Food City

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

CITY OF NEW EATON, Middle Rind

Kendall Barnes walked the streets of the Middle Rind with a giant knife and fork in his back pocket.

He emerged from a dirty alley into an avenue of cereal box and soda bottle skyscrapers lit up on every floor.

Rivers of people moved up and down the sidewalks. Walking alongside them were anthropomorphic candy bars, boxed dinners, doughnuts, and other processed foods, each with bright packaging and droopy eyes, adding artificial color to the area.

The humans smiled as they walked in half-struts, half-waddles, mumbling to themselves and licking their lips. Many were overweight and obese.

The foods (called Gourmans) were at least one to two feet taller than the humans and, with the exception of a few wide ones, were mostly skinny and lean. Some mingled with the humans, laughing and cracking jokes; others looked serious and as if they were on their way to somewhere important.

Enormous, three-story tall LED screens on every building streamed glitzy commercials fighting to catch the attention of the crowd.

In the street, traffic zipped by, each car and hovercycle leaving a trail of sparkling, colorful light behind it.

Kendall took in the busy street and snapped his fingers in a jazzy rhythm. He inhaled, taking in every delicious smell of his city, then he exhaled, smiling.

“Gonna be a good night.”

He had chosen his long white t-shirt, jean shorts, and green basketball shoes specifically for tonight. Under his shirt, he wore a smooth, golden chain that his friend, a french fry, had given him. He was determined to be the coolest-dressed black guy at the Festival of the Harvest.

Kendall skipped into the street and joined the flow of people. A TV dinner blimp floated overhead, casting an elongated shadow over everything below. A female voice echoed from a megaphone on the blimp’s bridge.

“Attention citizens: The Festival of the Harvest will begin shortly. Nonpareil Square will be closed to traffic for the rest of the evening. You may have also noticed pipes along the street . . .”

Kendall looked to his left and saw a line of green metal pipes rising up from a sewer grate. They ran parallel to the street and extended for several blocks to Nonpareil Square, where searchlights crisscrossed the dusk sky and music played from loudspeakers on the high-rises.

“Please be mindful of the pipes,” the voice said as the blimp finished crossing and the street brightened again.

Kendall had never seen the pipes before, and he wondered what they were for. As he walked past, he heard a strange bubbling sound coming from them.

An ad flashed on one of the screens and pulled him from his thoughts. A curvy blonde in a striped bathing suit appeared on the huge display. She smiled, ran her fingers through her hair, threw her head back, and laughed as bubbles rose around her. Green text scrolled across the screen: NUTRIZEEN. UNLOCK THE TRUE YOU.

Kendall swallowed and looked down at his stomach. He probably weighed three times as much as the woman on the screen. In New Eaton, being skinny was rare, but desired.

He rubbed his belly and said, “Heh heh. One of these days, I'm going to shed this negative six-pack.”

He had heard of people getting Nutrizeen injections that changed their lives completely. Their weight just fell off, leaving behind firm, fit, god-like bodies. The injections were invitation-only, and the Triumvirate claimed that they were still testing their effectiveness. Humans often talked about what they would do with brand new, athletic and fit bodies; it was a common topic around bars. Kendall himself often daydreamed about all the things he could do if he got an injection. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself with chiseled abs and thighs strong enough to crush a small watermelon. He saw himself on the beaches of Cola Bay, diving into the waves and swimming a mile without getting tired, then retiring to a beach house where he’d sit on the balcony with a drink in his hand and watch the sun sink into the clouds . . .

Three jets burst across the sky toward Nonpareil Square, shattering his fantasy with the thunderous roars of their engines.

Kendall put his hands over his ears and looked up at the huge, lumbering jail-ship shaped like a bag of chips that followed the jets. Then he joined everyone on the street as they cheered.

“There they are,” Kendall said, pumping his fists. “I'm ready to rock this festival, you best believe!”

He quickened his pace toward Nonpareil Square, and could feel the rest of the crowd doing the same.

He passed an armed Fry Guard on a street corner. The guard, a tall french fry dressed in aluminum fatigues and a helmet with a visor over his eyes, carried a rifle with both hands.

His buddy that he hung out with on weekends and drank with. A french fry, hell of a guy!

“What’s up, Kendall?” the guard asked.

“Greason, my man.”

They shook hands.

“That chain looks good on ya,” Greason said. His skin was oily, and he had crooked teeth.

Kendall fingered the chain and grinned. “Indeed, indeed, indeed. I appreciate you, man.”

“You headed to the festival?” Greason asked.

“You know it.”

“They caught some good ones last night,” Greason said. “A celery stick and a stalk of broccoli, if I heard correctly.”

“Broccoli?” Kendall asked. “Get out of here.”

“A real wonder of nature,” Greason said. “Plus, I heard that the winner of the festival this year gets Nutrizeen injections.”

“Aww yeeeeah! When I win this thing, we’re gonna go celebrate,” Kendall said, dancing in place.

“You're buyin’,” Greyson said.

A bell rung, signifying that the festival would begin soon, and Kendall knew he had to go. He waved to Greason and continued down the street.

A huge, human crowd had gathered at the edge of Nonpareil Square, the city’s town square. The pavement was covered with raised sugary bumps that made it look distinguished and expensive, with good reason. This was where the Triumvirate held the Festival of the Harvest—and made announcements about the status of the war.

Kendall whistled as he pushed his way through the crowd, waving to the people that called out to him.

“Hey, Kendall! Good luck!”

“It’s going to start anytime now. Better get up there, man!”

“Be sure to save some for me.”

He saluted his friends and reached the front of the crowd.

Guards lined the sidewalk, and stanchions stopped people from entering the square.

He stared up at Grease Tower, the largest skyscraper in New Eaton. Made of yellowish-orange glass, it looked like a tall french fry trying to scratch the belly of the sky. The tower shone so brightly at night that you could see it from everywhere in the Middle Rind. It was even rumored that on a clear, starry night, you could see the luminescent fields of the vegetable kingdom from the roof of the tower.

A jumbotron covering the first ten floors of the tower displayed a screensaver of sparkling salt crystals drifting across darkness.

Kendall felt a hand on his elbow and turned around to see a beggar, a yellow bell pepper in a tattered robe with a hood over his face, staring at him. The beggar’s eyes were shadowed, and he looked as if he might die of hunger at any moment. He stunk like a plant.

“Please, sir,” the beggar said. “Tell Sodius to stop the festival—”

“Let go of me.”

“Please, I beg you. It’s not fair.”

“Let go of me!”

Kendall kicked the beggar in the stomach, and the pepper toppled over. Other members of the crowd gathered, kicking the pepper and shouting, “Get out of here!”

A Fry Guard cut through the commotion and pulled the beggar up.

“You’re breaking the law,” the guard said.

“But this madness has to stop!” the beggar cried.

The guard grunted and BAM!—he fired twice. The beggar fell to the ground. His blood, green and thin, oozed across the sidewalk. Kendall watched with disgust as it flowed through a nearby drain and into the green pipes on the street.

The guard checked the beggar’s body and spoke into a communicator on his wrist.

“Sir, I just shot a protesting vegetable. I can’t find any tags on him.”

A voice responded from the communicator. “Good. We won’t catch hell, then. Gather the body for scientific evaluation.”

The guard motioned for backup. He and two other guards dragged the body away and heaved it into the back of a nearby black van driven by a pizza slice. They slammed the doors shut and the slice sped away as the crowd clapped.

“What a waste of time,” Kendall said. He glanced at the screen again, happy he hadn’t missed anything.

A woman nearby nudged him, and he turned to see a short, curly-haired Latina wearing a red sweater and jeans taking in the sights of the festival with nervous wonder. She had her knife and fork in her hands, and she gripped them so tightly her knuckles were white.

“This is my first festival,” the woman said. “Is it dangerous?”

“Nah,” Kendall said. “Fry Guards are everywhere. It’s completely safe.” He extended a hand. “I’m Kendall Barnes. You’re talking to the future winner of the festival.”

The woman laughed and relaxed her grip. “You mean future runner-up. I’m going to win!”

The jumbotron flickered, and the crowd hushed as the lights in the square dimmed.

“Time to party,” Kendall said.