The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same

Demensions' 2000 Author of the Year returns with a post-apocalyptic story ... with a twist. And we're not going to say anything more than that. You're just going to have to read it.

     "Mr. Chris... Please tell us about after the Nuke feast!" Every year it is the same.
     A new class of sixth graders, another request for the story of the new beginning of the human race. I am one of the survivors of the nuclear war between the U.S. and India, and assure them it was no big deal. Which, do not get me wrong, I know it could have been if it had went the way it was suppose to.
     We had some tine to kill before we were to leave on the annual sixth grade field trip. Another constant in the yearly experience of being a teacher, it is meant to be a lasting memory of the last year of "Childhood." The students pick between a list of places they can visit, but for reasons that we teachers puzzle over, the same business is the favorite of most classes: The Wiltshire meat packing plant. I made them promise to behave on the field trip, if I would tell them of my experience after the bombs fell. With their assurance I started.
     "I had first heard the term 'neutron bomb' in the late seventies or early eighties. A bomb that would kill all biological life, but not destroy any of the infrastructure of a country. The Indians wanted all that the United States had to offer, just not the people that lived there. With us gone, they planned on moving right in. It was apparently assumed that in six months, life could continue as usual.
     So one spring day, the sirens sounded; the first thought was tornado.
     The majority of the people did not even consider that it was a nuclear attack, with the state of good relations with Russia and the general peace in the world. Few would consider that there were nuclear bombs heading toward us. In fact, at the time the only ones that knew were those in the higher level of the government, and the sirens sounded long after Washington had put their plan for surviving a nuclear war into effect.
     Though a few took cover in basements and closets, most actually went outside to look at a clear sky. When the blast came, those looking in that direction were blinded by the flash. But much to the surprise of the Indians, only those that were at the point of impacted died. The neutron bomb did not have the desired effect, the American people did not disappear in a burning flash. Nor after three months, did the public die the horror of a nuclear induced illness. For the most part, life continued unabated, with only the impact zones being off limits to the public. The same could not be said of the country of India, for we had not used neutron bombs to exact our revenge. India, was laid waste and the second most populated country in the world became the most unlivable.
     After a month, the only real effect of the neutron bombs became apparent to us. Though produce and animals seemed unaffected, it became widely known that food sources had lost any proteins. Cattle, though grazing on lush fields of grasses and hay, died of starvation in record numbers. Chickens, too, found no nourishment in grains.
     Though wheat fields grew to a golden brown for a month after the blast, bread left one with a feeling of intense hunger. What little protein was left in the soil was being depleted by the plants. It would seem that "Infrastructure" is more than factories and refineries, but the basic building blocks of life. We had survived a nuclear attack only to die of starvation. Other countries aided us with what they could, but between the fallout of two large nuclear weapons going off on two of the largest land masses of the earth -- they had their own problems, and it seemed that there would be no end soon.
     People were eating anything and everything, but still dying a slow, painful death. We were trying anything to survive, following anyone that said they were the answer. We were leaderless, lost, and confused as to what to do about our people surviving the food shortage.


     By the end of the third month after the bomb, the human race was being wiped from the face of the planet. The fallout had been spread by the winds, to every corner of the world.
     Unstoppable famine raged on every continent; once green fields were turning brown from a soil that lacked nutrients.
     Then a sealed door opened to a government bomb shelter, buried deep in the ground outside of Mount Rushmore. For the first time in three months, the president, vice president, and key members of the cabinet and the congress breathed the fresh air, and saw the sun shining bright in the blue sky. Their amazement was unbounded, and at first thought that they were returning to a bright new world. It was not long before the reality of the world sank in. Rushing back to Washington, they knew that they should start to work on a solution for the problem.
     But they faced a time limit, for before their eyes, the people were dying of starvation. Not to mention that they too faced the same curse if they could not find a food source that had not been robbed of it protein. By the time that the American people learned that key Government members had hidden themselves away from the effects of the neutron bombs, they found a new hope in the struggle to survive, that surely they would find a new food source.
     And indeed, it was our Government that found our new source for food and we will be forever grateful to them for a new chance at continuing one of the greatest nations in the world. Our scientists have predicted that in another ten years the ground should be able to produce soil that will grow food crops. Until then we will use the stock the government provided us. They keep a breeding herd to ensure that there would be an ample supply for the people until that time. In fact we may take a side trip to the ranch where they are kept, that is if the kids behave themselves at the meat packing company!
     Once again, the annual promise to behave is done as a group by the class, along with a cheerful "Please.... Please!" Little did they know that it was a part of the agenda from the beginning. It's just a teacher can never get enough assurance of good behavior from their students. The announcement of the arrival of the school buses, brought a cheer from the group. And the single file parade to the buses started our trip to the meat packing plant.


     The tour went as expected, with the wide eye wonder and some gasps at seeing from the slaughter floor to the packing of the meat into the government rations. I told them that the rations were actually bigger then they use to be, as in the beginning they really had to put every one on starvation rations, with such a small breeding stock. But as the herd grew and new blood was introduced, the rations had gotten larger in their portions.
     The vice president of the company explained to the students that new ways of preparing the meat were being thought up, to add variety to meals, and to substitute for the lack of green vegetables. At first that was a problem, as meat is but one source of protein and the human body needs more than one source. But the researchers of the company had found supplements that fulfill the need that were met by green vegetables. After some careful planning, the by-product of the slaughtering process was used as a fertilizer for a new form of plant material. Then the plant material became a side dish for the different meat meals. Along with the feed for the food stock, they would eat the meat by-product, but only if they were hungry enough.
     The vice-president chuckles and said, "If they had only knew just what they were eating, imagine ... one minutes you would be talking and playing with the kid next to you. Then suddenly they would be dragged away and that night you would be eating their ground up bones and cartilage!"
     The children let out a collective "uhggg," and looked at each other. The thought of eating some one they actually knew, made them queasy.
     After they were given a simples of both the meat and green food source, we boarded the busses to the ranch. For the most part, the "Ranch" is a large collection of climate controlled buildings, with large fenced-in corrals and long tunnels of barred wire and gates. Each building had a different age group in them. The signs read "Newborn", "Young", "Adolescent" and "Slaughter Stock".
     At another building the sign read "Breeding stock" Once a member of the herd became old enough to become pregnant, the females were moved to this building and either impregnated through artificial means or the "old fashion way" by only the best sires that the herd produced. It always tickles me, the girls think that it would be gross to be a female in the breed stock. But adolescent boys, being what they are, think that being a sire would be neat! That is until they find out that a sire may only live for four months after becoming a sire, then they are slaughtered and a new sire is brought in. While a female that is selected for breeding may live till middle age, or whenever they can no longer produce. That generally sparks a "GIRL'S RULE!" from the girls in the class. But for all, this is the part of the field trip that is a real eye opener. It is one thing to see a well cooked piece of meat on the dinner plate. It is quite another to actual see the stock from which the meat comes from, the reality of just what we had to do to survive becomes plain. To take an other's life, in order to continue your own, is a sobering experience. And to see them, makes you think about how much they too wish to live.
     They do not seem that different from our selves, they play, they sleep, they enjoy life.
     And from the slaughter floor, you remember the look of sheer terror at the moment that the air driven gun is placed to their heads. And they heard a momentary click, as the trigger is pulled. Sending a steel rod into their skull, and they fall to the floor. To die in a quaking mass trying to hold on to that which is so precious to them -- life.
     As I said, this is meant to be the last field trip of childhood, and the trip back to school every year is in dead silence. As we pass one of the corrals attached to the building named "Young," a young male rushes to the fence, and holds to it for a better look. He bounces up and down trying to get my attention. Finally, I walk over to where he is at the fence.
     They always seem to be starving for affection, I reach through and rub his head. He seems to really like it, as he stands a little taller to get the touch of my full hand. I mess up the little tuff of dirty blond colored hair that is at the top of his head. He starts to try and speak to me. But I do not understand what he is saying, maybe it is "Thank you" for the head rub. There is an innocence look to his eyes, and for a moment I feel a pang of sorrow for him.
     Finally I tell him, "Well, feller, I have to go, I've got to get my class back to school! Kid, if you only knew what was in store for your future, you probably would not be so glad to see me."
     Yes, the trip back to school is always dead silences, time for real reflection on the matters of the world. And our place in it, how fortunate we are to be the one who eat, and not the ones eaten. And how grateful we should be for the government leader and their families that hid in that bomb shelter. Away from the effects of the Neutron bomb, so we would have a non-contaminated food source. It was their forethought to bring a large herd of sheep in with them, that made it possible for one of the greatest nations on earth to survive.
     (Got ya!)

This story has been read [an error occurred while processing this directive] times since 11.01.01.