by Robin Lamont
“Then help them,” said Jude. “Stay alive and help them.”
“How? No one’s listening!” screamed Caroline.
“I am. I’m listening. And others will, too. But it will take more than one video. We have to keep fighting and we need your help. We have to reach people even when they don’t want to listen. When they toss your leaflets on the ground, you have to pick them up and hand them to the next person. You protest and boycott, and when the corporations shut you down, you fight harder. You investigate, you expose, you educate. Sometimes I stay awake at night thinking about all the suffering animals bred and raised just to be slaughtered, and sometimes it makes me feel like things will never change. But I wake up and do it all again the next day. It’s hard work, Caroline. And there aren’t many of us, which is why we need you.”
Caroline’s body stiffened, but in her eyes Jude saw the emergence of a new light – a spark of understanding.
Jude reached out her hand again, urging her back into the world. “There is no other choice,” she said. “You don’t get to surrender!”
With a final look over her shoulder, Caroline turned back and ready to come forward from her precarious perch, she held out the video to Jude.
But neither of them had seen Bloom inch ever so slowly forward. And finally, when he was close enough, he leapt toward Caroline and seized the video from her outstretched hand. His sudden movement so startled her that she put up both hands in an instinctive reaction and lost her balance. Her arms flailed and she grasped at the railing. At one time it might have held, but on such an untraveled path, no ranger had bothered to climb up and replace the rotting boards. Now, too weak to support her, the railing gave way with a sickening crack. She went over the edge with an anguished howl.
Jude could have sworn she saw Marshfield’s man make a stab to keep her from falling, but it all happened so fast. As Jude rushed forward, hearing her own scream echoing that of Caroline’s, Bloom turned and punched her hard across the side of the face. Everything turned to dizzying pinpoints of light, then went black before she hit the ground.
Chapter 29
The nurse screeched the dividing curtain closed, leaving Jude alone in the cubicle at last. Between the x-rays, nurses, hospital administrators, and the Sheriff’s people, she hadn’t had a moment to herself. She reached up to touch the painful lump at her temple where Bloom’s fist had landed. Her entire head throbbed, but she had gotten off lucky. More importantly, she was able to say the same thing about Caroline who, all in all, was fortunate to be alive.
Jude didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious, maybe a few minutes, maybe half an hour. Slowly she became aware of the pain in her head, the uneven, frozen ground digging into her back, and the sound of a lone hawk, cawing, circling above her. Then she remembered and forced herself upright. She staggered to the spot where Caroline had fallen. The plunge appeared perilously steep, but Jude located a path that wound down from the summit among bushes and small trees that grew out of the rocky slope. They had prevented Caroline’s fall from being fatal. Jude scrambled down, slipping and sliding, hanging on to anything she could to keep from tumbling to the bottom, until she found Caroline. Scrapes and scratches criss-crossed her legs and face, and one arm was a twisted mess underneath her. But very much alive and dimly conscious, she began to weep when she saw Jude.
It took nearly forty minutes for the paramedics to get her out by helicopter. Because she had to get back to Finn, Jude declined the air lift and walked back with two deputies. The next couple of hours were a blur of questions. Grady Ward had come to the emergency room while Jude was waiting to be tended. She had misjudged him. He was still a cop with a job to do, but his underlying gentleness moved her. He shared what information he had, which wasn’t much. Based on the description Jude had given, a statewide bulletin of the person she insisted on referring to as “Marshfield’s man” had been broadcast, airports and train stations monitored, but so far there had been no sighting. Jude didn’t think there would be.
She went over and over the events of the past several days, sticking with her unwavering belief that the man was an operative for the giant meat company and that he had come to Bragg Falls to get Frank’s video. But she had no hard evidence to connect him to the corporation or to Frank’s death, and Marshfield’s legal team was denying any knowledge of the whole affair. Indeed, they wanted to help, even offering a monetary reward for the capture of the man who had allegedly terrorized a child of one of their employees. Still, one of the lawyers had not so subtly previewed their case, already having learned that the young witness was on medication and seeing a psychiatrist – clearly psychologically unstable “before this terrible tragedy.”
“Can I see her?” Jude asked Ward.
He shook his head. “She’s in surgery,” he advised.
Jude was finally cleared to leave. She walked through the sitting area of the ER, where sickness and worry filled the chairs. Several people were waiting to be admitted and others glanced up, anxiously hoping for news about a loved one. They looked as hopeless and lost as Jude felt. As she went through the swinging doors to the outside, she crossed paths with Alice Chapel. The two women locked gazes. Alice turned her head sharply away, but not before Jude caught the full brunt of the accusation in her eyes. It hurt worse than the throbbing ache in her head and sent her blindly out into the early dusk.
She’d declined Ward’s offer to have one of his deputies take her back to Bragg Falls where Finn was staying with an animal control officer and insisted she could take a cab. But rather than waiting at the hospital entrance, she went across the street to a small municipal park, quite empty since it was only meant as ornamental landscaping. There she found a bench to sit down. She pulled her knees up to her chest and let the tears come. This failure felt so much worse than anything she had known before. A young girl badly hurt. Almost killed. Probably no way of finding who had terrorized them and in all likelihood killed Frank Marino. And now, of course, she had no ammunition against Marshfield, no way to stop what was going on at D&M – a place so dark that even God’s grace could not find a way in, or so Verna Marino believed. Was that the definition of hell, Jude wondered?
“Jude.”
She looked up to see Emmet standing in front of her. For a moment, she thought he had come to offer comfort, but his face was ravaged with anger. “Why don’t you just get the fuck away from here,” he burst out.
Brushing her cheeks dry, Jude said, “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”
“You’ve brought nothing good. Nothing but hurt. You and your high-minded ideals.”
“Emmet, I never meant–”
“Frank Marino died because of you.”
“That’s not fair, Emmet. I never asked him to make a video.”
“You encouraged him. Made him feel like he was making such a great moral sacrifice. All you people want to do is pursue your animal agenda and to hell with the rest of us. And now my little girl is lying up there, all broken to bits. That maniac didn’t want her. He wanted you. Goddamn it, he should have pushed you off the cliff instead of her!”
Jude jumped up. “Is that what you think happened?”
He didn’t answer.
“For your information, he did not push Caroline off. I think he … he might have tried to catch her, but she was the one who climbed onto that ledge. She threatened to jump.” The color left his cheeks. “She didn’t want to give it to him. She threatened to take the disc to the bottom with her.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“The disc … the video.” Jude then realized that the police hadn’t yet told him. “The girls found Frank’s video weeks ago. They made a copy.”
“I … don’t understand. Caroline saw all that footage?” Somehow that seemed as frightening to him as the thought of her devastating fall.
“Yeah, Emmet, she did.”
Jude’s bottled up frustration and anger erupted. “You don’t get it, do you? All you see is standard industry procedure and the paycheck that comes with it, just like all you see is what your daughter is supposed to look like. Caroline and Sophie found Frank’s video, and what they saw in the slaughterhouse terrified them. It would any kid. And how could Caroline come to you? How could she even tell you? You’re a part of it … more than a part, you’re in the driver’s seat.” Jude couldn’t help herself, even recognizing that she was digging the hole in Emmet’s heart a little deeper with each accusation. “She saw a man beating a pig to death on the floor – the same man who had come to your house for a barbeque … like it’s all normal, like torturing and killing animals is just part of everyday life.
“She saw you in the video, Emmet. She was horrified. And when she cuts off her hair and suddenly breaks all your rules – a way of telling you how confused she is, you want to squeeze her back into a restraining device. When she tries to tell you how painful it is, you put her on drugs because you can’t stand to hear the screams. And when she fights back, you punish her, just like you punish all the hogs who won’t willingly march to their death. Is it any wonder she feels like one of them?”
Emmet buried his head in his hands and an agonized groan escaped from deep in his chest. She didn’t regret lashing out at him, but unable to bear any more pain, Jude turned and walked away.
***
Emmet perched at the edge of a metal chair in the dimly lit room where his daughter lay. Her eyes were closed and she was still, but the silent drip of the IV and the pulsing green lines on the machine next to the bed were life-affirming. He pulled close to the side of the bed and gently held her hand. The pain killer was sending her in and out of a hazy, tormented sleep. Emmet waited, listening to the sounds of the busy corridor outside her room.
“Daddy?” Her eyelids fluttered.
“I’m here, honey,” he said, pulling his chair closer.
She croaked, “Daddy, I’m sorry.”
Emmet reached up and began to stroke the hair from her face, careful not to catch his rough fingers on her multiple earrings. “No, no, you have nothing to be sorry about, honey,” he said softly. “It’s me who’s sorry.”
“Dad?” Her voice sounded far away. “Will you be angry if I tell you something?”
“Of course not.”
“I want to fight for the animals. I want to do what Jude is doing.” She seemed to drift off again.
“Okay, okay, honey. You rest,” he hushed. “I’ll be here.”
As her breathing deepened, Emmet leaned his forehead on the cool sheets by her outstretched arm and prayed for the first time since he had intoned the Lord’s Prayer at Frank’s gravesite. But the words came out in a prayer of gratitude not to God but to his daughter. “Thank you, Caroline,” whispered. “Thank you for staying alive … thank you for having the will to live. You can fight for the animals, you can be a vegetarian, you can be anything you want. Just give me another chance. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
Before he lifted his head, he knew what he had to do.
Chapter 30
The last transport of the morning had finished unloading. Crammed into the lairage pen, the sows were coated in layers of dirt and manure; they jostled against one another, trying to break free, but had no place to go. Emmet stepped out into the yard to oversee this next group going through. Even with all the activity, the yard seemed almost quiet without Crank. There was a new man in his place. Emmet called out a few unnecessary instructions; the line was moving well. Lately, there seemed to be many more breeding sows coming through. Emmet had heard it was part of a culling program to keep industry prices up. This group didn’t look very healthy, though. They were worn out, many with open wounds from rubbing against the bars of their crates. But they weren’t fighting and that made everyone’s job easier. Fitting his earplugs back in, he returned to the kill floor.
Things weren’t going quite as smoothly inside. They were down a sticker and Howard Bisbee had to fill in. The hesitant Hispanic stunner replacing Tim Vernon had learned the routine, but didn’t have the malicious confidence of his predecessor. Emmet thought his name was José, but couldn’t be sure. He took a moment to see if the kid had improved his technique. José had a split second to adjust the handles of the stunning device, twisting them to just the right angle. The next sow came through the chute, its body squeezed between the panels, its legs dangling helplessly. José held the tongs on either side of the pig’s head. Zzzp! The pig went down. Six seconds later another one came through. Zzzp! Same result. One by one they dropped onto the wide shackle table for the next step in the dis-assembly line. Every third or fourth animal, however, José didn’t manage to get the stunner in the proper position, with no time to get the tongs placed just right for a good stun. When that happened, the hog would buck and thrash, and the young stunner would go in for another jolt, hitting it again, and sometimes a third time.
This wasn’t good. Emmet hollered at him to do a better job and trotted down to where the shacklers were working. There were already two sows in the pit below the table. If a hog wasn’t stunned properly, they were supposed to let it hit the floor; someone else had to come with a portable machine and re-stun it. When the shackler saw Emmet, he re-doubled his efforts, knowing that if there were too many in the pit, his supervisor would write him up. Under pressure, however, the shackler hoisted two sows that showed signs of consciousness.
The chain was moving faster than ever. Each man at his station worked feverishly, hands, feet, moving all the time. To Emmet they looked like dull-eyed pieces of a single engine – all part of the chain that turned animals into meat and men into soulless cogs in an unstoppable machine.
Suddenly, he heard shouting down the line. Emmet raced over and saw Howard Bisbee on his knees, his face contorted in a grimace. A sow had struck out with her hoof and kicked him as she went by. While a couple of workers pulled Bisbee back, Emmet followed the sow. Blood gushed from her neck, but she was still bucking and swaying on the rail, trying to lift her head. She squealed in terror. Emmet had to make a quick decision. Bisbee had already missed two more. And they just kept coming.
Emmet leaned down and grabbed the knife from Bisbee’s hand. He chased down the sow, now writhing so violently on the chain she had dislocated her shackled leg. Just as he positioned the knife, she lifted her head and looked directly at him. Her dark, liquid eyes were filled with such sadness and pleading, he almost couldn’t do it. “Forgive me,” he whispered, then plunged the knife in her throat, feeling the last of him break.
The sow went into a final spasm and swung away. Emmet dropped the knife on the floor and lurched over to the red emergency button on the wall behind him. He slammed his palm, slick with the sow’s blood, against it. Three blasts from an alarm sounded throughout the building and before the last one faded, the rail had screeched to a halt. In the absence of its incessant noise came the sounds of bellowing hogs, the hissing of the scalding tank, and workers calling out to alert the line further down. Bisbee was trying to get to his feet, inspecting the place where the sharp hoof had rent his heavy apron and opened up a gash in his thigh.
“You okay?” asked Emmet.
He nodded.
“Go down to the medical office and get someone to take you to the hospital.”
Bisbee attempted a protest, but Emmet said, “Just do it.” He turned to the faces that stared at him, waiting for his next move. “All right, listen up everyone,” he called out. “I want every hog in the chute returned to the pens. Don’t try to back them up. Open the chute and let them out on the floor – even outside – if you have to.” He pointed to the newbie stunner who stood wide-eyed. “What’s your name?” asked Emmet.
“Hector.”
“Okay, Hector, take the portable, go down this line and make sure that every pig on the rail is stunned properly. I’ll go with you
to finish the job.” The men looked at him as though he had lost his mind.
No one moved. Return the pigs to the yard? Open the chute? What he was asking was bizarre and they were afraid to comply.
Emmet shouted, “I am the fucking floor supervisor. Just do it, now!”
Jumping into action, Hector hurried to get the portable stunner and Emmet retrieved Bisbee’s knife. They went down the line one by one, finishing off each of the hanging sows that might still be alive. Someone in the back had opened the chute and others were driving pigs back toward the holding pens; a few of the pigs had escaped and were running around the kill floor. This was the scene that met Bob Warshauer when he stormed into the area with Lawrence Cimino at his side.
“What the hell is going on?” Warshauer demanded. “Who stopped the chain?”
“I did,” said Emmet, examining the last hog by the scalding tank.
Warshauer was furious. “Why’d you stop it?”
“One of my workers got hurt,” Emmet said, walking up to confront him.
“How bad?”
“He’ll live, but I sent him to the hospital.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing, Chapel? The line stops for emergencies only.”
“A man is hurt. We’ve got conscious pigs going up on the chain. They’re getting tossed into the tank and boiled alive,” Emmet shot back. “That’s an emergency.”
Cimino put his hand out in a placating gesture. “Come on, Emmet, don’t confuse reflexive movements with consciousness.”
“The doctor’s right,” Warshauer remonstrated. “And if that ever did happen, you tell Cimino and he’ll write it up.”
A voice over by the shackling table muttered, “That’ll be the day.”
After shooting a glare in that direction, Warshauer barked, “Get the line going. We can figure this out later.” He turned to go back upstairs.