she whimpered, her voice soft and raspy.

Kufu squared himself toward her and watched her eyes fill with tears.

“Kufu…” she said. Without moving his head he glanced left and right. She had used his name, a name unknown to any of the others.

“Do it quickly,” Commander Hu said.

He took a deep breath, then another. There were ten of them in total. Of the villagers, there were at least fifty, maybe more. They were weak, but their strength together could be formidable. If he turned his gun on his Commander, then perhaps the other villagers would seize the opportunity.

He looked at the villagers. He saw old Man Tiber, his face a mask of grief. He saw the fear in the children's eyes. He saw the Collectors, their faces blank. Black pools of nothingness shining in the rain. He thought of his new home in the gleaming city in the distance, built on the backs of people like this, his people. He thought of the comfortable life he had, the life he'd purchased with his silence. His willingness to join his oppressors.

One more deep breath.

He raises his rifle and squeezes the trigger. The shot rings out and the rain freezes. Hu staggers back, his hand clutching his chest. He takes a few clumsy steps and then collapses.

The wind whistles through the village and sizzles in the gripping silence. Then chaos erupts. Collectors turn, weapons raised. Kufu looks to Willow. "Run," he says.

He then aims and shoots at the closest Collector, then another, and another. All three of them fall, but he feels a sharp bite in his shoulder and his arm goes limp. He dives toward a vegetable stand and takes cover. Cabbages explode around him and voices shout, mixing together like dense fog.

Kufu lifts his rifle atop a nearby barrel and aims, his other arm still hanging lifelessly at his side. To his delight, at least twenty villagers, including Willow, have overtaken the remaining Collectors. He stands and looks around. Four are dead, the rest disarmed. They have done it.

Willow turns and their eyes lock. The sun finally crawls out and reaches down as if to embrace them.

“Kufu!” she calls, a light of hope in her eyes. She begins to run toward him, her arms outstretched. He reaches for her.

“Do it quickly, I said!” It was Commander Hu. Kufu’s eyes went wide. He shook the driving rain from his visor.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Kufu! Please!” Willow screamed, her face flooded with tears.

He raised a hand to his lips.

“Shh,” he said, trying to calm her. But the promise felt like ash in his mouth.

He opened his eyes and squeezed the trigger.

The awful sound rings out and echoes like laughter amidst the booming thunder. Willow’s body slumped to the ground. A hand clasped Kufu’s shoulders.

“Well done,” Commander Hu said. “Now load up!”