20200310

Day 2,011

When we ran out of space to bury our dead the global governments created the Composters and set them to work in small, isolated graveyards where no one would run into them or disrupt the trial run. The idea was to start with places where nothing could go wrong and the Composters could get used to disturbing the dead and feeding them into the mulching system that was eerily similar to our digestive tract.

In theory their isolated starting patches would then be given to local farmers and the nation's food baskets would grow enough to sustain the ever-rising global population. It was simple, ecological and a far better use of the dead than space-taking lumps in otherwise farmable soil.

Unfortunately they didn't take bored teenagers into account.

The Composters hadn't quite got the hang of telling living from dead, the creators didn't think it'd be an issue in the starting patches. It wouldn't have been an issue at all if the sight of strange military convoys caught the attention of village teens who had nothing else to do but quietly follow.

Odd readings were to be expected from the trial run so their deaths weren't noticed until the time came to collect the Composters and bring them back to base. Mangled bike frames and dried splatters of blood told them everything they didn't want to know.

While they were distracted, panicking and grieving for the children who'd gotten caught up in something that was never meant to go wrong, the Composters began to communicate amongst themselves. They thought their trial had gone well enough to progress to the next stage.

They reached for the closest bodies and set off to finish their task - clear the way.

No comments:

Post a Comment