[ WP ] The year is 2284 . The United States officially recognizes every person over the age of 65 to be a worthless sponge of resources . Tell the story of a smuggler who makes a living by concealing the elderly .

`` Marc,'' I said as we all huddled behind the fake wall of the cave. `` It seems that we forgot the tapioca for desert.'' 
 
 `` I think we have bigger concerns than that Bianca. Did you forget that we're smuggling sponges?'' That's what the United States government was calling them. It had only been 20 years earlier, that the vote was passed with a 3 % majority voting yes. Everybody over the age of 65 was deemed a sponge, and was to be executed with haste to conserve resources there were plenty of. The following months had been horrific. All sponges were put in buses with SWAT members, and brought to gas chambers across the nation. Several were put up in every state. Still, many had managed to stay hidden, and many had the need to disappear. Most that we transported were in their late 50's and early 60's, so that they could get out before the government started monitoring them. The oldest we had ever seen was an 88 year old man. 
 
 `` I guess, but you know how irritable they can get sometimes. I just do n't want any of them starting an argument, because you KNOW that we can never win those.'' I whispered in his ear and ended with a chuckle. The Underground railroad was more populated now than it was when it was actually the Underground Railroad. However, there were many caves and vacant houses along the path that worked great, and we took full advantage of it. Most civilians did n't care about what we were doing. We were just concerned about the Sponge Police. I know the name sounds silly, but they were no joke. The SP was a division at many police stations. They mainly just wandered around popular spots that sponges were know to hide in. They are also looking for people like us. We're like the coyotes that used to bring people into America. Now, we use the Railroad for it's original purpose: Freedom from America. 
 
 `` Oh well. Listen up everybody, get out your sleeping bags, it's time to go to sleep for the night. Remember, we go out late tomorrow, at about 9 a.m. after the patrols have left the area. So if you wake up before then, be sure to be as quiet as possible. This stretch is never searched, but we ca n't take any chances.'' We knew the patrol's schedules along our route down to the minute. Marc turned off all of the lanterns and climbed into our king sized sleeping bag. 
 
 The next morning at about 9:30, after everybody had eaten breakfast, I carefully removed the fake cave wall, and Marc and I slowly walked out, assault rifles drawn. 
 
 `` OK everybody, we have today and two more days until we reach Quebec. You are all doing tremendously so far. Let's have another great day and get to the next hideout, a vacant house, which is about 25 miles away.'' A few decades before the Spongocaust, Quebec had finally managed to get their own independence. It was where all the coyotes like me and Marc brought our Sponges. A few months after America voted yes, so did Canada. Quebec and Mexico were the only two places in North America that sponges could live freely in. You went to whichever one was closer, and we worked in North-Eastern America. 
 
 We had known each other all our lives, Marc and I. We lived next door to each other as kids. The day that the ASA ( Anti-Sponge Act ) was passed, local police came up to Marc's house and took away his 66 year old father. Marc did n't leave his house for days, and I was over at his house all day, crying with him. His mother was only 64 for a few more months though, and my parents were in their late 50's. We took the three of them and devised a plan. They were our first passengers. While the ASA was still just a popular plan, Quebec had signed an agreement with America, stating that they would n't try to stop America if they did n't try to force Quebec into sponge killing. So that was where we brought the three of them. We had then decided to make a business out of it. 
 
 It was n't often that we ran into danger, but today had been one of the days that we did. As we were walking through the woods, with the sound of leaves crunching under our feet, nothing had felt out of the ordinary. We had just picked up again after our lunch break, and it around 2 o'clock. All of our sponges had more energy now, and would n't need a break for around an hour. See, one of the biggest problems with the elderly was that they were always tired. It made sense, but it was still annoying as hell. Marc and I were in our late 30's, and were fit because we had to be for this job. One of the sponges, a 63 year old man named Collin asked if we could stop for a minute. His wife's asthma was acting up again, and she was rooting around her backpack for her inhaler. 
 
 `` Of course.'' I said. `` But please try to hurry. We would n't want to get behind schedule and be still walking in the dark.'' Of course, that did n't matter, because she could n't see very well, and fumbled around her knapsack for around 3 minutes before realizing that she was looking in the wrong pocket. As she was breathing in from her inhaler, a loud gunshot rang out. 
 
 `` Everybody, get down!'' Marc screamed as he looked around for where it came from. By the time he had found the source however, I had already fired about five shots into the man's torso. He was dressed in hunting gear, with a hunting rifle, and was sitting in a tree stand. 
 
 `` Nice shot babe.'' Marc said as he stood up. 
 
 `` NOOOOO!'' 
 
 We looked over in the direction of the scream, only to see the woman who had just stopped for her inhaler, holding her best friend, Melanie. Only, Melanie had been shot in the neck. The woman holding her, Maria, was covered in blood, and crying. 
 
 `` OK, everybody, we have to get going. We do n't know if this man called anybody before he fired on us. There's a well-hidden meadow just over a click in the direction we're going. We'll get the body, and we can bury here there.'' Marc took out one of his several survival blankets he carried with him and tied it around her neck, so that there was n't a blood trail that could be followed. We were walking again in two and a half minutes. 
 
 
 
 Btw, I'm really liking the idea of writing a novel about Bianca and Marc's first journey getting their parents to Quebec. Thanks for reading!
