Addicted to the Dead Read online

  So what if we can’t afford meat like everyone else, he thought. I guess having a peaceful death isn’t all that important.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Paco said as he stormed past Mama and into the store. He knew what they’d be buying at the store. It was always the same, week after week: eggs, bread, milk, cereal (generic corn flakes only), some fruits and vegetables. That’s it. Papa was out hunting in hopes they would have some venison or pork to eat, maybe even squirrel or dove. If not that, then any critter would do.

  Mama wrapped her fingers around the back of Paco’s neck, massaged it gently. “I’m sorry, mijo. I wish we could afford it too, but…” She chuckled, pulled Sophia between her and Paco and pointed toward the busy meat counter. “Would you really want to eat…that?” She tickled Sophia’s belly and they both laughed.

  “The meat wiggles,” Sophia said. “Like it’s dancing or something.” She covered her mouth as a fresh round of giggles took her over.

  Paco snickered but glared at the meat. It was true, the thought of actually putting that into his mouth and swallowing it wasn’t the most appetizing thought. But his fear of death was worse. Imagining himself waking up after he died scared the hell out of him. What if being dead hurt? What if he could feel his body rotting? Or what if he was trapped inside of his body, unable to control it as it just shambled around?

  If I had the money, I’d be in line just like everyone else. I’d eat meat every day so I wouldn’t have to worry about what happens after I die. Maybe I’ll even go to heaven if that’s a real place.

  Two sheriff deputies stood on either side of the counter, arms crossed, lips curled. They looked like wooden statues the way they stood, barely moving. Paco always had the urge to run up on one and kick him in the nuts just to see if he’d react.

  The meat was pre-packaged. Had to be because every person was only allowed a certain amount of meat per day. It was the law. That’s why they had to keep coming back to the store every single day to get their portion. Elevator music played from the speakers above them, but it did nothing to drown out the constant crackling of the plastic as the meat within writhed and pulsated. Even the ground meat thrashed like balls of red maggots.

  Paco always wondered if whoever that meat used to belong to—the person it was cut from—was controlling the pieces somehow, or if once separated from the whole, each piece grew a mind of its own. That thought sent chills down Paco’s spine.

  If I die and get cut up, will I feel every piece of me being…eaten by others? Digested?

  The butchers called the next person in line, took their Meat Card, and swiped it to make sure nobody was double dipping. A scrawny man was called up to the counter next, scraping his nails across his neck and eyeing the deputies. His tongue kept darting out of his mouth and licking his lips—reminded Paco of a rattlesnake. He handed over his card, then backed away, got to scratching his chest and forearms.

  As soon as the butcher swiped it, the alarm went off. It wasn’t the first time Paco had seen someone try and double dip before. One of the deputies pounced on the man, pinned him to the floor with his knee. He handcuffed him, gripped the back of his neck and held him there while he spoke into his radio and called for backup. The second deputy stood his ground, turned his stern face toward the others in line and let his arms drop to his sides, one hand hovering over the gun at his hip. The others didn’t move, most moving their eyes to the space between their feet.

  “Paco, andale. That’s not our business.”

  Mama’s voice startled Paco, and he flinched hard, then followed her across the store.

  “Let me go, motherfucker! Let me go!”

  Paco snuck another glance at the skinny man pinned under the deputy. The man’s skin had turned a dark red and the veins popped out on his face and neck as he did his best to wiggle free. His teeth looked almost black and his tongue still flicked out every other second to slide across his chapped lips.

  “Just one more piece, man. Oh fuck, please. One more fucking piece is all I need!”

  “Paco.”

  Mama’s hand found the back of his head again.

  “S-sorry, Mama.”

  Paco learned all about the addicts from the TV show he’d watched the other night. Their neighbor, Mrs. Addington, let him and Sophia come over and watch TV sometimes, whenever Mama and Papa allowed it—she had satellite TV with all the good channels. The other night, Sophia was taking her bath with Mama, so Paco got to go by himself. Mrs. Addington had fallen asleep, which she often did, so Paco quickly changed the cartoon channel he’d been watching and found the documentary. He’d only had enough time to see part of it before Mama was calling for him to come home, but he saw enough to scare the hell out of himself.

  The man on the TV said that people got addicted to meat. That if you eat enough of it, it’s like a drug. Paco didn’t know anything about drugs except that they were bad for you, that they could kill you. The man said that there were parts of the world that were overrun with addicts, places so bad that police wouldn’t even go there.

  He guessed that the man pinned on the floor was addicted. There weren’t many like him in their town, but Paco had seen a couple here and there. They never lasted long, always got taken away. Paco thought they were probably just passing through hoping to get some extra meat in some Podunk town, thinking that country folk wouldn’t know they’d already used their card that day.

  “Mama, can we get the chocolate cereal?” Sophia had the cereal box turned over and was tracing her finger over the maze drawn on the back of it. “Please? Just this once?”

  “Mija, you know we can’t afford that. Maybe next time, okay?”

  “Yeah right.” Paco tossed the box of corn flakes into the cart and shoved his hands into his pockets. Mama gave him a long look, and he clicked his tongue, averted his eyes. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Mama,” Sophia said. “I like these ones too.”

  Mama kissed her on the top of the head, shot Paco another glance, then shuffled toward the dairy section.

  Paco’s stomach twisted with regret, and he wanted to hug her, but he just quietly followed behind.

  The addict’s screams faded as he was hauled outside and into the sheriff’s car. The elevator music was suddenly audible again.

  ***

  On the walk home, Paco kept to himself, lost in his own thoughts. Even before he saw that program at Mrs. Addington’s house, he’d already been terrified of death, had been begging his parents to start buying meat like everyone else. Of course, he always got the same answer. He tried not to hold it against them, but sometimes he hated that they didn’t have any money. Sometimes he wished he had been born into another family, a rich family, one that could provide him with meat every day, chocolate cereal if he wanted it, and a TV with more than four channels.

  It was just the other day he was out hunting with Papa. Paco had sat in silence—just like Papa told him to—for what felt like a lifetime before finally building the courage to say anything.

  “Papa?”

  “Paco, if you don’t stay quiet, we’ll never—”

  “I know, I just…I was wondering…” Paco had rubbed the back of his neck, felt his face turning red.

  “What is it? You already scared off every animal anywhere near us, so you might as well spit it out now.” Papa had tossed his rifle to the grass in frustration, but after a few seconds passed, he smiled, reached out and patted Paco’s knee. “Talk to me, boy.”

  “It’s just…I think we should be eating meat. All of us. Don’t you?”

  “What do you think I’m out here doing right now?”

  “You know what I mean. I don’t want to wake up after I’m dead…I don’t want any of us to. Don’t you want to rest in peace? Like it says in all the commercials?”

  Papa had sighed, let his eyes roam to his lap where they went unfocused. “Paco, you know we can’t… Look. I wish we could. Maybe someday we will. I’ve been looking for more steady work, you know. Might’ve even fo
und a good job down at the grocery store. I’m just waiting to hear back, that’s all.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, okay, Papa.”

  Paco had let it go then, could feel the tension building. But it wasn’t the first or last time he’d brought it up. Papa always got the same faraway, shameful look in his eye, but Paco thought the subject was too important to ignore.

  When they finally made it home from the grocery store, Mama turned and hugged Paco. She planted her big lips on his forehead, held them there for a few seconds before finishing the kiss with a loud smack.

  “I love you, mijo. Things will get better for us, okay? You just have to be patient.”

  “Okay, Mama.” Paco smiled as she took the groceries from his hands and walked into the small house.

  Sophia grabbed her doll, Myron, from the front step and swung it by its hand. Her big brown eyes landed on Paco’s face and she wrinkled her nose at him.

  “What?” Paco said.

  “Why do you want to eat that stuff so bad?”

  “Shut up.”

  “It’s gross and it wiggles. Don’t you think it would tickle the inside of your tummy?”

  Paco just rolled his eyes, strolled across the yard to his bicycle which was propped up against the house. The kickstand was a rusted, rotten stump that couldn’t reach the ground. He had found the bike in the woods one day, and though it squeaked and was covered with orange rust, it worked good enough. Papa told him he could keep it, and he’d ridden it every day since.

  Just as he was about to leave his bratty sister behind and head toward the woods to explore, the hum of Papa’s truck became audible in the distance. Sophia tossed Myron into the air, caught him by the head.

  “Papa! Papa’s home!”

  Mama stepped out of the house, wiping her hands on the bottom of her shirt. The smile that spread across her face was infectious, and Paco found himself doing the same. He hoped Papa shot a hog. The last hog he brought home was delicious, and they had bacon every morning.

  As the pickup neared the house, Papa tapped the horn three times, stuck his hand out the window and waved. He seemed more excited than usual, and Paco’s anticipation tripled.

  Definitely another hog. I can’t wait for breakfast!

  Papa barely had the truck parked before he was hopping out. He slapped the roof, chuckled, strolled toward Mama and kissed her. Then his attention was on Paco.

  “Come over here. See what your Papa found today.” He rubbed his hands together and widened his eyes. “You won’t believe what I brought home.”

  Mama eyed him suspiciously. “I hope it’s not another possum. Giant rats, that’s all they are.”

  “Oh no. Nothing like that.” His eyes swung back toward Paco. “Well, come on, son. Come take a look.”

  “Can I come too, Papa?” Sophia hopped up and down, dropping Myron to the dirt and forgetting about him.

  “Of course you can, baby.” He reached down and scooped her up, sat her up on his shoulders.

  Paco followed him to the back of the truck, climbed up on the back tire, and gasped when he saw what lay within.

  “Ewwww. That’s gross.” Sophia’s mouth arched and she quickly covered her mouth and nose with her arm. “It stinks, Papa.”

  “Yeah, I know it does. But they all do I guess.” He grinned wide. “What do you think of that, Paco?”

  The corpse stared up at them with milky, rotten eyes, its jaw moving up and down, feet kicking slowly. It looked like it used to be a man, but it was hard to tell for sure. It didn’t have any clothes on, but the spot between its legs was a dark, shredded mess of rotting meat, impossible to tell if it used to be a man or woman’s parts. A slight moan oozed from its throat as it tried to reach its bony hand out to them, but couldn’t lift it more than a couple of inches. The smell was powerful, climbed into Paco’s nostrils and filled his head with stink. He had to cover his mouth and nose too, held back the gag that threatened to hiccup from his mouth.

  “Well? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  Mama stood beside them now, stretching her neck to get a look. “Ugh. That’s disgusting.”

  “Are you kidding me? We can keep some for ourselves, just enough to eat a little from time to time, right? And we sell the rest. You know how much we can get for this? You don’t just find the dead wandering around so easy anymore. We hit the jackpot here.”

  “Ay dios mio, I think I’m going to be sick.” Mama stepped away from the truck, one hand at her mouth, the other at her belly.

  “It smells really bad. Are you sure we can still…eat it?” Paco reached in, but when the corpse’s eyes landed on him again, he pulled his hand away.

  “Dead meat is dead meat. It’s gonna have some stink to it. Just because it’s not all cut up and vacuum sealed in plastic doesn’t make it any different than the meat at the store.” Papa lifted Sophia off his shoulders, set her down, scratched his chin and frowned. “I thought you guys would be much more excited than this. Especially you, Paco.”

  “No…I mean I am. This is great, Papa.” Paco thought he should be more excited than he was too, but actually being this close to a real corpse was…strange. He’d only seen them on TV before.

  “Well,” Mama said. “I’m not touching that thing.” She walked over to Papa and kissed him on the cheek. “But you did good, sweetheart. You really think we can sell it?”

  Papa’s smile returned. “Definitely. No question. After I dress him, cut the best pieces for ourselves, I’ll drive him down to the grocery store. And if they don’t want him, I can go straight to the meat man…the one on TV. What’s his name?”

  “Ted Fleet,” Paco said. “His name’s on all the packages. Ted Fleet’s Dead Meats.”

  “Yeah. I can head straight to the man himself, sell it at a discount. Still make a killing off it.” Papa nudged Paco in the arm. “But not before I boil the head and make my famous tamales. We’ve still got some leftover pork I can mix in. Huh?”

  Paco nodded, couldn’t help but return Papa’s enthusiasm. “Yeah, okay. We’re really gonna try it?”

  “Hell, everybody else does. Let’s give it a try.”

  Mama shook her head and snickered as she made her way back to the house. “Well like I said. I’m not touching that thing.”

  “Me either,” Sophia said as she retrieved Myron. “But I do want some of your tamales, Papa. Yummy!”

  “The tamales are gonna have dead meat inside, stupid. You’ll have to touch it to eat it.”

  “Nuh uh.”

  “Sophia, you…oh forget it.”

  Papa had his attention on the corpse. He leaned over, grabbed the thing by the arm and turned it onto its stomach. Its bones stuck out everywhere, especially its hips. The skin was gray, stretched tight. Didn’t look like there was much meat on it.

  “You gonna help me prepare it? It’ll be just like dressing a deer…just a little smellier I guess.”

  Paco took another long look at the corpse and shoved his hands in his pockets, slowly backed away. “Um…I sort of don’t want to touch it either. It’s…I don’t know. It’s weird seeing it whole like that.”

  “Oh come on, it’s not so bad. We can stuff cotton up our nostrils.”

  “Can’t I go ride my bike for a little while? I don’t like looking at that thing. I’m sorry, Papa. I don’t know what’s wrong with—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Papa said holding up his hand. “I understand. It is a little weird seeing it up close, I guess.” He patted Paco on the back and forced a smile even though Paco could tell he was a little disappointed. “Go on. But be back before dark in time for dinner. And the next animal I bring home, you’re dressing it all by yourself, deal?”

  “Yeah, okay. Deal.”

  Papa pulled Paco in and hugged him. “I love you, son. Things are gonna be different now. Just wait and see how much money I bring home.”

  “Yeah. Love you too, Papa.”

  They both stood there for another couple of minutes, neither saying a word, bot
h gawking at the writhing, rotting husk in the bed of the pickup. It groaned as it struggled to turn itself onto its back.

  “All right then. Go on and have fun. And be careful.”

  “I will. And Papa?”

  “Mmm hmm?” Papa lowered the tailgate and started hauling the body out.

  “Thank you.” Paco sprinted for his bike, flicked Sophia in the ear as he passed.

  “Hey, Paco! That hurt!”

  Paco kicked off and sped toward the woods. After all the griping he’d done about eating meat, now that they had their very own live corpse at home, he wasn’t so sure he could go through with it.

  - Chapter 3 -

  Calico and two of Fleet’s cronies stomped up the stairs of the apartment complex. Calico had no idea what their names were, what any of their names were, but he always called Fleet’s men Ughs and Grunts. All faceless muscle, conscienceless trigger pullers.

  But Calico knew why the big bossman ordered them to go on jobs with him. It wasn’t that he needed the help, hell, he could take out fifty addicts with his big toe. They were there to watch him. To make sure he obeyed the man in charge.

  Not that he had any fucking choice.

  As they walked down the hall, Calico turned and held out an open palm. “Quit stomping,” he said. “Even addicts can use a gun…it’s not that hard.” He pulled out his Bowie knife, made a small cut on his forearm just above the elbow. He took a deep breath, fluttered his eyelids. Blood ran down his arm and soaked into the rolled- up sleeves of his button-up shirt.

  “What the fuck you doin’, brotha?” Ugh said.

  “You shouldn’t worry about me, Ugh. Or the things I do.” Calico put a finger to his lips.