Earthscrapers

By Josy Bongiovanni

 

At first, I felt as if I'd won the lottery. A free home. Proper meals. Safety.

 

Now, standing at the front of a winding line of people, a wave of angst racks my body at the thought of living in what they marketed as subterranean eco-friendly living. A government employee presses an entry badge into my palm. “Congratulations on your placement in an Earthscraper, Enja,” she says, smiling as she ushers me into another line. They all look as hungry and tired as I feel. I turn the badge over, my name and citizen number gleaming in the sun, and for a moment the flutter in my stomach loosens. 

 

“Right this way,” an aide calls, waving all the newly appointed grounders toward the massive opening in the earth. I step onto the platform with the others, ready to be lowered into the inverted pyramid structure carved into the ground. Someone behind me jokes, “Guess paradise is underground now.” No one laughs, but no one questions it either. We all willingly descend into the unknown with the promise of a better life. 

 

"They said we get to go up top in rotations. It won't be that bad." I hear a woman telling her daughter.

 

The magnetic platform hums beneath our feet as it sinks, level by level, past the last scraps of real sunlight. The glow shifts from gold to the flat white of artificial panels, and a chill crawls up my spine. By the time we get to my assigned level, it feels less like a ride home and more like being lowered into a grave.

 

***

“Single file!” a robo-guard calls out. “Quick exposure only!”

 

It's the first time they've opened the glass dome at the top of the Earthscraper since I got here four months ago. A medic pushes past me, talking on her communication device. 

 

“Lower-level illness clusters,” she muttered. “Vitamin D crash, lower-level psychosis imminent.”

The anxious feeling never really left me. I've found out that it's so prevalent that grounders have given it a name—scraper nerves. The government appointed health workers call it Subterranean Adjustment Syndrome or SAS. 

 

By evening, the dome shudders closed again. The next morning, announcements blare through every hallway: AIR QUALITY UNSAFE. SURFACE ACCESS SUSPENDED. When someone asks how long the suspension will last, the speaker crackles and dies.

 

***

 

I've been living on Level Forty-Two of the sixty-five level Earthscraper for six years now. It's far enough from natural light that I need daily vitamin shots. Only the people on levels one through four could get away with missing a couple of doses. Even down here, there's a hierarchy among the bottom dwellers. 

 

I'm on my way to the infirmary to get my daily dose of vitamins and anti-psychotics when a grimy hand grabs my arm and pulls me into a solar booth. 

 

"Tomaas, what is wrong with you? Let me go!"

 

"I need to tell you something."

 

"And this couldn't wait until tonight at dinner? I've already had my daily UVB session. We can't stay here too long."

 

I pull away from my co-worker, with whom I share living quarters on the level reserved for sanitation workers. 

 

"Remember when we were cleaning Level Two last week?"

 

"Yeah, we were taking our time so we could feel the sun longer."

 

I try to get out of the solar booth, but Tomaas draws me closer with arms hardened by years of labor.

 

"The light was so nice…"

 

He momentarily zones out, a smile on his pale face. 

 

"Can we get out of this booth, please?"

 

"Enja, wait. Let me get to the point."

 

"I really wish you would."

 

"Did you see any security on patrol?"

 

Level Two normally swarmed with security bots—hardly surprising since that’s where the admin and government staff lived. But Tomaas had a point. Last week, no one forced us from the main square of the park.

 

"You're right."

 

"I know."

 

He smirks. One of the overhead lights flickers. 

 

"We're on rotation for sanitation duty on that floor in another five weeks. I've made a plan to head up to Level One. Meet me tonight in my bunk after lights out."

 

"But we can't…"

 

Before I can get a word out, Tomaas guides us out of the cramped booth and disappears, brushing his hand down his filthy trousers as he goes.

 

***

 

The next time we're up for sanitation duty on Level Two, I pay more attention to my surroundings. There are fewer people on the promenade than usual. Only a couple of security bots roam the level. 

 

"See, what did I tell you?" 

 

Tomaas, sporting a satisfied smile, guides us towards the magnetic lifts on the far side of the floor that lead to the first level and beyond. 

 

"Stick to the plan. If anyone asks, we're cleaning the lift." 

 

The equipment in my hand slips through my sweaty fingers, and I pause to pick it up. Tomaas gives me a reassuring smile. 

 

"No one will ask. Trust me." 

 

A man in a suit rushes past with a large bag in tow. His assistant ambles behind him with even more luggage. They slip into a lift and disappear towards the glass dome.

 

I raise my eyebrows at Tomaas, and he just shrugs. We head toward the lift and wait to see if they will return, but they never do.

 

"We're going up," Tomaas decides.

 

"But it's not safe."

 

"Tell that to the guys who practically raced out of here."

 

I can’t argue with that. I fall silent as the lift engages and glides up. The last time I was topside, I filled my lungs with sun-warmed air. I wonder what awaits us now that it's been deemed unlivable.

 

As we ascend, Tomaas retrieves our respirators from his bag.

 

"Just in case," he explains as he hands me the least worn of the two.

The ride in the lift feels endless. When it stops, the doors swoosh open onto a deserted floor filled with lush trees and flowers. I marvel at the way the sun's rays hit the dome's glass and warm me in a way the artificial lights never could. 

 

"Where the hell did they go?" I ask, my voice muffled by the respirator.

 

We hear a sound and duck behind some ficus trees. It’s the government official and his assistant. They march hurriedly toward the door at the end of the promenade.

 

"I told you we were late! You didn’t pack fast enough," the official chastises.

 

"I'm sorry, sir. You wanted everything done on such short notice. I’m sure there will be another transport soon."

 

"No, you idiot, this was the last one." He huffs. "I don't want to be stuck in this hellhole another minute. My wife is waiting for me at home."

 

There is a loud whirring sound as a small craft banks on the side of the dome. 

 

"Oh, thank heavens, it hasn't left yet."

 

The man swipes a card reader, and he and his assistant disappear as the door slams shut with a metallic thud. A moment later, we spot them boarding the craft and lifting off.

 

Tomaas and I wait a beat, then sprint to the door, respirators still on. I tug at the handle, but it doesn’t move. My pass doesn't work either. 

 

“It’s locked. We need a valid card,” Tomaas says as we remove our respirators.

 

“And where are we going to get that?”

 

“I think I know a guy.”

 

“Well, that doesn’t sound like trouble at all.”

 

I roll my eyes. I’m done. We still have to finish cleaning Level Two, and now we’re probably going to miss supper. 

 

“There’s something going on that they’re not telling us,” Tomaas says. “Where are they going without respirators if it's not safe on the surface?"

 

I glance at the one in my hand, scuffed from use, and shrug.

 

“Next rotation, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

 

I want to believe him. But for now, we have to get back to work.

 

***

 

We're back in front of the card reader, but this time, Tomaas has a card he procured from a guard who owes him a favor. I don't ask questions. 

 

I pop an extra pill to calm my scraper nerves. Tomaas looks unbothered by what we are about to attempt. 

 

"How are you sure this will work?" I ask as I glance around to check for guards. The whole level is eerily quiet. 

 

"I don't." He smiles and waves the card over the reader. 

 

We hear a beep, and the light on the reader turns from red to green. 

 

"You do the honors," he says gleefully.

 

"No, you do it. It was your idea after all."

 

My heart skips a beat as the door gives way when Tomaas pushes it towards the outside. 

 

We're both wearing full protective gear out of precaution, but I can't help but think back to the government official and his assistant boarding the craft without so much as a mask on. 

 

"Come on, what are you waiting for?" 

 

Tomaas is halfway up the stairs to the dome’s edge. I stay frozen, the same buried panic rising again despite the pills.

 

"Enja, come look! The dome is open."

 

I breathe in a huge breath of stale air from within my respirator to calm my nerves and slowly make my way up the stairs. Each step seems to take an eternity. I finally make it up to where Tomaas is inspecting the dome. 

 

"I didn't know it could open in sections."

 

The opening is large enough for one person to fit through. We look at each other and nod. He must sense my apprehension because he takes my gloved hand in his as we breach the aperture. 

 

As I step onto the surface for the first time in years, tears well up in my eyes, so much so that I can barely see what has become of the city. Strangely, there are no guards to be seen, not even a single drone. Tomaas cries out.

 

"Enja, look up!"

 

I wish I could wipe away the wetness from my eyes, but I don't want to take out the respirator just yet. I slowly lift my head. 

 

Nothing could have prepared me for what I see next. 

 

A city floats above us. Ornate buildings and large spiraling towers sit at the top of elaborate stilt-like structures while vehicles swish through transparent tunnels. There seems to be a sheen around the city. Maybe a protective veil? It would make sense since there is no security. None of it seems real. 

 

I can't speak. My lungs seize, and I gasp for air, clawing at the respirator on my face. Off, off, I want it off! Spots scatter across my vision. I try to steady my stance, but the sky tilts, the world narrows, and I fold to the ground, ripping the respirator off.

 

***

 

When I open my eyes, I'm lying on the ground near the dome. The air filling my lungs smells of bittersweet freedom. Tomaas has also discarded his mask.

 

"What? How?" I ask, afraid to take another breath.

 

"They've been lying to us this whole time," he says in an eerily calm voice. "They never cared what happened to us."

 

"What exactly is going on, Tomaas?"

 

"Think about it. There are almost no more admins or government officials left on the higher levels. They probably hightailed it out of the Earthscraper as soon as the sky city was built."

 

"No, the air was toxic; that's why they sent us down to the Earthscraper."

 

Tomaas kicks the respirator at his feet. 

 

"Lies. All lies. They didn’t build Earthscrapers to protect the poor and hungry. They buried us to forget us."

 

Anger bubbles up inside of me, the rage replacing the anxiety that's been an ever-present but unwanted companion all this time. 

 

"They let us rot underground while they lived here. Why?"

 

I lift myself off the floor, shaking. Looking at the sky city, I breathe in deeply and let out a long, pained, guttural scream. No one comes. No one cares. Their indifference to us grounders fuels a sudden fire in me.

 

"We need to tell everyone about this." I tell Tomaas as I walk towards the dome's opening. 

 

He doesn't follow.

 

"And then what? It's no use."

 

"Tomaas, you told me we needed to figure out what was going on. Now that we know, we have to follow through."

 

"It would have been better if we had never found out."

 

"No, this is our chance. Let's gather everyone from the lower levels. We can spread the word, get weapons…"

 

"And what do we do when we get to the sky city, if we can even find a way up there?"

 

I pick up our respirators and take his hand. 

 

"We'll figure it out together."

 

***

 

A few days later, we’re back on Level Two, gathered at the dome’s edge with every grounder courageous—or furious—enough to come. We’ve armed ourselves with whatever we could scavenge. A few still wear their respirators, unable to shake years of conditioning. Even now, freedom tastes suspicious.

 

We're about to go through the opening in the dome when the artificial lights flicker for longer than usual. 

 

Tomaas's head snaps up. "That's not a good sign." 

 

Before anyone can speak, there is a violent crash above us. A shockwave slams through the dome, reverberating down into our bones. The floor bucks. Someone screams. 

 

"Go back down, now!" he screams.

 

We sprint to the lifts. People pile in, gripping one another as the magnets engage and drop us down. The metal groans around us, but it holds.

 

By morning, exhaustion and dread churn into something sharper, and a group of us returns to the surface. When the lift doors open, we expect ruin, but the dome stands flawless and untouched.

 

Everything outside it is devastation.

 

Where the sky city once floated in engineered serenity, now lies a vast wreckage field. Twisted metal, collapsed towers, and fragments of the pristine world litter the earth in a massive cratered sprawl. Then movement catches my eye. Survivors.

 

One man reaches the dome and slams his palms against it. I recognize the government official we saw take the shuttle that day with his assistant. 

 

“Open the door!” he shouts. “We need shelter! We've been attacked.”

 

Another man limps behind him, coughing violently. They look terrified. Human. Breakable.

Someone beside me mutters, “After everything they did, they still think we’ll save them.”

Tomaas doesn’t step forward. None of us do.

 

We watch as the man pounds harder, fury and desperation twisting his features.

 

"Let's go." I say. 

 

No one protests.

 

Tomaas meets my gaze. There’s no triumph in his eyes—just a sober, heavy clarity.

“We'll be fine without them,” he says. “Let’s see how they do without us.”

Outside, the survivors keep pounding.

 

Inside the dome, we stand still—silent, resolute—as the last of the elite realize the ground they buried us in has become the only home left.

 

And it’s not theirs anymore.

 

The End