The city was only here for the day then it would be swept away with the shifting sands, carrying thousands more people than it arrived with. Enough to fuel the generators for a couple of decades and then it would inevitably resurface to restock and it would be flooded with new blood.
We found out the hard way that keeping the city stocked and appeased was the safest, kindest option we were allowed. At the very least it needed three hundred and sixty eight adults, a number the surrounding settlements had carefully calculated. A safe number that kept it away for just as much time as it takes to gather twice the amount for the following visit.
It's courteous enough to call us three days beforehand to warn us that it's approaching. Every single phoneline gets the same call in the same voice to tell us where the city will appear and who will open the gates for the latest flock. It's usually someone from the last flock, the last survivor of that particular batch- an especially efficient foreman who'd sent everyone else to the generators.
Whoever makes the call is usually the first go to to the generators when the new flock arrive - it shows them how painless it is to pass on and become a part of the endless city forever, running and swarming through the pipes. Screaming in rapturous agony til either time or the city comes to an end.
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