Animalypse

by Octavio Guerra Royo

  “So, she should start from scratch,” adds Dekker walking toward the door, “anyway, she shouldn’t stay too long on her desk so she won’t go after another senator.”

  Wright shrugs.

  “Okay, whatever.”

  Wright returned to his affairs. Dekker leaves.

  Dekker enters the bustling FBI agent’s office. Chandra gets tense seeing him approaching. Dekker throws some papers over her desk.

  “Okay, Special Agent, you’ve got your assignment. You have a week to make something clear. Report your progress to me daily.”

  Chandra reads the papers surprised and hesitates.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to send someone more experienced?”

  Dekker walks away as if he hasn’t heard her.

  “Good luck, agent.”

  Chandra stays stunned.

  Mora leans toward her, whispering.

  “Dale, muchacha, this is your chance!”

  Chandra vacillates.

  “I don’t know, I've never worked so far and alone. Arkansas!”

  “Don’t you worry,” Mora assures her, “call me if you need anything. I'll be twenty-four-seven available for you.”

  Chapter 12. The Diary Farm

  Chandra drives a rental car through the 136 Highway in Arkansas. Unusual sized cows graze behind the fences bordering the road. She watches them puzzled.

  She feels lost, looking at the GPS. When she looks up, a tractor comes suddenly out from a side road. She almost collides with it.

  She startles, making a tight turn. Her car almost falls into the ditch while the tractor passes by almost grazing her car.

  “Asshole!” Yells the tractor driver passing by.

  Chandra leans on the wheel to calm down.

  On looking up, she sees the dairy farm in the distance. She sights getting the car back on the road and driving toward the farm.

  Chandra follows a couple of middle-aged cowboys through the dairy farm. The first looks like he has just been taken out from a movie. He was a tall, thin bow-legged man using chaps, cowboy boots with spurs, and a ten-gallon hat. He even carries a Colt Peacemaker Revolver hanging from his waist. The second one was strong, pot-bellied and uses a plain old baseball cap, jeans, t-shirt and yellow work boots.

  Chandra cannot hide her displeasure for the mud and cow dung on her city trousers and shoes. She doesn’t know if she rather put her hands on her nose because of the smell or to shoo flies over and over.

  In the pastures, next to the facilities, two cowboys have lassoed a cow, huge as a large hippopotamus, with bulky muscles and large hanging udders. They were having a hard time controlling it.

  All cows have significantly disproportionated sizes and musculatures. Their movements are abrupt, almost violent.

  The old-fashion cowboy talks without giving much attention to what the news have told about the accidents on his farm.

  “As you can see, everything is in order, except for the recent incident.”

  Chandra watches the huge animals in awe.

  “What variety of cows are these? I had never seen such large animals.”

  “My cows are the envy of the state,” says the old fashion cowboy proudly, “they give five times more milk than ordinary cows.”

  “Are they GMOs?” Asks Chandra, “which company supplies them?”

  “We treat our animals with a product called Mutanex,” explains the other cowboy, “and we have done very well.”

  Chandra rolls her eyes.

  “Mutanex, huh? How did the attacks happen?”

  “Poor Andrews,” says the cowboy with the baseball hat, “was taking off the pipes from a cow’s udders. She suddenly broke lose goring his head off.”

  The old-fashion cowboy interrupts him excited.

  “There was no way to approach her. Several men lassoed her, but she dragged and threw them into the air.”

  The other cowboy interrupts his partner continuing his story.

  “There were several injured. She left the barn and started destroying everything.”

  The old-fashion cowboy steps between Chandra and his partner to finish the story pompously.

  “I had no choice but to put her down even though she was a hundred-thousand-dollar specimen.”

  Chandra tries to follow both talking.

  “There are reports of more workers wounded.”

  The cowboy with the baseball cap approaches her.

  “A few weeks earlier, another animal attacked one of the cowboys in the corral. It passed over him, busting the horse and crushing the rider.”

  The old-fashion cowboy takes the lead again with pride.

  “There was also no way to control her, so I had to shoot her in the head.”

  Chandra shakes her head.

  “Don’t you blame these attacks on Mutanex?”

  The second cowboy tries to dismiss the idea:

  “No way! There were only a couple of isolated cases. The rest of our hundred thousand heads are doing great.”

  “However,” objects Chandra, “you have two dead and five wounded.”

  The old-fashion cowboy laughs.

  “A cowboy’s life is not easy. We all have scars and broken bones, and a family member or a friend killed in the business.”

  Chandra shuts up. Giving in, she follows them, downhearted.

  Chapter 13. Alea iacta est

  Chandra drinks coffee gloomily on a table at the back of an Arkansas country road cafeteria.

  A soft country music tune floats lazily in the air.

  A tough trucker with a baseball hat and plaid shirt eats at the counter. A salesman in a cheap suit, pudgy, and balding at the top of his head drinks coffee and reads a newspaper at a table.

  Behind the counter, a thick middle age waitress with excessive makeup whispers to her coworker, a withered young girl looking as she has just fled home.

  Through the full glass windows, Chandra watches the field at the other side of the road. A couple of cars and a semi-truck are parked next to her rented car.

  Chandra’s phone rings. Everybody in the cafeteria looks at her. She hesitates a few second and takes the phone out. “Mom” reads the caller ID. She rolls her eyes and sighs taking the call. Her mother’s voice sounds preoccupied.

  “Hi dear! How are you? You had me worried for days! I’ve called you and sent you messages, but you didn’t answer.”

  Chandra answers apathetic.

  “Hi, Mom, don’t worry, I'm fine.”

  “Dear, you sound as if you have the flu.”

  “I'm doing a routine trip around Arkansas farms.”

  “Arkansas, you? Don’t tell me about it, knowing how much you love the countryside! There was never a way to make you stay in a summer camp!”

  “Now, I don’t have mom or dad to take me back home,” sighs Chandra nostalgic.”

  “You should grow up, sugar,” her mother scolds her affectionately, “why do you sound so depressed? I’m sure it’s not about that trip.”

  “Some things have come up, mom, I can’t talk about it.”

  Both waitresses look simultaneously at Chandra as if they had caught some piece of the conversation. Chandra tries to pretend awkwardly that she hasn’t noticed their move.

  “But I do,” says Dr. Wilkison stubbornly, “what are you talking about?”

  Chandra murmurs trying not to be heard by the people in the cafeteria.

  “They’ve applied me a non-adverse action.”

  The waitresses whisper again to each other and laugh. The older one watches Chandra sneakily.

  “Who reprimanded you? Wright?” Asks her mother outraged.

  Chandra tries to cut the conversation.

  “Let’s forget about it.”

  Her mother doesn’t stop talking.

  “Wright has always been more of a bureaucrat than an agent. Your father saved his ass a couple of times. Excuse my French.”

  Chandra whispers.

  “It seems that Senator Kotchner pressed the Bureau.
He found out that I was investigating his relations with Saint Mount.”

  The professor gets angry.

  “They didn’t even give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Wright is also afraid of being accused of giving me any privilege as the daughter of his former boss,” Chandra lowers her voice as possible.

  Now, both Patrons look at Chandra, as well. She gets up and steps out of the cafeteria.

  “Wright has always been such a coward,” explodes her mother.

  “I’ll never get ahead at the Bureau. I’m considering seeking another career.”

  “You’ll find conflicts of interest and hurdles everywhere. You must learn to deal with them. Otherwise, you’ll never find a place in this world for you, sweetie.”

  “Wright will never let me make any progress,” whines Chandra, “he has sent me on this mission to prevent me from creating him further problems. And, problems haunt me.”

  Chandra walks towards a corner of the cafeteria, finding the oldest waitress at the back-door smoking. She looks at Chandra smiling. Seeing her, Chandra takes a sharp turn and goes back.

  “What problems are you talking about?” Enquires her mother.

  “There have been several deaths from animal attacks in these farms and no one seems to care.”

  Walking back, Chandra nearly runs into the truck driver stepping out of the cafeteria. He stares bitterly at her, standing at the entrance and lighting a cigarette.

  Chandra walks away toward the parking lot to avoid being heard.

  “What kind of attacks? Wild animals?” Asks Dr. Wilkison puzzled.

  “No, GMOs, they have grown disproportionately and have become very aggressive since they started using Mutanex.”

  “Mutanex?” Shouts the professor surprised, “are you sure?”

  “The animals I’ve seen are many times larger and much stronger than normal; above all, they are highly aggressive.”

  Dr. Wilkison sounds very surprised.

  “I’ve never thought that Mutanex had such effects.”

  “The point is that everyone is making huge profits, nobody wants to condemn Saint Mount for the animal attacks.”

  “I think you should take advantage of it,” advises her mother thoughtfully.

  Chandra walks through the parking lot and leans on a car whispering and looking around to see if someone hears.

  “Take advantage of what? I'm about to lose my security clearance and my job for investigating Saint Mount, and it pops up where I least expected it.”

  Chandra hears a car door opening. She turns back and sees the salesman, which has opened the car where she’s leaning, staring at her with animosity.

  Chandra walks rapidly toward the cafeteria.

  The truck driver had climbed to the semi-truck, and he has started its engine.

  “Your father faced the very Secretary of State and the Director of the CIA,” continues her mother on the phone, “they defamed him, pressing on the Secretary of Justice and the Bureau’s Director. But, your father prevailed and became the most respected FBI executive assistant director until his heart failed.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not him,” Chandra should raise her voice to be heard above the noise of the truck engine.

  Looking up, she sees the truck driver staring at her with hostility throughout the windshield.

  Chandra gets fed up with the mouse and cat game. She stares back at him and takes her hand to her waist, lifting her jacket and letting him see her badge and gun.

  The truck driver looks away, starting the engine and leaving the parking lot backward without looking back at her.

  “You're wrong,” argues the professor, “you're exactly like him. Don’t you remember how much you confronted us to join the Bureau?”

  Chandra moves her head:

  “Was I wrong?”

  She hears her mother sighting.

  “I didn’t want you to have that life, but you convinced me otherwise and not with words. I've seen you thriving as a woman in it. Now, I’m very proud of you.”

  “Career on which I'm about to fail.”

  “This is the opportunity to vindicate yourself! Facts aren’t leaving much room to Saint Mount and its allies.”

  Chandra ponders for a moment.

  She enters the cafeteria approaching the counter and handling a credit card to the young waitress, who takes it with a smile and swipes it on the POS. The older waitress enters, smiling at Chandra who smiles back at them and doesn’t lower her voice talking through the phone.

  “It seems that this country tour has more consequences than I expected. Alea iacta est.”

  “That’s my girl!” Cheers her mother, “remember what your father said.”

  “Yes, I know, I should choose my weapons and my battlefield. Bye, Mom, I'll call you. Thanks for everything.”

  Chandra gets her receipt and walks out of the cafeteria.

  Both waitresses wave their hands saying goodbye to her smiling. Chandra smiles and says goodbye back to them, leaving with confidence.

  Chapter 14. Changing Course

  Chandra drives her car along a road in Arkansas. Her phone rings. She answers through the car’s Bluetooth.

  “Wilkison speaking.”

  “Hey! It’s Manny, how are you doing?”

  “Hi, Mora, what’s up?”

  “Call me Manny, damn it! Tell me about your whereabouts.”

  “Well, I’ve visited several farms. Eight dead, scores wounded, but nobody cares.”

  “Where are you heading now?” Asks her Mora.

  “To Viola, fifty miles from here,” answers Chandra, “I’m going to check some complaints in a rabbits’ farm.”

  “That’s weird, gone are Easter.”

  Chandra tries to hide her laughter answering back pretending anger.

  “Ha-ha, very funny.”

  Mora lowers his voice.

  “Some people here are getting nervous with the dust cloud you are raising over there.”

  This time, Chandra gets angry.

  “I’ve only made a few questions. I haven’t found anything that could bother anyone.”

  “Anyway, they are up to call you back home.”

  In a pasture, next to the road, Chandra sees hundreds of ewes and rams the size of large horses.

  A couple of the farmer try to link them, but the rams rear up and run away dragging them by the ropes. Chandra watches in awe.

  “Are you there?” Asks Mora after few seconds without hearing her.

  “Yes, yes! What were you saying?”

  “There is a poultry farm in Charleston where strange things are happening.”

  Chandra responds amazed.

  “What could happen in a poultry farm?”

  “Chicken attacks!” Responds Mora making silly voices.

  “Since when chicken attack people? How serious could it be?”

  “Enough to make them admit you might have caught onto something. Go directly over there!”

  “Thanks, Mora! Send me a text with the address!”

  “Call me Manny, dammit! I’ll text it to you ASAP!”

  Chapter 15. The Poultry Farm

  Chandra drives at night on a country road toward the flashes of patrol cars, ambulances and firefighters’ trucks in the poultry farm.

  As she approaches, Chandra sees crowds of people, farm workers’ families, police officers, rescuers, TV reporters, and onlookers. The tumult of voices mixes with the earsplitting and excited clucking of thousands of chickens.

  Chandra stops getting out of her car.

  She approaches a sheriff in his fifties, tall, gaunt, with an imposing but friendly presence. He and several of his deputies try to hold reporters, onlookers and the families of the farm workers.

  Chandra shows him her ID. She must shout over the deafening clatter of voices and the chickens’ clucking.

  “FBI! Special Agent Wilkison!”

  The Sheriff lets her pass, amazed.

  “I’m Sheriff Hansen!
You, people, really arrived quickly!”

  “I was in the area when I heard the news. What exactly has happened?”

  Sheriff Hansen leads Chandra to the broiler houses. There are ambulances, patrol cars and firefighters’ trucks all over the place with their lights flashing.

  “The farm manager called 911 for help,” explains the sheriff, “we arrived together with the ambulances. Several employees had been attacked by chickens.”

  Chandra is surprised.

  “I haven’t ever heard of chicken attacking humans before.”

  “Me neither. Mr. Floyd may inform you better than me.”

  They approach a group of employees, rescuers, and police officers. Sheriff Hansen points a short, fat, bald man, with a populated mustache and kind eyes.

  Chickens’ clucking is deafening. Chandra puts her hands over her ears. Sheriff Hansen introduces her to the farm manager.

  “Mr. Floyd, this is agent Wilkison from the FBI.”

  Floyd holds out his hand to Chandra. She shakes it.

  “Welcome, Agent, my name is Tim Floyd, I am the manager of this farm.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Floyd, let’s catch up with the facts.”

  “With pleasure. Today at sunset, as usual, several employees entered the broiler houses for the last inspection of the day. The birds attacked them massively.”

  Chandra is surprised.

  “Is this common on these farms?”

  “On the contrary, this is the first time in my twenty years of being here that such thing happens.”

  “Were there any injured?” Inquires Chandra

  “We think there are several dead! Only a few workers escaped. We fear the worst for the rest. We couldn’t get into the broilers houses to rescue them.”

  Chandra can’t understand.

  “Excuse me?”

  Sheriff Hansen addresses her sternly.

  “We tried to enter, losing a man in the attempt and getting several injured!”

  Chandra can’t hide her astonishment.

  “Are you telling me that you couldn’t control a bunch of chickens?”

  Sheriff Hansen loses his patience.

  “There are a thousand birds per house. All state police don’t have enough bullets to control a single broiler house.”