It’s hard finding a place with a name like Crabapple scary. The first thing that comes to mind for most people is a tart fruit. Something simple they don’t lose sleep over. However, that's not the same for me. Crabapple reminds me of a small town one hour outside of San Antonio, Texas, a town that would’ve been consumed by the growing metropolis if it weren’t for its one export: imitation food.
Paradise Foods, located in some of the higher retail grocery stores, is the crème de la crème of vegan imitation food. It has sold higher amounts than Impossible Foods and has fooled many consumers to believe they are eating meat, garnering them a lot of noteworthy attention and praise. Yet, they remain a mystery, to most. The Paradise Foods Company has been around for only 10 years or so. Its headquarters, located in Crabapple, Texas, is the only plant and distributor of the products. There are no other locations that make Paradise Foods.
This town, with a population of less than 500, is the subject of my journal entry for you all. I’m writing from the Carswell Correctional Facility in Fort Worth, but do not let my current living situation misguide you into thinking I’m a liar. I will speak of my actions without any hindrance. I feel ashamed for what I did, but I had to do it! I spent much of my free time organizing my thoughts into a narrative manner, so you all can understand what exactly led to this current moment for me.
It was spring. I remember the temperature rising steadily as Allen, my boyfriend, and I had packed for our trip. We were headed west, the dream of every free spirit before or after their college experience. For us, sadly, this fantasy couldn’t materialize till we were both thirty, riddled with debt, and aching down our backs. We needed to break away from the demoralizing reality of our lives. We didn’t have kids, nor were we planning on having any.
We had been, and stayed, together since our senior year of college. We both graduated with degrees in psychology full of ambition. Now, we were sharing a tiny, one-bedroom apartment on the lower east side of Manhattan. I wouldn’t say we were happy with our lives, more so content with staying in each other’s personal space. There were times when we both felt crowded, but it didn’t take much to overcome. After the first year, it was all routine.
Flash forward 7 years. We were beaten down and tired. We were not so sure we could be together till death do us part. Besides, we needed a break from it all: our jobs and our current selves. We felt trapped.
The road trip was Allen’s idea, not mine. I thought of an island getaway somewhere tropical, and cheap, but Allen thought we should cram into our Prius and head to California. He romanticized the idea of being a foot away from each other, 26 hours deep, listening to a mix of classic rock and alternative hits from our childhood as we made our way past the changing landscape of America. I could see in his eyes how serious this dream was to him. It was a childhood fantasy that was reaching the point of never coming to fruition. I don’t know what he would’ve been like if it hadn’t happened, so I agreed to the plan.
We made the budget, charted the route, and booked the rooms. We were able to get the same time frame off from our respective jobs. The stars had aligned. It was meant to be. Allen was ecstatic and so was I, sort of.
We left New York, and drove through Pennsylvania, down Washington, and across Tennessee. The first leg was pure joy for Allen. I had never seen such a wide smile on his face. His eyes were like two glistening marbles on a bright summer’s day. It was as if his emotional flood gates were to break free and allow it all to come flowing out. It was nice to see this sort of vulnerability from him. He seemed like a new person; someone I had been wanting to be with. I remember silently staring at him, playing with his hair as his eyes kept on the road. He would sometimes smirk and look away, hiding his smile from my affection. It felt good.
Our honeymoon mindset soon changed after we left Memphis, Tennessee. I had forgotten to mention an exit, so we continued heading south without the west. It was a slight detour. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. At least, it didn’t seem like it to me.
But to Allen, it might have been killing his family. It seemed like I had emasculated him. It’s something about their exaggerated, almost archaic, ability to know where they’re going that fuels their machismo. I guess they all want to try to emulate their favorite explorer. Allen, however, lacked that genetic enhancement and relied on myself and Google Maps for help.
When he learned of my mistake, I saw the best of him disappear. It was like he had reverted to the beaten, spiteful, and bitter man I had accepted to be my mate.
“You should’ve paid attention,” he said to me, poorly controlling his temper. “My eyes are on the road. I can’t look at the screen.”
I apologized, but every few miles or so he would just bring it up again, how I had been so neglectful. Would there be time to enjoy California? Would we have to skip over the halfway mark of El Paso? Everything was up in the air, and Allen believed his fantasy was on the verge of ruin. Usually, you tend to hear about women overreacting in these scenarios. Allen was being nothing more than a little wuss. I was annoyed and frustrated. I didn’t want to feel it, but there was guilt in my mind.
We were crossing the heart of Arkansas behind schedule. Tired of the nagging on his part, I decided to change up the route.
“Let’s go through Louisiana,” I said.
“Why?” Allen retorted annoyed.
“I’ve always wanted to go to New Orleans and- “
“That would only put us MORE off schedule.”
“Well, you made it seem like our plans were ruined, so why not change up the ending. We could spend a few nights there and then head towards Austin, or Vegas.”
Allen didn’t say a word. His hands gripped the wheel tight.
“It’ll be fun.”
Allen’s white knuckles slowly turned back to their tannish red. He sighed in defeat.
I contained my excitement as best as I could, but I knew he caught my wide smile. He sighed once more upset that his trip was now mine. My guilt felt more legitimate.
I looked at the GPS and did my best to figure out something enjoyable for both of us, and it turned out that we could hit Austin and still make our way to the coast for a night or two. I proposed this idea and got a shrug. I tried to convince him that he could still accomplish the trip he had desired, and he replied, “I guess.”
I was sick of his indifferent bullshit. I had had enough.
I asked him to pull the car over at the next rest stop. I was too tired and too frustrated to deal with his self-pitying act. This whole trip was HIS idea. HE begged me to ask for the time off. HE made it seem like it was the final straw in our relationship. I didn’t protest the idea because I just wanted to find our lost love, but I realized he didn’t want that.
I got out and stormed off towards the gas station market. Allen stayed in the car. He looked at his phone and began to scroll aimlessly. He was going to wait for me to calm down and come back in the car (I imagined this is what he was thinking), but this time I wasn’t. I entered the bathroom, that had never been close to a cleaning product, and slammed the door behind me. I screamed. I was tired of his emotional terrorism and childishness. I was going to take the next train or bus home from wherever the hell I was now. I was so sick of living with him. I was going to leave him. I had to leave him. I got my speech prepared and made a direct line towards the car. I wouldn't even get in; I was going to force him to sit there, with the window down, listening to me from outside. With my rage at an all-time high, I went to berate him but was surprised to see Allen outside away from the car.
His head was down staring at his feet, like a child looking for forgiveness. He did his best to convey his apologies to me for the way he acted. He wanted this trip to change us, so when we got back to New York, we would be different. He wanted this road trip, not just for himself, but to reignite the spark of our relationship. He wished the best for us and wished things had gone differently. It felt real.
I took a moment before I said anything. The apology felt genuine. So much so that it caught me off guard and caused my speech to disappear from my mind. Before I could say what I wanted, he stepped in to add the final touches of his apology.
"They can lose me for a few days. This is what matters most."
Oh.
I couldn't say no, you know? Not at that moment at least. Besides, we were close to halfway done, what was another 1500 hundred miles?
I took my seat and off we went, resuming our fantastical ride to the coast. We moved south and made our way to Austin. Neither of us had ever had the pleasure of staying there, so we thought we'd take a night or two. We drank, ate, and fucked. It was a good way to rekindle the torch.
We left Austin with long, dumb smiles stretched across our faces. We were so full of happiness and bliss, that I didn’t know where the hell we were going. You could guess what happened next.
I missed one of the exits and put us off course again. I didn't think much of it, but soon Allen started to notice something was amiss. He looked around for a while until he had realized what had happened.
"We missed another exit, didn't we?" he said.
"I think so..." I forced each word out.
"Goddamnit. Where are we now?"
"I think we're still going south. Oh, yup. Look-"
I pointed at the exit sign for San Antonio.
"Are you FUCKING kidding me?!"
I reeled away. He had never raised his voice like that before. I was scared.
"What the hell are you even doing over there?” He was manic. “Can you even read the directions?"
His knuckles were white again, and his face was red. I was too scared to answer him. My back was against the door. The car had never felt so small.
"Hello?!"
His shout rang in my ear for a few seconds. I wanted to cry.
"I-I-"
"I asked you to do one fucking thing. I allowed the error of your first fuckup, but this has gone far enough. What should we do now? Huh? What should we do now? You tell me!"
I was at a complete loss. I stopped looking at him and looked at the ground, I felt like I was the child now asking for forgiveness.
"Don't say a word. It's not that big of a deal, right?"
I cried. I couldn’t help it. I cried past San Antonio heading to Houston.
It was getting dark, and we were going to need a place to sleep. Allen had cooled down but was looking at me with pity and regret. He was sorry, but he wasn’t going to say it. I was burnt from my emotional dump for the past few hours. I wasn’t able to do much.
"See if you can find us a place to stay. It doesn't matter. Wherever for whatever. We should sleep."
I nodded and pulled out my phone. After some searching, I found the Cozy-On-Inn, a small, bed-and-breakfast right outside of Crabapple. It had five stars and a few hundred reviews, so I thought it was the safest option. Plus, it was kind of cheap.
We made our way into the town under the darkness. I couldn’t see much, but it seemed like a quaint cow-town. The inn was nice, but also a little bit off. Standing outside, with no lights anywhere, made it seem like we had completely vanished from civilization.
I woke up the next morning to an empty room. The light was peeking in through a gap in the shades showing the crumpled-up sheets of Allen's bed. I had asked for a double room instead of a king when we checked in. I took a deep breath and checked my phone.
/went into town. be back soon.
I decided to step outside and see what this place looked like in the daylight. The surrounding area was the flat prairie of the south. I could see for miles in all directions. This town was an island surrounded by the beige sea of the flatlands. I could feel a little chill crawl up my spine.
I saw our Prius pull up to the parking lot. Allen had a wide smile on his face as he parked right before me. He stood halfway out of the car.
"Morning," I said to him.
"I got a coffee for you," he said.
"Can I have it?”
"I want to take you through this place. I think you're going to love it here."
I cocked my head as he slid back in, eager to show off this discovery. I slowly made my way to the passenger side. I lifted the holder of the two coffees and took one of them. We both drank black coffee, so it didn’t matter. I took a sip. It was good, like, really good. It was such a rich, yet bitter flavor that I’d never had before. I took a big gulp.
"How far away is the town?" I asked now quite intrigued, and excited.
"Right around the corner," Allen said quickly backing out of the spot.
I looked all around but there was nothing of note. All I saw were a few run-down buildings half a mile away. There was movement amongst the black and maroon bricks, but I didn't expect what I came across.
The road was freshly paved and lined, almost like a tarmac truck was a mile or so ahead laying more down. It didn't seem like the town itself was longer than 100 yards or so. The best way to describe this place is: picture your typical Hallmark-movie town but add 20 million dollars to the budget. This place was rodeo driver on steroids. The sidewalks were lined with the most extravagant Mom & Pop shops I had ever seen in my life. Their wide windows revealed the futuristic and modern interiors meant to sell hardware and groceries. Every single car was a Tesla. Let me reiterate: EVERY-SINGLE-PERSON DROVE A TESLA. I thought this place would be filled with twenty-year-old pickups, but, boy, was I wrong.
"Di-Did we crash, or something?" I asked completely immersed in this fantasy land.
"Wild, right?" Allen looked at me with a smirk. "I still can't believe it myself."
"Did they all strike oil or something?"
"Food."
"Huh?"
"This is the town for Paradise Foods."
You’ve probably seen their logo in grocery stores. It’s a simple design, nothing extravagant. You would think it is like any other food processor in the country. If it wasn’t for the excessive word of mouth on social media, they probably would have faded away. The meat is good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s too close to the real thing. Allen and I are vegans, but he loves this brand. It’s the only thing he eats. I could never get into it. It was unnatural that something so fake could look, and taste, so real.
"I'm surprised there aren't more people," I said as we slowly walked down the street. People were dressed simply, still down-to-earth, blue-collar workers. I was confused.
"Incredible, isn't it?" Allen said. I could only imagine what was going through his head at the moment. His shoulders were low, his brow loose. It was like he had a drop in blood pressure with each breath. He seemed – at peace.
"I'm hungry, you hungry?" he asked me as we were slowly approaching the only restaurant in the town. It was a diner, the only structure that seemed out of place.
"Uh, sure, why not?" I wasn't, but he seemed determined to eat from this place. It had the iconic metal exterior like your typical luncheon, but inside was the same aesthetic as the rest of the town.
It had the décor of a five-star restaurant. Every piece of furniture was minimalist in design. Everything looked brand new. It was the cleanest diner I had ever stepped foot in. You could eat off the floor. I glanced around. The patrons made it seem like it could have been a roadside dive. Everyone seemed to have just come back from a hard day in the fields: emaciated and bronze, yet with a smile on their face.
Allen took a seat at one of the only two stools available at the counter. I was still trying to understand where the hell I had found myself when I caught an old man in the corner staring. He had a strange smile on his face. I smiled back to be cordial, but then - he licked his lips. I turned right around.
"I don't like this place," I said softly.
"Just relax," Allen said and shrugged me off.
I looked around at the patrons with more anxiety. I noticed they all were looking at us now in a similar way. It was the same cliché every single film showed of strangers entering a small town. One by one, the townsfolk all turned to stare, even the kitchen workers stopped their hustle and bustle to watch the newcomers. I started to shrink within myself. They all seemed to be salivating at the site of us.
Two large hands slammed down on the counter causing an explosive thud. Before us stood Bub, the owner, and head chef of the Crabapple Luncheon. He was a large man with pale skin. His eyes had an anemic yellow to them.
"Whut can I git for ya's?" Bub said in his southern drawl.
"What would you recommend to a couple of out-of-towners?" Allen asked. There was a hint of imitation in his tone, but he kept it down. I leaned away from him.
"Well, we've got some de-lightful cuts here today. Some real special stuff."
"What kind of stuff?" Allen's imitation was less discreet.
"Dry-aged rib roast from up the road.”
“From the Paradise Plant?”
“You bet. Ain’t like nothing to have it from the source.”
"I'll take one of those. Medium."
"And for the lady?" Bub turned his gaze to me. His piercing grey eyes seemed to possess a supernatural fire behind them.
"She's not a fan of the product," Allen said with a hint of disdain.
"Uh - yeah, sorry," I said meekly.
Bub just laughed.
"There ain't nothing to be sorry about that for. Just doin' what's right for your body. How about some water while I get that roast started?"
"Thanks," Allen said.
Bub shouted to the back for a rib roast medium. He pulled out a glass bottle of Pana and went to twist off the top, but Allen stopped him before.
"We're fine with tap," Allen said with concern.
"This is on me, slick," Bub opened it.
He filled the two glasses and placed the bottle on the side. I took a sip of my water. Allen took a gulp of his.
"Where are you two comin' in from?" Bub asked us. He leaned forward, almost intruding on our personal space.
"Brooklyn," Allen said. Bub sucked in through his teeth.
"Long ways from home."
"We're on a road trip."
"Just passing through?"
"Just passing through."
Bub chuckled at the last line. He had caught on to Allen's sarcastic tone and was not a fan, but he wasn't going to let it sour his mood. I tuned out the conversation.
My focus was on the patrons. They had gone back to their meals and left the ogling for me. I started to notice some peculiar things about these people.
They were all missing some of their teeth. It was like some sort of gum disease ran rampant in these parts or like they had all pulled them out together. My focus then landed on a family sitting in one of the booths.
It was a group of three. The daughter, of the trio, was beside the mother watching her eat with such intensity. She had her mom’s arms in a vice grip. It took a moment for me to realize that she was holding her mother up, so the old woman didn't tip over. Her father across from them was leaning on his hand, smiling through what seemed to be a strong migraine.
I rejoined Allen and Bub's conversation. They were talking about the town, and I could care less. Bub was leading the discussion.
"...Most folks been living here all their lives," He said. "Everyone has a bit of stock in the Paradise plant. That's how we get all of them Teslers you see."
"I wanted to ask about that. What's up with all the electric cars?"
"We do our part. The earth takes care of our cattle. We should take care of it."
"Huh?" Allen leaned back surprised.
"Wasn't what you expected, was it now?" Bub was smiling since he knew the answer.
Allen smirked.
“I thought it wasn’t meat?” Allen was flabbergasted.
“Not the typical kind,” Bub retorted.
Ding! The chef hit the bell on the sill between him and Bub. There was a long, slender half-rack of steaming ribs. The edges burnt to a steaming maroon.
At the time, the smell was orgasmic. Allen was drooling like a fool as the plate slid to the designated spot in front of him. Bub pulled his hand away.
"Cooked to perfection. Only from Paradise."
Allen attacked the meal. He didn't take a single breath as he tore the fake meat off the fake bone. It was animalistic. I was disgusted. The entire time Bub watched with a sort of gloating look while my boyfriend devoured the ribs.
"Good, ain't it?" Bub's grin stretched wide from cheek to cheek.
"It's -" Allen swallowed his mouthful. "-unlike anything I've ever eaten. How is that even possible?"
"Our cattle are special. We've been raising a single herd for decades. No other slaughterhouse or butcher has had this breed - ever. I don’t know if you noticed, but we keep their pen locked up tight up at the beginning of the road."
I had noticed a large, tin sheet barn that sat at the top of the road. We had passed it when driving into the town, but I didn’t feel the need to mention it earlier. It had seemed like the shed for some landscaping business, not the golden cattle. I was somewhat intrigued what these creatures looked like. I was about to ask what the actual meat was when suddenly--
"Babe," Allen said after sucking barbeque sauce off his finger. "You have to try a bite. It's unreal." He sucked the last two fingers dry.
"I-I'm not hungry," I said meekly, starting to feel very anxious. “Bub, what kind of animal is it if it isn’t a cow?”
Bub’s grin seemed to grow wider and darker.
“Old town secret.”
“You can’t tell us?” Allen asked cheekily.
“I’m contractually obligated.”
"Well, in that case, I think I want another," Allen said.
“We should go,” I said.
“We have time.”
"What about the trip?"
"We can figure it out."
"You got all pissy at me for giving you the wrong directions, and now you want to eat meat for an entire day?”
Allen shrugged.
“Screw you!”
"AAAAAHHHHH" An old man wailed in the background. Then, a thud followed.
There was a cacophony of “oh lords” and “oh my’s”. The old man who was licking his lips earlier was now seizing on the ground. Foam was spraying from his mouth as his body convulsed violently. Many were hovering over him with concern. I stared in horror. No one called for a medic. A moment later, the old man stopped. He lay still. His chest stuck out and froze. Everyone hung their heads.
"Ah, c’mon now. Someone get something to cover him up," Bub said. "And call the ambulance. " He turned to face us. "I'm sorry you folks had to see that. This meal's on the house. I apologize."
I could feel a tear start to roll down my cheek. I left Allen and Bub and made my way back to the car without saying a word. I found myself staring out of the windshield trying to cope with what I had just seen. I didn't know the man, and he was a creep, but I still had just watched him die in front of me. I didn't know how to process it. It was all wrong. Allen came up to the window and knocked.
"Are you okay?" his voice was muffled.
I rolled the window down.
"What's going on, Allen? What the hell is this place? Why did that man just drop to the ground? Why was that girl holding up her mom? What the hell is going on!"
"Samantha, relax."
"But –“
“Sam.”
“But, Allen,”
“Sam, quit it.”
“There’s something wrong here!”
"Sam. Breath."
I took a few deep breaths to slow mine down. His calm demeanor helped mine relax.
"I spoke with Bub,” Allen said softly. “He was nearly 92 years old and suffered from epilepsy. This happened all the time with him. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"I don't trust, Bub," I said his name with disgust.
"Don't be like that. These are good people. Better than some we live with back-"
Allen covered his mouth like he was going to burp. I heard his stomach gurgle. There was some strange chemical reaction going on inside. He let go of the breath without belching. "-in Brooklyn. Oof."
"Are you alright?" I straightened up in my seat.
"Yeah," his stomach gurgled again as he spoke. His voice strained with his gut. "I think the meat is just passing through me."
The sounds from his gut began to grow a little more intense. It didn't sound good. He was slowly bending over, clutching his stomach.
"Let's get back to the hotel," I said as I opened my door. "I'll drive."
Allen found his way into the passenger seat as I got in to drive. I whipped out of there as fast as I could for Allen’s sake, and my own. I drove back to our bed and breakfast and had to lean Allen on my shoulder back to the room. If he hadn't been in pain, it would have been quite funny since with each step he farted. However, with each pass of gas, he winced in pain.
We barely got in our room before he began violently throwing up. It went everywhere that it could. I had to strategically move him into the bathroom so that the fee to clean the room wouldn’t be so exorbitant. Soon the toilet became green and brown. It came out of the other end too. I left before I saw anything too gross.
Allen's sickness continued for a few hours. At a certain point, it was just dry heaving on his part, but his stomach didn’t relent. I called for the town doctor, and he arrived - with Bub.
"Your husband is suffering from a severe case of food poisoning," the doctor relayed as if I couldn't tell.
"I feel awfully terrible about this," Bub said. "The product was fine. I checked it myself. They must've undercooked it or something. If there's anything I can do, please let me know."
"He's going to need care overnight," the doctor cut in. “It’s going to get worse.”
"How much is that going to cost us?" I asked. I knew it wasn't going to be within our budget, and I was right. The cost of a single stay in the doctor's "outpatient center" would take the rest of our vacation trip, gas money included!
"I'll take care of it, Rhett," Bub chimed in. "Least I could do after causing this mess."
I was a little touched by his generosity but fought it. I said I would watch over him overnight in the room. However, Bub pushed, and so did the doctor exclaiming it was a bad idea for him to be here. Reluctantly, I gave in to his wishes. The ambulance was called, again paid for by Bub. I wished Allen well, and he was taken away to Rhett's care facility. I went back to my room and waited. I stayed in the room for a little left to my own devices.
I decided to see exactly what was going on in this town. I opened my phone and was immediately consumed by my research. I tried to unlock as much information about this little, anomalistic town as I could. At that time, the bed-n-breakfast owner, Linda, had so graciously offered me some tea. I accepted, unsuspecting of any malfeasance.
My searches pulled up nothing out of the ordinary. There were few articles written about Crabapple, mainly about the Paradise Food Plant. A lot of testimonies raved about how “it looks and tastes like meat, but it’s not!” There was no mention of exactly what was inside the meatless meat, yet it was FDA approved. There was mention of the tin sheet barn prohibited to any visitors. There was a strict "Shoot On Sight" Policy implemented on anyone who entered. The answers to this place lie in that barn. I was hooked by the mystique of it.
As it turns out, I wasn’t the only one who wanted to explore the town. A journalist from Arlington came in search of the ingredients of Paradise but was turned away by everyone in town. He took matters into his own hands and was found dead on the side of the road. An unfortunate hit and run in the dead of night. He was out on the road alone, with nothing but his tape recorder. Odd, I thought. The rabbit hole took me down some weird conspiracies that the meatless meat was from cloned cows, or, rather, some secret animal created by the government. The Plant was a state-of-the-art research facility meant to ween society off of actual meat. It had something to do with methane gas and other climate conspiracy rhetoric.
I took a sip of my tea, but it was empty. I went to pour some more from the kettle left to me, but I found that it had grown cold. I got up to find Linda.
She welcomed me into her lodgings without any sort of hesitation and immediately began to re-heat the water. I sat in her living room curious to know more about the town.
"Most of us are legacy members here," Linda said. I thought that was odd phrasing.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She giggled.
"Everyone here has had ancestors that were born, bred, and dead right here in this town," she said with another giggle. "We like to say it that way. It sounds better."
"How long has the plant been around?"
Linda giggled harder at the sounds of that. It seemed like it was a nervous tick of a middle school girl.
“A little less than a decade now," Linda said. "But that wasn’t the first one. It’s a remodel of the original.”
The kettle was beginning to whistle. Linda got up and turned off the stove. I waited for her to explain more of the history of the plant, but she focused on pouring the tea. She filled up a cup for me and left the kettle on the counter.
"I was going to take that back to my room," I said as if I was imposing. "you didn't have to pour me a cup."
Linda, again, giggled.
"Nonsense," she said with a wide smile. "I like making sure you're taken care of."
I yawned.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Linda's closed-eye smile was doubling.
"Why - why did you say it like that?" I was growing fainter as I forced the question out.
"I just love watching over the product before the drive," Linda said. I fell off my chair. "It's what my family has done for all their lives here."
Fuck. I fell off my chair. The world went black. That bitch drugged me.
I don't know what happened, but I woke up naked on a dirt floor in the pitch, black darkness. I patted around to get a sense of the area feeling the earth on my palms. I was still a little groggy getting up and wasn't as afraid of the situation as I should have been. I forced out a soft 'hello' that was primarily air. I had trouble working my diaphragm correctly, but I garnered up the proper strength.
"HELLO! HELLO!" I screamed.
"QUIET."
A male voice stopped me dead in my tracks. It wasn't a warning from my captor but one from a fellow captive. It was quiet and strained. It faltered.
"Wh-Who is that?" I asked still unable to control my volume.
"Keep it down," the male voice said. It came out tight. It was close. "They are going to hear you."
I felt a hand touch my shoulder and screamed. The male voice tried to calm me down, but it was no use.
"EEYYY!" A loud southern drawl rang out. It seemed muffled like it was outside. "Keep it down in there if you know what's good for ya'."
BANG! Metal struck metal. I jumped at the sounds. There were a few more gasps that accompanied my own.
"Wh-where are we?" I said softly.
"I don't know. It's some sort of holding pen or something," the male voice answered. "Can you stand?"
I felt his hands lift me, but I stood on my own.
"Sounds like there’s a lot of us,"
"About fifteen or so,"
"What do they want from us?"
"We don't know."
At the answer, I fell quiet. I let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Slowly, but surely, I started to make out different images of the place we were being held. I could see some silhouettes around me holding themselves from the cold. I could tell they were naked as well. The pen looked to be a metal corral used for holding livestock. I realized we were inside the tin sheet barn at the top of the road. What nightmare had I just found myself in?
I was about to ask the name of my fellow captives, but soon there was a loud banging coming from all around. A bunch of men outside slammed whatever items they had against the tin sheet trying to rattle us up. I heard, as the only way I can describe them, different hoots and hollers from the intimidators. It was some sort of demoralization tactic.
One of the other women locked up screamed in fear. She sounded like she had just lost her last two brain cells.
"What are they doing?" I asked the male.
"I-I don't know," he said trying to get a handle on the situation as well. "This is the first time this is happening."
The banging was getting oppressive, to the point where I could start to feel all of my muscle fibers tense.
Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop. The mantra was starting to get louder and louder in my head, and I could feel the voice was going to rise from inside of my belly like a scream. How did this happen? Why did this happen? What sin had caused this fate for me? I was at my limit about to scream.
The entire room fell silent.
I could only hear my shaky breath.
The distinct, soft ringing of a microphone connecting to a speaker was heard from outside. The pat-pat of someone testing it came through after. We waited to hear the announcement. Bub began to speak.
"Well, good evening, folks," Bub said in his greatest showman's voice. "It is that time of the year we gather, as is tradition, in our town's cattle drive."
Oh fuck.
"We have a mighty fine herd this year coming in from all over these great states to serve as the foundation for our high-demand product."
I almost threw up in my mouth when I realized what he was saying. Some of the others were having difficulty coming to terms with this reality too. Some just began to pray to whatever god they believed in. However, one of the males, who had a high-pitched voice, did not remain so calm.
"LET ME OUT! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! LET ME OUT!" the voice screamed as he banged on the tin sheet walls. "LET ME OUT, YOU SICK FUCKS!"
Bub began laughing on the mic.
"Well, folks. You think we should let them out?" Bub asked the crowd. Cheers answered. "Let's bring them on out and let this year’s cattle drive commence!"
At the sound of that, the high-pitched male ran to the front. It was still dark, but I could see some lights peering in from outside. They were bright, but that was probably because of the imminent darkness around me. The latch clicked and the man with the high voice backed away from the door. I could see him bouncing on the balls of his feet, anxiously waiting for that door to open. I don't know what he thought was going to happen at that moment, but I guess adrenaline and fear can get the best of us. The screech of metal on rock was heard. The barn entrance was pulled apart. The man tried to run forward--
Click. Click. BANG!
A high-powered rifle blasted a bullet through the skull of the potential escapee. I could feel warm liquid hit my face. I was frozen.
The dead body fell to the floor kicking up some dust. The murderer was perched on top of a horse at the entrance. He looked like your typical cowboy type. The gun was still aimed forward.
"No more noise," he said. There was no arguing. He leaned the rifle on his shoulder and clicked his tongue The horse moved out of the opening. We were free to leave. Not one of us took a step forward.
"Come on." Bub sounded like he was talking to children. "There's no need to be shy. Besides, you don't want to end up like your friend now, do ya'?"
A moment passed by, and we all waited for the person next to us to move. It felt longer than it should’ve taken. Then, someone took a step forward. They moved out into the spotlight covering their eyes. Another one walked out, and then another. It was time for me to leave the holding cell. I stepped forward and walked into the light.
We were standing at the top of the main street looking down towards the slaughterhouse. Both sides of the street were filled with people. Like the stretch of miles along 1st avenue during the New York City marathon, they were cheering and looking at us with wide eyes.
I did my best to cover myself as I shuffled down the street. The cold breeze on my bare skin had me shivering but dealing with the eyes of the onlookers was worse. They all had hungry eyes. They licked their lips. Tears were streaming down my face, but I was not going to let a single cry exit from my mouth. Our guard from before trotted close behind us with his rifle on his shoulder.
I could hear the conversations from the different spectators, and it made me want to hide in the darkest corner I could find. They were salivating over my body, talking about it as a literal piece of meat. They even exclaimed which parts of me were going to be the most tender.
"I hear she hasn’t had one of our products in years," one of the women said.
"She'll have the best tenderloin," a man stated proudly.
“Her ribs are mine,” another man claimed.
I didn't stop to listen to any of their conversations, but I wasn't moving fast enough for them to fade out. This was a nightmare that I had to endure for an eternity of a walk. I tried to shut everything out, but I couldn't. Through this entire time, it occurred to me that I didn't think of Allen once. How could I? I was being paraded as this town's next meal, why the fuck should I think of that asshole?
Then I had an epiphany - he was an asshole. I had spent so much time with him just out of convenience that I had lost sight of his filthy character. It didn't matter to him what I was doing or how I was doing it. I had to cater to him, and I had gone along with it because - I was there.
Fuck that.
I promised myself then and there that if I made it out of that horror movie alive, I was going to leave that asshole behind. I just had to find my window of escape.
The walk was coming to an end. My feet were sore from walking on the tarmac. The lights of the Plant were bright as if welcoming us to a red-carpet premiere. We were shuffled in through the loading bay doors to the entrance room. It was lit in a soft, blue, fluorescent light that flickered from age. We shuffled one by one forward.
Chu-CLUNK. THUD. A body hit the floor after a rush of air shot out of a canister. Oh - I know what that is, I thought. It was a butcher’s prod that sent out a metal rod into the skull of its victim, retreating into the device for multiple uses. I had seen it used to kill cows in a video that had me swear off eating meat for good.
What was I going to do?
The line was slowly moving forward and there were only a few ahead. There was nowhere left or right to run.
I turned around and pushed the others aside. I made a mad dash to the back and heard the man with the air canister scream out "We got a runner!"
I looked at all the others standing there not doing a thing.
"WHY AREN'T YOU RUNNING?!" I screamed as loud as I could. It didn't make any sense. Were they just going to accept their death? This was it for them?
I locked eyes with one of the other men in the line. He looked at me for a moment with a sort of glazed-over look, like he had smoked too much weed. Then, his eyes lit up. He took off in the other direction.
Soon, the entire line was running in every direction. I heard the air canister blast and a little piece of metal hit the floor. He missed. He was unarmed. The others subdued him. I was making my way towards the exit when the horse guard appeared. He aimed his rifle directly at my forehead, but before he pulled the trigger, I slipped.
He fired. The shot went forward and hit one of the captives. I took my foot and slammed it as hard as I could against this man’s balls. This gave a moment for the others to attack him and take away the gun. We were winning.
I got up to my feet and almost fell. The slip had twisted my ankle, and I was coming down from the adrenaline. I wasn't going to be able to run like normal. I needed to be smart about how I escaped.
I looked out to where we had entered and could see Bub and a few other men running towards with guns. I decided my best interests were in the other direction. I followed the last remaining captives out the back. I hobbled over the dead bodies of those who were unfortunate in time and fate. I didn’t care for the mangled corpse of the air compressor executioner.
I was making my way out of the plant and happened to peer over to my right. From the foot to the arm, to the peel of skin that curled onto his side, I knew I was seeing my ex-boyfriend. I stopped and stared for a moment. All our memories flew through my mind. The good, the bad, and the mundane all came through as my eyes were plastered on the exposed pink muscle. I felt sad. Then, I threw up at the smell. It pulled me back into reality and I realized that there was no point in crying over spilled milk.
I don’t mean to be so uncouth. He was a human, I know, but he was a shitty one at that. Not many people were crying over him when I got back, I can tell you that much.
I exited out of the back and the cold breeze from before hit my bare skin once again. This time I didn't shutter. I stood tall being reborn in the trauma of death and rose like a phoenix from the gore. I looked around and saw that the captives were running in every direction. They were just trying to get out, they had no plan of escape. I looked around to see if I knew where I was, I turned and saw the familiar light of the Cozy-on-Inn. I moved forward.
I made my way back into the strange place. I peered inside and saw that there was no one at the front desk. I snuck in and grabbed the ashtray on the counter in my hand. I needed a weapon. I kept it above my head as I slowly made my way toward my room.
I peeked inside. It was empty. I looked around to see if there was any of our luggage left, but it had all disappeared - the car keys too.
Fuck.
I heard Linda's childish giggle come from the room next door. I took a deep breath and made my way over.
The wooden door creaked as I pushed it open. I saw Linda sitting in a large, empty room. There were lines of suitcases all along the walls. Different styles, tastes, and conditions of the bags made me realize how long this “drive” had persisted. I felt a heat of anger rise inside of me.
"Where are my keys," I said in a defiant and menacing tone.
Linda giggled.
"Oh, somewhere in this mess," She said like a four-year-old. “They were in your pockets when we took your pants off. I heard them jingle.”
"Find. Them."
I was not joking around.
"Oh, I would, but I just wouldn't know where to start," Linda said. "I lose track of so many things in here, sometimes I don't find them until the next drive."
She wasn't taking me seriously.
I took the ashtray to her head.
I think I hit her a little too hard because blood spurt up into my eyes. I cursed at the sting. I rubbed my orbitals trying to get the blood out, but I realized Linda wasn't laughing, nor was she doing anything. I looked down. She was face down in a pool of her blood. I started to feel the blood rush from my face. I could feel my heart start to sink with the heavy pain of taking a human life. The ashtray fell out of my hand and bounced on the floor.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I was coming to terms with my actions. I wanted to cry on the floor, but then - some voice, not one I recognized in a long time - told me to search. They were going to kill and eat me; I did nothing wrong. I pulled my nerves together and dug.
The more clothes I pulled off the pile, the more I saw the red blood creep toward me. It had soaked into the clothes closest to where Linda lay, but now it going everywhere. I did my best to pick around it, but it soon started to cover the tips of my fingers. I was getting frustrated that I wasn't finding anything. The red liquid in front of me reflected an image I didn't want to see. I felt like crying again. I didn't want to leave. I felt disgusted seeing myself.
Don't stop. They're coming. The voice called out to me once more. I took a deep breath and began to dig. I tore up the pile of clothes in front of me. I was tossing them left and right hoping to hear the sound of keys. I was sending all of the clothes flying. I knew the townsfolk were coming and I had to move. It was only a matter of time. I grabbed a pair of jeans and whipped them back.
Cling-ching. The keys landed somewhere behind me. I turned and saw them right in front of the door. I ran forward scooping them up. I didn't even think to put any of the clothes that I had found. I was in a mad dash fueled by my fear. All I was focused on was getting to the car and getting the fuck away.
I got outside and looked around. The Prius was gone.
BANG! A bullet whizzed past my right ear. There were a few townsfolk with rifles down the road. They were running towards me. I pressed the panic button on the car. The alarm didn't go off. Shit.
I ran towards the outskirts of town. I kept pressing the button, like a nervous tick, as I ran into the darkness. I thought I could lose them there. Still, there was no luck with the car. The men behind me kept firing wildly. I could feel the bullets fly past my shoulder. They were close. I prayed to whatever God would hear me that I wouldn’t get hit. He didn’t listen.
BANG! I got hit on my right shoulder. I spun and fell.
The pain was hot, like leaning on a steel balcony in 105-degree weather hot. It was difficult to move any muscle in my right arm without pain shooting throughout the area, but I had to get up. I had dropped the keys in the darkness. I was lost. I searched for as much as I could, but I was not coming close, nor was I as efficient as I could have been. My right arm was completely useless. But, I saw them. They were laying a few inches away. I mashed the panic button.
The alarm went off.
I turned my head to the noise. In the distance, I saw the flashing blinkers in tune with the alarm. I mustered as much power as I could and sped off. The men behind me kept firing and missing. I could hear some of the bullets hitting the car, but when I got close enough, they hadn’t hit the Prius. There were rows of unmanned vehicles dead in the dark.
I got into the driver’s seat and started it. Bullets were now hitting the front bumper and hood. I threw it in drive and slammed my foot on the gas.
The bullets flew through the windshield. I kept my head and my foot down. A few moments later, there were two distinct thuds and the car bounced. I heard some cries and moans, but I picked my head up and saw my captors were gone. I aimed my headlights towards the main highway and drove the fuck out of Crabapple.
I traveled down the highway for as long as I could. My adrenaline was slowly leaving my mind, but I was still lasered in on the two yellow lines before me. Soon, I saw the lights of a gas station up ahead. Something, innate, forced me to pull into the lot. I was about to get out, but I realized I still had no clothes on. I looked in the back, found a crumpled-up pair of sweats, and threw them on.
The night's breeze hit me hard. The lightheadedness from the lack of adrenaline caused me to feel nauseous, not to mention all of the blood and degradation I had witnessed, so I vomited what I had in my stomach. There wasn't much for me to give, but the little bile I did was now on the concrete. I wiped my mouth and noticed the blood on my hands. I ran immediately to the bathroom. I didn't notice the police officer paying for a pack of smokes at the counter.
I did my best to scrub off the remains of Linda, but it didn't work so well. I got what I could off of my face, but my hands were a different story. As I scrubbed, I caught a glimpse of myself: I looked different. My eyes were dark and bright at the same time. There was new life behind my irises. I felt like I could do anything.
Knock. Knock. I turned around to face the door.
"Just a minute," I said in a somewhat agitated, yet friendly tone.
“Ma’am,” a deep-voiced came from outside. “I’m going to need you to step outside.”
“Hold on,” I took one final look in the mirror. The blood was off of my face, but there was still some on my hands. I decided that I would just hide them in my sleeves like a mousy college student. I thought it would work.
I met the police officer right outside of the door. He had his hand on his pistol. I don’t think I have to tell you any more about what happened next.
They pulled me outside, I fit a description, and they took me into their custody. I was booked and charged with the murder of Linda Belle. The blood on my hands was enough to put me behind bars for a good bit of time, which is where I write this story to you all now.
I hope that sharing these events with you all will steer you away from that terrible, little town in the middle of nowhere. You might think I’m concocting such an elaborate story as the one I have just described, but I assure you that is far from the truth. I don’t wish to try and exonerate myself. Trust me, I know I did a bad thing. I just ask you to do one thing: throw away any product that might have the label of Paradise Foods; it isn’t what it pretends to be. Maybe that will stop them, but I doubt their food has come off the shelves.
Comments