“f**k this!” a penal slave shouted, hurling his hammer at an overseer. The slave master ducked and calmly shot the rebel three times in the chest.
The convict fell flat on his back and died. True to their heritage, the New Yorkers glanced once at the c*****e and turned away without a care. I was huddled in a ball, staring at the dead body with one wide eye (the other was hidden by my paw).
“Call the Sanitation Department,” said one of the guards. “Tell them we’ve got a deposit for Fresh Kills.”
“Come along, Daphne,” Slinky said, yanking on my leash.
“See what the price of rebellion is in the New Order,” I heard the guard saying to the assembled penal slaves. “Now get back to work!”
When we got to the park, Slinky took me into a shady area not far from the pond. Despite my mitts, I ma
