Vegan



Day 21

November 13

            I saw Maggie today. 

I say saw. 

What I mean is she scared me half to death. 

            I was so busy with the hogs I almost missed her.  It’s been about six days since she was last here; I thought she was gone.  Tom said I shouldn’t give her a nickname, “Don’t dwell on all this crap, Ryan”, he said. 

I call her Maggie. 

I don’t know why; I’ve never met anyone named Maggie before.  Maybe it was the maggots inside the cuts and scrapes on her body or maybe it was the way the sun shined through her wiry, matted hair; whatever it was it seemed right at the time.

            Tom was busy spreading manure and tossing slop; he didn’t see her at all.  She came out from the north woods at the back of our farm.  We haven’t seen any of the others in over three weeks, so I think she might be the last one.

            I glanced up after penning the hogs and caught her slow, labored movements out of the corner of my eye.  She looked desperate; more so than usual.  I locked the pen and grabbed my rake, ready to fend her off again.  She zigzagged across our field, falling down a couple times before reaching the edge of the garden.  She stood for a moment, eyes white and empty, mouth open – her worn rotten teeth gnashed open and closed as her swollen tongue hung like a dead fish from the side of her raw pustule thick mouth.

            Her lips were chapped – cracked, bruised, and bloody – and her skin all over was covered in open sores and scratches.  I don’t think she can hear me, but I tried talking to her anyway. 

I say talking. 

What I mean is yelling and banging the rake on a metal drum from behind the shelter of chain-link fence surrounding our corral.  She’s harmless, I think, but she scares the daylights out of me anyway.  Tom says I’m a “scaredy cat” and that I should grow some balls.  I tell Tom he can have her sneak up on him and see how he likes it. 

He says they aren’t dangerous, just deranged.  He calls them Vegans because all they seem to care about are fruits and vegetables; almost like they’d kill for them.  He says they’re gross and smelly because that’s what happens when the vitamins take over; your system just stops flushing right.  He says they can’t hurt me ‘cause they’re so weak and full of toxic vitamin waste that can’t get out since they’re all stopped up.  He says they’re harmless and not to worry, but I tell him I don’t care; they’re scary.

Day 22

November 14

I kept my eyes peeled today, waiting to catch a glimpse of poor Maggie standing by our fence again, but she never showed.  I guess my yelling and banging really scared her off yesterday.  

Tom says after breakfast I get to help him chop wood for winter.  I hate that it’s going to get so cold outside; all of the crops will die which means those poor Vegans are going to starve. 

That makes me kind of sad.  

They aren’t strong enough to fight or kill anything for food, so they scrounge and scavenge whatever they can; sometimes I see Maggie pulling on the same plant for over an hour, just trying to coax it out of the ground.  Once it’s free, she doesn’t even care that it’s all muddy and slimy with bug poop, she just shoves it into her mouth.  Sometimes she even chews on the trunks of the small trees out by the creek bed. 

I don’t ever want to end up like that, no sir.  I’d rather be dead than become one of those nasty, rotting Vegans.

Day 27

November 19

The pigs are fattening up nicely, it’s almost time to slaughter.  I can’t wait!  I love when Tom starts cutting them up and cooking them down.  After all of this, I want to always remember how great the taste of fresh – I mean really fresh – bacon is. 

It’s to die for.

Still no news or radio, so I guess it’s true then: the last we heard was something about a nationwide “epidemic” that couldn’t be stopped.  No one even saw it coming, they said.  They said it was too late to save any of them. 

Tom says everybody got the way they are from trying too hard to “get healthy”.  He said they used to eat bacon and cheeseburgers and chicken and hot dogs, just like me and him, but then everybody started taking water pills and vitamins and special drinks made out of fruit and carrot juice and everything changed. 

I don’t think I could ever drink carrot juice, yuck!

He said that once everybody switched to growing their own food at home the water in the system turned it all to poison.  He says they stopped coming out to the farms because they wanted to make food for themselves. 

I say make for themselves.

What I mean is everybody thought they could make their own farms out of window boxes and fertilizer and dog poop from their backyards; turn their garages into greenhouses.  Tom says they were all greedy and self-centered and got what they deserved.  I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to think about people.

Day34

November 26

Tom started working on the machine this morning. 

I think it’s only a matter of days now.   

Tom says it’s about time I learned how to run the machine.  I told him I was scared, but he told me not to worry.  He says tomorrow we’re gonna turn it on and try it out, see if everything is working right.  I don’t like the way the machine sounds, but I’ve never told Tom.  I don’t want him to make fun of me.

Day 35

November 27

Maggie came back today.

I say today.

What I mean is last night Maggie ate all the tomatoes. 

ALL THE TOMATOES! 

I know it was her because there were little shreds of her tattered clothes stuck in and around the twisted metal chicken wire around the east side of the garden.  She could have just walked around it, but I guess I should know by now that she doesn’t know any better. 

I wanted a tomato to eat with my soup at lunch, but when Tom went out to get one, they were gone.  She must’ve snuck through the fence while we were asleep and grabbed them last night.

I say snuck.

What I mean is she must’ve scraped, scratched, and clawed her way through the fence, around the hogs, under the guide lines, and into the garden while we snored peacefully inside.  I can’t imagine she was very discreet; her twisting, gnarled body contorted and creeping under the fence.  I bet she smells awful; like rotten tomatoes, pig shit and that stuff Tom’s friend Stacey used to give him when they rode to town together – patchouli.  I won’t ever get that close to her, but, far as I can guess, that’s how she smells.

Day 56

December 17

She’s not dangerous, just deranged. 

She paws at the ground with her bloodied stumps of fingers almost as if she’s mimicking a gardener.  Or a mole.

I say she.

What I mean is Maggie. 

I don’t think there’s but one part left that might make you think she was, in fact, a girl. 

Maybe.

She has no interest in us; not like the meat minded maniacs we’d read about in comic books or watched on TV.  She’s not like the brain bashing, flesh eaters that movies tried to warn us about or the gut hungry diseased monsters we were expecting. 

No, Maggie is something else altogether. 

She’s different. 

She dives deliriously toward tomatoes and snap peas, butternut squash and cucumbers; rooting for whatever vegetables she can paw easily from the dirt.  Sometimes she stops, shaking and writhing on the ground; her blank, white washed eyes staring blankly into the sun as she throws her tantrum, unable to loosen and pull up any fresh rooted plants. 

She knuckles and paws at turnips and cabbage, broccoli and cauliflower; unable to fill the cruciferous void eating away at her.  She groans and jerks as wave after wave of carotene craving and lycopene withdrawal surge and crash through her like nicotine fits or what Tom always said Uncle Clive was; hangover. 

I say groans.

What I mean is she makes weird noises and shouts nonsense at the sky whenever she can’t get what she wants.  

Maggie the big moldy baby.

Day 58

December 19

Tom killed the last hog of this slaughter today. 

I looked into its dumb, oblivious face as he led it into the kill house and up to the machine.  I looked away at the last second, but it reminded me of everyone we’ve seen come and go since October 24; all of them dumbfounded and drooling, lost at sea somewhere between where they were going and where they’ll never end up. 

I remembered how Mr. Abbott fell on the way to market, reaching for a radish that fell out of someone’s bag in their rush to get home, and how Mrs. Poddlestein ran him over.  That’s how it all started. 

I say started.

What I mean is that’s when we first noticed.  Things had been getting worse for months, but that’s when it all came clear.  Tom said we should get home and check on the hogs, so we did, right after we told the news crews and radio stations about how everyone at the market just kept on about their business like nothing happened. 

We told them all about how Ray Margarite and Angie Gladstone were holding hands, talking about roasting a duck and the church pot luck supper one minute and scratching at the grass, rooting and snorting with their noses in the dirt, the next.  I thought it was wild and weird, but after watching Maggie this last month, I guess it seems pretty tame.

Day 80

January 10

We were finally able to trap Maggie in our backyard.

I say trap.

What I mean is she got herself stuck in our fence and we had to untangle her before she ruined it completely and let the hogs out.  We found her clinging to a stubborn carrot, desperately fighting to uproot it and pull it free. 

She’s gone. 

There’s no hope for her. 

Tom and I were able to get some water into her mouth, but she spit it back at us.

I say spit.

What I mean is it erupted from the swollen hole in her face that used to hide where her teeth are and spewed all over us. 

It was disgusting. 

We may as well have given her poison or force fed her cow shit, we would have gotten the same result.  Tom says I can’t say “shit”, but it’s easy to spell and I like it.  Sometimes I yell it into my closet when I know he can’t hear me.  It’s a silly word. 

Day 91
January 21

Maggie isn’t doing well.  Her eyes are sun scorched and her skin is loose, tattered flaps of leather and string cheese.  She smells like pig shit, vomit and patchouli.  (I was close).  Tom chained her up in the kill house; right next to the machine so in case she gets out of hand all he has to do is flip the switch and it’ll be all over.  She seems frightened of the hogs hanging around her.   Like somehow they’re keeping her here on their own.  She doesn’t seem to notice when Tom and I are around her, but if one of those hog bodies bumps into her she goes into a tantrum worse than I’ve ever seen.  It’s almost as if she thinks they’re going to eat her.

In a couple days we’ll make bacon. 

I think if she could somehow try it Maggie would really like it.

I say like.

What I mean is if Maggie could stop screaming and flailing long enough to take a bite of it she might actually feel better. 

Tom said it’s a good thing she came to our farm, because farmer Woodson would have shot her on the spot for sure.  He’s a mean old man who used to grow all the corn for the whole town, and he doesn’t like trespassers.  He used to raise hell and shoot at the kids that tried to grab a fresh ear to snack on.  I think those kids are stupid; who wants to get shot over corn?  I told Tom that farmer Woodson was probably like Maggie by now anyway, and he said I was probably right.

Day 101

January 31

No one knows what happens when we die.

I say no one.

What I mean is dead people can’t tell us what it’s like.  I feel like Maggie would tell me what dying was like if she could; she’s so far gone I don’t think she’ll last much longer.  I’m sad, though.  She’s like our pet.

I say pet.

What I mean is an almost alive thing that I could maybe take care of one day if we had enough food and I could maybe focus better.  Tom says if she’s not better in a week he’s going to put her down.

I say put her down.

What I mean is he’s going to kill her.  I would do it myself, but he says I’m too young and I shouldn’t have to take care of things like that.  I reminded him that twelve years old isn’t too young, but he says it’s not my place. 

Day 104

February 3

I wish Maggie could hear me; I want her to know that I’m sorry she didn’t get that carrot.  I want her to know that I wish things were different and she was going to be okay.  I want her to believe me, because I sure don’t anymore.

I don’t think there’s any hope; we’ve already lost so many, you know. 

It’s hard to look at Maggie every day and force myself face to face; her eyes are cloudy and swollen and gross.  Tom says he’s going to smear some of the fresh lard over her eye holes so we don’t have to look at them anymore and maybe that will help keep the air out.  I don’t know if I’ll like that any better, though, it still sounds pretty nasty.  I guess I’ll find out tomorrow when he does it. 

Tom said, "In times like this just remember: bacon saves lives; pork be praised she'll come around, Ryan.  Pork be praised."

I sure hope it works.

Day 106

February 5

Pork be praised; bacon is magic! 

I say magic.

What I mean is it’s probably the most incredible product on the face of the earth.  And pigs are the most amazing creatures alive.  And pork is the best meat ever.  And I can’t believe how much difference a day can make!

The color came back to Maggie’s eyes this morning.  Yesterday Tom was able to spread pig fat over them so we didn’t have to look at them anymore.  Besides, he said, it would keep the air from drying them completely and doing any more damage.  I went to see if she was still alive after breakfast and she looked at me.  

She has green eyes!  GREEN! 

They’re so pretty; they remind me of the dark green moss that grows out by the sassafras.  Too bad the rest of her still makes the crypt keeper from Tom’s old scary TV show look like Mary Poppins, though.  I can barely stand to look at her; I don’t know how Tom is able to work around her out there in the kill house all day.

Day 108

February 7

Tom says tomorrow we’re going to try to rub some of the pork fat on her skin; see if it has the same effect that it had on her eyes.  He says he’s going to render a whole tub of the stuff for us to try to heal her with.  He says her mind may never be the same, but if her body can be repaired, then maybe others can, too.  It’s very exciting. 

I say exciting.

What I mean is for the first time in over a month I think I saw Tom smile.  He’s so nice when he’s happy.

The kill house smells like bacon smoke and Maggie and her maggots, but If Tom’s idea works, we can save the world.  Maybe we can turn all the Vegans back to normal.  At least make them look normal.  We still don’t know if there’s a way anyone could ever fix their heads; so full of emptiness and unspeakable horrors for sure.  Besides, all they’ve had to eat is vegetables and fruit. 

I don’t think anyone could come back from that.  Ever. 

We’ll see.

Day 109

February 8

We wrestled with Maggie for fifteen minutes before finally getting her into the “bath”.  We were able to get her covered, head to toe, in a thick layer of warm rendered fat.  If nothing else, at least we can’t smell her anymore.  Tom says tomorrow we’ll check to see if she’s getting better.  He says we can’t feed her yet because her body has to break the cycle of vitamins and minerals it’s gotten used to.  Just like Uncle Clive, he says, or any addict for that matter, she has to clean her system out before putting anything else in. 

I hope that’s true.

She screams all night and just lies there moaning during the day.  I don’t know how much more of it I can handle.

I say handle.

What I mean is if she doesn’t stop it, I’m going to go in there and turn on the machine myself.  I know how to work it now, it wouldn’t be hard. 

Day 114

February 13

Maggie looks so much better!  Her skin is really starting to clear up.  The pig fat must have bonded with her broken, beaten body on a molecular level; the sores are already beginning to heal and her skin is lively and flush with color – not faded and dry as clay.  She can’t talk or keep her balance; she has no coordination and the drifting, smoky smell of cooking hog fat makes her vomit, but we’ve had a breakthrough!

I say breakthrough.

What I mean is our bacon is going to save the world. 

At some point we'll get Maggie to lift her head and ease her stomach long enough to eat some because I think it will fix all her insides, too.  Tom says just a little while longer and we can start trying to get her to drink some of the grease and see if it does the trick.  I can't wait to tell Maggie all about this when she comes around.

I say when.

What I mean is I sure hope she does.  And, if Tom's right, we'll get her through this; pork be praised. 

He said, “Bacon makes everything better, Ryan.  Everything.” 

I hope he’s right.