The Factory part 1

Sweaty palms fingered strings and pulled levers on the heavy machinery. It whirred and rang like a screeching cat. So, so loud. It was suffocating.

And Sandy was used to it, as much as he possibly could be.

He swallowed, pausing momentarily to wipe beads of sweat from his eyes. The heat was stifling. He glanced at Jeremy.

An intense, almost crazed expression had etched itself into Jeremy’s face. Eyes narrowed, tightly closed mouth. Trying to ignore the noise — intent on working. At the same time, he was about to explode.

Sandy knew this feeling. “I reckon we’ll be finished soon,” he muttered, just loud enough for Jeremy to pick up this new sound over the incessant humming around them.

“I hope you’re right,” he replied with a grimace.

This was the worst room and the worst hour; production went twice as fast as the overseer spurred his workers to reach the quota. Sandy always found some way to get out of it and switch to assembling in the other room. It wasn’t so loud or hot in there. But today, some unclear reason had pushed all the men into the one room, packed like dogs into the rows to man the machines. Today, none of his excuses had worked.

There was a sudden clang that shook Sandy out of the rhythmic, never-ending stupor in his mind. He looked up and around hurriedly, afraid something had really exploded. Instead, the wheels were slowing, the noise lessening, and a general hush of relieved silence melting over the men.

“Alright, keep it down,” called the tall, mustached overseer from the now open doorway, about three rows ahead on the wall to Sandy’s right. Bright sunlight flooded slowly into the room from distant windows. “You’re to stay where you are and position yourselves for inspection.”

“Do they do this everyday?” whispered Jeremy.

Sandy’s eyes scanned curiously beyond the overseer’s figure, hoping to see something that would explain the need for inspection. “No, maybe twice a month at most.”

He saw someone now — two men with canes and top hats leisurely stopping beside the overseer. One spoke. Sandy couldn’t hear anything.

The overseer’s voice was louder. “Yes, follow me. We’ll go down each row. Feel free to ask any questions you might have.”

“How many workers?” asked the more forward of the two strangers.

“Two hundred and thirty-seven, since this morning.”

“Ah, very good.”

Sandy exhaled loudly from boredom. There was nothing interesting about inspection, even if these were people he’d never seen before. He turned to his friend. “So, you like poker?”

“When I win.” Jeremy grinned.

“Ha, well don’t plan on it.” Sandy stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced at the machinery in front of him for a place to lean against that wouldn’t damage anything. “I’m known around here for being a lucky guy.” He winked.

Jeremy laughed, then lowered his voice as he glanced up and saw the men just two rows away. “You wish.”

“Quiet, everyone,” called the overseer suddenly, harshly.

Sandy tilted his head to the side to see past the large machine in front of him. The man was saying something again to the one beside him. Smiling, he looked back at Jeremy. “Watch me get ‘im drunk, then steal all his precious money.”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll happen,” replied Jeremy, sarcastically.

“Like I said, watch me.”

“I won’t miss it. Now, can you cover for me for a sec? Steve’s saying something over there, but I can’t hear ‘im.”

“Sure.” Still smiling, Sandy’s eyes wandered back to the three men. They had reached the end of the row before his, back near the front door. As he watched, someone stepped through the door just then. Curled, light brown hair. White shawl; thick, dark blue dress.