vegetarian

Taylor hated his job, really hated it, but there was nothing he could do. He needed to feed his family, needed to survive just like anyone else. He couldn’t help it that he had been born manually, outside of the government regulated incubation factories and thus didn’t have the required chip installed that would have guaranteed him better position placing in life. He couldn’t help the fact that his parents were rebels who clung to the old ways of child birthing and parenting. How little good old mom and dad knew. Had they been aware that he would be relegated to menial labor work unfit for his unsteady mental condition, they might have reconsidered their stance on genetic placing and automated birthing and had him within a strictly controlled environment but, like they always say, hindsight’s 20/20.

“We got a backup on conveyor belt number 66 at the T marker!” His supervisor, Orson Croswell hollered and everybody who had anything to do with that particular stretch of the belt scrambled for his or her utility poles.

“I think one of the spring operated doors is stuck sir,” Shelly Kazlowski offered, her raspy voice barely audible over the roar of the machinery and the incessant noise that the ‘product’ made.

“Well get it unstuck now! We have a production schedule to keep to!” Orson bellowed, his powerful voice as aggravating as a buzz saw, his cruel mouth twisted in anger, his crew cut glistening with sweat. “Unless you want to be docked an hours pay-all of you-then I suggest you get this shit straightened out pronto!”

Taylor mostly hated his job because he hated food production, plain and simple. It was bad enough that he had to eat it but worse still that he had to make a living preparing it. All the blood, the stench of dead flesh permeating the air in thick, pungent waves. The smell never left him, it followed him home, stuck in his nostrils to remind him that tomorrow was another work day and, like it or not, he had to be here.

He wiped blood and sweat from his face and grabbed his metal utility pole. Jamming it forward with one precision thrust, he tried to push the door open but accidentally impaled one of the animals instead. It’s injured cry made his ears ring and his head hurt, but more so it broke his heart. He tugged at the pole, trying to free it from the poor, struggling beast and, in a spray of hot blood it came loose, but not before it looked at him with reproach, it’s eyes heavy and sad.

That was the worst part, looking them in the eyes. It was almost worse then hearing them scream. You never forget those eyes, pleading with you, imploring you to stop. Their limbs are broken in pre-treatment, allowing them little movement as they are passed down the conveyor belt so you know they can’t hurt you, they are completely powerless, but the pain Taylor felt inside at having to do what he was doing well, it never went away. He would awaken in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat, seeing those eyes in his sleep and how he would cry. His wife would reach out a pale, slender hand and stroke his back until the sobs subsided, but they both knew he had to return to the slaughterhouse in the morning, that if he didn’t they would all starve.

Menial labor job selection wasn’t in the workers hands, hadn’t been since 2045 when the government outlawed freedom of choice and delegated the labor according to body type, strength and size. People with a small build were sent to work in the clothing industry, overseeing the automated production of shoes, shirts, pants and so on. People with a medium build were assigned the task of furniture and appliance production, this industry encompassing many things.

And then there was Taylor’s category, those who were born big, be it big boned, muscled or tall, they were utilized in food manufacturing because sometimes a good deal of strength was required in case an animal escaped and needed to be captured. Because of the risk of contamination, firearms of any kind were frowned upon. It took time to remove bullets from the meat and, what with all the crazy kinds of poisoning that had become so common in the 2060’s it was better if the animals were physically restrained.

The freshness of the meat was the industry’s greatest concern, that and how it could process, package and distribute it in the timeliest fashion. The way to ensure the best quality was to keep the animals alive on the premises in cages until they were at their peak plumpness, aggravated but well fed. At the zenith of their food absorption capacity they were then selected for slaughter, frozen and shipped out within the next day.

“I told you to get the line moving!” Orson cried, a vein popping out in his forehead. “What the hell are ya doin’ Taylor, tryin’ to make friends?”

“No sir, I just stuck one by mistake sir. I’ll get that door open…”

“Yer docked an hours pay ya dumbass. Now step aside and let somebody that knows what their doin’ handle it!”

Cory Reaglan stepped forward, pole in his hands, jaw set, eyes grim. He was a large, middle aged black man who often aided anyone in need.

“Don’t you mind that bastard Taylor,” Reaglan said out of the side of his mouth as he positioned the long metal shaft under the trap door. “He’s just pissed because he knows he’s gonna burn in hell for this.”

And with one solid jab Reaglan freed up the door and the animals began to fall through again, landing on the conveyor belt with a dull thudding sound, their eyes rolling widely, their tongues lolling obscenely, splayed limbs swinging ineffectively.

“Reaglan, you get Taylor’ pay for the hour! How’s that sound?” Orson said, jamming the stub of a cigar between his wet lips, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Yeah, cram it ya son of a bitch…” Reaglan muttered but Orson didn’t hear him, he was already moving away down the line, humming to himself. The thing was, with guys like Orson, they liked their jobs. They didn’t pick it, but they were well suited for and derived pleasure from them. Not that there was anything wrong with that but Taylor would be surprised if the man had many, if any, friends. If he did they were probably heartless bastards like himself.

And so it went for the next couple of hours, the animals moving down the conveyor belt to the killing floor, Taylor and his co-workers watching to make sure everything went smoothly.

Now that was a whole other ball of wax itself, the killing floor. That was where the animals got their throats cut and were then chopped into steaks and cutlets and so forth. Taylor hated that part of the factory the most, had no stomach for it whatsoever. Fortunate thing was, they wouldn’t stick someone like Taylor on the killing floor because he wasn’t efficient; they needed people in there that liked what they were doing, or were impassive to the whole thing and didn’t mind getting a little gooey. That was how they kept the whole shebang moving along at a steady clip and kept the pace up to industry standards. Sometimes they got guys in there like Forest Humphrey who enjoyed it a little too much. A guy like him wanted to take his time with the kill, to savor the moment. They slowed down production, cost the factory money. For his diligence they promoted him to pre-treatment, but he was removed from the floor because they needed people who could work quickly.

The day wore on and eventually the siren sounded and it was time to go home. Taylor sighed, knowing that no amount of rest could prepare him for another day.
* * *

The nightmares still dancing behind his eyelids every time he blinked, Taylor made his way to his locker, taking out a fresh pair of coveralls. In less then two hours they would be covered with blood, puss, snot, piss and feces. Sitting on the wooden bench, he placed first one foot then the other inside and pulled them up over his shoulders.

“Hey Taylor,” Billy Washburn said, sticking his head around the corner. “Orson wants to see you in his office.”

“Yeah? What’s he want?”

Washburn was one of Orson’s little stoolies, some needle dick bastard that sucked up to whomever was in charge in hopes of better pay, positioning, whatever. Maybe he actually thought he would get a bonus come Necromas-hell stranger things had happened.

“Just said he wants to see you.” Washburn said, his voice sarcastic, his eyes insolent. “If I was you I’d get my ass in there double time.”

“Yeah, and if I was you I’d watch what I said for fear of getting my ass kicked into next week.”

Washburn’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“Really? And who’s gonna do it, you? I could mop the floor up with a little fairy like you!”

“Not with me backing him up you can’t.” Reaglan said from behind him and Washburn’s look turned into one of impotent rage.

“Why you wanna side with that loser? He’s worse then a little girl.”

“I think he has his priorities straight.” Reaglan said, twisting a towel around his right hand. “It’s the rest of you that will have to atone for what you’ve done come judgment day.”

“Yeah, you and that judgment day bullshit. Ain’t nothing wrong with how the government is running things. Get with the times man. The old ways are gone.”

“But they ain’t forgotten.” Reaglan said, and faster then Taylor’s eyes could register Cory swung his fist hard, connecting with Washburn’s jaw, sending the other sprawling to the floor. Before Billy could lift a hand to rub his aching chin Reaglan unwrapped the towel and threw it on the floor, following it with a well placed stream of spit that hit the little ‘yes man’ between the eyes.

“You do yourself a favor and don’t you never talk to me again, got it?” Reaglan said and Washburn nodded, his eyes averted, making no move to pick himself up.

Taylor stared down at Billy for a moment before he broke out laughing.

“Don’t that make your brown eye blue, huh?” He cajoled but Reaglan shushed him.

“You go on and meet with the boss now, got it?”

“Yes sir.” Taylor said, turning around and walking out of the locker room, but not before casting one last glance at Billy who was just picking himself up from the floor.
* * *

“You wanted to see me boss?”

“Yeah, get in here and close the door behind ya.” Croswell was sitting behind the crappy desk he’d been issued, sipping from a metal coffee cup, grimacing when he swallowed. Opening a drawer, he reached in and took out a fresh cigar, unwrapping it with his teeth. “Sit down.”

Taylor did as he was told, taking a seat in the rickety chair proffered.

“Ya know, yer lucky I didn’t dock you two hours pay yesterday.” Orson started, eyeing the other carefully.

“I know I screwed up sir, I’ll try and do better next time.” Taylor said but his boss waved a hand at him.

“Hell, I’m not talkin’ about that,” He said, lighting the cigar with a high powered torch lighter, the flame turning orange, then blue then green. He blew out a large plume of smoke. “I seen how ya look at ‘em Taylor, that’s what concerns me.”

“Sir?”

“Ah, don’t bullshit me boy, we both know ya ain’t got the brains for it. I been around a lot longer then you have and I seen a lot more tricky business then I care to talk about.” He took another long pull on the cigar and then set it into an ashtray. “You been lookin’ them in the eyes boy and it’s makin’ ya weak.”

“I know that the animals are food sir, and we have a responsibility to the general public to supply the people with the nutrients they need to stay strong and healthy, to keep our military top notch, to avoid the spread of disease, to-”

“Don’t recite that government propaganda to me boy, I been along since before that crap. I know what’s what. I was a natural birth, just like you. I ain’t never been chipped. Back when I was born there weren’t such thing. That come along when I was a teenager. Back when there used to be plants…”

“Plants sir?”

“Don’t you read? Hell, maybe you don’t, I don’t care, but if there were I’ll tell ya what: I’d be a vegetarian.”

“A vegetarian?”

“Never heard of that huh? Well, it don’t matter, ain’t never gonna hear of it again unless some scientist figures out a way to bring ‘em back. Until that time we’re gonna keep eating meat whether we like it or not.”

“Yes sir.”

Orson plucked the cigar out of the ashtray and took a heavy drag, eyeing Taylor with almost sympathetic eyes.

“Look kid, you ain’t so bad, I almost kinda like ya.”

“Thank you sir.”

“But I’ll tell ya: I need to figure out a way for you to understand that this is business and our life’s depend on it.”

“Sir?”

“You think you got it bad workin’ the line, well, I’m gonna place you some where’s else that’ll make you appreciate the job you was given.”

“Where’s that?” Taylor asked, heart sinking, knowing he was getting placed on the killing floor.

“I’m putting you in charge of cage detail. I want you to see how bad it can really be.”

“Please, sir, I can do a better job, I certainly can.” Taylor said, panicky, but the boss waved a hand at him dismissively.

“My mind’s made up. If nothing else can make you come to terms with this, maybe this can.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut the hell up.” Orson said and stood up, stubbing his cigar out. “Why don’t ya come with me...”
* * *

Taylor clocked in for work a few minutes early, his hands shaking as he put the card into the slot and depressed the lever. Black circles shadowed his eyes, his mouth twitching every so often. The nightmares that used to wake him up at night now no longer let him sleep at all. Whenever he closed his eyes all he could see was their faces, all he could hear was their screaming…

Taylor took the automatic tram to the far end of the building where the animals were kept in their cages. He got off at the end of the line and showed his pass to the guards at the door.

“How're you doin’ today?” One of them asked and Taylor shrugged.

“Could be better…”

“At least you ain’t in a cage.” The guard said, opening the door, and Taylor nodded and stepped inside the black-lit room, the soft sound of weeping rising to greet him.

“Good morning,” Taylor whispered, more to himself then to the caged animals, but some of them returned the salutation.

A thick stench hung heavy in the room, brought on by fear, loneliness and utter despair. The meat-to-be was given sedatives in their water to help keep them calm, as the production crew had found that tension had a tendency to make the meat stringy, but most of them were still well aware of the position they were in. The only redeeming factor was that they weren’t attacking the bars, weren’t screaming like they did on the conveyor belt or the floor.

Given that the whole operation was driven by demand for high-end production, the animals were stacked tightly in the cages, most of them covered in their own feces, their bodies pressed tightly together, some in positions that looked down right uncomfortable. But still they were a hell of lot more tranquil then when they were shipped down the conveyor belt to the killing floor.

“Is everyone okay?” Taylor asked in a choked voice and a few heads turned his way, some clearing their throats, squinting at him in the dim light.

“Could be better.” One of the ‘animals’ replied, a young boy with light blonde hair. “I hear their gonna break our arms and legs next, before they send us down the conveyor belt.”

“Yes.” Taylor said quietly, head down. “You heard right.”

“This ain’t fair!” An old lady harped from where she was bent over the prone body of an obese young man. “They say this is the only thing I can do to benefit society but they won’t give me a chance to prove them wrong! I don’t want to die like this!”

“I’m so sorry ma’am, really I am…”

The way it worked was, people that couldn’t assimilate into any type of job were ‘given’ the job of being food for the rest of the planet, seeing as every other species had become extinct. The scientists had struggled to make nutritious synthetic food but the materials they were using had long become contaminated after all the chemical spills in the earth and the groundwater. The only substance that was ‘safe’ for humans to consume was one another.

So some were sold into it-like the little boy probably was-while others were bred for it-that being the sole reason for their birth-while still others were demoted to it after it was found that they couldn’t be put to better use. There were a few who actually volunteered, figuring that was the only thing they could do to be of assistance to society, helping to further propagate it.

And now it was Taylor’s job to tend to these people-these human animals-for better or worse. His own family was counting on him. He tried talking to them, assuring them that everything would soon be over, that everything would be all right, but their eyes told a different story, their eyes conveyed feelings that would rob him of sleep for the rest of his natural life. No matter how drugged up and stupid some of them were, there wasn’t a one of them that didn’t know what was going on, wasn’t a one of them that wasn’t scared as hell, just waiting for the axe to fall. There was no way to make them understand and come to terms with how important they really were, that without their sacrifice the human race would no longer exist…

Hanging heavy in the air alongside the stench of shit, piss and fear was a sorrow so deep, so strong, there was nothing that could come close to washing it away. Most days, Taylor got down on his knees in front of the cages and cried along with them…