by Joseph Souza
“That’s hilarious. Shit happens,” Dar repeated, laughing.
“That’s how we put food on the table. Shit happens, plants grow. The cycle of life.”
“Yeah, well, shit happens twenty-four-seven in our household,” Dar said, glancing over at me. “That’s been the cycle of my life up to this point.”
“Be nice, Dar. Now’s not the time to act bratty in front of your uncle,” I said.
She laughed. It was the first time I’d heard her laugh in a long time. She’d be off to college in the fall, no matter how much she complained about it, and because of that I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.
“Shit happens and then you die,” Dar added.
“Something like that, kiddo,” Rick said. “Come on, you two. Let’s go inside and have some grub. Susan put out a great spread tonight. Wouldn’t want you two city folks going hungry on your big trip upcountry.”
“I’m starving after that long ride. If I wasn’t a vegetarian, Uncle Rick, I’d probably try and eat you,” Dar quipped.
“I’m afraid an old horse like me wouldn’t taste so good. But I promise that you won’t go hungry tonight. We’ve got plenty of rabbit food for you to nibble on. Such a shame you won’t be able to enjoy Susan’s rib roast. One bite of that dish would knock your socks off.”
“I’m sure it would, bro, but all the same, we’ll stick to the rabbit food.”
“Suit yourselves.”
We walked back inside and took our seats at the rectangular wooden table. Despite the small talk, I felt a sense of unease in the air. Dishes appeared on the table filled with red potatoes, various types of salad and bright greens. Everything looked lovely, aside from the thick slabs of beef sitting atop their watery blood pools. Where in the past, I would have been salivating at such a meal, I now found the sight of that meat repulsive, although I kept such thoughts to myself.
“Dig in, kids.”
“It looks marvelous, Susan. Thank you for preparing dinner for us,” I said.
“You’re quite welcome. It’s our pleasure to have you two as our guests this weekend. Rick said you wouldn’t mind if I served a meat dish, but just in case, I prepared a fresh salad and some extra portions of vegetables. They’re all organic and grown right here on the farm.”
“We’re not food fascists, Susan, so no worries. It’s not like we’re going to read you the vegetarian riot act or anything,” I said, laughing.
“These green beans are ridiculous,” Dar said, spearing some on her fork.
“I’d like to throw you two back into the Stone Age and see if you’d turn up a beautiful piece of protein like this,” Rick said, holding up a bloody wedge of beef in front of his mouth. “Mmm, you have no idea what you’re missing.”
“Did you know that vegetarians are the last oppressed minority,” Dar said.
“That’s precious, kiddo. And I suppose you’ll now want special protected status as well,” Rick said.
“Nah, just more green beans will do.”
Darkness had fallen by the time we finished dinner. Rick and Susan went outside and herded the distressed cows back into the barn. A dessert of homemade ice cream and apple pie was served as soon as they came back inside. After dessert, we sat around the fireplace and listened to Susan play guitar and sing some of her original songs. Although the mood felt warm and convivial, I sensed an underlying tension in the room, for we could still hear the faint caterwauling of the cows out in the barn.
After an hour or so, exhausted, we retired to our rooms. Dar’s was located next to mine, but I could tell from her expression that she was still nervous about the cows’ odd behavior. The last thing I wanted was for her to slide into a funk while we were up here in northern Maine, so I offered her the twin bed next to mine, and surprisingly, she accepted. We immediately transferred all of her belongings into the room, and she settled in.
I slept fitfully, not able to expunge the memory of those anguished beasts outside, bumping into each other and crying out. The sound of their protests haunted my sleep. At sunrise, I slipped out of bed and walked over to the window. Dar lifted her head from the pillow and gazed up at me with her big green eyes, and I could tell just by looking at her that she hadn’t slept well. Outside, the odd yellow glow filtered in through the gauzy curtains.
“Can we go home, Dad?” Dar asked. “This place is sorta freaking me out.”
“But we just got here, and I’m supposed to go down to Bangor later today and sign some books.”
“I can’t explain it, but it feels really weird up here right now. Let’s just pack our stuff and head back to Boston,” she said, covering her head with the blanket. “And for your information, I’ve decided not to become a farmhand.”
“College doesn’t look so bad after all, huh?”
“I still don’t want to go to college, but I’m not about to shovel crap for minimum wage either.” She lifted her head off the pillow. “Why aren’t the roosters crowing? Don’t they usually start screaming about now?”
“Probably too early for even the roosters to make a racket.”
“Damn roosters get to sleep in later than me. Maybe they’re as freaked out about living up here in the boonies as I am.”
“I doubt they’d want to wake up in downtown Boston, in the middle of the Commons.”
I moved the curtain aside, noticing that the sky radiated a sickly, jaundiced shade of yellow. Rick and Susan were in the barn, overseeing the electronic milking of the cows. I noticed something strange happening out in the pasture—a pack of coyotes were teetering single file across the field. They trotted a hundred yards before they stopped and froze in place. They lurched forward again, stopping only to form into a semi-circle. One coyote stood front and center. The pack turned and faced the lone coyote and began to howl savagely, their long noses aimed skyward. Then, without warning, they attacked the defenseless coyote, tearing it to shreds. The ferocity of the attack shocked me. It seemed so brutal and senseless. They tore into the wounded animal, ripping off flesh and entrails, and gulping them down hungrily. As if on cue, they stopped abruptly and trotted off, disappearing into the woods.
Although the attack had happened a good distance from where I stood, I could clearly see the bloodied, tattered carcass strewn across the pasture. I wondered what had gotten into those poor beasts? But then something even more bizarre happened. I rubbed my eyes to see if I’d been dreaming. Upon opening them, I saw the mortally wounded coyote rise up from the pasture, entrails and all, its fur matted with sticky blood. It trotted off into the woods as if nothing had happened. Stunned, I shook my head and tried to regain my composure. Had I been hallucinating?
“Everything okay, Dad?”
I looked over at Dar, whose head was still hooded under the blanket. Her green eyes peered out at me. When I looked back out at the pasture, I saw nothing but blades of grass swaying in the gentle breeze blowing down from the north.
“Of course everything’s okay. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. You had this crazy look on your face like you’d seen something weird.”
“I was trying to look for those roosters. I can’t understand why they’re not cock-a-doodling.”
“Maybe it has something to do with the way those cows were acting last night.”
“You heard your uncle’s explanation. Animals experience sensations that we humans can’t even detect, and they only have one way of expressing their discomfort.”
“Those cows were more than uncomfortable,” Dar said. “What do you think got them so spooked?”
“If I could tell you that, Dar, I’d be Dr. Doolittle.”
“Maybe cows can get all weirded out just like people. Think some cow Prozac would make them feel better?” She laughed.
“I doubt it, but I’m sure milk sales would go through the roof.”
I had no answer for her question. Deep down, she had intuited something inexplicable. I was a man of the city, not the country; a novelist who spent h
ours cooped up in his office making up stories. I was only glad that she hadn’t witnessed the brutal coyote attack that had taken place outside. I tried to convince myself that it had all been a hallucination, the likes of which had been caused by lack of sleep and a fertile imagination.
We made our way downstairs for breakfast. I went from room to room searching for Rick and Susan, but they were nowhere to be found. Biscuits and fruit awaited us on the dining room table. A frying pan filled with cooked bacon and sausage sat cooling on a cutting board.
“Where is everyone?” Dar asked.
“Let’s go over to the barn and see if they’re out there.”
We walked out to the barn located behind the house. The morning air felt brisk and sharp. The color in the sky remained jaundiced and now had the smell as if someone was burning wood. The air pressure had dropped significantly in the last hour. Maybe a storm lay on the horizon. A strong wind blew down from the north, kicking up straw and dust. I glanced over at the pasture where the coyotes had been, but saw nothing but barren fields of grass bending in the wind.
An odd feeling came over me as a flock of crows swooped down onto a patch of dirt and began to caw in unison. Death! Their black eyes glared at us, cool as assassins. Dar and I picked up our pace and jogged over to the barn. Upon looking over, I noticed something strange. The crows took off and began to form into an elongated V in the sky. The V soared straight up into the air like an arrow. Dar noticed them as well and stared at the strange formation with one hand over her eyes. The V soared higher and higher, bowing at the apex of its arc. Then it began a slow, vertical assault downward. In a matter of seconds they had picked up speed—and they were heading straight towards us.
“Oh my god, Dad, what are they doing?” Dar asked.
“They’re trying to scare us away. I’ll bet there’s a nest nearby with chicks.”
“No, it’s a sign of something evil. Look, they’re heading straight at us!”
“Hurry, get inside.”
The V shot towards us without any indication of letting up. We sprinted toward the barn. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the entire flock nose-diving towards the earth in a suicidal burst. The crazed birds crashed into the ground in a spectacular fashion, a plume of feathers rising up where we had just stood. It sounded like an explosion. Dust and dirt hovered over the impacted patch of grass, forming into a billowy cloud suspended over the ground. Suddenly everything went silent. I looked over and noticed that Dar was weeping. Had we not left the spot when we did, we certainly would have been attacked. I hustled Dar along.
We approached the doors of the barn, and as we did, I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. My brain felt discombobulated and detached from my body. What the hell was going on out here in the northern regions of Maine? Was nature finally rebelling against all the abuse and toxicity that mankind had inflicted upon her in the last hundred years? Or was there an explanation for this activity?
“There has to be a reason for this,” I muttered.
“It doesn’t really matter!” Dar screamed. “Can’t we just get the hell out of this hellhole and head back to Boston?”
I stopped near the barn door and let her bury her face into my shoulder. Her muffled sobs reverberated in my ears.
“I want to go home now. Screw this place!”
“Take it easy, Dar. It’s going to be all right.”
“No, it’s not going to be all right. Something bad is happening up here, and we’re stuck in the middle of it.”
“I’m telling you, there’s an explanation for all this.”
“There’s an explanation for everything that happens,” she said, looking up at me with fear in her eyes. “That doesn’t mean it’s normal. Hitler had an explanation for killing Jews, but it was still wrong.”
“Let’s go inside and see what Rick and Susan are up to. Maybe they can tell us more about what’s going on.”
I heard a strange sound as we turned to enter, as if a million wings were taking flight. I looked back and noticed that the dust had just begun to settle when suddenly it began to kick up again. But how could that be? The sound resembled a helicopter taking off from its launch pad. But there was no way those birds could have survived such a high-impact collision. Dar pushed away from me and stared at them in disbelief.
“That’s so not normal,” she said, watching as the tattered birds flew up and away in a chaotic fashion. “This can’t be real. Tell me I’m about to wake up and this has all been a really bad dream.”
“Get inside the barn. Come on now, hurry.”
I grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. The smell of hay and manure punched me in the nose. But there was another smell as well, rancid and unwholesome, though I couldn’t put my finger on what it was or where it could be coming from. I called out my brother’s name and heard his voice two stalls over. Dar and I went over and found him and Susan staring at one of the cows, a look of grave concern on their faces.
“What’s the problem?”
“The livestock are sick, Thom. They must have contracted some sort of viral infection in the last few days. Whatever it is, I bet this thing is ripping through the dairy community as we speak.”
“How can you tell it’s a contagion?”
“Poor girls are burning up with the fever. It’s no wonder they were acting so strange last night. They were hurting. Here, look at this.” He held up a vial of cloudy liquid. It was pink with dark red strands running through it. “That’s why they were crying out last night. Their insides are being ripped to shreds.”
“What’s in the vial? Blood?” I asked.
“I wish it were. It’s supposed to be milk. Now who in their right mind is going to drink this useless shit?” Rick stood. “This is bad news. The more I look at these poor gals, the more it looks to me like a case of bovine spongiform encephalopathy, although I can’t for the life of me see how this could happen.”
“That’s impossible,” Susan said, turning to me with tears in her eyes. “These cows have been treated better than most people have. We’ve raised them entirely on pasture, Thom, never even injected them with hormones or antibacterial medicine. How could they possibly come down with such a hideous ailment?”
“What are we talking about here?” I asked.
“Mad cow disease,” Susan said.
“I just can’t believe this is a case of mad cow disease. But how else do we explain their agitated state? The reality of the situation is that we can’t afford to take any chances. And it’s not an isolated event because all the girls have it.” Rick stood and looked around the barn. “I bet the local vet’s busier than hell. We’ll have no other choice but to put them all down, and the sooner the better.”
“Put them down?” Dar asked, tears in her eyes.
“I’m afraid so, kid. We can’t afford to have this thing spread to the surrounding farms, assuming they don’t already have it. Besides, the girls don’t deserve to live in such agony.”
Dar buried her face in my chest when she heard his reply, and I knew that we needed to return home as soon as possible, before the slaughter began.
“I think we’re going to gather up our stuff and head back to Boston,” I said.
“Sorry this had to happen, Thom, but I think that would be best for everyone,” Rick replied. “This won’t be something you want to stick around for.”
Chapter 3
DAR AND I WENT BACK TO our room and packed. Although she had stopped crying, I could tell that she was still upset by the entire ordeal. I folded my clothes, put them neatly in the suitcase, and then went over to help her. She pushed me away angrily. I sat on the bed and scanned my cell phone for any messages, but realized that I couldn’t get a signal up here in these remote northern parts. It occurred to me that this was the main reason why my brother had moved up here. To escape all the madness the modern world had to offer and live a simpler life.
A single gunshot rang out in the air. The killing of the herd had begun. Dar, kneeling in front
of her suitcase, put her hand over her mouth and began to sob. After a few seconds, she resumed packing, wanting to leave here as soon as possible. But in her haste, she’d overfilled her suitcase and couldn’t latch it shut. I helped her rearrange her clothes until we managed to secure it.
“Are you okay?”
“What do you think?”
“This is life on the farm, Dar. It’s a harsh life, especially when animals are involved. It’s one of the reasons your mother and I decided to become vegetarians.”
“Stop being so holier than thou. And what’s your diet have to do with this situation? As always, it’s always about you.” She looked up at me. “Animals get sick and die. Someday you and I will get sick and die, whether we eat meat or eat tofu twenty-four-seven. So please don’t give me any more of your pious lectures.”
“You don’t understand, Dar, mad cow disease, if that’s what this is, results from feeding cows the rendered parts of other livestock. It’s how industrial farmers keep beef cheap and plentiful. People eating such tainted beef have been known to die from it, their brains literally turning into sponges.”
“Yeah, just like mine is from listening to all your bullshit.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I. I feel like I’m losing my mind up here with you. Why did we even come up here in the first place?”
“So we could spend time together before you go off to school.”
“Will you forget about me going to school,” she snapped. “And what about those crazy birds? What was up with that?”
“I don’t know why they did what they did, but there has to be a reasonable explanation for all this. Maybe they were infected with the virus too.”
“I don’t really care if they were infected or not. Let’s just hurry up and get out of this hellhole.”
I thought about the pack of coyotes, now certain that what I’d witnessed had not been a figment of my imagination. But I still had no explanation for it. All the animals I’d seen had been infected, diseased, and acting oddly out of character. Something up here in Maine seemed terribly out of whack.