Free Rash by Pete Hautman

down, then moving on. I had the distinct impression that we were a disappointment to him.
    When he had finished his inspection, he stood back and crossed his thick arms over his massive chest.
    “My name is Hammer,” he said in a deep, hoarse voice. “You are my nails. Do you think you can remember that, nails?”
    Most of us nodded.
    “You get out of line, Hammer pounds you down. When Hammer speaks, you listen. When Hammer tells you to do something, you jump. If you have any questions, concerns, or suggestions about the way I run my plant, feel free to keep your thoughts to yourselves. Now, are there any questions?”
    “Yeah. How long are you gonna make us stand out here?” I asked, surprising myself. You’d think getting punched in the belly once would have taught me something.
    Hammer gave me a long, hard stare. “What’s your name, nail?”
    “Bo. Bo Marsten. Look, we aren’t exactly dressed for the cold.”
    “Cold?” He raised his black eyebrows in mock surprise. “It’s practically high summer! That sun won’t set till almost midnight! You want cold, just you wait a few months.”
    “We could die from exposure,” I said. “You could be charged with neglect.”
    “Neglect?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Charged by who? Let me explain something to you, nail. You gave up the benefits of civilian life back when you did whatever it was you did to get put here. This is the real world. You belong to me and Mickey D. Nobody gives a damn if you catch a chill. Now step away from the fence.”
    Nobody moved.
    “I said, STEP AWAY FROM THE FENCE!”
    I stepped forward a few feet.
    “ALL OF YOU!”
    Everybody took a couple of steps forward just as a metallic crash came from behind us. I looked back, instinctively ducking. For one interminable second I did not understand what I was seeing. It was large, it was yellow and white and brown and black, it was almost as high as the fence, and it was rattling the chain-link. Then I saw it for what it was. A bear, nine feet tall,its long black claws scrabbling over the metal links.
    My legs turned rubbery and I fell back on my rear. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. The bear pressed its filthy belly against the flimsy-looking steel mesh and leered down at me, dragging a huge blue black tongue over its furry, pink-stained mouth. The smell of dead fish, rotting meat, and Italian spices washed over me.
    “Don’t worry, kiddies,” Hammer said. “He can’t get in.”
    The bear was not alone. Two more polar bears came lumbering up to join him. They stared in at us with expressionless black eyes.
    “Nails!” Hammer looked around at the scattered inmates, a few of whom had run a considerable distance. “Get back here. C’mon now, boys, I’m not done talkin’ to you.” The four guards were moving to intercept some of us, like dogs herding sheep. “Last one back in line gets a baton up his ass.”
    That had some effect. A few seconds later we were once again lined up in front of Hammer, but with a good ten feet between us and the fence. The fishy, tomato-saucy reek of the bears hung in the air like bad breath in an elevator.
    “Now listen to me,” Hammer said. “Your welfare is not a priority. In fact, we have contracted with the government to take on more workers than we need. I lose a few nails, no problem—there’s plenty more where you come from. Something happens to one of you—and things do happen here—we just toss you over the fence. Attempted escape. Those bears won’t leave so much as a shred of gristle behind. But don’t worry. Do your work, don’t try anything stupid, and eventually you get to go back home. Simple as that. Now, how many of youboys like pizza? Let’s have a show of hands.”
    A few hands went up, but not mine. I’d never eaten one of the things. Pizza was grandma/grandpa food. It had gone out of style with burgers and fries.
    “Only four?” He grinned. “Well now, ain’t that tragic.”
    With that, Hammer climbed